(This note is from Albany, NY–back when I was working at The Lark Tavern, and living in the Washington Park area.)
I’m not really sure whose idea it was first–whether I picked up her, or she simply went after me. We’d been casually talking on and off that night, while I worked up and down the bar. She was a short, cute coed; a graduate student at Albany State. I’d seen her in The Lark before, most often with her sister, who was apparently her roommate in a near-by apartment.
At the end of the night, she kept hanging out even after we’d turned up the lights, and yelled for everyone to start moving toward the door. “You don’t have to go home,” we yelled, “But you can’t stay here! Closing time!”
“Are you going home tonight,” she smiled, looking right at me.
“We have to clean up first, but then I guess I’m headed home.” I wasn’t entirely serious about what I said next; I was simply being the bartender, playing the game. “Unless of course, you want to make me breakfast in the morning.”
She didn’t blink; she just sat there smiling. “I could be up for that,” she said.
At her apartment, we had some drinks at her kitchen table, then went into her bedroom. We were complete strangers; I’d seen her at the bar, but had never spoken with her until tonight, and that was only passing conversation as I worked. I’d learned that she was going for her Master’s Degree in Education–and now on a whim, she had invited me home with her. I guess we were just two adults, doing what adults can do, if they want.
In her bed, it was tentative at first, as we tried to get a sense of what each of us was ready for . . . then things opened up. Afterward, I was wondering if I should head home, but she turned and spooned up next to me with her arm over my shoulder, and I stayed for the night.
She was still half-asleep when I got up and got dressed early the next morning. I went back out into the kitchen. Her sister was at the kitchen table with another girl, a friend. I’d seen them at The Lark as well, although I’d never spoken with them either. Now they were both sitting at the kitchen table in their bathrobes, eating breakfast. “Are you hungry?” the sister asked. She didn’t wait for an answer as she brought out another plate, and poured me a cup of coffee.
“Do you want a lot, or a little?” she asked, holding a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey in one hand, ready to pour some into my cup. “If I know Nancy,” she said about her sleeping sister, “She won’t be getting up before noon.”
We all introduced ourselves, but in a morning fog, just a minute later I was trying to remember the friend’s name. She was twenty-something blond, with that just-rolled-out-of-bed look, and clearly more than a little hung-over. Nancy’s sister, Jeanne–at least I remembered her name–kept glancing warmly at me as we all talked. They asked what it was like tending bar at The Lark.
“It’s raining pretty hard outside,” Jeanne said at one point, “Why don’t you stay until it clears up?” Jeanne had short, bobbing reddish hair, with a straight-forward look in her eyes, and a devilish smile. We each poured another shot of Irish whiskey into our cups.
Where was all this coming from–the invitation for breakfast, suggesting I stay, those doe-eyed looks? From what I‘d seen at bar, Nancy and Jeanne could be pretty competitive as sisters, at least when it came to men. Was Jeanne just being hospitable, or was she hitting on me because I’d come home with her sister? And her friend at the kitchen table was also giving me these mysterious, come-hither looks.
The bathrobes of both girls were only loosely tied at the waist, and the sides kept falling open as they turned one way or the other. At one point Jeanne’s breasts were exposed, but she laughed as she pulled the bathrobe closed again. “We’re pretty casual around here in the morning,” she said with a sheepish grin.
I wasn’t sure what to do. The girl I’d come back with was sleeping right in the next room. After a while I told them I was pretty tired, and probably should head home. “You can take a nap in my room, if you want,” Jeanne said, “If you’re worried about waking Nancy, . . . you can sleep in my bed for a while.”
Did she just say that? Was I reading too much into it . . . did she plan to join me? Jeanne’s friend was looking right at me again, smiling. There were only two bedrooms in this apartment, and it was clear that the friend had stayed overnight; they must have slept together in Jeanne’s bedroom. Were they now thinking about a morning three-some?
I’d never been in a three-some with two girls, although back in Cortland there had been a few “two-guys-and-a-girl” things. Soon after I’d taken the job at The Lark Tavern, I’d gone back to Cortland to see some friends. Stopping at the old frat house, I’d unintentionally walked in on Mark Albrechta in the afternoon. He was in bed with a woman I’d later learn was known as “Ramblin’ Rims.”
That was her CB handle; she was a female teamster who talked with the other drivers on the CB radio network as she barreled along. She was from the mid-West, and was really into being a teamster, although in appearance she looked as fresh and innocent as a Sunday School teacher. She got a kick out of everyone’s surprise when she told them what she did for work. She was a tiny little woman, probably in her late twenties, standing about 4’ 10”, and weighing no more than 90 pounds.
Mark was a wild man, just like Gringes, only Mark had good eyesight and he had dropped out of college to join the Marine Corps. He was back in Cortland while on leave.
Mark and the lady teamster were going at it on the bed when I leaned my head around the half-open door. “Sorry,“ I said, and turned to walk back out. Three or four steps down the hallway, I heard Mark’s voice. “Hey, Mike!” Mark called out, “She says it’s OK. You can join us if you want.”
So I went back, and participated in the fun.
At one point, I was in a missionary position with the woman, and Mark was straddling her shoulders as she lay there. All I could see was Mark’s ugly butt, his broad back, and her little arms sticking out on either side beneath him, spread out as wide as she could possibly stretch them. It was as though she wanted us to know that she was completely opening herself to us.
Now in this Washington Park apartment, apparently here was an opportunity for a three-some with two girls. Those damn. teasing bathrobes kept flashing open from time to time, exposing more bare skin. Neither of them had anything on underneath other than their panties, but neither seemed to giving it much thought–or maybe they were giving it some thought, doing it intentionally.
They were both real cute, sitting there without make-up, their hair a little rumpled–but something about that, too, fit with the casual, open way they were acting. They were comfortable just being honest in appearance, without pretense. There was something very sexy about that.
I thought of Nancy, who was still sleeping in next room, in her bedroom. Where did she fit into all of this? Maybe these sisters shared, or was this part of the competitive thing between them? I didn’t know Nancy at all, but did I owe her something–at least enough respect that I wouldn’t do this? The two girls were looking so hot at the kitchen table, relaxed and waiting as they sat smiling in those loose bathrobes.
I finally said, “No, no nap,” making some excuse that I’d better be going, even in the rain. I actually was a little tired from the night before, and then there was trying to consider how Nancy would feel, having me come home with her, then sleeping with her sister. I didn’t want to be a jerk, whether I really knew Nancy, or not.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to take off,“ I said. The two girls now exchanged a meaningful glance, and I still wasn’t sure what was going with them–what they’d had in mind, if anything. Had it all been only my reading into things, wishful thinking?
“You’ll be kicking yourself for this later,” I thought as I closed the apartment door behind me. And on the rain-soaked walk home, I was doing just that.