We drove to a street in West Hollywood and parked in front of a two-story apartment
building. JD took my hand and led me up the stairway to the second floor. As soon as he
knocked on the door, it was opened by a pretty girl. Well, to be honest, she was far more
than pretty. She was Vogue gorgeous. Slender, but voluptuous, with voluminous
bleached-blonde hair that tumbled over her shoulders ala Jayne Mansfield. She held up
her face for a kiss from JD on a rouged cheek and then smiled at me, her bright red lips
curving over amazingly white and perfect teeth.
She couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than I, but I felt like a dowdy
dowager in my conventional navy dinner suit, even though it came from an exclusive
Beverly Hills shop. JD introduced us and we shook hands.
“Please come in and make yourself at home.” She gestured toward a couch and a
nearby club chair. Chattering about the balmy weather and JD’s trip from Chicago, she
offered us both cigarettes from a box on the coffee table.
“Thank you. I don’t smoke,” I said.
She and JD lit up their Lucky Strikes and she poured scotch from a decanter into the
glasses she had on a tray, offering one to me.
“Thank you. I don’t drink,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sorry; I don’t have any soft drinks.” She and JD clicked glasses and sipped
the straight-up scotch while smoking. Then, she unexpectedly reached for a photograph
album on the end table next to her. “You might enjoy seeing these pictures of me.”
Every photograph showed her in a risqué outfit or none at all. The kind of photos I’d
seen on wall calendars in the dressing rooms of male movie stars or in the two Playboy
magazines’ I’d seen art students pass around class.
My palms were wet with perspiration by the time I had flipped through several
pages, and I was finding it difficult to breathe naturally. This from nervousness, not
arousal. I closed the album and caught JD’s eyes. “Please take me home,” I said quietly,
knowing my face was flaming red. I refused to hide my cheeks from the four eyes gazing
intently at me. That would make me look even more immature than I felt. I rose from the
chair and fumbled for my purse.
“Okay, no problem,” he said. ”But first, come into the other room with me. I want
you to see something.”
I politely followed both of them, my feet dragging. The room was a dimly lit
bedroom, with cranberry red bedding. As soon as I entered, JD locked the door. My heart
skipped a beat. Before that action and what it might mean took root in my already
muddled brain, he had kicked off his shoes and whipped off his clothes. Our hostess did
the same. She rubbed her naked body against his and he laughed with delight. I backed
against the door and fumbled for the lock. Ending their lip-smothering kiss, JD reached
for a chair and pulled it close to the bed. “Sit here, Carol,” he said. “This won’t take
If I hadn’t done as directed, I would have fallen to the floor in a dead faint. My legs
felt like wet noodles, my stomach was roiling, and I could feel tears stinging my eyes. I
blinked several times, hoping none would escape and make a trail down my cheeks. I
already looked like an adolescent in adult apparel. He took two steps and reached for my
arm, pulling me toward the chair. I couldn’t bear to look at him. His nakedness wasn’t the
same as the hired male models for our art classes.
He rolled onto the bed and the clearly experienced girl-model proceeded to kneel in
front of his spread legs. What they were doing should be done in private. I wanted to
close my eyes and shut out the deplorable scene. I lifted them only slightly to an area of
the room a couple inches above the tableau. All the time he was otherwise occupied, JD
kept looking at and talking to me, making sure I wasn’t shutting my eyes. He moaned
several times. I was horrified and humiliated. I had never seen anything like what I was
being made to watch and hear.
“What do you think, Carol? This could be us. I wanted a long evening of sexual
pleasure with you, but it became clear during our dinner conversation that you were
unlikely to oblige me. I thought this is the next best thing. It’s fun and sure feels good.
We could have a threesome, before we head for home. Interested?”
Frozen in the chair, I couldn’t find my voice. My skin crawled with a zillion stinging
vermin. I felt dirty. Soiled beyond repair. I contemplated dashing to the window,
breaking the windowpane and leaping to my freedom but thought I might fail in my
attempt and be at the mercy of their laughter. My only saving grace was to look at the
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