This story is about a college boy's first visit to Manhattan. It includes explicit homosexual acts with a schoolmate, so be warned.
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NEW YORK, NEW YORK
by Macout Mann
I
My name is Gerald Cunningham. That's not my real name, of course. If I told you my real name, I hope you'd recognize, if not appreciate, my great contribution to television broadcasting. But that's not what this story is about. It's about my very first trip to Manhattan. And it's also about Mikey (pronounced MIKE-ee). So let me begin.
I went to undergraduate school at a well-known university in the Heartland. In the early fifties broadcasting was on the cusp of moving from Network Radio as the major American entertainment medium to Network Television. It was an exciting time for those of us majoring in Radio-TV. And because all production had not yet migrated to the East or West coast, we students were able to travel not too far to witness the preparation of such landmark television shows as "Garroway at Large" and "Mr. Wizard;" as well as such staples of radio as "Jack Armstrong, the All American Boy."
Because of the vagaries of housing assignments, most of my friends in college were Business Majors. And that fitted well with my macho image. I was also a friend of a couple of other broadcasting majors.
And then there was Mikey. His name was Mikey Michaels. That was his real name. On his Birth Certificate. On his Social Security Card. And Mikey was your classic fairy. Soft. Pasty. Lispy. The whole package. He was an only child from a broken family. Lived with his mom in Tulsa. He was an Art Major.
As freshmen we were assigned four to a room. The G.I. Bill had increased enrollment everywhere. At first we just tolerated Mikey. But he grew on us. We kidded him, and he accepted the jibes. He became one of the group. He remained, however, one of the most naïve humans that any of us had ever encountered.
In my senior year my folks asked me what I would like as a graduation present. I knew they were coming to commencement and we were going to take the opportunity to make a trip to Canada. But I had never been to Manhattan. I said I'd like to visit New York over Spring Break and also to visit a cousin in D.C. So it was arranged that I'd fly to New York, then to Washington, then home to Dallas, and finally back to school. Quite a deal in those days.
I had had a summer job at a radio station in Dallas; and while I was there, my supervisor got a job in New York at the Voice of America. I contacted him, and he recommended that I stay at the George Washington Hotel on Gramercy Park. He had lived there when he first moved to the city, and offered to tell them I was a friend of his. They were very welcoming.
One of my adjunct professors--a lecturer he was called--was a Vice President at NBC's Central Division Headquarters. He offered to put me in touch with his opposite number in New York.
It promised to be a very fruitful visit.
Air travel in those days was luxurious. Only one class. No liquor but great food. Cyrus Smith, President of American Airlines, forbade alcohol on the grounds that upper class girls would not apply to be stewardesses, if cocktails were offered. Turned out he was right. Back then, of course, there were no stewards.
We arrived at Laguardia at eleven and I checked in to the George Washington just after noon. I called Rex, my friend at the Voice of America, and he invited me to meet him at five for drinks. Drinking age in New York at that time was eighteen. He also gave me the instructions I'd need to negotiate the subways from Lower Manhattan to Midtown. I also made a two o'clock appointment with my contact at NBC.
He was very accommodating. Asked what I wanted to do. I said I'd like to watch rehearsals for "Your Show of Shows." It was the top-rated television variety show starring Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca. That was easily arranged. I also asked to see a rehearsal of the NBC Symphony but was told that nobody is allowed at a Toscanini rehearsal. That a few weeks before one of NBC's myriad vice presidents was discovered at a rehearsal and was summarily thrown out. I asked about watching the broadcast and was told that Alcoa, the sponsor, had complete control of the tickets, but I was given the telephone number of the person in charge of dispensing them.
I did want to see "The Theatre Guild on the Air," which was broadcast Sunday evening. As a reporter from the college newspaper, I had traveled to Chicago when it did a broadcast from the Civic Opera House and had interviewed a number of the participants. It would be great to see them again. That was arranged, and at my contact's suggestion I was given tickets to "Your Hit Parade" Saturday night. It was broadcast from the long-gone Center Theatre, which was across the street from the Radio City Music Hall, another part of the original Radio City complex.
