"You know, it still blows me away," said Crystal. "I'm moving four pounds of shit a week at this point. I see two hundred mile days sometimes, making deliveries. Everybody wants the shit I got, from fucking Susanville to Placerville, I got the contacts, and I can fulfill them. All the dealers want my shit. It's weird, I know I'm making enemies, 'cos I know all the fuck-up crank makers hate me, they can't match what I got. That garbage they got? Fuck, they could be giving it away, and people would be telling them no. That punk rock bitch Crystal has the quality, and everyone wants it, and are willing to pay.
"I've thought about getting a second car. Something dull, like a Toyota Camry. I love the Taurus, but c'mon, I'm this black streak rolling up and down Highway 49 all day, five days a week. I start to feel conspicuous, like I"m too easy to spot, and the pigs will get curious about me sooner or later. If I had something to switch off into --- and not the old Subaru --- I'd spend a lot less time studying my rear view mirror."
Crystal swirled her drink in the glass and took a sip. We were in the bar of the Seafarer, having already eaten dinner. Crystal was someone else who had never experienced truly good salmon, and wanted to take us out, so.... She was duly impressed, and unfazed at the astronomical price tag. Gone was the jonesing punk rock/hillbilly tweaker bitch I'd first met months ago. Now present was a woman in her mid-thirties who was in the process of becoming rather well-off in the illegal drug trade. Her hair, while still short, was no longer spiky and uneven, dyed in any of several Day-Glo colors. It was now simply black and looked more hipster than punk rock. The boots, micro-skirts, and ripped t-shirts had also fallen by the wayside. She had picked up a rather androgynous look, dark greys and blacks, with either Ben Davis or Levis below and men's dress shirts up top, a bit tight. (This was a bit unavoidable, as she had a rack that would have rendered Al Goldstein speechless.) Her makeup, while still liberally applied, was no longer frenetic, and not in primary colors.. When leaning against her black Taurus SHO, she looked more like a "style and fashion" editor/critic for Vogue magazine's European publication. She looked dark and hip and stylish, and the last person you'd guess was establishing herself as a high volume dealer of methamphetamine.
"Off probation yet?" I asked.
"Yeah, three weeks now. The judge sent a couple fuckin' deputies out to the house, to see if it qualified as a 'healthy living environment,' so I'd get my daughter back. I passed muster, now Precious is back with me. Heh, it's weird, I'll admit the house was a goddamn dump, that's because I was tweaking. Okay, I'm still getting high, but I don't tweak anymore. I sorta feel like I outgrew that behavior or something. Now the house is clean, nothing is broken, there's food in the fridge, and I'm paying a neighbor kid fifty bucks a week to mow the lawn and pull some weeds. Shit, it's like I took up being a criminal as a career and now I'm a more respectable person.
"I've got a routine now. Five days a week I'm up at 7:30 to get Precious ready for school. I walk her to school, go home, and turn on my pager. Make calls and take pages until about 10:30, map out where I need to go that day, weigh out what people want, then call who I'm seeing and give them an ETA, depending on where they are. I hit the road, I'll usually have five stops.... And I've made it clear to people that I want to go to their house, I ain't meeting anyone in the parking lot of a fucking Circle-K. I'll check in at home around two, see if anyone has left any messages with Mojo. Because of all the distance I cover, I'm usually not home until about five or six, but that's okay. It's so odd, Mojo has really come out of her shell over the last few months. She engages with people, she's not giving everyone her usual brain-dead grinning silent stare, and she can be trusted with some responsibilities. She walks Precious home from school and helps her with any classwork and generally babysits until I'm home. And Mojo is actually, like, doing things with Precious, too, not just setting her in front of the TV. Mojo taught her how to fly a kite, or they'll go to Oregon Creek and try to catch frogs, or just walk down to the market for chips and sodas.
