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"Julie, honey, there are some things we're gonna have
to talk about,"
said Ertha setting a cup of steaming hot Italian roast coffee at her
friend's side. For the second day in a row, Julie had woken up hung
over
and depressed and, if she followed yesterday's pattern, she'd lay on
the
sofa all day and watch television. Any question would be answered in
a
brief monosyllable with no inflection. A picture of depression, if ever
there was one.
"Huh?" Julie raised her head reluctantly off the pillow and
ran her
fingers through her unbrushed hair.
"I said there are some things we're gonna have to talk 'about."
Ertha waited for Julie to sit up, then sat down on the sofa beside her
friend, lifting the quilt and warming her own legs with it. "Drink
some
coffee. It'll straighten out your head," she pointed to the steaming
mug,
refusing to dote further on the girl whom she'd been waiting on hand
and
foot for the past two days. It was time Julie did something for herself,
unless she wanted to remain an emotional invalid for the rest of her
life.
"What is it?" Julie winced at the first acrid sip of coffee,
its acid
scorching her inside that had known nothing but wine and a few morsels
of
food in the past torturous days of sorely needed emotional cleansing.
"It's you, Julie. What's going to happen to you?"
Julie shrugged recklessly and took another sip of coffee.. Again she
ran her fingers through her unkempt hair, a blank expression on her
face.
Then her eyes narrowed, as though squeezing back the tears, and she
concentrated on a loose thread on the sofa's arm, twisting it around
her
finger then, forming it a ball, she gritted her teeth and yanked it
off.
"I knew this was coming . . .
"What?"
"That you'd get tired of having me around," she muttered,
barely
audible.
Ertha tutted and stroked Julie's knee through the quilt. "Now that's
not it at all, and you know it. God, how can you say that after we've
been friends . . . roommates for awhile . . . as a matter of fact, since
college? Man, you've got to get your head together, Julie. That's what
I'm concerned about. You're welcome to stay here as long as you want.
Move in, if you wish. But it's that crazy head of yours that concerns
me
. . ." She playfully rapped her knuckles on Julie's head.
Julie gave a faint chuckle, the first expression in two days and
lifted her head to stare into her friend's eyes to see the honesty and
concern harbored there. "You've been really good to me, Ertha.
I don't
know what I would have done . . .
"Hey, come on. Let's not play humble, okay?" She gave Julie's
hand
a squeeze, startled to feel it cold and clammy. "We've got to get
you
back on your feet, girl." The sofa gave a teasing squeek as she
pumped
Julie's hand up and down on the nubby fabric, hoping to bring some
strength and life back into the frail figure of her long-time friend.
"Tell you what . . . you get up, take a shower and get dressed.
We'll go
to a nice little Italian place I know of . . . ravioli's superb . .
. and
have lunch."
"Oh, that's sweet of you," Julie managed. "But you know
Roy was
paying for almost everything and I'm embarrassed to admit I have barely
a
cent to my name."
"On me . . . now think it over. I'm going to make myself
presentable. God, it was five o'clock by the time Bill left last night,"
she yawned.
* * *
"She's right," Julie thought, standing under the
shower. "Why should
I be so put down because one creep turned out to be a first class
bastard?" She would get dressed, put on some make up and strut
the
streets as she used to do before Roy destroyed her life.
While she was getting dressed in the bathroom, Ertha came in. "Is
it
all right?" she asked, rapping on the door. Julie opened it to
find her
friend staying there with her arms full of clothes. "I brought
these in
for you to try on. I've put on a couple of pounds . . ." she laughingly
patted her bosom, "and most of them don't fit. Damned shame too.
Paid a
lot for those rags. Oh, and Julie," she sat down on the edge of
the tub.
