Chapter 8: Van Cortlandt Park

When Vivian and I woke up around 9:00 AM, we had breakfast and coffee. A bit later, she said, “It’s time to put on my old uniform from Mount St. Ursula.” That was the Catholic high school she had graduated from four years earlier when she was eighteen. “Just stay here while I do that. I’m sure you’ll be pleased.”

In a few minutes, she was back, and I was surprised at how much younger she looked. I sat on the couch, and she stood in the middle of the living room modeling herself. She smiled at me and said, “When you were in high school, did you look at the Catholic girls in the street? I’m sure you did. I’m also sure you masturbated a lot thinking about them later on.”

“I admit, I often did that.”

“I think you still do. You’d like to bust some Catholic schoolgirl’s cherry, I bet. Anyway, how do I look?”

“It certainly looks authentic.”

“That’s because it is authentic. This is one I did wear in high school years ago.” She added, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The uniform was a light-weight one for warm weather. It consisted of a white, short-sleeved shirt, a short, light-blue skirt, white knee socks, and brown shoes.

I commented, “Vivian, you’ve done a lot of sinning in recent years. I’ve noticed that the skirts in those schools are always a few inches shorter than one would think would be – ah, decent.”

“I’ve already explained the confused attitude The Church has about girls. On one hand, you are supposed to look like a little girl who hasn’t become nubile yet. Of course, we were indeed nubile, so we wound up sending mixed messages.”

I had always liked the schoolgirls who would flaunt their thick thighs. Vivian was more slender, which made her appear younger and more innocent. Oddly enough, she then contradicted that appearance.

“Anyway, I’ve been a very bad girl, an absolutely filthy little schoolgirl who can’t keep her hands out of own cunt. Or the cunts of other girls. It’s going to be up to you to correct me.”

“Really, how am I going to do that?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you yet; it’s going to be a surprise. I will tell you where it’s going to happen, which is in Van Cortlandt Park.”

I glanced out the window at the sunshine on the Jerome Park Reservoir. “Vivian, you have noticed what a bright day it is out there? How are going to have any privacy?”

She had thought it through, “It’s only busy in a few places, like down near Broadway. In the back areas, there are a number of isolated places where few people ever go.”

She described our meeting place. It would be on a bench on a path in the far northern part of the park, near the Saw Mill River Parkway. I didn’t have my car with me, and it would probably take three buses to even get near that location. I told her that we both should take car services to get up there.

She described the set-up to me. I would come strolling down this path, and she would greet me as she sat on that bench.

“That doesn’t sound very realistic. Teenage girls don’t start conversations with strange older guys in parks.”

“Silly, it’s a fantasy – a role play. I know you’ve done those before.” She told me about the wooded areas up in that part of the park. “I used to go with my girlfriend Cathy to a part of Bronx Park that was a lot busier, and we got away with everything we wanted to do. Just give me a head start so that I’m there before you are.”

This reminded me of one of the stunts Miranda would pull off, like our midday tryst at the Jay Gould Mausoleum in Woodlawn Cemetery. I assumed that she had told Vivian about it.

I also briefly thought about what Miranda would do if she caught me banging her best friend and roommate. Miranda was a pretty wild lady, but I wasn’t sure about her attitudes regarding infidelity. It seemed best to be cautious and simply not get caught.

Around noon, I was walking south along an asphalt path that started at the park’s border at McLean Avenue. I think I had only been on it once before that I could remember. And sure enough, Vivian was sitting on a bench to my left. Her brown leather book bag was next to her. She liked that bag so much from her school days that she had used it at Lehman College too and now for her job downtown.

As I approached her, I made believe I didn’t see her, which is what most non-pervy guys would do. Just as I was about to pass her, she called out, “Hey mister, how are you doing?”

I figured this game would require me to stop instead of just saying hello and continuing to walk. I said something non-committal like, “I’m doing okay.”

She responded with, “It’s such a nice day. Why don’t you sit here on the bench and chat with me for a while?”

“Sure, I have the time.” As I had expected, this scenario was stretching the boundaries of credibility. I sat down to her left, and we briefly talked about her attendance at the Mount St. Ursula Academy.

