Chapter 2: A Concert

Eve waited impatiently for Roger to call, but when a week had gone by without a word, she gave up hope. She even stayed home most of the next weekend for fear of missing his call. In desperation she tried to find his name in the phone book but without success. Either he didn’t live in Manhattan, which was likely enough, or his phone was unlisted. She wished she had asked him for his number. Then again if a man was interested in a girl he would call her, and if not there was little use in having his number. But why should she be surprised anyway? There was nothing special about her. To him she was just another chick from the Village. He probably thought she was a lousy lay like everyone else. She had had her little adventure, it was great and she should be satisfied with that. There was no point in torturing herself. And with that she decided to put him out of her mind.

Next Friday afternoon Eve was standing by the register in the bookstore where she worked when the phone rang.

“Hello, is Eve Sloan there?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Hi, I thought I recognized your voice. This is Roger, Roger Nettles. We met in the gallery a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

“Uh, maybe.”

“I have tickets for a concert tonight, at the Metropolitan Museum. The Juilliard String Quartet. When I was at your apartment I took a glance at your record collection, and I thought you might be interested.”

“Uh ...What time does it start?”

“Eight o’clock. What time do you get off?”

“Seven.”

“I can pick you up at the store. So how ‘bout it?”

“Um ... Okay.”

“Just look for a black limousine in front. I have the address. So I’ll see you at seven.”

“Okay.” Then he hung up.

Eve stared for several seconds into space until she was roused out of her revery by a customer. For the rest of the day she went about in a state of nervous agitation. Calm down she told herself, he’s just a man, great in bed, but let’s not make too much of it. It’s way too early to be caring this much. No doubt all he wants is the one thing. But then that’s what she wanted too.

A few minutes after seven she was standing in front of the store when a black limousine pulled up and stopped. She stepped down to the street and walked towards it as the rear door opened and a man stepped out. It was Roger wearing an expensive looking dark gray suit of conservative cut. He greeted her with a light kiss; as he did she was struck by the smell of his freshly-pressed wool suit which she found oddly arousing. She wasn’t used to being kissed by men in expensive wool suits. He went in the car and she followed him.

“You look nice,” he said as they got under way.

“Thanks.” Rather by chance she was better dressed than usual. She had been planning to go to a party after work, hoping to meet some guy, maybe even get laid afterwards. She wore a pink sweater blouse, a long black floral print skirt and a pair of stylish brown lace-up boots, one of her rare expensive clothing purchases. She never wore a bra and the outline of her nipples showed through the tight blouse. Undoubtedly he noticed it and the thought pleased her. She looked forward to feeling his hands on them.

There was a picnic basket on the seat between them. “We won’t have time to stop at a restaurant so I brought some sandwiches. I figured you might be hungry. There’s tuna, egg salad, turkey and roast beef. And drinks.” She took out a tuna fish sandwich and a bottle of Seven-Up and began eating. He smiled as he watched her eat. This time she decided to be more talkative.

“So what do you do?” she asked.

“So now you’re interested!” he replied, laughing. “You weren’t very interested last Sunday.”

Eve shrugged. She didn’t care to explain her strange motivations.

“Well, I help companies raise money.”

“Raise money for what?”

“To expand their operations. To go into new lines. I also help to start completely new businesses. Funding people who have ideas.”

“What kind of ideas?”

“Oh, computers for example. As we get older we’ll find them playing a bigger and bigger part in our lives. The chips that power them are getting more and more powerful. In twenty years I predict everyone will own their own computer.”

Eve couldn’t understand why she would want to own a computer, but she merely responded politely, “It must be very interesting work.”

“I suspect you really think it’s boring, but yes, I find it very interesting.”

She started smiling as if remembering some private joke.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Oh, I’m thinking about my first boyfriend, the one who took me to New York. He wouldn’t have thought much of what you do. He would have called you a capitalist exploiter.”

“Uh huh, and what did he do?”

