Ukies--49. A Final Time...The End

A final time

On a nice summer’s day I was heading up to meet Octavia, a Spanish girl and my somewhat-new girlfriend, who was taking courses at Baruch College on 23^rd Street and Lexington Avenue. It still being early I decided to walk by the river. It was nice how things had changed, people’s dress had turned over to a more freer and looser look then it used to be; the girl’s weren’t so tightly-dressed with straps and garters and who the hell knew what else…

On 10^th Street, where the children's playground was, I saw a short skirted chick sitting there with a baby carriage before her. A kid was crouched in front of her in the sand as an older kid played with a fire truck next to them.

I could see at my vantage point how short her skirt was barely thigh high, and I was sure if I was seeing it from the front I’d glimpse her panty, if she was wearing any. I adored the short skirted fashions nowadays, re-woke the thrill of being young and alive, something the old weren’t doing.

I walked on, smiling to myself, thinking I’d turn around and see some pretty erotic sight as I passed her by…Oh, my God, it was Olena, wow! Olena! from school whom I haven’t seen her in a number of years.

Wow! She was still smoking a cigarette and looking bored at the kids around her. A puff of smoke came from her lips and she faintly recognized me…and her eyes were calling my name…if she remembered it. For a moment I wanted to rush to her, ask her how she has been after all the years between us but I just shrugged, shook my head, turned around and kept walking to meet Octavia…

Ukrainian school was definitely over….Thank God! And hurried off to meet my Spanish Octavia…

The End

Ukies--48. Fartso

Fartso

I had been away from the neighborhood about three years or so, spending my time going uptown or to Brooklyn or even Jersey. But being a part of NYC meant you could be away from your neighborhood just 2 or 3 blocks and it would seem like you were miles away. NYC is so teemed with people that neighborhoods become worlds; Ukrainian, Polish, Irish, Puerto Rican, and pretty soon you lost yourself between who is whom and what race can they be? But all you can do is walk…

One early Saturday morning I found myself staggering down 7th Street. As usual I had been up most of the night fooling around in the Village; the years had changed and people came and went, a friend this week meant he’d be a stranger next. That’s the way life went in NYC…

Wow! There’s the church and the school right there!

I even shivered from remembrance pretending it was the cool morning…I shrugged and turned onto the street.

Shit, I shouldn’t of…

I forgot that on this street was the Veteran’s Hall where the drum corps had gathered and this weekend was Easter Saturday. No matter how the neighborhood may have changed the old church didn’t forget what they were doing, praying to God, I suppose. So they must have kept up the old Easter tradition of staging a military Honor Guard, meaning kids dressed up in their drum corps uniforms, playing and acting like they were soldiers guarding the dead body of Christ. This was Holy Saturday and kid soldiers must be back in church.

I lowered my head and walked by the Veteran’s Hall and just as I did the Hall doors were flung open. Four boys resplendent in their uniforms and shakos on their heads holding wooden rifles at their waists eased themselves out the Hall and began a slow march to the church. I remembered this: how many little marches did I have to participate in the two days before Easter where we guarded the body of the dead Jesus? Way too many…

And after the boys out came out along came Fartso, a guy named Alexander…whatever, looking older and tired but sleepy too. I had to grin…

We looked at each other; I had long hair while his was short and out of style. I guess he must have stayed in the neighborhood, keeping up his connection the school and church. I smirked at him.

“Hey, Fartso,” I said. He immediately turned red with anger at my use of the name, something he always did through the years. It wasn’t my fault he kept up the kid’s game of farting when the girls came by even when he grew older; I wonder if that was his reaction now to girls he saw, but looking at him, too tired looking, I guess not.

“What are you doing back here?” he asked. I expected him to fart but he didn’t. “You left,” he went on. “There’s nothing for you here.”

I looked at him as he turned and followed the imitation boy-soldiers into church for their changing of the guard.

What a life? I thought, shrugged, and staggered down the street.

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Ukies--47. The Finish

The Finish

A few months after we graduated from school I heard that Olena was expecting. This was in the diner and I thought I’d be smart and said, “Expecting what?”

“Listen to this,” the guys laughed, “He don’t know what expecting is!”

After the usual ribbing and taunts they settled down.

“I wouldn’t like to get one of these girls from school,” said one guy, shaking his head. “More experience is better.”

“Yeah,” said another. “Get one who knows where to get a job and hold it!”

They’d laugh and again they started ribbing and jesting. I’d had enough. “Gotta go,” I said and walked away from their hooting and smart laughter.

I was going to go home but I kept on walking and thinking. Boy, I knew Olena’s kid wasn’t mine, I was still a virgin, but did I want it to be mine?

The lights increased and I was in the Village, near the Sheridan movie house. Would I see Olena anywhere? Fat chance, I knew. I lit a cigarette and kept on walking...Times Square was getting closer and surer…

Ukrainian days were definitely over…

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Ukies--46. Graduation

Graduation

Finally it was over. You could breathe a sigh of relief that it was finished…forever.

We had just participated in the final task of graduation that would be required of us and were quickly unbuttoning the robes to get the hell out of there, when Sister Theodosia strode into the room. The boys all fell quiet. I also froze; I had just spat out a curse word and lowered my head as I unbuttoned a stubborn button of my graduation uniform.

I heard her footsteps come across the room and stop before me. I was sure she was going to berate me a final time when I saw her fingers brace the button and ease it off. My robe was free…Wow, she had helped me! Never did that before…

I looked at her; she was red-faced and tearful. Something was coming to an end…

Many years later I would think of the books I was still to read, of Brothers Karamazov where Ivan is kissed by the Elder Zosimov. Sister Theodosia stooped down and kissed my cheek. She said nothing but looked at me as if she was going to say something…Then she turned and walked away and out of my lives…forever.

