I'd taken a job with Paramount's script department, selling the drama. It was mundane, secretarial at the core and offered little in the way of challenge or job satisfaction. But I needed work and like Elmore said, what's the point of living in LA if you ain't in the movie business?
I was shopping a screenplay called `Dying To Meet You' in my free time, and trying to write another one. But it was tough going. I was living in a little flat just off Sunset, behind a massage parlor, with a liquor store on one side, and an adult bookstore on the other. I was upstairs, below me lived a couple prostitutes, Miranda and Crystal. It wasn't great for my creativity, at least as I envisioned it.
Dying was a romantic comedy, about a guy who fakes having cancer so the Make A Wish people will get him a date with a beautiful actress. Along the way he meets a boy who really is dying, but teaches the guy about living. Of course he meets a girl too, the one who is trying to get his wish fulfilled, even though she thinks he could do better for himself... By the end of the movie the guy realizes how shallow he is, how much he loves the ordinary girl, and how if he really did have a single last wish, it wouldn't be to meet some phony actress. You get the idea.
My current project was along similar lines, tentatively called `Keep the Change' about a rather ordinary teenage girl who finds a lamp in the back of a taxi while visiting New York. Of course, there is a genie in the bottle and she gets just one wish. The girl suddenly becomes as beautiful as she always wanted to be (Sandra Bullock), but it will only last for one year, unless she can return the genie and his bottle to their rightful owner... It is the old metaphoric journey from adolescence to adulthood and along the way she meets and learns from various people. It's cute, nothing too heavy.
Unfortunately, my surroundings did not conspire to help me write cute things. I found myself staring out my window more and more, leaving it open despite the heat, just so I could watch the people below me. I'd sit in a plain white tank-top that was too big, a reminder of my old boyfriend, and a pair of cut-off shorts, sweating and ignoring my laptop while I sipped iced tea, or kool-aid, or a beer once in awhile.
My apartment was sparse, at best. Mostly I decorated it with pictures ripped from old magazines. One whole wall was a collage, and to me it was a genuine piece of art, my inspiration, my conscience, my personal wailing wall. It had pictures from everything, National Geographic, Cosmopolitan, Life, Time, Playboy, Seventeen, newspapers, brochures, it didn't matter. I had a picture of Goebbles next to a picture of the Pope, his face superimposed on the vagina I'd torn from an old Hustler I'd found. I had landscapes, animals, sunsets, flowers, death, life, birth, abortion, portraits, landscapes, advertisements, paintings...But no words, not a single one. That was my job.
I was just 22 then, single white female, seeking... something. I had a telephone, but no television. I had a little single burner stove and a mini-fridge. I had a little MD player and a goldfish bowl, and books. Thousands of them. I slept and ate and danced on my futon, and my only chair was a throwaway from the salvation army, a folding metal thing, painted grey. I felt like a monk and I had to get out.
Down on the street there was life, at least. Or the semblance of it. Vampires and night crawlers, stalking something to fill the holes inside. There were the homeless and the prostitutes and the addicts and the dealers. The valley boys cruising the boulevard in their dad's car, looking for a cheap thrill. Cops ignoring everything.
I'd changed my clothes, putting on a pair of white denim jeans, some pink snake-skin boots, and a pink halter. I had my long black hair pulled back, some pink lipstick, but no other makeup. No jewelry but the rings in my nipples, perched on my petite breasts and hidden as two vague lumps beneath my clothes. I liked walking around at night, I liked the thrill of being on the edge of something just out of sight. The great unmentionable.
I went in the liquor store, run by a Vietnamese guy named Ho, like Ho Chi Minh, but without the bad attitude. He had a picture of himself during the war, young and dead, lifeless eyes he had, standing with a couple Americans, just staring at the camera. I wished I had that picture on my wall. I bought a peach wine cooler, counting out my change, and I opened it as I walked back out onto the street.
I wasn't sure where I was going, or what I wanted to do. I decided to stop in the adult bookstore, that was always a bit of a thrill. It was a seedy place, not one of the new bright couple friendly places that had sprung up lately, this was a throwback to when such places were the very pits of depravity that any decent community shunned. I liked it because the only people in there were guys, sick sex addicted men with nothing good in their lives. They loved women, passionately, romantically, the dreamt of us, and we rejected them utterly. They hated us, they hated me. I could feel it. They hated the way I intruded on their fantasies, walking into that place, seeing them looking and wanting and never having. What a betrayal.
