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This material is copyright, 2004, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission. If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to me at anon584c@nyx.net. All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. |
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Ethel 1921
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"What did he want with a horn?" Ma asked. "Dodge cars don't need them. They have 'Dodge, Brothers' written clearly on the front." "Oh, Nellie," Pa said, but -- at least -- he dropped the story. Ethel couldn't decide which was worse, Ma's jokes or Pa's stories. Pa was fascinated by anything mechanical, which was fine when something went wrong with your typewriter. Unfortunately, he thought his family shared the fascination. Ethel didn't. She returned to work after dinner. Mr. Warren, the lawyer for whom she worked, ate lunch at noon and dinner in the evening. The Grangers ate dinner at noon. And Mr. Warren was older than Pa. He'd been born in the nineteenth century, but -- unlike her parents -- he'd was aware that he was living in 1921 now. She took the long way home from work to pass by the railroad depot. They sold the New York Times there, and Ethel would see if anyone was advertising for an office worker. She wanted to work in the city. Some of the advertisements only had telephone numbers. She wrote to several which gave addresses, and two responded. "I'll write you a recommendation," said Mr. Warren, "but I'm disappointed. I'd hoped to keep you as an employee." Ma's disapproval when Ethel told her that she was going into the city for interviews was much stronger. "All that way? You have a job here." "Ma, I want to work in the city." She wanted to live in the city, too. "But it's so far from home," Ma said. Ethel thought that was the greatest advantage. "Rochester is a city." "Rochester," said Paulie, "is a one-horse burg." He looked jealous that she was escaping, but he wasn't standing in her way. "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever shoveled out stalls in the borse-car barns," Pa said. Even Rochester had outgrown horse cars. Ethel was glad that none of her friends had heard that joke. Horse droppings weren't funny, and only farmers (and Pa) thought they were. Ethel had been saving money, and she bought her ticket to Manhattan whatever Ma thought. She stayed at the YWCA residence, and bought another paper. She could try for other interviews while she was in the city. It was a good thing she'd made that plan. Neither place where she'd scheduled an interview looked like they would take her. Empire Insurance Agency, on the other hand, had two openings for women who could type and file. "Our business is expanding," Mr. Lucas told her, "and Miss Davis isn't the first girl to quit to get married." Ethel was surprised when he offered her the job. Most of the women she'd be working with looked prettier and more smartly dressed. Rose, the friendliest of her new fellow workers, helped her find a room in a rooming house. Rose told her a little that Mr. Lucas hadn't. Mary Davis had left to get married, but two other girls had left since then. "You are more than pretty enough," Rose said when she expressed her anxieties. "Being more smartly dressed than women are in Rochester isn't all that hard. I'll show you around the department stores after you get your second pay." She went back home the first weekend. Empire Insurance, like many businesses in Manhattan, only worked a half day on Saturday. She returned with a trunk containing all the clothes she felt she could wear in Manhattan. The weather turned hotter, and she and Ruth -- who lived across the hall -- agreed to keep their doors open while they were inside for cross-ventilation. The work was demanding for the first two weeks, and then became deadly dull. The salesmen were fresh by Rochester standards, but she learned to laugh with them. After a few barbed comments from her, they began to treat her with a little respect. The pay was by check, rather than in cash. She signed it over to Mrs. O'Malley, the rooming house owner. It more than paid her rent, and Mrs. O'Malley gave her the rest back in cash. Her rooming house didn't permit men on the premises, which she made a point of telling her mother. Henry Schwartz, who had always treated her more respectfully than the other salesmen had, asked her out to dinner one evening. She felt quite the sophisticate eating "dinner" an hour after her family ate "supper." Henry was polite and entertaining during dinner and while walking her back. "Mrs. O'Malley doesn't allow men inside," she said when they got to the rooming house door. "I know," said Henry. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her. She was a modern girl; she'd been kissed before. But not on a first date. She mentioned that to Rose the next day when they were where they couldn't be overheard. "Well, if a man buys you dinner, he's entitled to a good-night kiss." "Not in Rochester," Ethel said decisively. Then she reconsidered. Boys didn't buy girls dinner in Rochester -- not until they were serious about each other. Most relationships were ready for a little discreet kissing before the boy bought the girl an ice cream. But Rose wasn't listening for her second thoughts. "This isn't Rochester." And, Ethel realized, she wasn't a girl any more. In New York, she was a woman. Rose could tell her how a woman behaved in New York. When she got her second paycheck, she took it around to a bank to establish an account. The next day, Mr. Lucas asked her out to dinner. He drove her to the restaurant from work in his REO. The restaurant was nicer than the one Henry had taken her to, and the waiter greeted Mr. Lucas by name. After he had ordered for them both, Mr. Lucas asked her, "Is the work what you expected?" "I don't know that I was expecting anything. The people in the office are pleasant. My last job, my first out of high school, was working for an attorney in solo practice." "Enjoying the difference?" "Enjoying being in New York. I will say that I did more typing for Mr. Warren, and less filing." "Well, insurance sales involves a huge amount of filing. You realize that the company keeps as many records as we do. So do the customers, if they are sensible -- not that most of them are. Anyway, I don't have much typing to do which doesn't involve taking dictation." "I know Gregg. I took it in school." "Maybe I'll test you out. Enjoying the work otherwise?" "The work is fine. I'm really enjoying being in New York." "There is nowhere else to be. What do you think of the meal?" "It's delicious." And, if not up to her ma's best, it was. "Too bad we can't have some wine with it, but this place won't serve it." "This place? Isn't it illegal?" "All sorts of things are illegal." They talked of many things until their food was finished. He drove her home and stopped on the street. When he got out of the auto to help her down from her side, she knew that a New York girl accepted a kiss from the man who had bought her dinner. He held her head while he kissed her, and then he helped her up the stoop to the outside door. She took a stenography pad to work on Monday, just in case. Mr. Lucas called her in to take a letter. When she had typed it up, he marked all over the letter to show her how to do it over. He marked the second draft much less and actually signed the third one. "Oh, Rose," she whimpered, "I so wanted to be a typist. Now, he'll never dictate a letter to me again." "Nonsense," she replied. "He wants his correspondence to look a certain way, and he's showing you how to do that. He wouldn't take the time if he didn't expect to dictate more letters to you." Those words were consolation; Rose's help shopping that night was more consolation. She came to work Tuesday looking more like a New Yorker and less like a hick. Sure enough, Mr. Lucas dictated another letter. She took extra care with it, and shook nervously while she handed it back to him. He glanced at it perfunctorily before signing it. "Don't put it in the envelope yet," he instructed. "Leave plenty of time for the ink to dry." She did as she was told, stopping on her way to lunch to mail the letter in the lobby. Wednesday, he dictated a large number of letters in the afternoon. She brought most of them to him for signing a half hour before quitting time. "Did you finish them all?" he asked when she knocked on the door of his private office. "No sir. But I thought you would like to sign these now. I'll have the rest ready for you in the morning." After finishing the letters Thursday morning, she went back to filing. He didn't seem to have more dictation for her until late afternoon on Friday. "This is a personal letter," he said when she'd brought her notebook in answer to his summons. "Close the door." She did, and went to sit on the chair at the side of his desk. "I don't think I can get this done tonight," she said. "That's a shame, because I need an answer tonight." Did he intend to send a wire? It was too late to have the letter even delivered tonight. She poised her pencil over the pad, however, and waited for his dictation. "Miss Ethel Granger," he began. Her pencil was taking the notes without any participation from her mind. "Empire Insurance Agency. Would you do me the honor of joining me for a late lunch tomorrow, Saturday August twelfth. Very sincerely yours, Joseph Lucas. Now, do you think we might receive a reply?" "Yessir." "And what would the reply be?" "I'd be honored." She wore what she thought was the best of her new outfits to the office the next day. Mr. Lucas drove them across a bridge to Long Island and out into the country. They ate in the dining room of an inn. Ethel felt terribly daring sipping the wine Mr. Lucas ordered. Not only was it illegal, but her parents were Methodist. She'd never seen anyone take a drink in her house growing up. They talked briefly about the office. "You've enjoyed the typing, then?" "Yes, Mr. Lucas. I hope that I've dealt with the letters to your satisfaction." "'Joseph,' please. You do a great job." Soon, though the conversation turned to his private life. Ethel didn't think she should hear about this, but it wasn't her place to stop Mr. Lucas. Apparently, he was unhappy in his marriage. His wife -- "Could you believe that we had a romance once? We were young and gay and in love, and we expressed our love for each other" -- seemed to be only interested in the children and the house these days. "And in spending money. Oh, she can be contemptuous about the agency with which I make that money; but spending it -- that part interests her." He ate slowly and talked a good deal. Her ma would have called it dawdling over the meal. He topped up