Sex and the City: The Movie

He must never know she'd finger-fucked herself tonight; no, he must never know. She took off her gown and lay back down on the bed, slipping between the sheets, praying for the respite of sleep to ease her tortured mind. As she sobbed into her pillow, all time stopped, the only measurement being the thud of her heart punctuated by the soft sobs of her guilt. The films lay scattered on the floor, unremembered. Chapter 4 On the other side of the city in the back room of a private film studio Stephan Edwards found himself in a situation that no fiction writer could approximate. It was even better than any of his wildest sexual fantasies. He was a star in a movie, but in no ordinary film: this was what the movie crowd called sex films, or-as those who frequented those movie houses referred to them-fuck films. How it all happened, he wasn't actually certain. His recollections ran only as far back as stopping en route to the studio with Kitty for a "taste of weed." From there on, he could remember little, but from what bits and pieces he could glue together in his confused drugged mind, he had been chosen by the eighteen-year-old nymphomaniac to star with her ...»