Chapter 1: Winning the Lottery

MAY 7, 1970.

Thursday was a tough day, through no fault of our own. Anna took off for Rockford. Ronda and I walked with Patricia and Toni to daycare and then Patricia’s job. Then Ronda and I walked over to her campus. There were still some students ducking into classroom buildings, a little furtively.

“I hate to see people acting afraid to go to class because everyone else is out. It’s dividing everyone.”

“That’s not all,” Ronda said, pointing across the commons area.

A group was marching onto the commons with signs that disagreed with the prevailing tide. “Kill all Commie Traitors!” read one sign. “Honorable Peace Through Victory in Vietnam,” read another. I saw a couple of ROTC uniforms among them. I didn’t think they were supposed to do that, but what do I know?

“Open the school!” one person shouted.

“Open up! Open up! Open up!” the group chanted. It was hard to take them seriously as there were only twenty or thirty in the group. They stayed clustered close together and there were four or five police officers standing around them. It looked like they were expecting to be attacked.

I snapped a couple of pictures and changed to my 150mm lens so I didn’t need to get too close. There were ten times as many students off to our left holding protest signs and singing songs. They weren’t engaging with the counter protest.

Except one lone guy. He came right up to the front of the group and started handing them flyers. One of the policemen stepped between him and the group and tried to get him to leave. I took pictures of the confrontation, in which the leaflet guy was arguing with the policeman. He stepped away and reached inside his jacket. Somebody in the crowd yelled, “Gun!”

The police officer turned back to the leaflet guy and saw his hand in his jacket. He pulled his gun and shot the guy three times. The other police converged from the sides of the crowd as the mob cheered. The shooter was on his knees beside the body and opened the kid’s jacket. There was nothing there but a piece of paper.

I maneuvered in closer so I could get a straight shot of the officer over the body. Damn Chicago pigs. Now they come onto campus and shoot unarmed students.

Except this cop wasn’t one of the usual pigs. He was kneeling next to the body crying. I took the picture.

Like usual, I’ve raced off with what’s on my mind and left you far behind. You don’t even know who I am or why I was taking pictures of a protest with my girlfriend beside me. I guess I need to go back a few months to make sense of all this.

December 1, 1969

That was when the first draft lottery of the Vietnam War had just been held. I’d drawn number 233 and immediately burned my draft card. Then I passed out. I’d drunk an entire bottle of wine and smoked a couple of pipe loads. That’s where I was when Ronda got in from her Russian dinner study session for her final exam coming up in the morning.

Oh, I’m Nate Hart, photographer, studying art photography and photojournalism at Columbia College. I have four phenomenal girlfriends and I love each of them from the bottom of my heart. Ronda is living with me in Chicago and attending the University of Chicago. Anna is attending Rockford Business College in Rockford, Illinois. Patricia is living in Tenbrook with her daughter Toni, and driving into the city almost every weekend to be with us. And Elizabeth has been on tour as a comedienne since July, but will be back home in a few days.

There are other people, of course, but I’ll re-introduce them as the story progresses.

“Nate! Nate! Are you okay? What happened?” Ronda screamed as she shook me.

“Mmm. You look delicious. Come here and let me eat you.”

“Nate! You’re drunk!” She was surprised. I’d never even gotten really tipsy before. I was only twenty.

“Oh. Yeah. You’re right,” I said.

“Why? What happened?”

“Draft lottery,” I said.

“Oh, my God! I didn’t know it was tonight. You should have told me. I would have been here with you. Oh, God! Are we leaving? Do you need me to drive tonight? If we can wait until morning, I can have Patricia and Anna here. We’ve all been ready to run since the draft board hearing. I just didn’t realize tonight was the night. My God, Nate! We need to get you sober and out of here.”

“It’s okay, hon. I’m not going to be drafted. I got number 233. I drank a lot of wine while I was waiting.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s a relief. Are you sure that’s too high to be drafted?”

“They’d actually have to declare war on all of Asia before they get to my number,” I said. “Besides, I burned my draft card.”

Ronda looked at me with her mouth wide open. We’d talked about protesting on different occasions, but it had always been in terms of making a public statement. I’d burn it during a protest in Washington, or in Mayor Daley’s office, or in front of the draft board office in Huntertown. Now that I thought about it, burning it in private was pretty stupid. Who would ever know? In two years, no one had ever even asked to see it.

