Chapter 1

Robin had never seen anything like this before. A parade of girls was passing in front of his eyes, tall girls, short girls, slinky girls, rounded girls, fair girls, dusky girls, in an array of clothes, exciting and stimulating, that he would have believed could exist nowhere but in his dreams.

He was sitting in a sidewalk restaurant on Eighth Street in the heart of Greenwich Village. A tall, broad-shouldered man in his late twenties, with neatly-tended fairish hair, he had arrived in New York from his native Nebraska only two days earlier. This was his first visit to Greenwich Village, hangout for New York's bohemians, beats and hippies, part of a leisurely tour he was making of the city, with a view to understanding better the many moods of the city he hoped to make his permanent home.

The tables were crowded closely together. Directly behind him, at a dime-sized table, sat a quartet of girls. Robin almost had a pain in his neck from craning around to stare at them. One of the girls, a honey-blonde whose hair was piled high on her head, was wearing a narrow ribbed band above her waist, what passed in these parts for a sweater, that reached to just above the points of her full bosom, leaving the tops of her bust and her shoulders fully exposed. She wore this with the tiniest of shorts in skin-tight blue denim, that exposed the fullness of a pair of perfectly tanned thighs, delectable to the eye and evoking in Robin dreams of sensuous tingling pleasures. Her neighbor, a brunette with short hair cropped almost as close as Robin's, was the exact opposite. She was as overdressed as her blonde friend was underdressed. A golden-brown sweater in some thin woolen knit, reached tightly above her neck, encasing her almost to the chin and ears. She wore with this a pair of pants in chocolate brown serge that were fastened with a mass of gilt chains. The only thing she seemed to have in common with the other girl was the fullness of her bosom, another girl-Scandinavian by her accent-wore a gaily printed dress that did little to hide the contours of her body, and ended high up on her creamy thighs. She was very fair and had a rosebud mouth meant for kissing. She had on flesh-colored tights that were decorated with red arrows pointing straight up her legs to the region of her crotch. The fourth girl he could not see, only hear. Her back was directly to him, the tiny chairs on which both sat were touching. She must have been about the same height as he and he knew she had masses of long hair that cascaded down her back for he could feel it on the back of his head as he moved, and he could take in her heady perfume, and he knew too that her shoulders were virtually bare for every now and again when he turned he could feel part of his body rubbing against the bare skin.

He had never seen anything like this in his life. It was more stimulating than any dirty movie he had ever seen, even though none of the girls was as nude as those in the movies he used to have shipped to his home in Omaha. His cock was bulging out of his trousers, straining tight against the zipper, and Robin wondered whether the tiny table of the cafe was large enough to cover his embarrassment or whether any woman passing by on the sidewalk could glance down and see the projection of his big tool. "Let them," he thought to himself. "What do I care. If they don't want men to get excited, they shouldn't walk around like that, anyway."

His eyes kept switching from the group behind him to the diners and gossipers all around in the sidewalk cafe and to the passing parade as girls walked by, stopping and dawdling to talk to acquaintances they saw in the cafe. He had chosen an excellent spot. He was within a few hundred yards of the campus of NYU-New York University-and this was obviously a favorite hangout for the university's coeds.

A stately black girl caught his eye. Her skin was a burnished bronze and she must have been six-foot two in height-without her five-inch heels. She wore a tissue-thin halter-top one-piece playsuit of a dark shade of lavender, that barely concealed anything. As she approached he could make out the bulge of her crotch straining against the thin fabric and the nipples standing proudly at the tip of her breasts. Her waist was clinched so tight in the short playsuit that he could even see the declivity of her navel. "My God!" he thought to himself. "She's not wearing a stitch under that, not a stitch. Just that one bit of thin fabric, maybe a yard and a half of it, maybe an ounce in weight, certainly not more than two. That's all a girl needs to wear here in New York."

Her hair was puffed out into a massive Afro that made her look as if she would totter over on her spindly high heels. Actually she wore a lot more than Robin had noticed at first, for around her neck and around her arms, her wrists and her ankles, she wore tiers upon tiers of golden bangles that must have weighed ten pounds or more altogether. She advanced, almost directly toward Robin, her eyes growing large as she approached, and her lips were soft and moist, inviting lips, seductive lips, lips that called for deep penetration with one's tongue, lips that suggested that were made for wrapping themselves around a big juicy cock.

Could that smile be for him? Were those lips inviting his response? Robin froze with excitement and an admixture of anticipation and what was almost fear. He didn't know how to respond. He tried a smile but he felt its coldness and a chill suddenly ran through his body, a chill of fear, he could tell. The chill ran down his spine and as it reached the base of his spine it suddenly reached out for the base of his cock and suddenly cooled his ardor that his erection disappeared as it by magic.