"We'll make dinner when I get home. After we wash up, I'll spend time with Precious, reading with her --- she loves to read --- or acting out Barbie Doll plays or whatever. I'll ignore my pager until after I put her to bed. I've told people straight up, in the evenings, my fuckin' daughter is my priority, not business, so they just have to wait until my daughter is asleep, then I'll call them back. If it's someone local, and it's not too late, I'll go back out and make another delivery or two at night, just real quick drops. Precious knows I have some sort of job now, and we're doing much better because of it, but I'm gonna bend over backwards to keep her totally clear of what I'm doing. Mojo and I agreed that if she asks, Mommy is selling Herbalife and doing quite well at it.
"Hank and Cheetah might come over to visit, or one of my neighbors. Sometimes people I used to party with will drop in, sniffing around for me to smoke a bowl with them. I'll load them a bowl but not hit myself, and remind them I've got my daughter back now, and I don't want people tweaking around my house. These are idiots I keep mum about just how much shit I'm moving. They know I'm dealing, but not how much. If they found out just how much shit I will have in the house at once, every single one of those assholes would be trying to break in. They're all total tweakers, none of them work, none of them have any money.... Maybe one of them will scrape together forty bucks, so I'll give 'em a gram out of my sample and personal bag. But I've been making it clear that my life has changed a lot, and I don't have time for their games. I don't think many of them are genuinely bad people, but they really are fuck-ups. They know that these days I have shit, and I have money, so they're gonna buzz around me like flies over dog shit. God, this one chick, Grace, showed up three nights in a row. First she had a Mikita cordless drill set she wanted to trade for shit, I don't want to know where it came from. I smoked a bowl with her and kicked her loose. The next night she showed up already high, trying to talk me into going to one of the Indian casinos with her. She had a whole eight dollars to spend.
"Now, I hate the casinos. Fucking white trash demolition pits. Too much goddamn noise, tweakers everywhere, pathetic losers who will piss themselves rather than stop pulling the handle of their slot machine for five minutes, the food sucks..... Hell, want your dick sucked for five dollars? Go to the fuckin' casino in Oroville after dark, park in their lot, and wait a bit. Some scary bitch will be by with the offer. If you have shit, she'd probably fuck you just for getting her high. Anyway, Grace figured I'd be willing to get stupid high, then go blow lots of money gambling. To her, it would be worth it for the comped drinks. I reminded her that I had my daughter back, and wasn't about to just take off to party in the middle of the night. 'Well, can I borrow your car? I'll be able to put gas in it after I win some money.' I gave her ten bucks and told her to fuck off on down to the highway and get her thumb out.
"The next night she shows up with a checkbook and credit cards, wanting to know if I'll help her figure out a way to scam with them. She did get to the casino and ran into some tweaker friend of hers. The guy had rolled a drunk in the parking lot, and kept the drunk's cash, but didn't want to deal with pulling a scam, so he just gave the checks and credit cards to Grace. I have no idea why she thought I'd be interested, maybe she figured, hey, Crystal is breaking the law by dealing, maybe she feels like breaking these laws too. Fuck that, I've never heard of anyone committing check fraud or credit card fraud and getting away scot-free. I told her as much and she got all huffy. Then she asked if she could stay at my place that night, her boyfriend had locked her out of their trailer. I told her to forget it, to be honest, I didn't want her tweaking around my house unsupervised, and I was going to bed in a little while. She asked, 'Are you out of dope?' I said no, why? 'Then why are you going to bed?' I got pissed and yelled at her, 'Because I don't wanna live like some stupid ass tweaker any more. Get the fuck out of my house.' She split, and I haven't seen her for a couple weeks, but I know she'll be around again, sooner or later.
"And what really sucks? She's only one of a couple dozen people I know around Camptonville that are just like her. All they really give a fuck about is getting high. They scam, they weasel, they steal, and they're your best friend so long as you got shit. I've told my neighbors on both sides to keep an eye on my place during the day. If they see anyone snooping around or walking past over and over, run 'em off. Oh Jesus, Lenny, you think I was bad? Shit, some of these bitches, once they found out you were rich and had shit all the time, they would literally try to stalk you. They'd stake out your car. If you were at someone's house and left the room, they'd follow you, so they could grab your dick and tell you about all the fun you two could have together, and could the nice man help a poor widdle girl out with a bit of dope? A few of them would even hitchhike down here and show up at the studio, and just try to live on your couch and your charity for as long as possible."