“Um ... They’re not supposed to draft felons. So, if I get called, I’ll confess.”

“Nate, you’re an idiot. But I love you anyway. Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad it’s all over. Come to the bathroom and take a shower with me and then make love to me. I love you so much. And I still should have been here with you. Patricia and Anna and Elizabeth should all have been here with you. What kind of family are we that lets our husband face that kind of thing alone? I should have gotten drunk with you.”

“Oh, Honey, I only got one bottle of wine. We could only have gotten half drunk together,” I laughed.

I thought that was pretty clever, but Ronda groaned and pushed me toward the bathroom. I guess I did stink. A shower was just what I needed.

I remember being in the shower and just touching Ronda as much as I could. She’d once called boys like that ‘octopuses’ and I guess I qualified. But damn! Her boobs are the most perfect in the world. She got me clean and my teeth brushed, and never once tried to stop me touching her. Unfortunately, when we got to bed, I passed out again.

I really didn’t feel like getting up in the morning. My head hurt. Ronda gave me a cup of coffee and a kiss and told me she’d see me tonight and not to get drunk again. I decided to cut class.

About ten, I called Cassie and was told I had an appointment at one-thirty, so I’d better get in to the studio. I groaned. Another member of the Whore Corps was coming in.

The Whore Corps. What a misnomer. They just wanted to be differentiated from the God Squad. Leslie, a fashion photographer in my study group, was the only one I thought might have loose morals. And even though we’d fucked in every possible position when I did her photo, I didn’t think she was really promiscuous. Carol, the second member of the Corps who came in for a photo, was a virgin. She got pretty excited when I got her naked, but we weren’t about to go all the way. This time, it would be Sue Renton. I’d seen her and probably spoke once. I knew she was a music major and in order to be in the Whore Corps, one of her parents had to be a teacher. Other than that, nothing.

I drank another cup of coffee and forced down some ham and eggs with a piece of toast. It was better. I showered and trimmed up a little. I was going to consider getting rid of the beard. Like my peace symbol, it seemed to make me a target for Nixon’s ‘great silent majority.’ More like Lederer’s Nation of Sheep if you asked me.

Well, what did I have to worry about. I didn’t even have a draft card anymore.

I met Sue Renton at the studio at one-thirty and had to admit that she was very pretty. She carried a violin case and I thought of the way we’d worked with the Las Vegas model who carried a recorder. I’d love to have a whole collection of beautiful nude musicians.

Cassie told me to call her if I needed something, but she was swamped with the month-end accounting. Leanne and Theresa were both unavailable, so I was alone in the studio with Sue. We sat on the couch to chat before we started work.

Sue wore a very professional suit that she could wear onstage in an orchestral performance. She had perfect makeup and her hair was pulled back. The suit had a white blouse and black jacket, and a long black full skirt.

“Well, I thought I’d use the opportunity to get a good professional portrait, you know?” she said. “I’ll be out on my own after spring semester and I’m circulating my resume and a reel of my music. So, I figured we could start with this outfit and a neutral background. Musician portraits are almost always with their instrument.”

“Let’s start there, then,” I said. “I think we’ll use the red backdrop. That won’t look red in the photo. We’re doing black and white. It won’t have the stark contrast to your outfit that white or light blue would have, though.”

I set up the backdrop and low stool while she got her violin and bow out. I remembered doing a shot a long time ago of a girl with her ‘fiddle.’ I wondered if there was a difference. I led Sue to the stool and we got started. I changed lighting a couple of times. It seemed the most important part of this would be to have a great picture of her face with an indication that she was holding her instrument. I adjusted the lighting a couple of times and really could have used Theresa or Leanne’s help.

“Tell me about how you feel when you are playing,” I said.

“Oh, when I’m in the orchestra, everything is focused on the music and the conductor. It all has to be perfect. A conductor and every critic in the audience will know exactly who in the orchestra struck the wrong note or held it too long. The musician is there to realize the music of the composer exactly as it is written and the conductor coordinates it.”

“It sounds very technical.”

“Yes, but that’s only the orchestra or concert. When I’m alone, I sometimes imagine my violin is my Prince Charming and I’m making love to him. I dance while I play, I sway, and I caress the strings.” She lowered her voice dramatically. “My first orgasm came while I was playing.”