Many of the guys looked at me but they also said not a word and a few shrugged at each other.

Gratefully grade school was over…and Ukrainian days were finished for good…or so I thought…

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Ukies--45. Changes (2)

Changes-2

On the day I was supposed to meet Olena at her new meeting place along the river I did not show up. I was on upper Broadway, in Times Square, where I spent my time in the penny arcades and peep show emporiums, trying to shoot various guns and gazing at weaving strippers in the grainy films of very old peep shows at five cents a shot. But the strippers never took off that one piece of material I was longing to have removed and the machine set itself off, flashing a card that read, Drop Another Dime In, Buddy! (even thought it cost a nickle). Which I did, and got only a repeat of the doggerel short tease that went nowhere.

Back in school on Monday, a glaring Olena was very distant and uncommunicative, wouldn’t even look at me.

Big deal, I thought. Screw the bitch!

But after school she stormed her way to 2^nd Avenue, and I was right behind as I raced to catch her. I did but she glared at me.

“I was right there at 2 o’clock,” she fumed. “At 2:30 I said fuck him!” She was steaming.

“You lost it, buddy! Now beat it!”

The light changed and she stormed over to the other side of 2^nd Avenue. I watched her as she pounced down 7^th Street. I shrugged, there were but two days left in that school anyway…

“Oh, screw this shit!” I said aloud then turned and went home…At least the memory of old time peep shows in Times Square still lingered…I couldn’t wait to get home and jerk off…make up my own peep shows in my head…or imagine the real Times Square…Oh, screw Olena!

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Ukies--44. Changes (1)

Changes (1)

Near the end of the school year Olena began to be a bit tense and nervous, but over what? she wouldn’t say…One time I walked her down 7^th Street to 1^st Avenue.

“Why don’t we meet somewhere else,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Somewhere closer, you know.” She sucked on her half-smoked cigarette, threw it away, looked at me, and lit another one.

Many times I had wandered back and forth along Washington Square Park looking and hoping I’d see her, which I seldom did, and finally going in some movie house and trying to make sense of my anger and disgust.

“Why can’t we meet somewhere there?” I had suggested in the past. “Like in the park?”

She looked at me with some disappointment.

“That’s not part of the game we’re playing.” And she looked hopefully at me.

Over time I agreed to be her patsy, with what ever she had in mind for me.

That first time was easy, she seemed to be right there when I came walking by in the Village. The next time I had to walk a block out of the way but I saw her under a movie marquee about to go into the Sheridan. Still, the next time was even harder; I think I wandered all over the Village and did not see her anywhere. I went home angry as can be.

“Sure,” I said. “We can meet on the corner, in front of Mindy’s.”

But she looked at me with some frustration and anger, her lips clenching tightly; I thought she meant the corner where everyone who goes to school gathers and hangs out.

“I don’t mean there,” she finally said. “Somewhere nearby, you know…” Again she bit her lip and looked nervously at me.

“You tell me where,” I said, hoping she didn’t mean further uptown.

She studied my face again, and said, “You know the park by the river?” and she flicked her cigarette in a puddle of water. “On 10^th Street, there’s an overpass. We can meet there”

I nodded. “Yeah, sure, let’s meet there.” I felt myself growing hard as she leaned over and kissed my cheek, strangely looking very perturbed and bothered.

“But what time?” I called after her.

She turned around, lit a cigarette, and loudly answered, “Same as last time.” And she trailed off as I watched after her….

Now what the fuck did that mean? I thought, again pissed and staggering home. What fucken time?

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Ukies--43. 8th Grade

8th Grade

8th grade was the best! All the girl students had little breasts pushing out of their jumpers and the boys had bumps bulging in their pants that caused a few mishaps as the school year went by, like bumping into them and not so accidentally.

But Orest did it openly and wasn’t afraid of what the teachers thought or said. He kept his arms poised chest high as a girl approached and would reach out to get a full feel as she nervously approached him.

“They do it on purpose,” he smirked one day, after some flustered girl hurried away from getting felt up. “I just give them what they want.”

I wondered about that as I jerked off at home. I had seen that before, big breasted girls parading by Orest as he’d stand there and just reach out and have himself a nice handful. Was it so easy? It sure seemed like it…

I had my secret eyes on Lyudmyla that year, who seemed bigger then the others -- I was sure she had worn a uniform that was hers two years ago, too tight and much too short, showing off her encumbered held-in breasts with the tops of her nylons peeking out from under her too-short dress. I was hot even before I saw her each school day...What was the point of learning when there was sex everywhere you turned?

Orest had just felt up Kathia who turned red and called him a jerk as she ran off down the hall. I wasn’t too interested in Orest’s reactions because rounding the corner was Lyudmyla. I instantly grew much harder than I was from seeing Orest get a feel. My mouth drooped open as my breathing became low and shallow, almost nonexistent.

Orest had his feel, yawned, and moved down the hall but I stood awaiting Lyudmyla…She trod heavily, clomping her heels on the tiled floor, clomp, clomp, clomp . . . I stood up and stared at her breasts. She glared at me and spat out, “What’s your problem?”

I simply reached out and touched a breast. For a moment I felt the warmth and beauty emanating from the bosom and I imagined she had increased the size of her fulsome titty.

She blurted out, "You pervert!" She turned and and hit me on the face. "You're sick, I swear!"

Later that day in class I was scared she would tell the Sister Emilia what I just did but she was silent. Sister Emilia said nothing about my puffed face… I saw Orest yawning again…After school I hurried home, holding my face, and jerked off…At least that felt good…

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