Sandra Harmon | VenusBlogs Contributor
It was 1959. Eisenhower was President, “Ben Hur” was the highest grossing picture, with “Sleeping Beauty” coming in second, and “Some Like It Hot” third. I was nearly twenty-one years old, reasonably pretty, sexy with the glow of youth and anticipation, and working as a clerk/typist for a low-end dress manufacturer in the Garment District.
I’d moved into a studio apartment on 57th and 8th Avenue in Manhattan one hot August day. Although it was an old building in a then run-down neighborhood, at $97.00 a month I could just afford the rent. I bought some secondhand furniture from the Salvation Army store, but ordered a new bed from Macy’s. Unfortunately, it was going to be delivered after I moved in, so until then, I’d no choice but to sleep on the floor.
The next morning, at a neighborhood coffee shop, I ran into Enrique. In his early thirties, he was tall and well built, had a square, handsome face and straight black hair. He worked with the Chilean Embassy. Sometimes I’d see Enrique and his two sons, on Sundays, carrying bats and balls on their way to Central Park. Sometimes I’d meet him on the street with his pretty Chilean wife.
Hearing that I’d moved into a new apartment without a bed, Enrique offered to loan me a beach lounge. He climbed up five flights of stairs with the heavy lounge chair on his back as it was too large for the building’s tiny elevator. At the apartment, tired and sweaty, he asked for the Scotch I’d brought with me.
While he drank, we chatted awkwardly and then suddenly, he lurched towards me. I tried to back away, but he grabbed me and pushed me down hard on the floor. He ripped my cotton shorts aside and pushed himself inside of me. I screamed, begged and pleaded with him to stop. He wouldn’t. He had me pinned down and I was frightened. After what seemed like forever, he finally pulled out and was instantly ashamed and sorry. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said. I started screaming at him, and he quickly ran out of the apartment. I showered, my tears mingling with the steamy water, trying to wash the dirty feelings away.