"Don't take me wrong, I'm not prying or anything, but take a couple
of
pointers from me, okay?" She reached up to tickle her friend under
the
chin. "North Beach is a special kind of place, you know. I mean
there
are a lot of men around and it's best to be seen alone. But you have
to
dress right . . . that means no bra, lots of make up . . . they're into
the casual look around here," she laughed. "They all think
they're
'arty,' but when it comes down to it, they want a real woman. Just strut
your stuff and walk tall and I promise, you'll be out of your doldrums
before you ever knew what hit you."
When Ertha left, Julie looked in the mirror once more for
reassurance. With her make up on now, she saw a very womanly body facing
her . . . her short curly blonde hair shone from the many brushings
she'd
given it, and her features were even and delicate. No, she was not a
destroyed woman, she decided with a determined nod of her chin. She
stepped into the dress Ertha had given her. It was a perky summer
sundress with buttons down the front and a bolero jacket to match. The
bodice made her look like the 'after' photographs in a bust development
ad, even without a bra. The creamy mounds of her breasts protruded
several inches in front of her, cradled precariously by the cut of the
dress.
"Oh, well," Julie thought. "Why shouldn't I show my best
features?"
Another wave of anger shot through her, an anger that had been carefully
rekindled by Ertha each time it showed the least bit of flagging. Any
time she felt sad over her faithful loyalty to Roy, the memory of
something Ertha said would set her bristling.
Julie buttoned up the bolero top, furious again that the man she had
lived with for two years had mistreated her. Roy, the man she had helped
finance cameras, taken messages for, and played secretary for while
he ran
around . . . Oh God, there she went again . . . But she couldn't help
wondering if he had been cheating on her all that time, too. Probably
so,
she decided, the thought twisting like a sharp knife in her stomach.
She emerged from the bathroom to see Ertha coming out of her bedroom,
hairbrush in hand. The sultry black-haired woman stopped in her tracks
and gave a low wolf-call whistle. "Whow, you're a knock out, Julie!
Damn!" She watched carefully as Julie walked ahead of her. Boy,
if only
that girl would set herself in the right direction, she could make a
lot
of money. Hell, she could share my business with me.
"Julie, there's one thing I forgot to mention. I know you're hard
up
for money, is that right!"
Julie turned in time to see Ertha stroke a hairbrush through her
wealth of thick wavy black hair. She nodded. "Yes, I am, and I
feel
really bad about that, too. But I'll sell my car to help you pay the
rent
. . . really I will. I don't expect for you to let me stay here for
nothing."
"Now don't you go talking like that, Julie," Ertha was talking
to
Julie's reflection iii the mirror. "I about to offer my help in
finding
you a gig . . . you know, something you can make some money at. Real
money, not $3.50 an hour. We'll talk about it at lunch, okay?"
Excited, but a bit confused, Julie gathered up her handbag and opened
the door, Ertha right behind her. Now for the first time in two days,
Julie walked into the sunlight. It felt good.
* * *
"Massage? So that's how you've been making your money?"
Julie poked
at her salad, playing with a slice of tomato. After two days of fasting,
her stomach couldn't hold much. She padded her abdomen, happy to feel
the
weight had shed in the right spots.
"Yes, massage . . . and don't stick up your nose at it because
it's
an age-old ritual. Man, people have been getting off on massage since
. .
.
"Since harems . . .
"Come on off it." Ertha shot a weary wince at her friend,
then wiped
her mouth free of ravioli sauce. It was not out of habit for her to
talk
with her mouth full of food, so Julie had to listen carefully. ".
. .
good for healing . . . relaxing and it brings people together . . .
know
what I mean?"
"That's what you do? You give people massages . . . for money?
Ertha nodded. She'd just taken another healthy bite.
"You mean like those girls in massage parlors?"
Ertha swallowed fast. "Not like that . . . don't make it sound
like
something cheap and dirty, Julie. Man," she shook her head and
tutted,
"Roy really kept you in the closet, didn't he?"
Julie shrugged and poked at a half-eaten square of ravioli. "I'd
never thought of it that way before."
"Well, think it over. It's good money and if you're coy about it,
you don't have to ball the guy. Just rub his back and slap some oil
on.