“He was an organizer. You know, kind of a radical.”

“And do you think like he did?”

“I’m not really very political. Of course I was against the War and stuff like that.”

Roger took a moment to consider that, then said, “Well your friend may have had very good intentions but he sounds very ignorant. Look around you, at the city, at all the buildings, the concert halls and museums, the places where people live. Someone had to build all that. People like me.”

“I guess so.”

“So what do you do?”

“Well, I work in a bookstore. Of course you know that. And I like to go to galleries. You know that too. And I do other things.” He said nothing, and then she added, “I write poetry.”

“That’s interesting. Ever try to get it published?”

“No ... It’s not really that good.”

“Why do you do it then?”

“I don’t know. Self-expression, I guess. Why does one do anything?”

“People should do things they’re good at.”

“Maybe I’m not good at anything.”

“If you believe that it might as well be true.”

Eve didn’t care for the turn the conversation was taking and decided to change the subject. “Was it hard getting tickets at short notice?”

“I have tickets for the whole series. I don’t always have time to go.”

Eve wondered if he had another date who had cancelled on him at the last minute. She harbored the unflattering suspicion that his calling her had been merely an afterthought. The nearly two weeks it had taken him to call did not suggest any great passion on his part. She wondered what would happen after the concert. Would he take her back to her apartment and come inside? Perhaps he would simply send her home in the limousine and she would never see him again. Or maybe he would take her to his place. She wondered where he lived—in New Jersey perhaps? Would he take her all the way there?

“Do you go to other concerts?” she asked.

“Of course. I have season tickets to the Philharmonic. Also the Metropolitan Opera and the New York City Ballet.”

“You can’t go to all of them at once!”

“No, of course not. Buying season tickets helps the institutions. I can give tickets away to friends and clients. And I can always go to a particular event when I want to.”

“You must be rich to be able to afford all those tickets.”

“Yes, I am rich,” he said matter of factly.

She had finished her sandwich now, thought of having another but decided to pass.

“Could we have gone to one of those other places tonight?”

“Why, would you have liked to?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know what’s playing there.”

“Well, maybe some time I’ll take you to one of those places. If you’re a good girl,” he said teasingly.

“I don’t only like classical.”

“I know, I saw your record collection.”

“Do you like jazz?”

“Sometimes.”

“I saw Woodie Shaw at the Village Vanguard last week, it was great.”

After a while the conversation petered out and they rode silently for the rest of the way. Eve was conscious of a gulf between them, even apart from the difference in their ages, and despite some overlap of tastes. But she wasn’t looking for a “relationship,” at least not of the conventional kind. She still sought something exotic and passionate and romantic, and the differences in age and taste and temperament and economic circumstances were all grist to her mill. Above all she wanted sex, passionate and even violent sex. She looked forward to his lying on top of her, to feeling his strong hands squeezing her breasts, his powerful arms holding down her weak ones, his huge cock penetrating her and filling her emptiness.

A few minutes before eight they were seated in the museum auditorium. Eve examined the program. There were quartets by Haydn, Brahms (the B flat) and Janacek. Her meager classical record collection, which he said he had examined, included one piece by Brahms, his third Symphony, and a string quartet by Beethoven which she didn’t understand. It had provided him with an excuse for calling her. At least she hoped it was a pretext. The four musicians appeared on stage, and to a round of applause took their seats and commenced to play.

On the whole, the music did not greatly appeal to her, her taste in the classics being more narrow than Roger may have supposed. She found the Haydn dry and trivial, the Janacek turgid and a bit arid. The Brahms she liked somewhat better, but the only thing that really aroused her enthusiasm was the third movement, a lyrical haunting piece, passionate and melancholy and full of yearning, the kind of sad music that touched her deeply, and brought tears to her eyes. When the concert was over, as the final round of applause died away, Eve quickly turned to Roger to ask him how he liked the concert, having anticipated that he would ask her opinion, and wanting to deprive him of the opportunity of ingratiating himself with her. He said it was good, and that the Juilliard seemed in fine form. She responded by telling him with a self-satisfied air that she didn’t much care for it.

