A sunbeam struck my eye, and nudged me awake. I checked my watch. It was 10:36am. Next to me Julie snored peacefully. Her pale cheek was smeared with ruby lipstick. Her eyes were covered by a jungle growth of brown hair. Her round shoulders looked soft and smooth. I stared at the deep valley of her cleavage as her naked bosom heaved up and down under the covers. She was an old world beauty, soft and curvy, but with an edgy scowl and sharp Roman features. She was beautiful.
I rubbed my eyes. My fingers were sticky, and smelled of sex. I got up, cold and nude, and quietly slipped on my slacks. I crept out of the bedroom, my bare feet sticky against the cold floor, the door opening softly with a creak.
Christie's door was open. There was no sign of her, so I made my way to the chilly bathroom to clean up. It was a dingy water-closet, really, with a black commode, a tiny, make-up stained sink, and a damp shower basin surrounded by a plastic curtain drawn on a string sporting several dripping stockings and bras. A wicker hamper under the sink held some dirty laundry, and a black, frilly thing was poking out under the lid. Curious, I lifted the top and pulled out a pair of used, black panties. I held the silky underwear up to my nose and took a deep sniff. Just as I thought - they weren't Julie's. Julie's smell was very distinct, very gardenish, and she didn't seem to be into the black frill underclothing thing. No, these panties belonged to Christie, her slinky dancer roommate. They smelled a bit dank, but also fruity. I looked around the bathroom and found a box of passion fruit douche -- Christie's, I assumed.
I chucked the panties onto the sink, ran a finger of toothpaste through my teeth and splashed cold water on my face. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror and said, "What the hell was last night all about?"
I knew I was involved with another exhibitionist. Last night, with Christie in the room, and later watching us, Julie was able to become aroused, and reach orgasm. I recalled the first night I saw her, singing so passionately at The Bitter End, the mike stand pressed between her legs. Did she cum then, too, in front of the screaming crowd?
First Bonnie, now Julie. I wasn't sure how much of this I could take.
Still, I was strangely turned on. Maybe not so much by the thrill of being watched, or possibly caught, but by the thrill it obviously gave to them. Both Bonnie and Julie reached monumental arousal through their brash public displays of passion and lewdness, and in their excitement I found excitement.
And then there was the "I love you" thing. Julie would never have said it without really, truly meaning it. And I had said nothing in return.
Did I love her? I was undoubtedly fascinated and infatuated with her. She was brainy, soulful, and I liked who I was when I was with her. I felt, yes, that I did love her. So why couldn't I say it?
I decided to not be a prick and go home just yet. I was going to wait for Julie to wake up. So, I went to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of juice, plopped onto the sofa and watched a little news from a tiny TV they had stuck up on a couple of milk crates.
It seems the Mad Cracker had struck again the night before, this time setting off a display on the Brooklyn Promenade, giving the entire South Street Seaport a fantastic show. Again he sent a letter to the media, promising to give his biggest show yet on his ex-girlfriend's birthday, which was coming up in a couple of weeks. He promised a "light show like the city has never seen!"
"Damn." I thought, "There's one way to say I love you. Send a few bottle rockets over Manhattan."
I turned off the news and looked around for something to read. On a footlocker coffee table was the Times crossword puzzle. I could never finish one of those damn things, and I wouldn't have given it a second look, except this one looked different from any other Times puzzle I'd ever seen -- this one was finished. Every square had been filled in, with no crossed out letters or mistakes. In ink! Damn! Jazzy Girl be smart.
After a few minutes Julie came out of her room, wearing a bathrobe, looking crumpled and sexy. She didn't say a word, but poured herself a cup of milk, and joined me on the couch. We sat there for a moment, drinking our drinks, listening to the sounds of the morning traffic outside. Finally she slid into me, laying her head on my chest, and I held her in my arms.
"Good morning." I said.
"Good morning." she replied. "Thanks for last night."
"You're welcome." I said, "Thank you."
She hesitated. "Sorry it was so weird. Can I tell you something?"
"Yes." I said, putting my glass down, and squeezing her into me.
"I'm frigid. I've never really been able to have sex. Dean was the best. He was this big, great looking guy, and I could feel something with him, but not enough. And he got pissed about it, a lot. He's an asshole, I don't want to talk about him. I'm just telling you so you'll know what kind of a nut case I am. I'm just bad at sex. But you..."
"Yes?" I said.
"You made me - wet - the first night I met you." she continued. She paused a bit, letting that sink in. "And I actually had an orgasm. On stage. Do you remember that second set...?"
"Yeah. I remember."
She laughed nervously, "I think it was pretty obvious to everyone. Not to Dean, though. I told him a few days later though, and he got royally pissed. I think he knew it was because of you. Anyway he's history."
"Julie," I said, "I'm an okay looking guy, but, you know, I have to ask, and I'm just being clerical here but -- you got wet from just looking at me?"
I remembered my furtive fuck session with Bonnie in the back room of The Bitter End, and my suspicion that someone had been watching us. "C'mon, Julie. Showtime." Wasn't that what I heard someone say in the hallway while screwing little Bonnie?
Julie didn't answer me at first. She dropped a hand to my lap, and nonchalantly began rubbing me through my pants, playfully testing for any hardness. "Last night was strange, wasn't it?" she said.
"Yeah." I said, "But I liked it."
She whispered, "I have never been that wet."
My cock was rising, and she felt it. She shifted her arm, rubbing against my growing bulge. I kissed her. She was warm, and receptive. I placed a hand inside her robe. She was naked, and her ample breasts fell into my palm. Her nipples were pointy. I moved my hand down her stomach to her mound. She had opened her legs for me. She wanted me. I slid a finger over her pussy...
It was dry.
I moved my hand back up to her face, and cradled it as I kissed her harder, biting and licking her neck. She opened her robe and I suckled on her tits. I tried her pussy again, and again found it cold and dry. Finally she pushed me away, tears in her eyes.
"Shit!" she said, "I'm a fucking freak of nature! I don't know what it is! I thought, Goddamn it, if I just let loose, you know, tried something crazy, like last night..."
The spanking, I remembered. I thought that whole incident was weird, how she had let loose with a straightforward, "Let's fuck" and how she pulled down her panties and offered me her ass for spanking. And I remembered how she abruptly stopped when the passion experiment wasn't working, and she wasn't feeling anything but foolish.
She continued. "I'm sorry. God, I really think I need a psychiatrist. I want to be with you, but my fucking body just won't cooperate!"
"It did last night." I said. "Julie, you were sexy as hell last night."
She whispered again, "Because we were being watched."