Half of 'em fall asleep," she giggled, then picked up the check.
"Come
on, let's go. You're not hungry and you're only eating to keep me from
feeling bad . . . I've got an appointment.
"And walk home alone. Here, take this money and go have a glass
of
wine somewhere . . . just get out there and meet people," she encouraged,
stuffing a five dollar bill in her friend's clenched hand. "Go
out there
and do it!" Ertha hissed in Julie's ear.
* * *
His name was Don Sanderson, and Julie had met him at the liquor
store
where she had gone to pick up a bottle of wine to take home to help
while
away the night before the movie of the evening came on. He'd said he
was
buying champagne and orange juice to celebrate his new apartment, and
wouldn't she like to join him . . .?
He wasn't too bad looking, in fact, he was very handsome with refined
features and short, kinky hair like her own. He'd made a joke of it,
and
she'd like that.
Walking up the hills of North Beach's Telegraph Hill, Julie couldn't
help but muse that meeting men was going to be easier than she'd dared
hope. The wine she'd had for lunch was just the thing for her nerves,
just as Ertha had said. Now this walk, being escorted by a good looking
man like Don was lifting her spirits. She'd noticed that he'd stared
at
her low-cut dress with admiration, and although it made her blush, she
was
rather pleased.
On the way, Don had been discussing politics with her . . . of all
things! Roy wouldn't even deign to discuss anything that heavy with
her,
and she found it wonderful to have a man listening to her thoughts and
ideas. She had never realized she had so many!
He ushered her to his apartment building and pointed, needlessly, to
the breathtaking view of the Golden Gate bridge where a steam ship was
coming through the four o'clock fog now. Although his apartment was
literally without furniture, she felt comfortable sitting on the over-
sized pillows. The gentlemen that he was, he brought her a glass of
wine,
and she learned that he was a waiter. Don told her about the aging of
wine, the difference between French wines and American wines . . . things
Roy's beer tastes would find hard put to compete with. He'd traveled
extensively, he told her, though that was as personal as he let the
conversation become. Instead, he talked of luxury and day dreams. He
flicked on the radio to a classical music station and appreciated
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was just the right words, toasting the
conductor now and then with a glass of champagne.
The champagne bottle slowly lowered, and before she knew it, Don was
holding her hand. Well, there wasn't really anything wrong in that,
she
told herself. She was having a better time than she'd had in ages. The
ethereal music seemed to vibrate deep inside her making her feel warm
and
secure and beautiful. She only wished she hadn't drunk so much wine;
perhaps, then, her mind would run more fluidly and match Don's witty
refinement.
When the symphony had ended, Doll lay back on the floor, a broad
smile on his face. Julie tucked her knees tightly under her, hugging
them
to her chest, watching Don's pet bird flutter its wing in its bamboo
cage.
It, like everything else in the sparsely furnished apartment, had a
degree
of quality to it, reassuring Julie that not all men were porno freak
weirdoes like Roy.
The clutch at her hand tightened, and he tried to pull down beside
him on the floor. It was a move graciously executed, but taken off-guard
by the bewildered Julie. Certainly this man couldn't be making advances
toward her after an hour's conversation. "I . . . I'd like a glass
of
water," she blurted out, suddenly pulling to her feet.
"Oh, let me get it for you . . ."
"No, that's okay. I'll get it." Hastily, she rose to her feet,
pulled down her dress and strolled toward the kitchen, the cool floor
warmed in square golden patches by the late afternoon sun felt good
on her
bare feet.
In the kitchen, she washed out her champagne glass and in turn filled
it with water, the rushing of the faucet hiding any other sound in the
apartment momentarily.
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"Find what you wanted?" Don asked, standing close
enough behind her
for Julie to smell his aftershave lotion. It pleased her. Don wrapped
his arms around her, pulling her close to his tall, thin body.
For a second, Julie was a little put off by his holding her so close.