“I know, I could tell by your reaction,” he replied.

Eve felt the wind go out of her sails a little.

“You did like one piece though. The third movement of the Brahms. That seemed to move you.”

Eve was taken aback. He had been listening to and enjoying the music, yet he had also found time to notice her reactions and read her emotions. She didn’t altogether like having someone see into her mind like that. He was remarkably observant, you had to say that for him. Evidently there was a lot more to this rich businessman than appeared on the surface.

After Eve had made a brief stop at the lady’s room they left the museum. As they walked down the wide concrete steps onto the street, Eve wondered if they would find the limousine waiting for them. Instead he turned to her and said “My apartment’s a few blocks north.” He turned in that direction, taking her arm and gently pulling her with him. He didn’t ask her if she wanted to come, but simply took it for granted that she would. She made no objection. It was a fine spring night and she welcomed the walk. They walked north three blocks, then crossed Fifth Avenue and again turned north until they came to a building with a green canopy extending over the street, where he turned towards the door. So he’s one of those people who live in those fancy apartment buildings overlooking Fifth Avenue, she thought. He really must be rich. The door opened and Roger exchanged greetings with the doorman, then took her down the marble floor to the elevator.

His apartment was on the twelfth floor. Inside he led her quickly through the foyer and the living room into his bedroom. It was large and luxurious with plush carpeting, antique wood furniture and framed pictures on the walls. Dominating the room was a king-sized four poster bed with a bench at the foot. A full length standing mirror stood opposite to it against the wall. Roger glanced at his watch and said, “I have an important call I have to make. It will take a few minutes. While you’re waiting, you can undress.” He smiled at her, then went out and closed the door.

Eve sat down on the edge of the bed. She felt disconcerted. She didn’t like being asked to wait while he made a phone call. Maybe he had a good reason for that, but she also didn’t like the offhand way he told her to undress. True, they had already been intimate. That occasion, with its beginning in a chance encounter in a gallery and ending with their making love in her tiny tenement apartment, had been romantic. But sitting here now in a rich man’s apartment, in this fancy bedroom and being told to undress while she waited for him, made her feel like—well, like a call girl! She had an urge to leave. Really she should leave. But she didn’t want to leave. All right then, she would just sit there. If he wants to see her undressed let him do it himself! She liked it when a man undressed her.

But as she continued to wait her resolution began to falter. She glanced at her watch and saw that nearly ten minutes had elapsed. She began to feel angry and humiliated and again she wanted to leave. Yet she had waited so long and so eagerly for him to call, and felt a deep hunger inside her. Anger was replaced by longing; she felt lonely and needy and began to fear displeasing him. Impulsively she pulled off her blouse, sat still for a minute, then bent over to unlace her boots. Again she paused; then resolved at last she pulled off her boots and rose to remove her skirt and panties, letting them drop to the floor. She sat down again to take off her stockings, then decided against it. Gathering up her clothes in one hand and her boots in the other she placed the clothes on top of the bench and the boots underneath it. Then she went over to the mirror to look at herself. She felt sexy standing there naked except for her long blue stockings.

Suddenly the door opened and Roger stepped in. She was startled, as well as embarrassed at being caught posing in the mirror. She turned to look at him—he had discarded his jacket, tie and shirt and his powerful arms and shoulders showed around his tank undershirt. She felt weak in the knees as she watched him advance to a point halfway between the door and the bed where he stopped and looked at her. Then speaking with that slightly peremptory tone she had first heard him use in the gallery he said, “Come here.” He had a commanding presence; there was something about him that compelled obedience. She liked take charge guys—Paul and Patrick had been like that, Paul in particular having the quality of a leader of men, was one in fact. But Roger exuded a power that dwarfed theirs, that made his predecessors seem like smaller, lesser men. Nervously she approached, and watched him unzip his fly and take out his erect penis. She stopped a few inches in front of him and stared at it, mesmerized. It seemed even bigger than she remembered it and then she recalled that she hadn’t actually seen it, only felt it inside her.