I'd saved half my cooler and I put it on the counter for Rolf, who was German, but he talked like anyone else from LA, without any accent at all. "I didn't have enough for two." I shrugged apologetically as he drank it.
"Thanks. How ya doin?" he lit a cigarette and handed it to me. He smoked French cigarettes, he said they cost him a fortune, but they were good. They had cloves in them, just a little, so that the smoke was heady.
"I'm bored." I looked around. "Got anything I can take for a test drive?" I was referring to the unusually large assortment of dildos, vibrators, and sundry personal appliances on display.
"Heh." It was an old joke between us. The first words I'd ever spoken to him, before I'd spent 30 bucks on a dildo that I'd desperately needed at the time. "How's the writing?"
"It sucks, how's the biz?" Rolf had never pretended to be anything but a pornographer, you had to respect that kind of honesty. It also meant he knew everybody. The bookstore was just a front, I'd seen his real stuff before.
"You looking?" He puffed his cigarette the continental way, holding it almost delicately between his thumb and forefinger.
"Not yet, why? You got something?"
"Some guys in the valley, looking for fresh faces, you know. It's a hard six hundred if you're interested."
"When?" An easy six was pure ice cream, nothing to it. Guy "meats" girl. A hard six was something else, anything from BDSM to Piss to Dogs. It wasn't always pleasant, but it was only an hour long, or less, which meant only 3 hours of shooting, which meant only 6 hours of working. Six was the magic number for me.
"Sure, yeah." I needed the money. "No dogs right?"
Rolf laughed, but he'd set me up once with a guy doing a horse flick.
"No, just straight up stuff. Vanilla... like you." He grinned.
"Yeah, right, okay... Who's gonna insure me?"
"I can do it, don't sweat okay? I'll talk to them. Come by Friday I'll have something." Rolf would be my guy, just so somebody knew where I was.
Some old man was looking at me, over a rack of European porn, trying to be sly about it and I waved my fingers at him, so he turned around quickly. "Got any tokens laying around?"
"Take 13, I fixed the lock." Rolf handed me a dozen silvery tokens for the video booths. He knew I was hooking, but it wasn't a problem, I'd take care of him at the end of the night. It was better than hanging out on the street and Rolf didn't mind.
"Thanks Rolf." I smiled and walked through the dark doorway, seeing maybe 7 or 8 guys, shadows lurking in the darkness. I went to the booth with a big 13 on the door and went inside, not bothering to lock the door, or even close it all the way. I dropped a token in the lighted slot, just to get some light really, such booths tended to be messy especially this late at night.
The screen came alive with some blonde getting it from 3 black guys all at once. The bench was clean at least, although the floor didn't look too good, and the screen itself had a rather tacky stain in the lower left hand corner. There was a glory hole on either side of me, almost, but not quite directly opposite and at shoulder height as I sat there. I put out the French cigarette on the floor about the time I heard the door squeak just a bit, I looked over my shoulder and saw a middle aged guy in a rumpled suit, completely ordinary, looking at me through the narrow crack.
He disappeared, probably because he was gay I thought, and that didn't bother me. In fact nothing about this bothered me in the least, quite the contrary I found it exciting. Not just being in the most degrading surroundings imaginable, but being with strangers, men whom I would never know. Who could be carrying anything from infections to knives to religious tracts. I loved not knowing. Of taking a risk without limits, without definition. It was the ultimate experience for me, emotionally, to be so far out of control that I wasn't even on the pill. Give me a baby, give me aids, give me a hit of the white lady, or just hit me, rape me, kill me...I want to be a victim.
I was soaked already, it happens for me just that quick. I'd left home when I was 13 the first time, got caught 5 weeks later and did it again when I was 14, I didn't fuck up after that. I was enjoying it too much to go back. Enjoying things like this. My heart was beating and I had little butterflies in my stomach, being in that booth, stinking of semen and sweat, watching the people on that TV screen, as if they were things. I felt like a thing, I was so dead inside all the time, only now, alone with the monsters did I feel alive.
