Carl Van Marcus - An unholy lust

Julie Moore looked around the Argon Gallery on 52nd Street in New York City and realized that if she was accepted by this gallery, if in fact her next one woman show was to be presented there… she would be made in the art scene. All the greats of the new movement were represented in this gallery, Larry Rutherford, Andrew Wylan, Georgia Morris, just to name a few and she Julie Moore hoped to join their ranks.

She caught sight of herself in a long baroque mirror on the far wall of the main gallery, not bad, not bad she mused to herself as she took in her tall lithe figure, her shapely legs extending from her mini skirt, her large firm breasts amply displayed in her stretch knit top. She was glad that she had worn her long blonde hair down, she flailed it around a little the way her model friend Carole did when she was goofing around in her studio, and flashed her mischievous green eyes at herself. She had heard that Philip Randolph was quite susceptible to women and she intended to pull a little at his heart strings… not that she wanted more than that, she was too loyal to her husband Randy… still she didn't mind a little flirtation here and there, it was good for the soul! Besides, of late she had seen so little of Randy that she needed a little flirtation to stop her from getting too horny. She had noticed consistently that when she was preparing for a new show she needed all the male energy she could get, it was almost as if she fed upon it during those times and with Randy around she had been lacking in that direction. Not that David, her beloved, faithful fellow artist, didn't give her a lot of love, it just was different. They had known each other for so long she just couldn't imagine being his lover, although before she had met her husband Randy they had had a mad affair but it hadn't lasted for too long.

"Mrs. Moore, Mr. Randolph will see you now," the receptionist at the desk purred.

Julie allowed herself to be led into a sumptuous office, full of antiques and oriental carpets and lots of plants. Umm… she thought to herself, this man has taste, that's for sure. She gasped to herself as she looked around the walls of his office at the dearth of famous artists represented… hope I'll be there one day she thought strongly to herself.

"Mrs. Moore, good to see you," Philip Randolph beamed from behind his desk. "Ever since Larry's party I've been longing to chat with you. You know Larry is nuts about your work, he thinks that you are the best thing since him!"

Julie smiled shyly, she wasn't used to such compliments from such famous artists, still she liked it. It was true, the famous Larry Rutherford had been the one who had prompted her to move to New York City. The West Coast is alright, he had told her when he had seen her work in San Francisco but if you really want to make the art scene, you've got to move to New York… it's the only place. I promise you if you come to the city I'll do whatever I can in my power to help you.

"Mrs. Moore," she heard Philip Randolph talking to her again, "tell me a little about yourself, where did you grow up, what kind of art training did you have, where do you derive your inspiration from… in short my dear everything about you."

For the next half hour Julie expounded upon her life, her work, her marriage to Randy, her source of inspiration and Philip Randolph listened attentively. If Julie could at that moment have read the gallery owner's mind she probably would have left the building… but then again she might not have done, she was a very ambitious and determined young woman. Philip Randolph was studying Julie, he liked what he saw, he was extremely fond of women, especially beautiful women and Julie was certainly a luscious piece of femininity. He caught his breath inwardly everytime she crossed and uncrossed her legs wondering if she realized that when she did so he could see clearly up to her flimsy panties, he almost thought one time that he caught sight of her darling little pussy, he could see blonde pussy hairs for sure curling around the black panties and the rest he could well imagine. Her breasts too were large and firm and he could see that she wasn't wearing any kind of brassiere, her nipples would at various times harden and press again her tight sweater and Philip Randolph at one point thought he would go out of his mind with desire. However, he knew that he had to play his cards correctly and anyway he didn't have to worry, he had the ace up his sleeve.

"Well Julie, that's fascinating," he smiled now as the young woman finished her story, "yes Al Cortini told me a little about you."

"Al Cortini," Julie caught her breath sharply at the mention of the gallery owner who had given her her first big show in San Francisco… and lots more besides that!

"Yes, why are you so surprised Julie, all we big art dealers in the country know each other, some of us quite intimately. Al and I have been friends for years, we've shared quite a few things in our time… do you know what I mean Julie?"

"I'm not sure Mr. Randolph," Julie said slowly knowing now full well what he was aiming at. Oh curse, thought the young artist to herself, I thought that would be the last time I'd have to fuck a gallery owner to get my work exhibited… Damn! Why does life catch up with you.

"I think you do Julie. Let's put it this way, you go home, think about it. If you want to give me what I want then I'll give you a one woman show and believe me Julie, you'll be made here in New York City after that, there'll be no need of favors after that for you my dear, believe me… but… for your first show, you'll have to give a little something more than your art work. Call me tomorrow."

Julie realized that her interview was over, she was stunned. It was true a show had been offered her but the terms were a little steep, she would have to think about it… she would have to think about it a lot!

Julie Moore let herself into the studio she had newly rented on West 11th Street with her husband Randy. The first thing she did was to pour herself a stiff brandy and sit down in her comfortable chair to think things over. Her head had been reeling all the way downtown from the gallery… Al Cortini had actually told Philip Randolph of his triumph over her… what a bastard and he had promised not to ever tell anyone. Obviously she had been a fool to trust him.

She remembered now the first time she had taken her artwork to his gallery, it had been 5:00 p.m., almost closing time and by the end of her interview she had realized that she was now alone in the gallery with Al Cortini. Somehow or other, she recalled now, she had known something was going to happen. She shuddered a little as she thought of his thick paunchy Italian body, his balding head and his watery, slightly bloodshot brown eyes. He wasn't exactly God's gift to women, she remembered. She didn't drink much then but she had accepted a scotch and soda and then another and she recalled now how before she knew what was happening she was sitting on his couch and he was fondling her breasts.

"Please Mr. Cortini," she protested in an anguished voice noticing for the first time the obvious bulge in his pants… yes that was how it had all begun… she leaned back now in her chair in her studio on West 11th Street and fully allowed herself to disappear into the memory of that fateful evening.

"Come off it baby," Al Cortini sneered, "don't tell me you didn't know I would want a little piece of your ass for a show. You've wiggled it at me enough by this time to excite me."

Then, as he massaged at the tender softness of her breasts, he pulled her back against him until she felt the hardness of his erect penis grinding into the small of her back.

"Mr. Cortini," please stop she pleaded and yet already she realized that she wasn't resisting him as much as she could have done, already there were delicious sensations spreading from her tingling breasts, warming her belly and deep in her loins, a tiny flame of arousal seared her. She could hardly believe that it was happening to her, she was quite contented with her husband Randy even though he was away a little more on business than she cared for… still she had never dreamed of being unfaithful to him.