After all, she hardly knew him. But then, it felt so nice to float about
in time to the soft operatic sounds wafting from the unfurnished living
room that she let herself fit against him snugly. God, it felt good
to be
having fun and not be stuck in the house all the time, or at one of
those
stupid, silly music parties where Roy always managed to find the cocaine
and the loosest women around. 'Don't think about that," her inner
voice
told her. 'Don't think about Roy.' Don tightened his hold on Julie until
both his arms were around her waist, pulling her body in toward his
as
their feet barely moved in time to the classical music.
But other parts of him were moving. He was slowly undulating his
hips and thighs against her loins in time to the music and she was
beginning to feel every ridge and inch of him pressing tightly against
her. His penis expanded against the flatness of her belly, pushing as
he
rubbed and rubbed himself slowly up against her.
Julie blushed and tried to pull to the side away from him, but it was
impossible. And although it was disturbing, she remained flattened up
against his rising member on one side, and the sink on the other, her
glass of water sloshing over the sides.
She felt like a teenager . . . silly and giddy. There seemed no
sense in questioning the fact that she was alone in an apartment with
a
man she hardly knew; after all, it was still afternoon.
"How's about another bottle of wine, Julie," he whispered
in her ear,
kissing her on the neck in taunting nibbles. "I've got one very
special
bottle I've been saving for the right moment," he melliflously
urged.
"And this is the right moment, isn't it?"
"Ah, well . . ." giggled Julie. "I guess the moment is
what you make
it . . .
"Hey, my kind of girl. All right!"
She didn't see any harm in staying for another bottle. Ertha's
apartment was not far . . . three, four blocks, maybe and she had a
key.
She would share this bottle of wine-her gourmet curiosity demanded-and
then leave. She didn't want to go back and be alone again watching
television. Her tormented thoughts about Roy were gone for the first
time
and as long as the day continued, she knew that she would be free of
sadness.
"As long as you don't get any wrong ideas," she added coyly
as they
turned and Don opened the top cabinet and reached in for the bottle
of
white burgundy that, true to his words, sported a sophisticated French
label. Don looked at her,
"Oh, no, of course not!" he said laughing. "What did
you take me
for, the mad rapist of Telegraph Hill?"
Julie stood with her back to Don as she rinsed out the wine glass.
In etiquette befitting a waiter, Don opened the wine bottle, cloth over
arm, and poured her a glass for tasting. "How is it, my lady? Would
the
lady care to keep the bottle?" he laughed, showing her the label.
Julie
squinted at a 1963 label and smiled. Age had to mean something.
"Care to toast, gorgeous?" Don said, staring at Julie's plush,
rounded breasts.
Julie giggled.
"Okay . . . to us!" She held up her glass and both of them
toasted,
then Don took her glass from her and, casually setting it on the kitchen
table, he drew her close and ran his tongue over the nakedness of her
half-exposed breasts. Julie was not prepared for his forthright touch.
"Yum, yum, are you built, baby!" he said, leering into her
face and
running his hand over her breasts. He had expected no resistance and
was
totally surprised when she slapped him hard across the face.
Julie suddenly felt cold sober. She was not going to let another
misunderstanding take place like the one with Corby Lewis. She shuddered,
a shiver of repulsion starting at her toes and running straight up her
spine.
"Please!" she begged. "I like you and I had hoped we
could see each
other again, but I don't like to be man-handled like that!"
Don stood there stunned, a hand against his stinging cheeks. He
didn't understand . . . unless this woman was frigid or something .
. .
maybe a lez. Hell, maybe she was into a little 'S and M' just to make
it
a little more exciting. Well, whichever it was, he'd gone through that
with his ex-old lady and that was the reason he'd moved out to this
bachelor apartment. He couldn't let a woman put him off like that twice.
"Come on, get off your high horse, will you'?" he said, his
eyebrows
furrowing. "Who do you think you are? It can happen to me once,
but
twice is downright insulting!" Julie couldn't understand what he
was
talking about . . . maybe he was some kind of pervert! But she began
to
scratch and pull at him, trying to get away.