I heard someone entering the booth next to me, to my right, the soft metal chunking of tokens being dropped. I pulled my top up, above my breasts, folding it under so it stayed in place, and I leaned back, rubbing my hard brown nipples. I pulled my rings, twisting them and wondering if the guy was watching. I resisted the urge to peek myself, Instead I just waited until a few minutes later I saw the man's stiff penis pushing through the fist sized hole. It was chubby and not too long, swollen with his excitement and I reached for it, stroking it slowly, rubbing my thumb over the head.
"Suck it." The voice was low and husky.
I leaned forward, blowing across it. "Twenty." I whispered back, just barely grazing the tip with my tongue.
"You're a girl?" The voice came back. I told him I was. "Show me."
I stood up, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling them down and then fully off, stepping in and out of my shoes one at a time, then folding them over the back of the bench. I pulled my panties to the side as the cock disappeared and I could just make out the light reflected from a pair of eyes. I turned, showing him my pussy, spreading my lips and fingering my wet slit.
"How much?" He was staring.
The penis reappeared a moment later with a twenty dollar bill next to it. "Just suck it." I squatted down and took him in my mouth then, giving this unseen stranger a slow stroke and smoke, fisting the base of his thick shaft while I sucked a few inches between my lips. It wouldn't take him long, staring at his own video screen while someone was giving him head. Even if he'd already cum once, or even twice already tonight, they never lasted long when they felt the real deal.
I was just starting to get into it when I felt him getting close. "Deeper... ah fuck!" I heard him groaning and thrusting his cock so it banged the back of my mouth and almost made me gag, but I was halfway expecting it. His sperm flooded my mouth, thin and watery, and I swallowed it eagerly, feeling it sliding down my throat. I kept my mouth on him until he was spent and let him pull away. "Show me." He breathed. And I opened my mouth, letting him see the remnants of his orgasm pooled on my tongue and I swallowed that noisily, giving him his money's worth.
He pulled out and I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, looking over my shoulder at a muffled sound and seeing another cock pressing through the hole on the other wall. I turned and put my mouth over the head, giving it a quick lick.
"I wanna fuck." The guy was saying.
"Fifty." I told him, sitting back on my heels and rubbing my breasts.
"Forty, come on." His cock was large and dark, dripping precum.
I shook my head. "Fifty bareback, take it or leave it."
He tossed a crumpled up twenty and two tens through the hole. "That's all I got."
"I'll blow you." I pushed the tens back at him and put my mouth on his cock, wriggling my tongue underneath the swollen head.
"Throat me." He was shoving with his hips and I let my throat open for him, his prick catching my swallow and pushing all the way inside until my face was pressed to the cool sheetrock of the wall.
Someone opened the door behind me, stepping inside and I heard it lock. I had the guy's cock in my throat still, my muscles working against it as if I could swallow that thick throbbing warmth all the way down to my stomach. I felt a giddy rush of excitement as I had no idea who was in that small room with me, watching as I gave some anonymous guy head. I felt his hands on my hips, lifting me so I stood, bent over at the waist, sucking loudly. I pulled my mouth away long enough to let saliva and precum run from my panting lips, dripping across the hardness in my hand and down onto the floor.
"You wanna fuck?" I breathed, looking over my shoulder and seeing a thin middle aged guy with glasses. "Fifty and you do what you want."
"Okay." He was massaging my cunt through my panties, pushing my legs wider. "Keep sucking, I like to watch."
I went back to giving the guy next door head, deep- throating him a few times and then sucking just the head for a moment, then doing it all over again while my hands rubbed the wetness we were making all around his hot penis. The man behind my pulled my panties to the side, and I felt his cockhead pushing inside me hard, without any pretense at patience or concern. He wasn't overly large, but it felt good, being invaded by that strange prick and I gave a little moan around the cock in my mouth.
It wasn't long before the cock in my face erupted, ejaculating in my mouth. "On your face!" The guy urged and I pulled his cock free of my lips so his last few spurts painted my cheeks and nose and chin. I rubbed it all around my face, feeling the warm stickiness of it clinging to my features. The guy pulled his cock back through the hole whispering thanks and then he was gone.
The man behind me was fucking me hard, ramming himself into me so that I had to brace myself against the wall with my palms, licking my lips and tasting the sperm slowly drying on my face. It felt good and I was squeezing him with my vaginal walls, contracting my muscles slightly, just enough so that he could feel it and within 4 minutes of starting, the man finished, blowing his sperm deep inside me. He held himself there, making soft noises and digging his fingers into my hips.