“I would like to capture that,” I said. “I think we need something other than your black skirt and jacket for this. Something more fairy like.”

“Leslie said I would really be pleased if I just put myself in your hands. I was worried about that, but she said there is no fucking in the studio and you wouldn’t try to force yourself on me. If that’s all true, I’m yours to do as you please,” Sue said.

“That is a beautiful thing to say to me, Sue. I won’t abuse your trust. I find, though, that this is a two-way street. It needs to reveal your love affair with the violin. Let us say you were in your tower, waiting for your lover, your Prince to arrive. What would you be wearing?”

“Really? It would be something light and filmy so even Gervais could coax it off of me.”

“Gervais?”

“Oh. My Prince Charming. My violin is Gervais.”

“So happy to meet him. Let’s see what we can find.”

The girls had done a spectacular job of finding or building gauzy gowns, knowing my predilection for light material that would blow in a fan breeze or drape revealingly across a bosom. I selected one that I thought would work well and then looked at Sue’s professional diamond studs in her ears. I saw this as being more a setting for something dangly. We’d put in a collection of costume jewelry of all kinds. We’d even brought a few pieces back from our last trip to Stratford. I chose a pair of earrings and took her behind the privacy screen.

“Now, let’s get you changed,” I said, casually taking her jacket off and hanging it on the rack. She caught her breath at the implication that I was going to help her change her clothes, but didn’t say anything when I found the zipper of her skirt. “I’d like to do a couple of things with your accessories. Would you mind trying these earrings?”

While she leaned forward to remove her studs and fasten the new earrings, I simply reached around her and unbuttoned her blouse. As soon as her hands were free, I pulled the blouse off and hung it to join the skirt and jacket.

“Can we take your hair down a bit?” I asked. “Is it long enough for a ponytail?”

“Yes. You don’t want it just falling around my shoulders?” she asked. I removed the pins that held her tight bun.

“We might try that later, but I just love your neck. That’s why the long earrings. They accent the line of your neck. So, for a while at least, I’d like to make sure it is exposed.”

I stroked along the line of her neck on to her shoulders and she breathed deeply. I got the ponytail fastened and used the opportunity to simply unfasten her bra. She looked surprised to find her bra in her lap and her breasts exposed. They were lovely! The weight created just a slight crease beneath each breast, but I was pretty sure they’d pass the pencil test. Her rosy nipples were hard and the areolae just as big as a half dollar. I hung the bra with her other things and gathered the gown to carefully guide over her head.

“I think we need to take the pantyhose and shoes, too,” I said as the gown reached her waist. I simply hooked the waistband with my thumbs and guided them on down her legs as the gown fell to full length. I knelt and removed her shoes and took the pantyhose off as well. She did not wear underwear beneath the hose, and her full bush was light enough that I didn’t think it would be distracting.

I led her back to the stage area and changed to the black backdrop. I repositioned my fill lights so that they shone through the sheer gown and highlighted her shape.

I got the camera ready and began taking pictures as I had her move in a sensual dance, holding the violin in her hand.

“Play for me now,” I said. “Make love to your Prince Gervais.”

It was beautiful. As she continued to move, I adjusted her gown, dropping it from her shoulders, then taking it off one arm as her left breast came into view. I made sure to pet it and continue to stroke her torso until I returned to the camera and took more shots. Eventually, the gown was around her waist and I guided her down to the floor. I carefully positioned her leg so the backlight would clearly show its shape. I used a high light to accent her curves and let her back fade off into the shadow. I arranged the skirts of her gown in folds around her and had her rest the violin on her leg, just lightly holding it vertical. The bow lay on her skirt. I took a shot and returned to her, reaching under to touch the sole of her foot and bring it up to tiptoe.

“Are you feeling in love?” I whispered as I returned to take another picture.

“Oh, yes,” she sighed. Her eyes drifted closed and I took the picture.

I slipped behind her and sat so she could lean against me. I undid the ponytail and fluffed her hair around her shoulder, pulling it back to kiss her neck lightly. She sighed and picked up her bow.

“The problem with having a violin as a lover is that he requires both my hands. I make him come, but I never quite get there myself until I put him away,” she whispered.

“Play him,” I answered. “I’ll be his hands.”

