UNSATISFIED WOMEN — Why miss out on the best part of life? Divorced sensuous man, 42, attractive, athletic, will make sure your needs come first. Your pleasure is my aim. Tireless French expert, specialist in frigidity cures. Absolute discretion and understanding. Any race welcome, but you must be between 18 and 40. You needn’t be beautiful, but if you’re fat, please see Weight Watchers before you see me. My ex-wife was fat and it turns me off. Remember, if you can’t come, call Bill. TOTYG-13.
Bill. 868-9413. That’s what the TOTYG-13 is all about, a phone number coded with letters. 868 is a Manhattan exchange. In Zone One, below 59th Street.
He could live in this neighborhood. In this building. My exchange is 691. Are all the phones in a building on the same exchange? Bill.
26 February — Friday
I went to a chamber music concert on Barrow Street. I walked around the Village after I left the office and passed a music school where they have free weekly concerts. There was a sign advertising one tonight. I bought a souvlaki sandwich and ate it in the park and then went to the concert. Some violin sonatas with piano accompaniment. I don’t know enough about music to say if the performers were good or not. I enjoyed the concert.
A man with a very neatly trimmed beard tried to make small talk with me as I was on my way out. I managed to exchange a few words with him about the music. He invited me to have coffee with him. I said I had to meet my husband but thanked him. He said something pleasant about maybe some other time. I don’t know if he noticed that I don’t wear a wedding ring.
Perhaps I ought to wear a wedding ring.
27 February — Saturday
I wonder what Bill looks like. Attractive, athletic. I don’t know if he’s tall or short, young or old for his age. He is divorced and his ex-wife was fat. I am not fat, nor am I under eighteen or over forty.
Is he handsome? Does he have long hair? Is he bald? Does he have a beard?
I see men on the street and wonder if they might be Bill. Pointless musing.
The man who spoke to me at the concert was no more than thirty-five at the outside. So he couldn’t have been Bill.
Today is Saturday, and has twice the usual number of hours in it. And tomorrow is Sunday and the last day of the month. Next year will be leap year with an extra February day to endure.
I hate all weekends, and month ends most of all.
28 February — Sunday
Twice this afternoon and once tonight I picked up my telephone and dialed 868–941. And each time, after a greater or lesser period of hesitation, I cradled the receiver without dialing the 3.
I have almost twenty thousand dollars on deposit in a savings and loan around the corner from my office. I live on my salary. I don’t need that money for anything and so it sits there gathering unnecessary interest. The proceeds of Mother’s insurance. Never would have guessed she carried any.
I could take that money and do something with it. I could find a psychiatrist, a good one, and I could go to him once a day five days a week and give him a chance at straightening me out. It’s not as if I needed the money for anything else.
Or would it be easier to force myself to dial Bill’s number?
Well, I did it. Got up from the typewriter and dialed 868–941 and, after the usual pause, dialed 3. The phone rang three times. I thought, after all this toe-wetting, he was not in. But he answered after the third ring.
“Hello... hello... hello...”
Krause the Mouse, careful to keep her breathing inaudible.
“You know, there’s really nothing to be afraid of. If you can’t talk now, call me back when you’re ready.”
I hung up.
His voice is like his ad. He sounds honest, sympathetic, sincere. The adjectives on the page are banal. But he does. And he sounds very self-confident, a deep and strong voice. A person who could put other persons at ease.
No Double-Crostic today, and the crossword puzzle was a bitch.
1 March — Monday
I went to the phone a few minutes ago. Put my finger in and out of the 8 hole, then dialed NERVOUS and let a recording tell me the time. My watch was two minutes fast. I always keep it two minutes fast. I dialed NERVOUS because I am.
I think I could come with Bill. I think if I lay back and closed my eyes while he ate me, and let my mind wander as it does when I touch myself beneath the blankets, I think I could come. If I were sure that he would be content with that. His ad gives that impression.
Perhaps he would expect to fuck me afterwards. I would not want that, and if I had to worry about the possibility it would keep me from relaxing, and thus from coming. It would be necessary to get everything straightened out beforehand.
I’ll buy Screw the day after tomorrow. A promise to myself — or a promise of Arlene to Jennifer: If his ad is still running, I will call him.
2 March — Tuesday
I will have to find out just what is involved in getting a Post Office box. There are things I would like to order from advertisements in Screw. Various books and pictures. Also some sex devices. Dildoes and vibrators. I don’t know if I would enjoy them or not but I would like to find out.
They sell them on Times Square, but even if I dared walk into one of those stores I could not possibly purchase a rubber cock for myself. I don’t even apologize for my reticence. How many women, however liberated, could do this?
I won’t order things through the mail with my own name, or to this address. I could take a Post Office box in the name of Jennifer Starr. And I could pay for my orders with money orders in the name of J. Starr, and whoever filled my order would not even know I was a woman.
Do you need identification to get a Post Office box?
3 March — Wednesday
His ad appeared in Screw again. There are also other ads that interest me. Couples who want to meet single girls. Other things. But Bill’s is the only ad I can imagine myself answering.
I stalled all night, dialed his number a few minutes ago. Was so relieved when it was busy. It’s getting late now, and I can no doubt convince myself that it’s too late to disturb him.
Perhaps he’s taken the phone off the hook. Perhaps as I type these lines his tongue is nibbling at a pink young clit.
I swear I’ll call him tomorrow.
4 March — Thursday
Came right home from the office and called him immediately, fully prepared to talk to him. I won’t tell him my name or address or phone number. He won’t be able to see me. There is nothing to be afraid of and I am not afraid.
Called him at a quarter to six and every fifteen minutes since then and it’s almost midnight and I’m giving up. The bastard isn’t home.
5 March — Friday
I just finished talking to Bill. I don’t drink, but if there were liquor in the apartment I would have a drink right now. It’s late and I’m sure the liquor stores are closed.
I don’t really need it anyway.
I want to put down the conversation as well as I can remember it before it slips away. I called every fifteen minutes from the time I got home. This time the line was constantly busy. I’m sure he took it off the hook. I kept calling because I knew sooner or later his guest would leave and he would hang up the phone. Unless she stayed all night.