"Oh, that would so not be happening," laughed Bekka. "We take in enough strays on our own, we don't need them just showing up at our door. Especially not hillbilly tweakers. Would any of these chicks be interested in working for us?"
Crystal considered. "Maybe. And some of them could probably get gigs in LA, if they were raunchy enough. None of the ones I'm thinking of are older than me, but they all look pretty fuckin' torn up from partying so much. They don't really take care of themselves, it's weird seeing some chick who does shit all the time have a beer gut. A couple might have the looks and the bodies for porn, but not working for you. You ask a lot from the chicks who work for you, these bitches could never pull it off."
I said, "I've gotta ask. Okay, these people have no jobs, but manage to survive somehow. You had SSI money coming in, but I know that ain't shit. How were you able to feed your habit? You told me you were banging up a twenty weight twice a day. Did you know enough generous people that would support you like that?"
Looking at the wall across from our booth, Crystal said, "No. I always paid for my shit." She sighed. "Look, I was hooking, I was turning tricks. Not in Camptonville, I'd go down to a few bars I knew in Grass Valley and Nevada City and make myself available. I wasn't sucking dick in the bathrooms, I'd get up next to guys, start talking, steer the conversation, and tell them we could have quite a bit of fun for a couple hours at their place if they'd like, but I would need a cash donation. If the guy said no, I'd thank him for the drink, tell him to have a good night, and move on. The bartenders didn't mind me. Yeah, I was this weird punk rock hooker, but I wasn't crass, I wasn't pushy, and I conducted all my business far away from the bar. I could turn two tricks a night, be up $120, or more if they tipped. Ta da, one night's work, I've got enough to score an eight-ball, three and a half grams. Rationed out, that was enough dope for the week, plus kicking down a few lines to Mojo. I figured there were plenty of tweaker bitches who would suck some dick or whatever if they found a dude who was generous with his shit. They were prostituting themselves, but would probably get offended if you told them that. I figured I was at least honest about how I paid for my drugs."
"Is that how you contracted hepatitis?" Bekka asked.
"No. That's from sharing fucking needles. And I'm nearly positive I never passed it on, I always made condoms a requirement. Some guys would offer to pay me extra to go bareback, and I'd tell them no. A few would be offering me stupid amounts of money, like $400 for three hours together. I'd finally just be honest and tell them that the use of condoms is in their best interest, I have hepatitis C. It can't be passed through saliva, but if we're gonna fuck, I don't want transmitting hepatitis on my damn conscience. The few times it happened, I was scared I'd get a really bad reaction out of the john, but every time they actually thanked me for my honesty, and we went ahead anyway. They tipped good, too."
"So you always went to the guy's house?" I asked.
Nodding, Crystal said, "Yeah. A couple guys blew money on a motel room, but usually go to his place, which was fine with them. These guys all seemed to be single.... Keep in mind, the bars I'd work were just fuckin' saloons. They weren't singles bars, they weren't fancy, they didn't have live music, so it was easy to assume any dude in these places who was drinking alone and not wearing a wedding band didn't have much going on. A few guys would suggest just parking somewhere, but I'd point out that Nevada County cops are real fuckin' bored, and we'd both be going to jail. The one exception I made to this was for one guy I saw over and over, about once every six weeks. Whenever he saw me, he'd offer me forty bucks to jack him off in his car. I took the risk the first time, realized it hadn't taken two minutes to get him off, and I was able to go back in the bar and get a real date."
Bekka asked, "So are you ready for tomorrow?"
"Yeah." Crystal laughed. "I doubt I'll actually be getting off on it, I'll be faking the whole time, but all hookers know how to fake. And honestly? It'll be a pretty damn amusing way of earning $2000."