Then he backed off, his head hanging. "I'm . . . I lost my temper
for a moment. But, to tell you the truth, I've just gone through one
heart ache with a woman who turned up one night drunk with another woman
and I came home to rind them in my bed . . . and damn it, since then
. . .
I've . . .
Julie knew he wasn't lying. "I'm sorry for you," she said,
rubbing
his cheeks hoping the red mark went away before he looked at himself
in
the mirror. He might really hate her then! Resides, he hadn't deserved
that kind of rebuke.
"What . . . do you say we go into the living room and lie down.
I
feel like lying down."
They did, only now Don took the foam rubber mattress that had doubled
as a sofa and lay it down on the floor. Seconds later he was taking
off
his clothes.
Julie shivered, deathly afraid to insult the man again after she'd
slapped his face; next time he might not be so gentle.
"Lay down," he said simply, guiding her by the arm. Only one
direction to go, Julie did his bidding, daring not to budge, and her
breath came shallowly.
Don looked down at the prostrate figure. His cock had been aching
all day to open up those long luscious legs and get inside that little
cunt and in a few minutes it would do just that.
Julie knew intuitively what was going to happen. With a certainly
that allowed for no alterations, she knew that this man was going to
make
love to her right then, on that foam rubber mattress. He would do gross
and ugly things to her, almost as if in punishment for what had not
happened with Corby Lewis. It was beyond her why Don hadn't slapped
her
back. God knows, she hadn't led him on, but she had drunk quite of lot
of
wine, she realized and then she had let aim hold her like that when
he was
obviously aroused. But still, it didn't make any sense at all . . .
none
of it made any sense, like why he'd want to make love to her if he was
in
love with another. Or was he? What had he said about his ex-girl friend?
And why, after she'd slapped him, didn't he just hit her back and call
it
quits? Men . . . she'd never understand them.
She could hear him taking off his clothes, and still she found it
hard to understand what was really going on. He was moving now, coming
toward her.
She sucked in her breath as he undid the buttons on her dress, slowly
and deliberately and then began to pull it off her shoulders, down over
her hips and off her legs, leaving her naked but for her underthings.
All
the while Julie remained unmoving. She could feel Don's eyes on her
breasts and she squirmed as she felt her flimsy nylon panties being
pulled
down over the soft roundness of her buttocks and thighs. He was
surprisingly gentle about it and this terrified her even more as she
cringed tightly down into the mattress.
At first she refused to look at him. In front of this complete
stranger's eyes, she felt more ashamed than she had ever been, more
naked
than she had ever thought possible. If she complied with his wishes,
she
thought, it would all be over sooner. Her thoughts turned to Roy, her
boy
friend . . . what would he think if he knew what was happening to her?
And a voice, a woman's voice told her that he wouldn't even care. That's
what Ertha would say . . . he wouldn't even care!
Tears welled in her eyes, but her self-control held them there and
she realized that she probably had cried more in the last week than
she
had cried throughout her whole life. She also felt a horrible queasiness
in her stomach from the wine she had drunk. If only she could faint
and
not know anything about it.
Julie glanced up at Don who was raptly studying her nakedness. His
nude body loomed over her, and she could see his stiff prick sticking
out
of the black fuzz of hair at his groin. It looked awful! The thought
that he was going to worm that lewd extension of his flesh down between
her legs and inside her . . . the very thought! She shuddered and turned
her face away at the idea of being made love to by someone other than
Roy.
"Please," she whimpered, then becoming afraid that he would
become
violent, she fell silent, wishing she had said nothing. The whole thing
revolted her, and she felt she just couldn't go through with it, no
matter
what happened to her, even if he beat her up!
But Don continued to fix his stare, and despite her brave thoughts,
Julie felt so vulnerable that she did not budge. Don almost drooled
as he
looked down at her, enjoying a few moments of complete power over her.