She looked up and saw he was smiling. “Would you care to suck on it a bit?” he asked. He might have been offering a child a piece of candy.

“Okay,” she said. She sank to her knees, helped by the gentle pressure of his hands on her shoulders. She reached out her hand but he said, “No, just use your mouth.” So she opened her mouth and let him enter it. He entered deep into her mouth so that she almost gagged. He grabbed her hair in the back and pulled it the way you might pull the reins of a horse, forcing her to work her mouth and her tongue energetically over his swelling member. Her jaw began to feel sore from holding her mouth open.

Abruptly he told her to stop. He let go her hair and she withdrew her mouth.

“Get up and lie down on the bed,” he told her.

She hurried to comply, climbing on the bed and spreading her legs wide. He watched and nodded his head as if pleased at her alacrity in obeying his orders. It sent a thrill of pleasure through her and she eagerly awaited his next order so she could earn more signs of his approval. Her pussy tingled as approached the bed. He bent over her and asked, “Have you ever been tied up before?”

Startled, she quickly shook her head no. “Put your arms back,” he said, adding soothingly, “Don’t be afraid.” Her heart beat rapidly as she stretched out her arms behind her while watching him open the drawer of the end table and pull out a small length of thin nylon rope which he used to attach her left wrist to the bedpost. He took another piece and tied her left ankle to the rear post, then going around to the other side did the same with her right wrist and ankle. After that she saw him walk over to the closet and start to undress.

As she waited for him she glanced at her open crotch. Spreading her legs had been an invitation, advertising her availability, and now the offer could no longer be withdrawn, the ropes around her ankles depriving her of the ability to deny him entrance. He could now ravish her at will, a thought that excited her. She heard his footsteps and turned to look at him. He was naked, looking like a Greek god. By now she was so wet inside she thought she would dissolve into a puddle. Quickly he climbed on top of her and penetrated her. Once again she gasped at his bigness. She found it terribly exciting being fucked while tied up like this. Paradoxically it seemed to free her, freed her to accept her natural passivity for which she no longer bore the responsibility. He also no longer had to use his own hands to hold her down so they were free now to massage her breasts; his strong hands caressed them, squeezed them, kneaded them, his thumbs rubbing her hardened nipples. He bent over to kiss her. With the taste of his cock still fresh in her mouth she hungrily greeted his tongue and his lips, enjoying their sweetness. When he raised his head again she opened her eyes, saw the pleasure and passion in his face and rejoiced—he didn’t think she was a lousy lay. She was just like he wanted her to be.

She came very quickly, and as he was inside her a long time she climaxed several more times. When he finally finished she was utterly spent. He quickly undid the ties around her wrists, freeing her to embrace him while he planted gentle kisses on her face and neck. He climbed off the bed and freed her ankles then lay down on the bed beside her. She turned over to fall on his chest and he rewarded her by holding her tightly in his arms. She lay there blissfully, listening to his breathing, feeling the up and down movement of his powerful chest, inhaling his masculine odor. He allowed her to enjoy this for several minutes, then abruptly said it was time to go.

“Can’t I stay the night?” she asked plaintively.

“No, not yet. Maybe next time. I’ll call you a cab.”

The promise of future privileges somewhat assuaged her present disappointment. When the doorman called from downstairs to say the taxi was ready, he took her in his arms and kissed her once more.

“When will I see you again?” she asked.

“I’m busy all next week, but next Saturday is open. I’ll call you”.

Eight days seemed an awfully long time to wait, but at least there was now the certainty that her wait would not be in vain. She rode home, feeling her life was just beginning.