The next morning was a Saturday. Normally there was no activity at all at Inana Productions on a Saturday. However, Bekka was producing something special. Inana would be making its first bukakke video, and Crystal was the star. For those unfamiliar, bukakke is an invention of Japanese porn. It is, simply put, a gang facial. The Japanese would have literally forty guys take turns shooting off on some chick's face. The chick might be naked, or fully clothed. She didn't assist, she didn't move, she didn't speak, she simply got steadily drenched in seminal fluid. Okay, selling a single facial as sexy is easy. But like many other things in Japanese pop culture, bukakke is extreme overkill. Around the twentieth guy, you realize what you're really watching is a series of guys jerking off, there is no sexual interaction. And the chick just looks like somebody loaded a Super Soaker with mayonnaise and began firing at her. It's not erotic, it's not sexy, it's just odd.... But then again, bukakke is from the same culture that gave the world used girl's panties sold in vending machines, and made the phrase "tentacle rape" a common phrase in the lexicon of comic book geek communication
This project of Bekka's would be somewhat different. First off, we had sixteen guys lined up to work, not forty. Also, Crystal (although still stationary on her knees) would be a semi-active participant. She wouldn't be touching any of the guys, but promised she would smile, make eye contact with them, keep up a steady patter of lewd encouragement to each guy stepping in front of her, and touch herself. We had originally considered using Hell's Angels for the mooks, but decided against it. Instead, we got every stud at Inana to come in, and bring a friend. Someone they trusted, someone who wouldn't spaz out, and would also be willing to go two days without sex of any kind. We wanted them to save up their semen. (Inana's studs didn't seem to have a problem with always shooting large, they all seemed to have the ability to generate semen like a Saint Bernard generates drool.) Crystal was getting two grand, the males were getting $75 and lunch. Our regular studs initially protested: only $75 to work? We pointed out they'd only be at the studio for two hours at the most, and they were getting paid to do what they would probably be otherwise doing in the shower that morning anyways. They didn't even have to take their pants off if they didn't want to, just pull their dicks out of their flys.
Sally and Rich, our two camera operators, were being paid $200 each for what would amount to a shoot that would probably only last about a half hour. Bubba (gaffer) and Ace (sound) were also getting the same amount. Our two fluff girls, Dawn and Terry, would get their usual $500, and would actually be busy. They were actually sort of looking forward to this event. Normally, their jobs consisted of getting guys hard, then stopping. Dawn and Terry took both pleasure and pride in their abilities at sucking dick, and were being asked to actually put some serious work into prepping the mooks, getting them good and worked up, ready to go (or come). Only their dicks would ever be in shot, both cameras aimed at Crystal. I'd bought a six by six carpet remnant for Crystal to pose on, assuming it would be absorbing a decent amount of jizz, and would be thrown away afterwards. Lunch would be pizza, pasta, and Anchor Steam beer.
Inana wasn't the first American studio to try a bukakke video, but Bekka was sure ours would be the hottest released so far. The few domestic videos we'd seen had women who at least smiled, but were also far down the scale for attractiveness. To be blunt, they were dogs. Crystal had an attractive face and a good body, and would be acting like she was highly aroused by what was going on, like she was somehow the one to arrange this assembly line of ejaculation. As Bekka said, "This could actually be a bukakke people get off on, instead of just staring in amazement."
Crystal stayed with us at our house Friday night, and we headed to the mansion around 10:30 the next morning. I started coffee (all four of our crew were java junkies) and we showed Crystal up to the sound stage we'd be using. When she'd fixed that morning, she'd hit large, like a thirty weight, so she was quite high. She said, "Well, I'd better get used to the idea of being naked in front of strangers," and stripped down. I'd never seen her unclothed, and when I did I had a bit of regret that I'd turned down her offers of sex when we first met. She was fucking hot. The three of us went back downstairs to smoke and drink sodas, greeting our crew as they straggled in. Crystal was introduced, the crew unfazed by her nudity, they were used to nekkid wimmin. (I think Crystal was a bit disappointed.) Both Sally and Ace wanted us to explain again what it was we were doing that day. Both thought it sounded damn bizarre, the sexual equivalent of putting mustard on pancakes. Terry and Dawn were both provided with hits of Ecstasy, to keep their enthusiasm up in the face of sixteen penises to deal with. Crystal refused a hit. "Oh God, if I got high like that, there's a good chance I'd start laughing at the sight of a whole crowd of dudes jacking off at once and not stop. I already know I'll be suppressing the urge to giggle by taking dirty."
