Chapter 10
At about ten minutes after six Friday night, I checked into the Park Westmore Hotel.
I'd taken the 4:27 into Penn Station and took a cab uptown to the hotel. Before I'd left home, I had called and made a reservation for myself, and I charged the room on my Diners Club card. That was one advantage in paying all the bills yourself-it was fairly easy to hide something like this from Mark.
I signed into the hotel, and a bellhop carried my one suitcase up to the room. I gave him a dollar tip, and he carried my suitcase into the room and placed it on the bed. He smiled, accepted the dollar, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
The room wasn't bad. At least it was fairly large. There was a huge double bed set against one wall, and it occupied most of the space in the room. Across from the bed there was a television. Across from the door, against the far wall, there was a sofa with end tables on either end. Two matching lamps were on the end tables. Behind the sofa there was a solid wall of olive green draperies, somewhat faded in color, and I guess that they covered the windows. In the near corner of the room, there was a single chair. The chair was cheap-looking mod ern-with stripes of brown and black foam cushions supported by thin wooden slats. The chair matched the sofa.
I walked over to the bed and sat down. The mattress was soft and cushy. The pillows were hard. I slipped off my shoes and rubbed my feet against the thick green rug that covered the floor. Across from where I was sitting was the entrance. There was a door on either side of the entrance. One, I was sure, was a closet, and the other had to be the bathroom.
I got up and walked across the room. Closet and bathroom. There were about twenty-five wire hangers in the closet. Plenty of towels and soap in the shower.
I went back over to the bed and lay back on the mattress. I felt my body sink into the softness.
It felt so strange! I felt so free!
It was as though I were a different person, I realized. As though I had no past nor any future. I was a disembodied spirit-without roots or a destiny. I was not a mother nor a wife nor a friend. I was just a woman.
No one knew me, or my husband, or my children, or anything at all about me. I was renewed. I had another chance to relive my life-to recapture some of the fragmented pieces that had slipped by me without my realizing. Even for one weekend, I had a chance to live again.
I stared at the ceiling for a long while. It felt so odd to be there, in a hotel in New York, by myself. After being married for fifteen years, after being a mother, this was the first time that I could remember being alone. I savored the rich luxury of the moment-a moment without responsibility or limitations. I had no dinner to make, no house to clean, no husband to please, no bills to pay, no problems to worry about.
I was free!
"Fuck thirty-six!" I said. "Fuck it!" I kicked my legs up in the air. I felt like a young girl again! I was dizzy and giddy from the excitement. I sat up. The room didn't seem drab green and empty.
It was alive and happy-a ballroom, and it was my coming out party.
I flipped open my suitcase and began to remove the few things I had packed. A change of clothing for tonight and tomorrow. I had nothing for Sunday. Perhaps I wouldn't wear anything on Sunday. Perhaps Pd run around naked!
Mostly I had packed lingerie: underpants and bras-sexy panties and tipless bras so that my nipples stuck out of the ends exposed. Flimsy nightgowns and see-through bikini panties with red fringe around the legs and crotch. My cunt was growing wet with the hundreds of possibilities that flitted through my imagination. And each of the possibilities was a real one, for I knew I was by myself in this, with no past or future to inhibit my decisions. I could do what I wanted; fuck whomever I wanted, and know that on Monday I could go home with a clear conscience. I was going home to celebrate my thirty-sixth birthday!
I finally caught my breath, and the room stopped dancing around me. I took three deep breaths and stood up. My knees still were weak.
Get started, I told myself. Ifs going to be a long night.
The first thing I did was order dinner. While I was waiting for Room Service, I took a shower. I answered the door in a nightgown and watched the man's eyes bug out as he brought the tray into the room.
"Put it by the bed," I told him, smiling.
I gave him another dollar as a tip, but I think it was unnecessary. He couldn't take his eyes from my tits. When he left, he had a hard-on. I guess that should have been tip enough.
I ate slowly, savoring the food. When I was finished, I called the desk and asked them to ring me at 10:30. I figured an hour would be enough to dress and get made up in.
I lay back on the bed.
You better get to sleep, I told myself.
I had a long, hot night planned for myself.
It was exactly 11.30 when I left my room. I was 103 . dressed in my purple and white print dress. The dress fit tightly around my breasts, then flared widely out from my waist It was very short, and I'd worn no panties under it. I could feel the cool tickle of the air licking itself against the naked openness of my cunt. It felt exciting!
If Mark could only see me now, I thought He never permitted me to wear this dress outside of the house. In truth, it wasn't even a dress. It was the top piece of pants outfit. You could wear the top alone as a dress, but it was very, very short: a mini-mini.
I could imagine how Mark would react if he knew that I not only wore the top as a dress, but I was wearing it with nothing on under it! Naked! Absolutely stark, fucking naked!
I walked down to the elevator and pushed the button.
I'd finally decided how I was going to spend the night. It came to me while I was just falling asleep for my nap. What a perfect way in which to celebrate my first night of independence.
I was going to be a prostitute.
I was going to go out on the street and pick up the first man who propositioned me. I was going to fuck with him and take his money.
The choice of being a prostitute was somehow fitting to my sudden independence. What better role could a woman choose to act out her liberation than that of a woman who sold for a profit what other women gave away.
The elevator arrived, and I rode it down to the lobby. I walked through the lobby to the main entrance on Seventh Avenue. I went through the double set of glass doors and stood for a moment on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. I felt suddenly so odd, so lightheaded and giddy. I had the strangest feeling that I was floating.
The wind blew and billowed up my dress, nestling its cold caress between my thighs and licking at my cunt. I felt my cunt hair shiver from exposure, and bumps of excitement ran up and down my thighs from the intimate fondling wind.
