Judy’s Late Coming of Age by gunhilltrain

Judy’s Late Coming of Age by gunhilltrain

Dive into "Judy's Late Coming of Age," a captivating adult story that explores self-discovery, passion, and the thrilling journey of embracing one's desires. Join Judy as she navigates the complexities of love and intimacy, revealing the beauty of blossoming later in life. Perfect for readers seeking an evocative and empowering narrative.<br/> I intend to publish a few stories that cover Paul D’Amato’s life at City College between his first meeting with Michelle Hanley (My Year with Michelle Ch. 01) in October 1974 and her break-up with him just over a year later. I wrote some of this a while ago and never used it.

I thought it best to cover that period fairly succinctly with descriptions of a few major events. The story below is told from the point of view of Judy Weinberg, a woman he meets during that period. In effect, it is also a sequel to A Hot Day in December. The character of Andrea in that has been written out of this timeline.

Nora is in a number of series including My Summer with Nora.

*****

Over the course of a number of months in 1975, I went from being a virginal girl to a sexually experienced woman. It occurred in a manner that I had not expected. The first thing that happened, in the fall of 1974, was that my best friend Michelle Hanley acquired a boyfriend. They met at random in the Finley snack bar, although he was already looking for someone to replace his previous girlfriend. Probably because I was alone without anyone of my own, I developed a serious crush on that guy.

I knew that it was wrong, but then he and I wound up seducing each other. I was also the secret admirer of my female friend, and eventually, we had some threesomes together. That was an unstable situation, of course, and by the end of the year, all three of us had moved on. But it was certainly a lot of fun, although a bit melodramatic, while it lasted.

****

I was not the kind of woman who got a lot of male attention. In fact, by the time I was a sophomore at the City College in New York, I had gotten none at all.

We live in a society that puts a lot of emphasis on conventional good looks, and I had trouble accepting that I didn’t fit the required standards. Maybe much of it was in my own mind, but I let other people define who I was based on my appearance.

Maybe they thought that, if I wasn’t fashionably slender, I didn’t have sexual desires as strong as anyone else. Or if I did have such interests, there was something unseemly about them. It took me a while for me to realize what a hot lady I really was. What I needed was somebody who could appreciate those aspects of myself.

I’m about five-foot-two, and if you like women with round — call it zaftig — bodies then I’m the girl for you! I’m not slim, but I’ve got nice ample tits, backside, and thighs. My hair is reddish-brown and not always so easy to manage. I also have steel-rimmed glasses which I bought to replace the black-rimmed ones I used to own.

Since my earliest weeks at City College in the fall of 1973, my best friend was Michelle, a girl my age. Unlike me, she was tall and slender, and her shoulder-length hair was thick and dark, almost black.

She was from Bayside in Queens, which was quite far out in the eastern part of the borough. However, she was an ambitious sort, and within six months she had her own apartment in Long Island City, much closer to the school. In another six months, she had a used car, which she often used for commuting. She managed to go to school full-time and still make good money at a typesetting firm in Manhattan.

I lived with my parents on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a twenty-minute subway ride to CCNY. It wasn’t easy to get my financial act together, and I remained there for several years.

Like me, Michelle wore steel-rimmed glasses; unlike me, she had been with three boyfriends when the new year of 1975 rolled in. She seemed to have done well with the most recent one, a guy named Paul D’Amato who was also a sophomore.

Although he wasn’t the tallest guy around, I still noticed and coveted him. I especially liked his dark hair and eyes. I knew I shouldn’t yearn for another woman’s guy. But at times I was together with both of them and my infatuation grew. In my imagination, I started to see him as a likely prospect for myself too.

I thought, it will only be temporary, a way for a while to deal with my loneliness and the sexual desires I hadn’t yet fulfilled. Better that than to remain a virgin for another year waiting for someone else suitable to show up.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but I started to imagine myself as his “side girl,” his lover while he continued to have his main affair with my friend. To make things more complicated, I also had strong Sapphic desires for her too. I began to have vivid masturbatory visions about being in a threesome with Paul and Michelle. At other times I imagined being with only one or the other.

Hey, it’s the 1970s; everybody else is doing whatever they want, so how about me too? I convinced myself that I deserved my share of The Sexual Revolution. On one level I was an ordinary middle-class New York college student. At another level, I felt like my physical desires had become an obsession.