He pulled out and I stood up slowly, stretching my back a little. "Pay me." I told the guy, feeling his seed leaking out from my slightly distended labia. I pulled my panties back into place.
The guy laughed at me. "Fuck you." And he started opening the door. I grabbed at him and he pushed my face with his hand, shrugging off the loose grip I had on his t-shirt. "Thanks for the fuck, bitch."
I let him go, even though it pissed me off. I deserved it, I thought a little bitterly, always get the money first. It was a rule I knew and usually lived by, but sometimes...I just wanted to forget, just to see what would happen.
I sucked off three more guys over the next 30 or 40 minutes, by now the word was out that there was a whore in lucky 13 who was charging twenty for a blowjob. The downside of working the guys in a bookstore was that they didn't want to spend anything, so getting fucked was usually a pretty rare thing, unless I gave it away, as I had earlier.
I was wishing I had another wine cooler, or some gum, or even some water just to rinse my mouth when a pair of cocks pressed together through the glory hole to my left. They must have been good friends, I thought with a little smile.
"Get us off." One voice said and the other echoed. "Yeah girl, open up." I could see one guys hand, stroking them both together, a couple queers wanting it at the same time.
"Show some dough." I told them. "Twenty each."
"Aww come on, 20 girl, just suck em at the same time." One guy said and the other giggled.
"No way, you want it you gotta pay." I tickled them with my finger nails.
"Twenty five, please?" The giggling guy sounded young.
"I'll do you both for thirty, but when one of you cums, it's over for both of you." That seemed like a funny way of dealing with it, but they agreed and pushed their money through. I picked up the bills and put them on the chair with the rest of my money. The floor was getting pretty messy now with spit and jism, but I was kneeling in it now too, heedless of the wetness spreading across my legs when I moved.
I left the booth an hour later with a couple hundred bucks in dirty wrinkled money stuffed in my purse. I went to the bathroom to clean up. There was only one and it had no lock on the door. There was a stall, also without a door, and two urinals, and a sink. It wasn't pristine, but the plumbing worked.
One look in the mirror was enough to make me shake my head. I was a mess and I turned on the faucet, washing my hands all the way up to my elbows in the cold water. Some guy came in, staring at me as he walked to one of the urinals. I watched him in the mirror until I started washing my face and neck. He left without a word and I was alone for a few minutes. I pulled my halter down, beneath my tits and washed them as well. Another guy came in and grinned at me as I rubbed my tits.
"You like bathroom?" He asked me and I looked at his reflection in the mirror.
"Come here then." He was younger, only 30 or so and not bad looking, even though he dressed like a punk, in jeans and a tank top. I walked over, grabbing my purse off the sink, my breasts still hanging out, pushed up over my top. "Get down here."
He pushed me down so I knelt between the two urinals with my back to the wall. I hung my purse on one of the flushing handles and looked up at him as he pulled his flaccid penis free. "Open up." He smiled and pushed his cock into my mouth. I sucked briefly and started swallowing quickly as he began pissing. It was bitter and hot and salty and it overflowed, running down my chin and neck and tits. He pissed for a few minutes like that and left his cock between my lips afterward so I could clean him.
"You wanna go to a party?" He asked me, zipping up. He reached for his wallet, a big leather thing chained to his jeans and pulled out a fifty dollar bill.
"Nah. I gotta work tomorrow." I shook my head, looking at a couple guys in the doorway and feeling my stomach churn a little as it tried to deal with all the sperm and now piss I'd swallowed.
I cleaned myself up again, ignoring some invitations for an encore and walked out of the arcade feeling the eyes. The guys stayed in the shadows, hiding as I left. It was the way of it and I think I could understand, almost. I gave Rolf a hundred and a smile. He gave me another cigarette and I leaned against the counter smoking it with real pleasure.
"How come you never tried to fuck me, Rolf?" The thought just occurred to me.
He shrugged. "I'm HIV positive." He was stacking videos. "You know that."
"So?" I knew he wasn't sick, not really. He just carried the anti-bodies, but it could happen any day. Rolf was just waiting.
"So..." He looked at me. "I don't know. Guess I lost the urge for it, ya know? And now..." Rolf's voice filled with irony and he grinned, gesturing around us. "...now I'm just selling the drama."