Chapter 2: An Afternoon of Opportunity

Great talents are the most lovely and often the most dangerous fruits on the tree of humanity. They hang upon the most slender twigs that are easily snapped off.
Carl Jung

Hal

Getting off the bus at Port Authority, I decided to carry my bag -- it had only a few toiletries, and a change of underwear and shirts. Walking towards Times Square, an amazing variety of women strolled, or more often, lounged. While I have nothing against sprayed-on stretch pants on the right figure, I quickly passed those who looked more as if they were sausages stuck into casings, not comfortably. Again, while I can enjoy lingerie, it doesn’t feel right on the street, although it might work in a club. To be honest with myself, I would be delighted to find someone who looked and dressed like Diane, my office’s Lady of the Endless Microskirted Legs.

To my happy surprise, standing near a storefront were two women whose attire could, indeed, have been at the sexy limit of the office. The larger of the two was indeed big, and radiated physical power. She was an athlete of some sort, wearing a white coat dress. The dress itself was conventional, except that it was unbuttoned enough to show very substantial cleavage, and open enough below to allow her heavily muscled thighs, clad in white stockings, to flash back and forth. I guessed that she was close to six feet tall, and well over in her heels. Her light blonde hair cascaded to the middle of her back.

The other was still tall, but much slenderer. She wore a navy business suit, although with a very short skirt and an apparently sheer camisole. Her matching blue stilettoes were at least four-inch, into which legs shod in golden tan hose.

Her hair was an unusual light red, something like the color of a new penny. It shone, and was thick yet somewhat teased, roughly shoulder length.

While the other woman was a power athlete, this one might be a dancer, or even martial artist. I made a connection in my head: she reminded me slightly of Ann-Margret. Looking again, I realized that both were taller than the average woman. I corrected the one in white to 6’ or more, but the other certainly was 5’7” or 5’8”. At 6’3”, I definitely like tall women.

Neither gave the image of a streetwalker. When I stopped, and looked at them, however, the big one gave a hearty laugh. “What you see is what you get, honey. Interested in going out?”

The smaller one followed with a sweeter laugh. “Yes, indeed.” I must admit that my initial reaction to her was raging lust, quickly followed by a vague sense of connection. “I’m Joan. My friend is Carol.”

Joan

I saw a well-dressed guy, in excellent shape to the extent that I could tell through conventional clothes. He had wide shoulders, and a torso that tapered to a slim waist. Perhaps most important were his bright blue eyes.

They oddly combined innocence, confidence, and warmth. My first reaction was very favorable.

I reached out a hand to shake. That, I had learned, tended to exclude some of the brutes. Smiling, I told him, “$20 for me, $15 for the room, for a basic experience.”

Much to my surprised, he shook my hand gently but firmly, but then bowed and lightly kissed its back. That sent an internal quiver through me.

“I’m Hal. Excuse me, but I have a sense that we’ve met -- Joan, that is, not Carol.” I thought for a moment, and got a similar, vague vibe. “It wasn’t on a date. I’d love one, though.

“I’d offer you my arm, but it’s hard to escort when I don’t know where I’m going. Perhaps we might, however, hold hands?”

If I were a real street girl, I’d probably have said something nasty about his wanting a girlfriend experience (GFE). Since that wasn’t at all outside of my actual interests, it wasn’t a problem.

Carol laughed again. “Joan, honey, I think you’ve got a nice one.”

“Thanks for making it easy, Carol. I don’t think I could handle both of us. You’re lovely, and who knows? Maybe we can get together.”

Carol looked at me. “Go have fun.”

Carol

Carol grinned at Joan. “OK, honey. I just might get kinky and go visit Sally’s Hideaway, and meet you later.” She signaled to a jeans-clad woman across the street, who joined her, and they walked away. Hal noticed, although he wasn’t supposed to so.

“Thanks, Melissa. At Sally’s, I get to be interestingly weird. Oh, the other women would go with me and might even have a good time, but not a wild one.

