Petting parties

I’m still reading that “Vanities” webpage, which includes stuff about bathing beauties (Mom was one, a model, born 1921), and came across “petting parties”.  That sounds like fun.

It occurs to me that something about being behind bars releases inhibitions, because it was on the deepest (most violent) ward on 21 Bloomingdale Road that I got behind Miss Holland, a student nurse, and did something I’d never have even dreamt of, except for the situation.

There were about fifty of them who came and went during the daytime, about eight or ten at a time, and they wore different styles of uniforms, which were generally pale blue, and featured plenty of white starch, lace, and elaborate, distinctive hats, aprons, and bibs.  The ladies were demure and sweet, and wanted to hear whatever we lunatics had to say.

We were walking en masse down a passageway when I got directly behind Miss Holland and, reaching under her bib, gently caressed one delight in each hand.  She said, “Oh!”; I got in Dutch; and believe me, that was the best move I ever made.

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