While I was watching what appeared to be a news program on television, a segment came on dealing with the opening of a building in New York City. The building had been either a winery or a brewery at one time but had fallen into utter disrepair. Investors had renovated the building and apparently had turned it into something quite luxurious. I imagined a number of exclusive restaurants inside. A camera glided over the front facade of the building as an announcer stated that over a billion dollars had been spent on the project. The building was compared to a similar structure that was in operation in Chicago. The announcer described the rooms in the building as having some of the highest ceilings in New York. Some well-dressed people were standing in front of the entrance. I thought it must be quite expensive to go there; it would probably cost over $100 to eat a meal—more than I could afford.
I thought it would, however, be nice to walk around through the halls inside. Weinstein (living in New York like he did) probably had opportunity to visit many places like that. I thought that would be interesting. And as I thought about it, I found myself driving around in a car in New York City. I planned to look up Weinstein, but in the meantime I rather liked seeing the sights. I passed what appeared to be a theater and suddenly took the notion to go inside.
I walked in and lo and behold I saw Weinstein sitting by himself in one of the seats. The place was quite full of people, but there was an empty aisle seat next to Weinstein. I unobtrusively walked up and sat down in the seat without Weinstein even having seemed to notice. He was wearing a modest blue sweater and seemed alone. I didn't say anything to him and I began watching the movie.
The scene before me was quite colorful although I wasn't completely sure what was taking place. A blond-haired man seemed to be driving up a circular road which led to the top of a white-stoned tower. When he reached the top, he stepped from his car and stood silhouetted against the multi-colored background of the sky. Something seemed to be climbing up the side of the tower to get to the man and something about the show reminded me of the movie King Kong.
The movie finally ended. I turned to Weinstein and said hello. He seemed surprised to see me here although I wondered if he hadn't actually known all along I had been here and simply hadn't said anything. He commented about how long my hair was.
I told him I would like to spend the night with him, but I would only be staying until the next morning. He seemed satisfied with the news and we stood to leave. Most people in the audience had already departed, but we still managed to become separated in the crowd. However once outside I found him again. Another man (probably in his mid 20s) was talking to Weinstein. Apparently, the man had been with Weinstein and I hadn't realized it. Weinstein seemed to be telling the fellow that he was going to be leaving now with me. I thought the man might be slightly offended because Weinstein was ditching him, but I couldn't help it.
Weinstein mentioned to the man that I had just flown in from Ohio. I corrected him and explained that I had actually driven from Ohio and I had my car with me. I told Weinstein to tell the man how I had just chanced to find him in the theater. I thought it was remarkable that in a city the size of New York I would just chance upon Weinstein like that. But Weinstein didn't seem to attach much importance to it. I reminded him that the last time I had visited him I had found him in a similar way. I thought it was doubly amazing that the same thing had happened twice.
Weinstein concluded his conversation with the fellow and we left. I told him I was planning on going to Europe. To my surprise he said he might accompany me. Apparently, he was working on writing some material which didn't demand his presence in New York. He seemed to think he would be able to go to Europe for as long as a month without any problem. It basically sounded like a good idea for him to be going with me. But I had some misgivings. I didn't know how long I would be in Europe. I had no fixed time schedule and I could stay for anywhere from a week to a month. I also was planning on spending most of the time in Germany—and I knew Weinstein didn't speak German. That could be a drawback. However I still thought we could probably manage well traveling together.
We soon found ourselves in his apartment on an upper story of an apartment building and consisted of only one cramped room. As we entered Weinstein was in the process of telling me something about "giving it all up." I wasn't entirely sure to what he was referring. He seemed quite dissatisfied with his circumstances and his environment. Indeed I could somewhat understand his dissatisfaction as I looked about the room.
It was so small. I hardly seemed to have room to breathe. And it seemed in desperate disrepair. Some throw rugs covering the floor seemed to be covering the floor's unevenness and possibly even some gaping holes. But I particularly noticed the dark brown water splotches on the wallpaper which seemed to be causing it to peel in several places.