His eyes swept along her long shapely legs, then rose to her milk-white
thighs that trembled softly, clamped tightly against each other, as
though
they would prevent any intruder from tasting the joys of the silken
honey-
patch between them. Julie's breasts were large melons of flesh that
jiggled on her rib cage with each tremulous breath she took.
"Man!" he said. "Even better than I thought!"
Julie closed her eyes tightly, waiting for his attack. She just
wanted to get it over with now. She couldn't stand the humiliation of
being looked at any longer, like she was a piece of meat hanging in
a
butcher shop. But instead of the sweating palms she had expected,
crushing into her delicate skin, she felt something entirely different.
Not wanting to resort to insensitive groping, Don had begun to trace
his
fingers lightly up the insides of Julie's legs, one hand on each leg,
moving slowly up and parting the legs as he went, until they were spread
upon the mattress and his thumbs were pressing into the soft pliant
flesh.
A giant tremor of helpless indignity went through her at the light
insidious touch. It was worse than if he had just grabbed her, at least
that way it would be over fast!
Don smiled at the lewd position Julie was in. He decided to take his
time with this one, since he really wanted to stretch his pleasure out,
especially since it seemed to be such a chore for Julie!
"Please . . . I . . ." she muttered, unable to bear the strange
sensation of Don's hands softly titillating the looser flesh of her
thighs.
"You'll be begging me for it before I'm through with you, Julie.
Do
you like that? Do you like to beg?" Don asked deftly continuing
his
subtle pressure until Julie thought she would go out of her mind.
She began to toss about on the mattress in a vain attempt to escape,
but Don would always bring her back to the position he wanted her in,
so
that he could continue playing at the sensitive tendons of her thighs,
so
terribly near the quivering mouth of her young, cringing pussy.
When Don thought he had created the desired effect his hands moved
on, the fingers traveling on as though they had a life of their own,
invading the defenseless slit of Julie's pussy, toying in the narrow
area
that contained such a wealth of tender sensual folds. He separated the
inner labia and began to flick at the small throbbing prick of her
clitoris until with a heart-rending moan, Julie felt a sudden rush of
lubricating fluids on her pussy, signaling the involuntary arousal and
opening of her tight, palpitating slit.
Julie's unwilling groan spurred him on to wilder manipulations of his
captive's straining cunt; and tantalizing as he went, he moved back
and
forth, maintaining a steady tickling, grinning in a depraved manner
as he
snatched the slow but sure change in her reactions.
The indignant cries of humiliation were becoming moans and mewls of
forced pleasure. The steady flicking at Julie's clitoris began to send
staccato jabs of lust throughout her body, and her formerly wild thrashing
became more subdued, tapering off to a slower kind of unconscious
undulation. The lascivious act to which she had become an unwilling
party
brought tears of shame to her eyes. She felt that her own body had begun
to betray her and this last indignity was proof of the fact. She was
utterly helpless, a slave to her own lewd feelings . . . feelings that
were growing stronger with every second.
Don began to move his hands over Julie's stretched out body, making
small circles of fire around the twin peaks of her nipples, forcing
them
into stiffness, and then returning to the lower depths where he once
more
let his fingers dwell in the open slit of Julie's young, exposed pussy.
Oh God! she thought. Why did this ever have to happen . . . Why did
I have to come over to his place! Why did Roy have to make love to that
girl!
But she couldn't think about these questions very long, as she was
fighting a losing battle with her pride, and with what she had once
thought of as her loyalty.
Her blonde hair tickled the mattress as she tossed her head from side
to side, gritting her teeth tightly together in an attempt to quell
the
obscene flame of passion that was overtaking her.
Faithless whore! She, Julie, was unloyal! But the voice of Ertha
spoke inside her again, saying, "So what? If he goes out to get,
so can
you!" and with this thought the last barrier was broken and a flood
of
ever-growing passion was released, sending helpless spasms rushing through
every inch of Julie's martyred flesh; prickly pins and needles rampaged
throughout her overwrought system, and she was squealing like a tiny
stuck
pig.
