Where I Lost My Virginity

I never thought that as I walked toward Central Park I would come face to face with one my historical landmarks: the place where I lost my virginity, in the mid-1980s. I was walking in midtown Manhattan, and the sun was hot but no humidity to deal with. Central Park was to my back and I could see the rays of sunshine streaming between the buildings.

Then I reached 301 Park Avenue. Right away I knew where I was. The Waldorf Astoria.

I had seen the back the other night and was not as excited. But the front did it. I looked intently and studied every feature from top to bottom. Impressive. Beautiful. I had been taken in and taken to bed with few questions. I had enjoyed a hot bath and then the white sheets, smooth and crisp. I had no back rub or other contact, just turned onto my stomach and closed my eyes and in no time it was over.

I remembered little and slept so deeply after the hard efforts that I had made. I had been flying it seemed for hours. I sighed as I woke and looked out of the window. I could see so many sights only seen in films and on TV. I looked back at the bed. No one was there. I was alone. I was thankful and went for a shower. I had meetings to go to with my Advisor (who was my boss) and dressed in a sharp dark suit and a tie that was fittingly powerful--with a red gingham pattern. Citibank was our target and off we went: we had big debt issues to discuss.

My life was never the same after that first night. I had come and that was all that mattered.

Now that I am back in New York City again, I am waiting for my first child--now in her early 20s--to arrive in the city. Will I tell her the full story?

That is, this is where her father spent his first ever night in the USA.