She played something I didn’t recognize, which was pretty easy to do with classical music. It had a lot of long slow strokes and I took that as a hint as to how she wanted to be touched. I fondled her breasts and dipped my finger in her deep navel. Then I pushed the gown off her lap so she was only sitting on it. As I stroked up her leg toward her pussy, she shifted slightly to open herself to me. I continued to caress her and kiss her shoulder and neck.

The playing became more plaintive, almost begging, and I dipped my fingers into her vagina and stroked up, dragging her lubrication around her clit. The playing almost stopped and then started again with renewed vigor, the pace picking up. I took that as my signal to pick up the pace myself. With two fingers inside her, probing for the hotspot I knew must be there, my thumb strummed her clit.

The violin reached a crescendo as a deep moan escaped her lips and her playing slowed down again. I slowly withdrew my fingers as she caught her breath, continuing to slow her playing to gentle strokes.

“Hold that position,” I whispered. “Keep playing and hold right there.”

I slipped from behind her and returned to the camera to take the final three frames on the roll.

Then I held the case for her as she gently put the violin and bow away. As soon as they were secure, I picked her up and carried her behind the privacy screen. She was not quite finished. I sat with her just to hold her and she turned to kiss me deeply. She pulled my hand back to her center and we kissed as I thrummed her clit to another orgasm. As we kissed, she managed to unfasten and unzip my jeans and open them up enough to expose my hard cock to the air.

She slid off my lap to the floor and engulfed my cock in her mouth, playing the same tune with her mouth on my cock as she had played on the violin with her hands. My explosion in her mouth was complete. I petted her hair as she rose back to my lap and I kissed her again.

“Your violin is a very lucky prince,” I whispered.

When I got home, Ronda was waiting for me with dinner. She was completely naked when she met me at the door, which was by no means an unpleasant sight. She seemed very nervous, though, and kissed me with passion that made me think she wanted to pick up where I wasn’t able to continue last night.

“Am I late?” I asked as I started shedding my coat and hat.

“No. You’re right on time,” she gasped. “I just want you naked so I can sit in your lap for a while before dinner.”

“How did your Russian final go?” I asked.

“Fine. We probably should have spent part of our study time last night writing notes to each other, but I think we probably all did pretty well. I think Russian is going to be an important language for us for a lot of years to come.”

“Better than needing to learn Vietnamese,” I laughed.

“Yes, but that’s what I want to talk about,” she said as she led me to the beanbag chair I’d passed out in the night before. Ronda had insisted we get the piece of ‘furniture’ as soon as she saw one. I had to agree it was especially nice for cuddling in.

“What about Vietnam?” I asked as she settled into my lap and kissed me again. She handed me a letter.

The fucking draft board. No wonder she was nervous after my condition last night. What did the bastards want now? She kissed me again.

“I’m with you this time. If you want to fuck before you read it, I’m ready. If you want to fuck after you’ve read it, I’m ready. But please don’t run away from me. It can’t be anything that affects us today, can it?”

“Honey, even if they tell me I’m I-A and will be subject to the draft after January 1, they’re never going to get to my number.” I tore the envelope open and read the letter aloud.

Nate Hart,

The State of Illinois Selective Service System Board has heard your appeal of the ruling of the Hunter County Selective Service System Board and has ruled in your favor. Your II-S deferment is restored as long as you continue to make satisfactory progress toward your bachelor’s degree at Columbia College by June 1, 1972. At that time, your local draft board will resume management of your case. Study hard.

Jerome Lignon, Secretary

State of Illinois Selective Service System Board.

Ronda was all over me and there was no question that we were going to have sex right damned now! Right there in the beanbag chair. That was just fine with me. Really. Ronda and sex were inseparable in my mind. She was the smallest of my girlfriends and was just unbelievable. I still couldn’t understand the circumstances that brought us together, or how we’d developed such a deep relationship that we could withstand the circumstances that threatened to tear us apart. I loved this girl!

And when my cock penetrated the folds of her sex and she began riding on top of me in that chair, I was in fucking heaven.

“The letter was dated Friday, November 28. They must have had a bunch of stuff due out before the end of the month to get them to send it on Thanksgiving Friday,” I said as I took another bite from the Chicken Kiev Ronda had prepared. I was happy she was studying Russian. This was great.

“I’m just so thankful that it’s all okay,” she sniffed. When we sat at the table, she served the food and then sat in my lap to feed me. She was dripping my come on my legs. I didn’t care.