her glass twice, though it wasn't half finished either time. The wine tasted sweet, and the more she drank, the more she liked it. When he had ordered dessert, he filled her glass once again and then his. "There's an inch left," he said. "Drink a little, and I'll fill your glass again. We don't want to leave any, do we?" Well, she'd been trained to clean her plate. She drank half the glass. He poured the rest of the bottle into it. The dessert was apple pie with ice cream. It tasted delicious; but when she'd eaten it and finished the glass of wine, she was quite full. There were houses and other businesses around the inn, but much of the drive back was through empty farm country. Mr. Lucas turned off the paved road onto a rutted dirt road that ran under some trees. When he'd stopped the car, he turned to her. "This has been a marvelous afternoon. Thank you for coming with me." "Thank you for taking me." He took her in his arms and kissed her. Well, New York girls kissed a man who'd taken her out to eat. His hand on her breast was a new experience, but -- once she got over her surprise -- an exciting one. The kiss went on and on; her excitement grew. Finally, the engine died; and Mr. Lucas had to get down to crank it. They drove back to the city. When he'd stopped in front of her boarding house, he helped her down and kissed her lightly outside the door. For the next week, she took more than half the letters Mr. Lucas dictated. Much of her time was spent at the typewriter or in Mr. Lucas's office. Sometimes, after the dictation, he would complain more about his wife. That Friday, he issued another invitation for lunch the next day. "Do you want to cancel, sir?" she asked Saturday. "It looks like a rainstorm is coming." "I have the REO closed up. We won't get drenched. Didn't you bring a raincoat?" So she had. Still, people didn't go driving in the rain, though it would keep down the dust. It did rain before they got to the inn. She got out at the door and waited for him while he parked the car. She was quite content to dawdle over this meal, watching the rain through a window. This time the wine was champagne, and it came in a larger bottle. She sneezed after her first sip. Mr. Lucas seemed to enjoy the faces she made trying to keep the bubbles out of her nose. He kept urging her to drink it. Despite the weather, they chattered happily. She was finally getting used to being with Mr. Lucas. The rain was worse at the end of the meal than it had been at the beginning. "We can't go out in this," said Mr. Lucas. "Will they mind if we wait here, Mr Lucas?" The dining room, which had never been full during their meal, was nearly empty now. "'Joseph, please.' They need to rearrange the room for dinner. I have the solution." He asked the waiter for a bottle of tonic water, and then paid the bill. When she got back from the ladies' room he hadn't returned yet. He came up to her from another direction dangling a key. "Come with me." She couldn't make an objection with the elevator operator hearing everything they said, but she did worry. She'd never stayed in a hotel. Certainly, nobody she knew took a hotel room because rain had delayed their trip. She tried to express this while Mr. Lucas was fitting the key into the lock. "Too late to worry about that. I've paid for the room. Come on in and get comfortable." He opened the bottle of soda water and poured some into two glasses. When he brought a flask out of a pocket, she knew what it was. "Mr. Lucas!" That was illegal. For that matter, the wine she had drunk so openly during lunch was illegal as well. "Just a little," he said, "to flavor the soda." He poured equal amounts into both glasses and handed her one. It didn't improve the flavor, but she sipped a little to be polite. When she set her glass down, he set his down as well. He took her into his arms to kiss her. A little flustered, she stepped back when he released her and reached for the glass again. She was a New York city girl, after all. A man who bought you lunch was going to kiss you. She didn't care what her ma would think; her ma was a stick in the mud. Even so, she felt awfully compromised. She might not care what her ma would think, but she knew what her ma would think. And this was her boss; Mr. Warren would never have thought of kissing her, not even a peck on the cheek. Mr. Lucas not only kissed her on the mouth, he held her body when he did. On the other hand, and she took a longer sip while she thought about this, the kisses had been more than a little exciting. Even his hands on her body had been exciting, and that had been more exciting in the REO. Probably, that was all he intended -- the same kisses as in the auto. It was just that the auto would be terribly uncomfortable right now. She took a deeper drink and made up her mind. She put the glass down so Mr. Lucas had no obstacle. When he kissed her again, Mr. Lucas hugged her to him holding her derriere as he did so. He squeezed there, then let her go to turn her around. His kisses on the side of her neck were exciting. When his hands stroked her up belly to hold her breasts, it was more exciting; but this was definitely wrong. She stiffened. "Mr. Lucas!" "Joseph, please." "Joseph, then. What sort of a girl do you think I am?" "A modern girl. A twentieth-century, New York, woman. You know how to work in the modern world, and you're learning to enjoy