Chapter 3

The first thing Jill did when she got home was to turn on the electric heater in her bedroom and change into a warm robe. Fortunately, Josephine was out in the garden, so the young girl was spared a boring monologue.

The second thing Jill did was to count the money she had made that day. Sixty-five dollars! This was her best day ever! She looked again at the discreet engraved business card Ernesto Garcia had given to her. A thousand conflicting thoughts were swirling like dry leaves in her beautiful head. She couldn't understand why a man like the important gallery owner would be interested in someone like her, a mere student. It was only then that she remembered Jack Dawson's business card. She had stuck it in her pocket without looking at it. She fished it out of her jeans.

So that's it! she said aloud as she read the card: DAWSON REPRO, INC. Lithography. Printing. Art Service.

The card listed Jack Dawson as President, and there was a Los Angeles address. One question was answered: the curious connection between a worldly and polished man like Garcia and the homespun, almost boorish printer. That had bothered Jill, the incongruity of that association.

Now another thought hit her: she had nothing decent to wear tonight. She checked through the few simple dresses in her closet. Everything seemed so unsophisticated, so terribly "Kansas City." Certainly, Merle Dawson was no fashion plate -- but her "career" was homemaking; she didn't need to impress the urbane Garcia, who definitely was an elegant dresser.

Jill glanced at the money still spread out on the bed. In a flash she pulled on her jeans and a heavy Irish knit sweater and went to Ghirardelli Square, to Paraphernalia, where she bought a very hip and sexy crepe dress and some ultra sheer panty hose with seams up the back, very 40's and Dorothy Lamour looking. She found a pair of outrageous red satin sandals with platforms and five inch heels at another shop and exultantly brought her purchases home. She had a quick sandwich and a glass of milk while she waited for the tub to fill, then eased down into the fragrant honeysuckle-scented bubbles until only her graceful neck and beautiful head remained above the bubble-frosted water.

The events of the afternoon flooded back to her mind as she relaxed in the soothing hot tub. She couldn't believe that she had actually been invited to bring her art samples along this evening. Maybe this was the break she'd hoped and dreamed about. At least, she would have an opportunity to have her work evaluated by the handsome dealer, which would be extremely helpful. Only fleetingly did it occur to her that Garcia might have an interest in her apart from her work. Still, that was the sort of thing you read about in magazines -- small time artist being "discovered." Just wait till Chris finds out about this!, she thought smugly. Then she remembered their last night together, and the awful scene in her bedroom, and she was suddenly filled with sadness and remorse. Her angry words echoed again in her mind... 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!...

She closed her eyes against the pain of remembrance. Why, oh why had she said those things? Chris was the last guy in the world interested in a fast fuck! He had proved that to her over and over again. And she still loved him. She thought now that perhaps she loved him more than ever. But he wouldn't answer any of her letters, and Wendy was strangely evasive about the handsome youth, except to write that Chris was starting mechanics school in the summer.

Maybe she had been too uptight. Maybe Chris was right... maybe she was a... a prick teaser. God! The words made her shudder. She had ruled sex out completely until marriage, and until she had satisfied her driving ambition to study in San Francisco and "make it" in the art world on her own ability, without relying on her face or figure. She had made this vow to herself while still in high school.

But hadn't she broken it already... just a little... by letting Chris satisfy her in every way except in the way that would give him any real satisfaction? How could she be so selfish, and such a hypocrite?

Jill's hangup was her own stunning good looks and a very strong sex appeal, an appeal she knew about because she had to admit that she felt sexy -- probably more than most girls. The twins had attracted more than their share of attention from the time they were babies, winning photo contests and other such vanity awards. They were both outstandingly beautiful children, and the favorites among relatives from both sides of the family. Everything they wanted was given to them by their doting parents and relations, and while Wendy remained relatively unaffected by the adulation, Jill became a spoiled and demanding little girl. It soon became apparent to her that she got what she wanted because of her looks and charm. Later she discovered what those looks meant to men. She was dismayed to realize that they valued her not for herself, but because she had a fantastic body and a great face -- the large hazel eyes with a thick fringe of black lashes, the flawless alabaster skin, the full, pouting lips and even white teeth, and a dainty, upturned nose, all framed by a yard of thick, glossy, deeply waved hair that was nearly black, except for shimmering strands of gold and auburn.

Being a sensualist, she also admired her body, and would often stand in front of a full length mirror and caress her full, pert breasts, her trim waist and gently flaring hips, and her long creamy thighs and calves as well as her trimly taut buttocks.

As she mused on this sexual reminiscence, Jill found her fingers moving of their own volition, gliding silently in the soft, warm water of the bath, through the foamy bubbles and down to her wet cuntal mound. The other hand found its way to her breast, and began to massage the pointed pink nipples. She parted the bubbles to watch her hands, then, embarrassed, she closed the passageway, so that only her two rosy and bubble-tipped nipples shone above the white spume. This gave her even more of a turn- on, and her fingers moved into her love-starved slit and began to massage her clitoris into twitching hardness. She couldn't resist playing with herself this way; she had done it so many times since coming to San Francisco. Certainly her fingers were no substitute for Chris's hungrily, lapping tongue -- God!, how she missed those nightly sucking sessions! -- but it was the only acceptable way she could satisfy herself now. Besides, it was natural. OOOHHH, YESSSSSS! And it felt soooooo good!

She was breathing heavily now, and her eyes had a fixed and glassy look. The maddening throb in her little sex bud imperiously demanded that she give vent to her needs.

Involuntarily, a moan escaped the masturbating girl's lips as she worked faster and harder on her palpitating mound, thinking of Chris... of his hot sticky tongue in her cunt, whispering, "Oh, suck me, Chris... lick me off, baby... suuuuuccckk!"