“Yeah, I know that place. Could I ask you, are you playing hooky today?” She managed to look chagrined. She can be a pretty good actress. That always helped in a role play.

“Well, yes I am, but I shouldn’t have done it. I could explain it to you if you wish, but it’s going to take a bit of time.”

I agreed, and she responded with, “Now don’t get embarrassed by this, you promise?”

“Okay, I won’t get embarrassed.” I had already guessed the gist of it from what she had told me before about the school.

Vivian got right into the intimate details; she didn’t hesitate at all in describing them. “At my school, the girls’ uniforms include their underpants, even though no one is supposed to see that. They are supposed to be of an ample cut, and always be white.”

I knew how this story was going because I had heard it all from her the day before. Since she was playing a character, not herself, she just kept talking. “Now, the girls there often play a game. They will wear ‘bad girl’ panties under their skirts.”

“Ah, what does that mean?” Of course, I already knew.

“We’d do it just for fun, and to thumb our noses at The Church. It could be lacey panties, see-throughs, thongs, a non-standard color – anything that makes us feel sexy.” Was I supposed to ask her what she was wearing herself at that point?

I didn’t need to be concerned; she was going to show her underpants to me in a few moments. “The nuns over there will have random ‘panty checks’ to see what the girls are wearing under their skirts. If you get caught with bad girl panties, they will punish you for it.”

“How do they do that?”

“They will take you into a room and spank you. You have to bend over and lift your skirt. Then they will beat you, usually with their bare hands but sometimes with an implement like a paddle. Usually, you will get smacks on the seat of your underwear, and then on your bare backside.”

This was all very familiar to me. “So then I take it that you are wearing, ah, non-standard underpants today?”

“Yes I am, and I guess I’m a coward because I was afraid of getting caught so I skipped school. Here, let me show them to you.”

Vivian’s next actions did surprise me. She stood up and looked both ways along the path to make sure that no one was coming. Then she stood up, turned around, and lifted her skirt above her waist. Her panties were white, but they were so sheer that I could see right through them. Her ass crack was clearly visible under the cloth. I guessed that she had turned around to preserve some modicum of decency. Had she been facing me, I would have seen her pubic hair underneath.

She didn’t merely flash me; she let me have a good, long look at her behind. Then she dropped her skirt and sat down on the bench again.

I made an irrelevant comment, “Ah, yeah, I guess that would not go over well with the nuns.”

“I’ve been a bad girl in other ways too. Like I’ve been having an affair – a sexual one – with another girl at school. There have been times when we’ve been spanked together, side by side.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“I’ll be seventeen next month.” That meant she was presenting herself as a senior as she was in 1972.

She had even more to say. “You see, sir, I should have gone to school and taken my punishment if I got caught. I think I’ve been losing control of my behavior recently and I’m turning into a really bad girl. I think about my girlfriend Cathy all the time and I’m actually with her whenever we get the chance. I need a good, sound spanking to help me get back on track.”

I came up with, “You could just go over to the school now, and tell the nuns so that they will correct you properly.” Did I just say something that dumb? Anyway, Bedford Park Boulevard, the location of the school, was not that far away.

She hesitated and then said, “Actually, what I think is that you should be the one to spank me, right here, right now. I could get it over with and I wouldn’t have to travel all the way to the academy.”

By that point, I had already figured out where her game was going. I did ask, “Right here? I mean, where would we go?”

She pointed to the woods on the opposite side of the path. “There is a big tree in there that fell down, probably in a storm. You could sit on the trunk and take me over your knees.” She didn’t even wait for my assent. She just got up and grabbed her bag. “Come on, let’s go, let’s get this done already.”

Vivian must have lost her patience with the preliminary part of the game. She walked into the woods and I followed her. The whole thing was not something that a sane man would risk doing. Even back then, long before the Me Too movement, a girl might change her mind or just simply be mentally unbalanced. If any of that was true, she might press charges against me. There was also the financial motive; a girl might be looking for a reason to sue me.