The tall black goddess stopped right in front of him, turned, swiveled her hips, and bent forward to greet someone at a table on Robin's left. To do so she had to push her body right against Robin, and when she bent down to talk to her acquaintance, she pressed her ass right into Robin's face. Instinct made him move back for a fraction of a second but he overcame the reflex immediately and with a mixture of common sense and hunger, he pressed his face back into her bulging butt. It was taut and yet soft and he could feel the left side of his face as if it was sunk in deep between a pair of enormous tits. The black girl moved animatedly as she spoke and in doing so gave Robin what was virtually a message. She was wearing no perfume except the natural scent of a woman who is all woman, alive and vibrant. It was a musky, sweaty, animal smell and as he relaxed into it, he shut his eyes and let his mind take in the sensual erotic pleasure.

"Hi!"

Robin, startled, opened his eyes. He had quite forgotten where he was for a moment. A girl was smiling down at him, another one of those fabulous Greenwich Village chicks.

"Hi!" she said again, flashing her smile through two rows of large lustrous teeth. "O.K. if I sit down?"

"Sure." What else could he say? What else would anyone want to say?

She sat down, and as she did so, Robin undressed her in his mind. He could imagine the firmness of her tits young and adolescent, that still had enough tension in their upper muscles to pull the gorgeous full globes into ski-run contours. In his mind he saw the wide cleavage, below it the flatness of her unstretched belly, the light brown hairs beginning hesitantly just below the sunken navel, gathering number and length, and he could imagine below them the inviting, hungry cunt, its lips closed for the moment but requiring only the lightest pressure of his experienced hands to open and display their glistening, quivering lips to his pleasure.

He'd been so intent on his own imaginings, as he still reached back with his head to enjoy the pleasures of the long-haired unknown behind him and of the invitingly soft ass of the statuesque black woman on his left, that he had not even noticed what the new girl was wearing. Now he looked more carefully and found she had on a short tweed skirt in heather tones with a matching short-sleeved sweater of mauve angora that showed her peaches-and-cream skin and complexion off to perfection. She seemed somehow incongruous in this setting, more of a high-school cheerleader somewhere in the Middle West, than the sort of girl who fitted in with the depraved erotic mores of this part of the Nation's sex capital.

"I haven't seen you here before," the girl said. "No," Robin said. "I'm new in town."

"Doing post-graduate work."

"No, I m in advertising, just landed a job here. I'm starting next week."

"Got an apartment."

"No, I've just started looking."

"Got a girl friend."

"Well, sort of, a few."

"In New York?"

Robin couldn't get over the girl's friendly, innocent openness. She looked so wholesome, so good. He was almost disappointed. She was like the girl-next-door, the quiet sedate kind he had hoped to leave behind in coming to New York. Perhaps he'd marry somebody like her one day. But not till he'd done a lot more fucking first with chicks who put out. This one didn't look that type.

"No, back home. In Nebraska."

"Then you can come up to my place with me now and we'll screw. ...O! Hi there Coryn!"

Robin didn't know what had happened. He was sure the girl opposite had invited him home with her to screw, but it seemed such an un-likely thing for a girl like her to have said, and such an un-likely way for it to be said, and entirely too improbable. Ana, furthermore, she'd treated it so lightly and offhandedly. Moreover, just as she was saying it the tall black goddess against whose soft ass-globes Robin had been resting his face had suddenly turned around and greeted the girl facing him, making her break off what she was saying to him.

"Hi, Honey? What's cooking? How's tricks?" the black girl asked, just as Robin was phrasing a polite "I beg pardon, what was it you said?" so that the cheerleader, as Robin had labeled the girl in his mind, had to tackle both questions simultaneously.

"Oh fine, a bit dull you know but...I said we could screw in my place. So what's happening in your life Coryn. Drop in sometimes, won't you. Maybe this evening, could be fun. O.K.? "

Robin wondered who the O.K. was aimed at.

"Well, yes," he answered, drawing out his words, not wanting to seem unappreciative yet trying to hide the surprise and eagerness that might mark him for a hick in a place like this. "Yes, thank you. I was thinking the same myself. In fact I...."

Just then a waitress came to take their order, interrupting Robin's words.

"Lets not bother," the girl at his table said, tossing her head so that the long tresses flew back over her shoulder. "We can fix something up at my place later. I feel like getting laid before I eat. Well, good seeing you, Coryn. See you tonight? Come, let's go." This time she was addressing Robin again. "Our loft's over by Broadway. I'll pick up a carton of milk on the way. Say, you do fuck girls, don't you? You haven't said anything yet."