My flesh was alive-on fire. I tingled all over and felt uncontrollably excited by the perversity of what I was doing. I felt dirty. Wonderfully, excitingly, sensually dirty!
The lips of my cunt actually quivered with anticipation, and I could feel a trickle of wetness sliding down the interior walls of my cuntal canal. My clit had grown hard and firm, and felt like a burning coal jammed between the lips of my pussy. I felt the flesh of my cunt rub against my clit as I walked. With each step that I took, I felt as though I were masturbating myself. I knew if I so much as squeezed my thighs together, I would probably start to come right there, on Seventh Avenue, in front of the glass doors of the Park Westmore Hotel.
I walked slowly down the block, towards the bright lights further down the Avenue. I stood on the corner of the hotel's block, waiting for the light to change. I was aware of the crowds; of the men staring at me; of the women who were giving me a jealous once-over. All their eyes added to-my excitement, and made me feel as though I were on exhibition or up for sale.
A young boy and his girlfriend walked past me. Two pairs of eyes nearly fell from their sockets. They seemed hypnotized by my presence.
"She is!" I heard the boy say. His voice was thick with country or South.
The girl covered over her mouth, but I could clearly hear her words. "Oh, you're crazy! You're just saying that."
The pair halted about ten feet away from me. They were standing against the side wall of the hotel. They seemed huddled in conference, both amazed and doubtful.
My cunt shuddered, because I knew what they were talking about! They were talking about me!
"I am!" I called out to the boy in a voice loud enough for both of them to hear. "Tell your girlfriend that I am."
The boy's face paled, and his jaw dropped open. His girlfriend began to tug on his arm. "Let's go, Drexi!" she whispered. "Come on, let's go!"
I crossed the street. My head was spinning. I felt bigger than life. I couldn't believe that it was happening to me!
But then, of course, it wasn't happening to me. Wendy Allen was at home, in her house, watching her kids, making love to her husband.
And I wasn't Wendy Allen any longer....
About halfway down the next block, I got my first proposition. I had stopped in front of an all-night delicatessen, and I was looking in the window at the pictures of the Hollywood celebrities. I became aware of a man walking up to the window, standing right next to me. My mouth grew dry and my heart was pounding like crazy in my chest. My palms were wet, and I clenched my fists closed.
"Hello," he said.
I turned my eyes toward him. I tried to say something, but my throat constricted, and nothing came out.
"You waiting for someone?" he asked. He was a rather short guy, with dark eyes and short brown hair. Slight of build, with straight, even features. I judged he was about thirty-three or four.
"Depends," I said. My lips were trembling.
His face seemed torn with indecision. "You ... uh ... maybe want to ... go out?"
I stared at him. Cool, I told myself. Be cool.
"Depends," I repeated. He must have thought I was either very hard, full of clipped terse attitudes, or thought I was semiliterate. That's how I felt, leastways.
"You know, you're kind of ... attractive," he said. I didn't know who was having the worse time-he or I. "Thank you."
He smiled. "Maybe go for a drink or something?"
"If I go anywhere," I said, "it won't be for a drink!" Wow! Was that me talking? He smiled boldly now. "I got about twenty dollars.
Maybe we could have a good time."
I appraised him coldly. "Twenty-five."
He weighed the price. "You suck?" he asked. "For twenty-five, I want to get sucked, too."
"That depends." I had gotten into a rut with that word.
"Depends on what?"
"On how big your cock is."
He smiled broadly now. "Don't worry about that," he said. "I ain't had no complaints."
"Nice to hear." I looked down slowly at his crotch, letting him follow my line of vision. He had his hands thrust in his pockets, but he couldn't hide his hard-on. It was like a lump in the front of his pants.
"Looks like you're ready," I said, looking again at his face. He seemed to be salivating.
"You're all right," he said. "No hard shit with you."
I didn't know exactly what he meant, but considering his smile, I accepted the words as a compliment.
"I never seen you around here before," he said. "You new?"
"Sort of."
"You'll make out good. You're a good-looking piece. Classy."
My ego swelled, and the knocking of my knees calmed somewhat "Thanks."
"What's yer ... name?"
I considered for a moment. "Carol," I said. "Carol Taylor."
Why not? At least for this weekend, Wendy Allen was dead.
"My name's Jack." He didn't offer a last name.
"Okay, Jack," I said. "My hotel's down the street. The Westmore. Room 1109-"
Jack held his finger up to his lips. "Carol," he said. He was whispering. "You're a sportin' girl."
"What do you mean?"
He nodded his head to a car behind us parked against the curb. There was a man sitting in the car. "My nephew."
I stared at the boy. Blond hair, worn long. Rather good looking. About twenty or so.
"He's getting married next week," Jack confided. "I told him I'd take him out, you know what I mean."
I wasn't sure.
"How about taking the both of us on ... together?" he asked. "Be wild! Something for the boy to remember."
So this is what happened on bachelor parties. "Twenty-five for him, too," I said.
I stared at the boy. He gave me a quick, furtive glance, then turned away. "
"Of course," Jack agreed.
"No rough stuff," I warned. I didn't mind getting fucked, but I didn't want to get hurt.
"Of course not!" Jack said. "What do you think I am-a pervert!"
"Okay."
Jack smiled. "I'll follow you."
"No. Wait about five minutes, then come up. Room 1109."
Jack nodded. "Sure thing."
I walked away slowly, my head spinning. My legs felt like rubber.
Two! I kept on drinking. Two men!
My wildest fantasy was about to become a reality. I pushed open the glass doors of the Westmore. My hand was shaking.
Two!