Since I was a bit naïve, I thought that there was something wrong with me because I masturbated so much. Wasn’t that normal for guys but not for girls? Whatever I had learned once in my health-ed classes was not particularly helpful. I would even whack off during the day in one of the school’s ladies’ rooms. It took a while to get over my guilty feelings and accept how strong female sexuality can be.

In my mind, I also wanted to be a wild lady who didn’t always wear underwear. To try out my reverie of being sexually liberated, I experimented with wearing skirts and dresses without any panties underneath.

Even in cold weather, forgoing the wearing of drawers gave me a sense of my power. My pussy would tingle and get wet when I felt my thighs rubbing together as I walked.

In the winter, I’d often have thigh-high wool stockings and a petticoat for warmth under my skirt or dress, but otherwise, there might be nothing between the ground and my genitals except cold air. As the weather got warmer, I switched to thigh-high nylon stockings

I liked the feeling all that gave to me, but I usually kept a pair of drawers in my bag in case I needed them. Yet I spent some time in public bare under my otherwise modest clothes.

If I did wear underwear, I had bought lacey or see-through drawers for myself. Nobody knew what I was wearing except me, but I got a sense of my potential from having that sexy stuff on.

And then, for some months in mid-1975, somehow all of my yearnings about my friend and her lover came true. Then, by the end of that year, both Michelle and I had moved on to other people. We needed our own boyfriends, not the sharing of just one. Poor Paul endured a dry spell for the next six months, but that was the way life went at times.

Sometimes I wonder why Michelle let me get away with those shenanigans involving her boyfriend. She was a more complicated person than one might expect from her low-key personality.

The first factor was that she was genuinely glad that I finally had my cherry broken (“deflowered” sounds so, well, flowery) by someone we both knew would treat me well. The second was that she was sexually interested in me too, and my affair with Paul gave her an excuse to go forward with her own approach to me.

Also, Michelle wanted to get away from the responsibilities of her life to do something wild for a few months. Finally, I think she always knew that Paul was more or less temporary until a bigger, better deal came along. With Nora the previous year, he only lasted four months; with Michelle, it was just over twelve.

Maybe I was the only woman Michelle would let get away with all that. In any case, I learned a lot about how life works during that eventful time.

****

When he had started going with Michelle in October 1974, Paul invited her to join him on the staff of one of the five student newspapers. That one was called The Salient, and it had a reputation, somewhat overstated, for being the “countercultural” publication on campus.

During the spring semester of 1974, they peaked in the amount of controversial — i.e., pornographic — material they published. By the time Michelle landed there, the natural turnover rate of any college institution had resulted in a somewhat less dramatic publication. Some of the biggest proponents of the “weird era,” as it was called, simply graduated.

Michelle spent time in their office on the third floor of the student center, Finley Hall, often writing articles or calling people on the phone. I would go there when I wished to meet her or just hang out. It was there that I met Paul. He had already been on the staff for nearly a year starting when he was a freshman.

One afternoon in early March 1975, I was in Finley and I made a spur-of-the-moment trip upstairs to see if Michelle was there. She wasn’t, but Paul was.

We chatted for a few minutes, mostly gossip about the paper and then he said, “Let’s go downstairs to the cafe and we can talk some more. It’s a lot better than that terrible snack bar and we don’t even have to leave the building.”

I grasped — or maybe just hoped — that he had noticed me too. But it was the first date of any kind that I had ever had, and I readily agreed. Arguably I should have played a bit harder to get, but I couldn’t contain the bubbly feeling I had about our little meeting. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

Maybe it wasn’t so little, because we spent an hour talking while downstairs. Some of the conversation was about his previous girlfriend, Nora, whom he had also invited to join the paper. They had broken up in October but she had stubbornly stayed on as a staff member. I had seen her a few times in the office, but she had never said much to me.

My curiosity got to me. “So what is Nora like? You should know.”

Perhaps I had been a bit rude. Talking about someone’s ex was not a good move, and I didn’t even know how long they had been together. He seemed reluctant to answer, for a couple of reasons I found out later. He replied, “I guess she’s not that different from the other 4,000 women around here.” Well, she was different, but he wasn’t going to talk about that.