Joan

“OK, hon.” I reached out and took his hand. It was warm and gentle. We walked to the by-the-hour hotel, certainly not glamorous, but that I knew was safe. No one cared about ID, but there was a sign-in ritual where most men signed as “John Smith”. Looking over his shoulder, though, I giggled as I saw what he wrote:

“Spartacus”.

Going onto tiptoe, I kissed the back of his neck. “That signature earned this kiss. But I’m Spartacus, you know.”

We went up to the room. There were some interesting working girls in the hallways, for whom he had a courteous hello and a quick glance.

“Nothing wrong with your looking, Hal.”

“Looking? Sure. If I were alone, much more. But you’re with me and deserve courtesy, unless we were planning a group. We’re not.”

With that, I took his hand again, and gave it a squeeze.

We went into the room, which was slightly more elegant than most of those on the strip - it had a couch, table, and house phone. Hal must have some sleight of hand ability, for I had never seen him reach into a pocket -- yet he put the money on the table. He muttered, “Business”, and then gestured to the couch. “Preparation for pleasure.”

OK, I know that I’m playing a role for my pleasure, but he was well above the usual pickup. They sometimes had to be reminded of the need to pay, and then threw me on the bed, raised my skirt, and went straight to it.

When I sat on the couch, I crossed my legs, making no attempt to restore even the minimum skirt exposure. “Do enjoy the view, dear. On the street, I definitely made you as a lover of legs.”

I thought for a moment. “Let me change that. You made solid eye contact with Carol and me. Your gaze dwelled on my face. You didn’t act as if my eyes are in my boobs. Hal, you’re getting gentleman points by the minute.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate your warmth as well, even if it can’t last long.”

“Maybe it can. I’m not rushing you.

“In the street, you mentioned that I was vaguely familiar.” He nodded. “I also feel like I’ve met you. Do you ever get to Washington, DC?”

I gasped. “Actually, I live there.”

“I have a couple of thoughts. Do you ever go to events at George Washington University or the University of Maryland? Public but academic?”

“Yes. I’ve got to be careful about how much I want to disclose, but yes, at least seminars at the intersection of technology and public policy. I have another thought about meeting.

“What does the word anima suggest?”

“Ah, animus? Fascinating coming from such a lovely Jung lady.”

Not just knowledge of my favorite psychologist, but puns as well.

“This is getting wild, Hal. Ever heard of lay transference?”

He grinned. “In this context, I must be aware of double meanings of lay, but yes. It’s a Jung-based technique for interacting between pairs of people, neither of whom is a therapist.

“I’m guessing you have been to presentations by Rue Renkofsky?” I jumped a little at that. “Joan, I can only say that I respect your privacy, and expect you to respect mine. In a weird way, I regard this interaction as having some aspects of the confessional. Hell, I’m about to confess something.” With that, I expected him to mention some kink that he thought was weird, not fully realizing that I’ve pretty much seen everything.

Hal

Confession time for me, in a scary way, but I thought Joan needed to know. She might laugh at me, she might walk out, or she might make good use of the information. Still, this was risk taking.

Joan picked up my tension, and then I spoke. “I’m a virgin. I’ve had a little experience with girls, but am trying to break out of my limits.”

She gasped a little, and said “There are things more important than my leg show.” She slid over, pressed her thigh against mine, put an arm around my neck, and kissed my cheek. A small but happy moan came out of my throat.

Joan gazed into my eyes and said, “I hope this is OK with you.” She slid onto my lap, a lovely ass against my groin. She moved her mouth over mine, licked my lips, and then thrust her tongue into my mouth.

Frankly, I lost track of the details. Her kissing was incredibly hot.

We paused for breath. “Wow. What an inadequate word.”

“Hal, let me be explicit. A lot of whores won’t kiss a client. A fair number of clients won’t kiss the girls. You, however, like it. I have no sense that you’re treating me as a fallen woman.”

“Hell no. But you’re as attractive as hell, not just physically. There, you push most of my buttons. But beyond that, I have a strong suspicion that you might be my intellectual equal. You’ve made enough Jungian references to make me think we might be able to use some of his ideas to communicate more deeply.