"No! I shouldn't be doing this!" But she realized, even as
she said
it, that she was completely out of control now and there was nothing
more
to do but give in to it completely.
"Ohhhhh . . . God!" she screamed waggling her voluptuous body
shamelessly and clawing the air, searching for something to grab on
to.
Don knew the moment he had been waiting for had finally arrived.
"Hot damn!" he said under his breath, and then out loud, "Do
you want
to be fucked?" He grinned confidently.
"Nooooo!" Julie cried, but Don increased the pressure on her
burning
pussy, now shoving three fingers high up into the smoldering sheath
of her
vagina, causing a deliciously piercing pleasure that shattered the last
bit of reserve that lurked in the confines of Julie's hopelessly aroused
cunt.
"Yes, fuck me, fuck me please, please!" she screamed, thrusting
her
hips up to meet the scrounging fingers that rammed into her open flesh.
The words echoed dimly in her mind, obscene words that she seemed to
have uttered before in a dream.
"Oh, God, Don, fuck me, fuck me!" she yelled.
Don enjoyed watching this timid girl who had slapped him. Man, no
woman had done that for a while; at least she had spunk. He grinned
as
her aroused body went through wild, frenzied contortions, straining
up in
the agony of her frustration as she sought complete and total satisfaction
from him.
"Hey, this is okay," he said, mostly to himself, readying
his big
throbbing cock with one hand and aiming it directly at the streaming
young
cunt that squirmed hotly down between the thighs before him. It was
going
to feel mighty good spearing that hot little cunt of hers with his big
hard prick, spearing it and then shooting big loads of sperm deep into
her
soft, smooth belly!
* * *
Somewhere in the foggy distance a fog horn blew, and Julie
raised her
head off the mattress feeling a cold chill waft over her naked body.
Don
let out a long sigh and, slithering down on the mattress, he let his
rough
tongue follow the soft contours of Julie's panting body. It caressed
the
hillocks and valleys of her tummy, paving pathways to the intersection
of
her thighs, paying final homage to the pulsating bud of her clitoris.
The
satiated blonde felt goosebumps rise on her flesh. Ecstasy, pure ecstasy.
Maybe this was a man she could love, her love-starved mind said. For
despite the fact that she had known this man for only a few hours, she
had
reached heights of ego-fulfillment that Roy had long denied her of.
So, when he raised his head and smiled into her blue eyes, it was in
expectation of better things to come. But Don, in the after moments
of
orgasm, had given some cool thinking to the situation. Sure, Julie was
a
darned nice chick . . . one of the more personable he'd met in North
Beach
. . . but Dora still hung in his mind. It wouldn't hurt to ask. Who
could tell these days, just by looking, what anyone's sexual preferences
were. The question wasn't meant to shock; in fact, it was considered
a
compliment, for Dora's tastes were not easily compromised.
"Julie?" Don gave a navel a bathing swirl with his teasing
tongue. "Julie, honey, that was wonderful." He kissed her
appendix's
scar. "You a swinger?"
"Huh?" She raised her head, a bewildered look in her eye making
his
eyebrows raise.
"You know a swinger. You dig women? It might be nice if you and
I
and Dora could get together some time . . . you know, a little dope,
some
good cognac, maybe some cocaine . . .
"What?" The incredulous blonde was on her buttocks now, sitting
up
straight. She wiped a smear of mascara that shadowed her lower eye lid.
Maybe she hadn't beard right. "Maybe I'm really naive, but I don't
know .
. ." Then it hit like a brick in face. "You mean? . . . No,
now wait a
minute. You think I'm going to make it with another woman and you at
the
same time?"
"Hey, come on. Don't be so ignorant. Man, this is California .
. .
twentieth century and all that. Bisexuality is where it's at, Julie."
"Bullshit!" she screamed, reaching for her clothes.
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