She arched her back as the first wave of the long-awaited orgasm swept over her.

"Yeeeeeesss, ooohh suuuccck! Ohhh Chriiisss!" the writhing girl hissed as her fantasy lover gave her the most deliciously drawn out climax, causing her beautiful face to contort in uncontrollable passion, her nostrils flaring and her sensual lips parting to show her glistening white teeth. Several seconds later she came again. In all, she had two more orgasms before she took her fingers out of her spent pussy.

Finally, the exquisite explosion faded through the tingling nerve ends of her cunt and the electric thrills that had exploded like skyrockets through the flat plane of her belly to her firm ripe breasts began to subside. As conscious thought came slowly back to the spent girl, she felt a deep pang of longing for her boyfriend so many miles away. Why, oh why did I ever leave my darling Chris?, she chided herself. I was a stupid fool to treat him the way I did. Then an idea popped into her head like the proverbial electric light bulb. I'll phone him... tonight! I'll phone him and tell him how much I miss him, and love him, and how sorry I am for being such an ass...

Chris Sandinger lived alone in a small two-room apartment above the garage where he worked part-time as an apprentice mechanic and service station attendant. He got free rent in exchange for his services. Jim Bandy was quick to see that the boy was a mechanical genius, and he was only too happy to let him stay in the rudely constructed dwelling instead of having to pay the kid, especially since Chris was also remodeling the kitchen and laying new tile on the bathroom floor!

Chris' parents had money. Old man Sandinger was president of the family bread bakery, a big concern in the midwest. And it embarrassed the Sandinger's that their only son had elected to work with his hands, and in a low-class occupation at that. They offered to send him to the finest colleges in the East. But Chris was a maverick. Despite his brilliance, he contrived to flunk most of his high school courses, until his senior year, when he made some effort and managed to get on the honor roll.

He used to make money doing chemistry papers for his classmates, and typing up themes for kids who couldn't hack it. And at one time he was heavily into drugs. In fact, he could tell what kind of grass was in a joint, where it came from, and what season of the year it had been planted. He also used the hard stuff, except for smack. But, rebel that he was, he one day decided that he was going to quit weed, and he did. Just like that. Now he confined his "habit" to cocaine, a very expensive indulgence. But he knew how to cut it so that he still got what he wanted out of it. And he dealt to certain friends. That kept him in pocket money.

When the phone rang at eight O'clock that night, a totally naked Chris was just sharing some of his coke-cut with a very alluring and very horny brunette... Jill's twin sister, Wendy...

"Hul-lo," he answered in his flat, non-committal way.

"Chris... this is Jill," came the familiar voice over the line.

Chris was taken aback. Jill was the last person he expected to hear from at that moment. He hesitated a few seconds, unsure whether to hang up the phone right then or give her a piece of his mind. He felt a stab of emotion in his chest. "Yeah? Well, eh, howya doin'?" he answered as though he were speaking to a buddy.

"I'm fine, Chris," she answered, the disappointment apparent in her voice. "How are you? What have you been doing lately?"

"What have I been doing lately?" he brightened, giving a knowing grin to Wendy. "Why I've been making a lot of love... sweet love. You know, fucking... things like that. Matter of fact, I was just about to fuck when the phone rang. How about you? Are you still the Kansas City Cock-Tease?, or have you wised up?"

There was a short silence, followed by a choked sob. Then Jill blurted out, "Oh, oh you monster! How could you do this to me! How could you say such horrible things! I wanted to make up, to tell you how much I missed you... a lot of things. But you had to spoil it! I was right about you all the time, wasn't I?"

"I guess you were, baby. And now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to take care of this beautiful lady who's been waiting patiently for me to get off the phone. Isn't nice to keep a lady waiting, you know..."

"Anybody who'd let you make love to her couldn't be much of a lady!"

"Now, that's no way to talk about your sister...

"Sister! You... you mean... Wendy?"

"That's the only sister you got, ain't it? Unless you're referring to the N.O.W."

"I don't believe you. You're lying!" Jill insisted.

"Oh yeah... Hold on a minute. Hey, Wendy, want to talk to Jill?"

When Wendy picked up the phone she got the familiar buzz of a disconnected circuit. "She hung up," Wendy said dejectedly.

"Don't worry about it, baby. Serves her right. What the hell did she expect, calling out of the blue after eight frigging months!" Chris said hotly.

"Chris... do you still have feelings about... about Jill?" Wendy suddenly asked.

"Sure I do -- I hate her guts! I'll never forgive her for what she did to me," he roared defiantly as he took a long swig from a bottle of Miller's High Life. But his emotions were playing two records at once in his head. He had been hurt, terribly hurt. And it took him a long time to get over it. In some ways, he still hadn't. He thought about Jill a lot, always with bitterness, always with regret. He kicked himself verbally for being such a patsy. He knew that part of his motive for resuming things with Wendy was to spite her prick-teasing twin. Actually, Wendy didn't turn him on as much as Jill did. She was almost as beautiful, but there was a certain "X" quality missing. And the girls were very different in personality. Wendy was a thinker, a realist, a compulsive doer. She had been a counselor at Planned Parenthood since she was 16, and was on the pill. Jill was a dreamer who lived in a fantasy world. Outwardly, Jill was a prude. But there was a smoldering sexuality beneath her conservative facade; Chris just hadn't been able to penetrate it completely. He knew, though, that she would be one helluva bed partner once she let go of her goddamned virginity! That's what really hurt his ego -- knowing how much he had done to make her happy while some other dude was going to hit the jackpot...