I had the feeling Weinstein was basically thinking of "selling out." He wanted to start making some money and he was apparently thinking of doing whatever might be necessary to do so—including abandoning his artistic leanings. He seemed to be intending to continue writing, but in a different vein. I wanted to encourage him to continue in his artistic endeavors since I was confident of his abilities. However looking about me at the little apartment I let slip out, "Well you really wouldn't be giving up much, would you."
He snatched at what I had said and pointed out that that was exactly what he had meant. He was tired of living like this and he wanted a change.
He then said something about Henry David Thoreau. He commented that Thoreau hadn't actually lived alone in the woods. Apparently, Weinstein didn't think someone could do such a thing. I however felt sure that Thoreau had lived alone for two years even though he had had visitors and human contact, just as he had said in his book. I told Weinstein that I myself was living in a cabin I had built. But he seemed unimpressed.
I noticed several beds in the room. One of the beds was a baby bed; I lay down in it for a moment. I got back up and told Weinstein that part of the problem with the space in the apartment was due to there being too many beds here. I counted the beds and saw that there were four or five different sizes. Then I realized there were six. Something against the wall appeared to be some shelves. But Weinstein showed me that the shelves were also a type of convertible baby bed.
Weinstein defended there being so many beds here. He pointed out that when people visited him they would have a place to sleep and he even began naming the names of people who would sometimes sleep on different beds. I simply stated that the people could sleep on the floor but he ignored me.
While we talked, I noticed Weinstein seemed to have become rather thin. However he still seemed possessed of a great deal of energy and he was animated throughout our conversation.
Weinstein spoke with someone on the phone. It sounded as if Weinstein were explaining to the person that he was going to be going to Europe. I caught part of the conversation and gathered from what he said that he had recently written a story which took place in Reykjavik, Iceland. I wondered how he had been able to do that, but I realized he did have writing abilities.
As I stood here, some of Weinstein's friends came walking into the room which seemed to expand to allow us more space. Three females (probably in their early 20s) trotted in. At least two seemed to have slight complexion problems and had mascara plastered on their faces. None was particularly good-looking; but since they were the only females in sight, they appeared attractive nevertheless. I figured Weinstein had invited them in possibly with the intention of introducing me to them. Since he was still occupied on the phone I decided to introduce myself.
I was unsure of the proper etiquette. But I felt fairly at ease and out-going. I felt it would be best to act immediately: I walked over to one and held my hand out to her. She lightly clasped my hand as I explained to her who I was. I then shook hands with the other two and I particularly noticed how softly they had squeezed my hand.
Two young men (probably in their early 20s) walked in. They also seemed to have slight complexion problems. One of the girls referred to me and said she had told some other girl that she had seen me coming in and that I was ugly. She had told the other girl to come up anyway because the two fellows (whom she thought were good-looking) were going to be here. I was slightly offended but I thought the girl simply didn't have the best of taste.
Any feeling of inadequacy I had quickly began to dissipate as one of the other girls eased up next to me and slipped her arms around me. She obviously wanted to become affectionate even though the others were present. I was attracted to her, but I wasn't sure how far I wanted to go. Before I could collect myself, she had put her hand between my leg and was rubbing my penis through my pants.
I was somewhat taken aback. Apparently, she wanted to have sex with me. I wasn't prepared for that. I didn't even know her. Principally I was concerned that I might contract some disease if I were to indulge with her. Nevertheless I didn't stop her. Her hand moved farther down until she reached what appeared to be a lump of something in my crotch between my legs inside my pants. She seemed surprised and asked me if I were wearing a "dome" which was a word apparently describing a Kotex.
I didn't know what to say. I knew I wasn't wearing a "dome." But I reached my hand in my pants and pulled out a piece of heavy white cloth about 30 centimeters long and about five centimeters wide. I explained to her that I had had just driven all the way from Ohio and that I had been perspiring between my legs. I had put the cloth there to soak up moisture and prevent irritation and itching. But I was embarrassed by the fact. I also started thinking I had a small wart on my crotch between my legs and that it would likewise be embarrassing if she were to see that. The girl seemed good-natured enough, but she was a little too forward for my liking. I thought it unlikely that I would have much to do with her.
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