"I'll be back before you know it. Then we'll get married and make love all the time, if you want to. But for tonight, Chris…"
He cut in rudely. "For tonight, nothing, right?" he spat out in disgust.
"No, I said I'd use my hand," she answered with bewilderment.
"Forget it, baby. I'm fucking you tonight whether you like it or not!" he hissed at her, and he used his powerful hand to shove her legs apart.
Panic-stricken, the young brunette started to pound her fist against his muscular back. "No! Stop it, Chris! NOOOOOO!" she shrieked, gripping his burgeoning penis even tighter in her hand. He was suddenly like an enraged bull with one purpose: to get his cockhead into the mouth of the elusive passage denied him by those adamantly locked thighs. Her cunt lips were yielding under the force of his thrusting pressure and in desperation, she reached up and grabbed his hair in her hand and yanked as hard as she could. He reared back his head in pain and let out a cry. A split second later, she felt a jet of hot sticky liquid spew out of his exploding cockhead into her belly. Chris was cumming! That had to be it! She had actually made him cum! She felt both surprised and proud, but not for long. As she looked up into his face, she saw a look of hate in his soulful brown eyes that she had never expected to see. He was panting heavily, but his lips curled into a sneer. He reached down to kiss her and before she realized what was happening, he drew her lower lips into his mouth and bit down so hard it brought blood. She let out a muffled scream – Wendy was sleeping in the next room and her parent's bedroom was across the hall.
Chris drew back, a triumphant yet wounded look on his face mixed with deep anger and indignation. "Something to remember me by, lady. Hope you and your Goddamned prick-teasing virginity have a wonderful time in San Francisco!"
In her rage and humiliation she lashed out at him unthinkingly. "Get out, you crude bastard! I never want to see you again! You're like all men. All you're interested in is what's between a woman's legs. All you want is a fast fuck! I hate you! Get out!"
He gave her one last, searing look. Then he was up and zipped into his Levi's and out of the bedroom window in one fluid maneuver, without another word, leaving a tearful and confused young Jill with a painfully bleeding lip and a broken heart. She regretted her words as soon as they were out. But it was too late. She never saw Chris again before she left a few days later for San Francisco. It was a bad omen.
CHAPTER TWO
Jill tried to turn her mind away from Chris and Kansas City as she headed towards The Cannery. She reviewed her life in San Francisco as a fine arts student at the Art Institute. She had been naive back in Kansas City. Sure, she had talent, more than anyone in her class at high school. But in San Francisco, where so many aspiring artists come to study and paint, she was just one of many talented young people, and certainly not the best, she had to admit to herself. Some of her classmates were intimidatingly gifted, others, appallingly ordinary. There was a lot of hanky panky going on, too. And she found that the females who put out for their instructors got the best grades and the most "assistance". Well, she was not going to get ahead that way!
At first, she had stayed at a student residence club, but she got hassled there, too – not only by the manager, but by several other residents… both guys and girls! So, she answered an ad posted on a laundromat bulletin board and wound up with Josephine. The old lady was slightly balmy, but at least, she was safe! It was all far from the fantasy she had had back in Kansas City, and far from the glamorous life she glowingly portrayed to Wendy and her parents. But she had too much pride to admit the truth to them, and she especially didn't want Chris to know how lonely she was. At times she chided herself for the folly of her determined flight to San Francisco, trying to play the liberated "woman" when she was really a vine-covered-cottage and picket-fence girl at heart. You've come a long way, baby! she thought ruefully, then added, Yeah – and you've still got a long way to go! But there was art, and her career, and this was San Francisco – "Everybody's favorite city" – and she was determined not to go back to Kansas City with her tail between her legs… or anybody else's! She had persisted in her fantasy that she was going to be discovered, and this felt somehow like the day it would happen. This was not going to be another of those days where she would make a few bucks doing quick portraits, as she had taken to doing in the last several weeks, then pack up her supplied and trudge back to Josephine's with no more prospects than the lewd propositions she got from wise-cracking teenagers and dirty old men.
Jill found a sunny spot facing the fish stands across the street and set up her chair and stool outside one of the arcade entrances to The Cannery, where the tenants paid very fancy rents for their plush and attractive shops. Jill and the other street artists, musicians and vendors capitalized on the advertising those tenants footed the bill for to bring thousands of tourists to their doors. Some of those tourists were art dealers, people who were always on the lookout for fresh talent.
Jill laid out her portraits and some of her smaller acrylics. She tacked a discreet sign to a nearby tree which read: 5-Minute Color Portrait – $2.00… and waited for her first customer.
A middle aged couple sauntered by, he wearing a double knit cranberry jacket and plaid pants, she with a knit pantsuit and flat-heeled, patent leather loafers. She was carrying an oversized fake leather tote bag – they reeked of "tourist".
The man, who was smoking a foul-smelling cigar, grinned sheepishly at Jill, the corners of his eyes furrowing into a thousand wrinkles. She smiled back shyly. The wife gave Jill a cautious sniff and started to move on.
"Merle, wait a minute. Let's have the little lady do your picture," he said, winking at Jill.
"Now what in the world would I want with my picture?" she stated rather than asked. "Nobody's given me any beauty prizes lately."
"Well they're even less likely to next year," he persisted. "'Sides, I'd kinda like to see what the little lady does for an old bat like you in just five minutes," he grinned. Jill gave him a hip smile, knowing that the wife must have heard these good-natured jibes for years.
"Well I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't like it anyway. If you're so int'rested, why don't you get that ugly mug of yours preserved for posterity – if she can stand to look at you for five minutes!"
The wife meandered on. The man hesitated on the brink of indecision. Jill made a gallant gesture towards the chair, motioning the man to sit down. "My pleasure, sir!" she said, flashing him an irresistible smile.
"You got yourself a deal, little lady," the portly man said, seating himself in the chair. He started to remove the cigar from his mouth. "No, please… leave it there. It suits you," Jill encouraged.
She worked quickly as she sat on the stool, a large clipboard propped on her thighs. She carefully selected colors from her extensive assortment of oil pastels. She liked working in this medium actually; Craypas had the depth and durability of crayons with the translucence of pastels, and without the mess that ordinary chalk pastels created. She studied the man's face for several seconds. To her credit, Jill did have an unerring eye and the ability to faithfully reproduce the essence of things, and since studying at the institute, she had evolved from a rather sophomoric photographic rendering technique to a looser, more sophisticated one. Her quick sketches had a Matisse-like quality, and she was able to capture, at times, some facet of personality in an uncanny way. This ability set her apart from so many of the other portraitists who lined the sidewalks. Their work seemed to reproduce people who were stilted effigies of human beings.