yourself in the modern world, too." Well, that was true. So Ma wouldn't approve; Ma didn't approve of lots of things. She took up her glass again. Held like this, she could still drink. "Let me freshen that for you," Mr. Lucas -- She didn't want to think of him as 'Joseph' -- said. He poured her more from the flask, nearly filling the glass before he added a little soda water. When she held her head back to drink, he couldn't kiss her neck. He licked and kissed the top of her left ear instead. He pinched her nipples. "Ow. That hurt!" "Did it?" he asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. My fingers must have pressed the harsh cloth of your jacket against them. Let's hang up our jackets." There was a closet with hangers. He hung up his jacket and hers. She sipped from her drink when he came back; she didn't want him holding her again quite yet. Instead, he caressed her shoulders from the back. He kissed her right ear, which tickled, and then her neck. When he reached the neck of her blouse, he reached around to unbutton her blouse. He pulled the collar aside to make space for his kisses. He kissed the bun of hair on the back of her head before starting down the left side. He unbuttoned the blouse more and kissed farther onto this shoulder. Suddenly feeling dizzy, she set her glass down. He turned her and took her into his arms. His tongue explored her mouth, increasing her feeling of dizziness. Without quite letting her go, he moved back and kissed her forehead. "Ethel," he said, "lovely Ethel." He turned her again and held her breasts while kissing the back of her head. "Let me take this," he said. After she shrugged out of her blouse, he lay it over the back of a chair. Now, only her slip was between his hands and her breasts. His kisses on her neck and shoulders were exciting, though. Or maybe it was those hands on her breasts. When he turned her to face him, his kiss went on and on. His hands roved all over her before taking her hands in his. He stepped back a little to put her hands on his top shirt button. Although she fumbled at thee buttons, he wasn't even slightly impatient. "Let's take care of our own," he said. He sat on a chair to remove his shoes and stockings and then his trousers. Ethel hung her skirt and her slip on the back of another chair. "Lie on the bed," he said suddenly. "I'll take care of those." She removed her shoes before lying down. He carefully removed her left garter and that stocking. He lay the stocking over her slip before coming around to remove the other one. He was still dressed in his shirt when he came back to kiss her again. His kisses moved down from her mouth to her breasts. When he sucked at her left nipple a thrill went through her. Another accompanied his kiss to her right nipple. At first, his hand on her thigh frightened her, but soon that provided some more thrills. His finger stroked her under her knickers while his mouth sucked her nipple. Then he broke away. He went to the closet before sitting on a chair facing her from a foot away. "Come to me, Ethel." She couldn't say, "No, you come back here." While she got out of the other side of the bed, he stood and pushed down his underwear. When he sat back down on the edge of his chair, she could see his manhood. He brushed aside the tails of his shirt and slid a translucent sheath over it. When she stood in front of him, he pushed down her underwear. Now she was naked. "Step out of them," he said. Put your legs on either side of my knees." His hand went back to her crotch, more open to him than ever like this. "Step forwards," he said. "Now sit like that." She tried. He adjusted his manhood until it was parting her lower lips. "Go down a little more," he said. She bent her knees until he seemed to be pressing into her. It wasn't going in. "Fast is better," he said. He moved his feet back. "Sit down harder." When she started to, he rose beneath her. There was a brief pain, and he was in her. She yelped. "Now," he said, "hold on." She clung to his neck while he shuffled the short distance to the bed. He leaned over, depositing her on the bed with her head on the far edge. Kneeling there above her, he pulled almost out of her before driving back. This time it hurt even less. He repeated that several times before groaning and lying heavily on her. "Are you all right?" she finally asked. He rolled off her. "I feel wonderful. And you?" Her? She hadn't been the one who groaned. The truth was that she felt a little sore down there, and her head was beginning to ache. "I'm all right." "Sleep for a bit," he said. He got up to remove his shirt, undershirt, and the sheath. He got a handkerchief from his coat in the closet to wipe his manhood and then to wipe her. He lay down beside her, too close for the muggy day. Even so, she did sleep for a while. When she awoke, he was at the open window. "The rain has stopped," he said. "Let's have dinner before driving back." Her head really ached now, but she didn't see any way to talk him out of this plan. |
The End Ethel 1921 Uther Pendragon anon584c@nyx.net 2004/08/17 2005/04/23 Thanks to Denny for editing this. For another story of another woman's first experience of sex in another time and under other circumstances: "Honey Bee" This story is indexed under: etc -- stories not otherwise clasified The index to almost all my stories is: Index to Uther Pendragon's website |