Before meeting Rex, I did call the Alcoa girl, who told me no, that I couldn't have a Toscanini ticket. I also called a girl I had known back in high school. She was trying to become an actress in New York. I invited her to join me for the Theatre Guild broadcast, which was to star Fredric March and Florence Eldridge. She accepted.
Rex and I had cocktails at the Astor Hotel bar, chatted about his duties at the Voice of America. He said he was sorry he couldn't show me their headquarters, but.... I said I understood. He did say he'd like me to meet some of his colleagues and invited me to meet him Monday at 5 at a bar near Columbus Circle, where "the Voice" was located. I said that it would have to be a short meeting, since I had a flight out at 7:00. He said that shouldn't be a problem. We found we could get in at Sardi's and had an early dinner.
I returned to the George Washington ready to turn in. It had been a busy day. My phone rang, however, almost as soon as I reached my room.
"Hello," I was nonplussed. Who the hell could be calling me?
"Gerald? It's Mikey."
As if I needed to be told. "Hello, Mikey. Where are you?"
"At the George Washington Hotel. I just checked in."
I knew that even if he'd come by train or bus, the cost of the trip was a burden on his mom; so I asked, "Have you messed up your room yet?"
"No. I just checked in."
"Well I have an extra bed. Let me call the desk and ask them to let you share my room. It would save you some money."
"Would you do that?"
The front desk was not happy; but since he had just walked in off the street, the hotel wasn't losing revenue from a reservation that couldn't be resold, and since I was a guest that Rex had recommended, they agreed. Shortly a bell boy brought Mikey and his luggage up to my room.
I suggested we go down to the bar for a nightcap. Of course Mikey got carded, but he presented his draft card, which at that time was the universally accepted way to prove you were old enough to drink. (It was also the easiest document to alter.)
Mikey was not going home for the break, and when he found himself almost alone on campus, he decided to come to New York. He had heard all about my plans. So he wound up at my hotel. I asked him what he was going to do. He said he would visit the Metropolitan Museum.
When we returned to my room, I decided to shower.
I was unbelievably horny. Hadn't cum in almost two days. Earlier, I was planning to jack off in the shower, but here was Mikey right there in the next room.
Now almost everybody back at school thought I was totally straight. And I loved to tap pussy. But even back in high school I discovered that I liked to mess around with guys too. Back in my freshman year at college, a fellow broadcasting major invited me to spend Thanksgiving with his family. His father was a veepee of a big manufacturing company in a Wisconsin town north of Milwaukee. During that long weekend we'd gotten together, and we had continued to enjoy each other's company ever since. But the conventional wisdom was that broadcasting majors were straight. Theatre majors were the queers.
I decided what the fuck!
I didn't jack off in the shower and marched out of the bathroom totally naked, my dick at attention.
"Oohh!" Mikey cooed, "I haven't seen you come out of the shower that way since we were freshman."
"Ever since I've had my own room, I've slept bareassed," I said. "Hope you don't mind."
"Doesn't matter to me," he responded.
I grabbed my dick and played with it as I said, "I thought you might want this."
"You're...?" He was astonished.
"I go both ways," I said. "I know you want it. Suck my dick, man."
We all knew Mikey was queer. We didn't know if he'd ever done anything. He went down on me and showed that at least back in Tulsa he had learned how to suck dick. His mouth caressed me like he was born to give head. His tongue flicked all the right places. He sensed when I was going to cum, and relaxed to prolong both our pleasures. When I finally came, I moaned, "Yes, yes, yes."
We lay together in each other's arms. "I'm going to the Radio City Music Hall first thing in the morning," I said. "Join me, if you'd like."
That was the last thing I remembered saying before we went to sleep.