"I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" she cried out. Oh, it was good! Back and forth! Back and forth! In and out! In and out! She bucked harder, her long, smoothly tapered legs moving lewdly back and forth, up and out on the bed. Her face was twisted by the strain of her solitary actions into a mask of sex-crazed pleasure.
Her fingers strained to accommodate the clenching hair-lined pussy that was over-flowing with her own love juices. On and on she finger-fucked herself furiously while a tiny stream of uncontrollable saliva slid from the comer of her mouth.
"Ohhhhh, Roy… oh, baby… please fuck me!"
Julie lay in a semi-stupor for some time after her wild, self-induced orgasm and then slowly her fingers found their way once more to the still gently twitching lips of her open cunt. Three more times she uncontrollably vented her lust, attacking her own tortured body and lust-gaping cunt with renewed vigor until finally she lay spent and gasping, her legs wide-spread on the bed, a lewd twisted grin of satiation upon her lips.
She drifted off and slept the sleep of the shameful dead until evening when the sound of a police siren awoke her. She jumped out of bed, not knowing what time of day it was, or what day it was. What was she doing naked? She never slept without a nightgown on. And where was Roy? It was when she saw her clothes heaped in the corner that it came back to her… everything.
Quickly, as if the devil was after her, she unlocked the bedroom door and stumbled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. The blonde haired woman sat in silent fear, her robe wrapped around her naked body, and her fingers, still swollen from her lust, clinging to the steaming coffee cup as if it were the last vestige of decency in her existence. She thought of turning on the stereo to listen to some Gordon Lightfoot or maybe some light jazz would help heighten her doomed mood, but it seemed too intrusive somehow… as if she didn't deserve the reprieve the music would lend. No, she'd have to suffer it out, for that's what she deserved, wasn't it?
Roy… why did Roy have to vanquish the few hopes she had left for cementing their too-long neglected relationship? Why, oh God why did he have to fall asleep on her without making her feel loved? Was it too much to ask? Was there something she'd failed to do?
Oh, Roy I need you, baby. Oh God, I need you more than ever before. Please, please come home, she silently implored, her eyes closed to the glaring light accusingly blinding her sleep-puffy eyes.
Julie had no idea of how long she'd sat there staring at the happy yellow walls of her kitchen, her mood darkening. At ten-thirty she realized she couldn't wait any longer for Roy to come home. If he wasn't home in fifteen minutes, that meant he'd probably spend the night at the studio he'd rented and called home since the inception of his "make money fast" scheme that had caused the chasm in their relationship.
She had to see him, soon; had to be held in his strong arms, told that everything was going to be okay, or she would loose her mind. A dribble of coffee spilled onto the table cloth and in that crazy moment she realized the meaning of insanity. Though she'd always considered herself to be a relatively sane, rational individual, she had the "acid flash" of paranoia. If she didn't have relief from the desperate loneliness she felt, she would go stark raving mad.
Yes, it was insane, stupid, and maybe even self-destructive, but she would drive to the studio and find Roy, beg him to come home with her and hold her in his arms and make everything okay again. Only Roy could do that.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Phew. I'm glad that set is over!"
Roy turned off the flood lights and turned to face his nude model Samantha, who was wiping her forehead, beaded with perspiration from the torturously hot lights, and slipping on an embroidered Japanese tea gown.
"Hey, don't put that on yet, honey. The night's not over with yet."
For a second he regretted that inviting statement, knowing he should call home if not make it home before Julie got suspicious enough to come checking up on him. But she wouldn't do that, he reasoned, dismissing the thought as a wave of guilty paranoia. But his job as photographer and director of this bombasting money-maker had a few fringe benefits, despite the backaches, and he intended Samantha to be one of them.
He glanced over the top of the camera at her, relieved that the shooting had gone well and a session such as the one he'd just filmed saved a couple hundred dollars worth of money out of his own pocket. That was truly cause for celebration, wasn't it?
Roy pulled the plug of the extension cord from its complexity of wires and switches and ambled over to his female model who was tying the cord on her robe, as with one deftly practiced motion, born of three years of strip-tease dancing, she flung her buttocks-length wavy hair free of the collar.
"Hope you don't have to be home in bed too early tonight, Samantha," smirked Roy. "We might want to rehearse some scenes for tomorrow's shooting," he whispered hoarsely into her shell-like ear, weighed taut with the burden of her two-inch earring.
Samantha's long red nails teased a claw mark on his five-o'clock shadow. "It could be arranged, honey, and I won't even tell the union about the over-time."
Shelly, the male counterpart in "The Torturous Minutes of Lust" shot a knowing smirk in the direction of the playful photographer and his red-haired model. They caught his cold accusing eye. Shelly shook a warning finger at them and slipped his trench coat on. "Have a good time," he called over his shoulder before laughing his way out the door.
Despite the recent wave of warm spring weather, the night was cold with high westerly winds, the kind of weather that brings in fog from the ocean in billowing blankets. It crawls over coastal cities, disfiguring buildings and landscapes… and the moods of the people who try to see clear through it. Such was the night when Julie crawled behind the wheel of her Volkswagen and headed for downtown San Francisco, toward the Mission District where warehouses and industrial plants leave the streets deserted at night, except for an occasional night guard and his Doberman Pinscher body guard.
She knew it was crazy to drive down there at that awesome hour, yet she was convinced that she was doing the right thing. The only thing to do under the circumstances was to go and see Roy, go out to dinner, and talk to him. She had to see him, otherwise nothing would make sense at all. He was the last stronghold of reality in a world that had suddenly gone crazy.
It was a good twenty minutes drive from Nob Hill to the Mission District, and a glance at her watch told her that she should make it in time before they all left the studio. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be stuck down there in the complex warren of darkly shadowed buildings with no sense of direction.
She could visualize how surprised he would be to see her. The denim jumpsuit she was wearing was one of his favorite outfits and, even though she'd worn it only yesterday, he never tired of it. And, despite her tear-stained face, she'd managed to make herself look pretty good.
As she drove, she pushed the memory of Corby Lewis and of Ertha's lewd suggestion deep into the back of her mind. The fresh air blowing through the window helped her to forget and to think optimistically about the future. It was beginning to look as if her interpretation of everything that had happened was only an exaggeration. Certainly nothing could be as bad as she'd thought. A half an hour later, Julie pulled up to the intersection of Mission and 16th Streets, and she looked around for signs of Roy's VW van. After driving around the block three times, she finally found it parked in a yellow zone. She parked her car behind his van, hoping she wouldn't get a ticket. She was just rolling up the window and locking the doors when a black man dressed in a security guard's uniform, a brace of dogs at his side, called out to her, wanting to know where she was going. As he walked closer, the guard glanced at her and then took a second look. Julie was pleased. She needed a little reassurance and the guard obviously thought she looked good.