Chapter 7

Of course, after every night, comes a dawn. After every evening of romance, comes the cold gray morning light to cast a different look upon everything. Even an orgy knows its limits. There comes a time when the flesh is sated. Energy runs out, the muscles grow tired. Passion may still be burning but the conscious mind gives out: all things must rest.

Kim slept as if she bad been drugged. More, she slept like someone stunned by exhaustion. An army could have marched over her bed, and she wouldn't have noticed it. She slept through what remained of the night after the last eager man had ravished her voluptuous young body. She lost count of how many men fucked her, and she woke, late the next day, to find herself alone with a few nakedly sleeping bodies scattered around the room. A young blonde girl, also naked, was asleep in bed with her, and Kim shuddered as a vague recollection came that they had had sex together, and she wanted to weep that she had fallen so low that she would commit any kind of perversion.

She had a ramming, champagne-hangover and couldn't think too clearly. The hashish didn't help any, leaving her mind vague and unsure. She was like a drug-user: befuddled and vague. What she could remember sent a chill up and down her spine. Had she done everything she remembered? As she groaned and raised herself on one elbow to look around, she knew that she had done all that she remembered and probably more. And... Nichole had taken pictures!

She sat bolt upright, shivering. A man, on the floor, moaned and looked up at her. With a groan, he rolled over on his back and exposed his rapidly swelling penis. With gestures, he indicated he wanted Kim to come down on the floor and suck his cock.

Kim shivered again and put her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming and throwing up, from vomiting right there on the bed where she had fucked men--strangers--on for hours on end. Her body ached as if she had been in a six-day bicycle race. Her ravaged young vagina was sore, the pain sharp and stinging now. To her growing horror, she discovered a strange taste in her mouth, a taste she had never known before. Was it male? Female?

With a wild whimper of fear, the bewildered young wife crawled out of the bed and scurried across the floor, finding her torn panties and her bunched up dress. She snapped on her brassiere and pulled the dress on over her head. The panties were too torn and dampened to be much good. She left them behind, fleeing the apartment with her eyes bloodshot and her face a pasty white. She fled as if all the demons of hell were after her at that moment.

Kim heaved a sigh of relief that almost ended in being a sob when she saw that her purse was intact. At least, she told herself, near tears, they weren't after her money! It seemed a bitter joke as she rode in a taxi on the way to Nichole's apartment. She didn't even know where Nichole was at that moment, and she didn't really care; all she hoped was that her betraying brunette friend wasn't in the apartment.

No one was at Nichole's, and Kim got her things and left the key on the foyer table before taking a cab to the airport. By the time the sun was setting over the Pacific ocean, Kim was unlocking the door to their cottage in Carmel. Once the door was closed and locked, she leaned against it and tears, so long suppressed, welled up. The deeply ashamed young wife held her face in her hands and sobbed.

She felt so degraded, so humiliated! But what made it even worse, she knew she had loved it! Where were her great plans now? How could she ever face Hank's parents and look them in the eye? Perhaps they were right, perhaps she wasn't good enough for them; perhaps they were right... perhaps she wasn't good enough for even Hank!

Kim sank to her knees by the door, sobbing, crushed by the terrible truth she was discovering about herself. After all, even though she was drugged and drank a lot, even though Klaus did force her to a certain degree, she had liked it! Liked it? She had loved it! She had loved every depraved minute of it! By the time the others came into the room, by the time Nichole had taken the pictures--her head snapped up. Nichole had taken pictures! Why? Maybe the whole thing had been a plot, a plan, a trick, to deceive her and to blackmail her!

She got to her feet, wiping her eyes and thinking as hard as she could. Why? Why had Nichole taken pictures of her and made the comments that she had? She shook her head and felt a cold queasy fear growing in the pit of her stomach. In fact, she felt herself growing increasingly sick to her stomach as she thought of all that had happened. She thought of all the filthy things she had done and of the pictures as evidence--irrefutable--of her depravity and humiliation.

Fear grew in her and she started imagining all sorts of possibilities. The more she thought, the more frightened she became. Nichole could be in with a bunch of white-slavers! She could find herself drugged and shipped off to a life of prostitution and depravity. The frightened young wife went around checking the locks and the windows and trying to remember where the gun was that Hank had left behind with instructions on how to use it. She had never liked guns and hadn't really listened to her husband, thinking she would never have occasion to use it. Now she kicked herself, and couldn't even remember where in the bedroom she had hidden it.

Kim's basic character finally pulled her through. She went from deep paranoiac fear to a kind of sensibility. Of course Nichole wasn't mixed up with white slavery. She admitted to herself that she didn't know why the pictures were taken. There had to be a good reason. Time, she told herself. Time would tell. Whatever her reason, she would have to see Nichole once again and then she would find out just what it was that was going on. When that time came, Kim resolved that she, herself, would have to be firm. She would have to show Nichole that she wasn't having any more of her life. Nichole could--and would--lead her own life. Kim wouldn't judge her, but she wouldn't have anything to do with her. When she did see her again--and she felt sure she would--she would demand the pictures and negatives and tell her that their relationship was at an end.

Kim's basic character came through. She set her house in order, took a long hot shower during which she soaped herself all over as if she were trying to wash her sins away, and, clean, warm, she got into bed and slept the sleep of one who is mentally and physically exhausted.

Then she set about her daily routine. A walk on the beach in the morning, going to the post office, a walk on the beach just before dark, then an evening at home before a fire while she watched TV. Only, she found things were different. It was almost as if she were a different person now. She found it hard to write to Hank without thinking of what had happened up in the city. Her walks, her whole day was viewed from a different reality now. She had the terrible feeling that things would never be the same again. And, that awful, insidious, feeling of dread was growing again. It wasn't a feeling of being watched--she had no urge to look over her shoulder.