Our mooks, professional and amateur, trickled in, all a bit early. Crystal shook hands with all of them, explaining she would be the one they'll be coming on today. She had met Roach before, and had seen him work with Bekka, so she was intimately familiar with both Roach and his penis. When Roach introduced Dawn as his girlfriend, Crystal took in our five foot tall, ninety-three pound fluffer and widened her eyes in amazement. She said, "Uh, I'm familiar with this dude's crank. Girl, you're tiny! Do you and him routinely, uh...."
"Oh yes," replied Dawn. "And it's wonderful."
Crystal considered this, then said, "I wish you both a long and happy relationship, but girl, if you go your whole life getting fucked by this dude, they'll have to bury you in a Y-shaped coffin."
Our technical crew had gone upstairs to start setting up. Dawn and Terry were smoking a bowl of dope in the lounge. The mooks had all gathered in the living room, the amateurs asking the the pros what to expect. They were assured it was simplicity in itself. You'd get your dick sucked until you were halfway ready to come, you finish the job while aiming at the face of the black-haired chick with the awesome knockers. Wait until you were about ten seconds shy of blowing your load, step up, shoot off, and get out of the way for the next guy. Bekka walked in and called for attention.
"Okay, we're gonna go upstairs to the sound stage now," she said. "I'd prefer if you all stripped down, but if that really bothers you, don't worry about it. Terry and Dawn will start working on all of you, but obviously not all at once. There's two of them, and sixteen of you, and they each only have two hands and one mouth. Don't crowd around them, don't worry, you'll all get a turn. Amateurs, if you're being worked on, and you start to feel a little too excited, step away. If you let the fluffer make you come, you will be the subject of eye-rolling and contemptuous looks until you leave. Look at it this way, you can either ejaculate prematurely like a fifteen year old boy, or you can have the visceral thrill of shooting your cum all over the face of a really hot chick.
"When you hear me yell 'cut,' drop your dicks and wait. We'll be changing camera positions a few times during the shoot, but that only takes a few seconds. After you've each had your little moment of glory, step to the side and move back by where Terry and Dawn will be sitting. This is very important: no talking. When you hear me yell 'action,' the only reason your mouth should be open is if you moan when you come. If I have to call for a cut because somebody has decided to have a conversation, my husband here will grab you by the ears and tie them together.
"Relax and enjoy yourselves. Look at it this way, you're getting paid to have your dick sucked quite well, shoot a load on a sexy woman's face, and then eat lunch and drink beer. And for Christ's sake, don't develop a complex about the size of your dick while we're up there. Unless you were in some sort of tragic industrial accident, it's plenty big enough, don't be looking at Roach and Eddie and start feeling inadequate. Now, let's go make the magic happen."
Once on the sound stage, nearly all the mooks stripped down completely. A few guys left their shirts on. At lunch, I learned their rationale. One guy claimed to have a crop of back hair that would embarrass a Greek. Another had been morbidly obese, and was now a trim size. However, he'd had to to have large amounts of now-superfluous skin surgically removed, so between the scarring and the stretch marks, his torso was a rather gruesome sight. And the third guy was covering up a White Power tattoo. It had been applied in his youth, when he had been a different person. It was now loathed and the subject of shame, and would eventually be covered up with more ink, once he had the spare money. Over beers, he told me, "For the past nine years, I've donated money to the Anti-Defamation League and the NAACP. My own little penance, you know? I look back at what I was like and think, how was I that big of an asshole at the age of seventeen? You'd think being that much of a fuck-head would take more practice than I would have had at such a young age."
He was a friend of Andy's, they worked in the same office park and lived a couple blocks from each other. I asked if he had a design in mind for the cover-up work. He said he either wanted an illustration of Oroville and Wilbur Wright's first plane, or an F-16 fighter jet. He liked planes. I gave him a business card and told him to call me when he'd decided on a studio and tattoo artist, I'd pay for his ink. He stared, dumbfounded, then said, "Thank you. Why?"
I told him, "Because you shouldn't have to carry a sign of earlier sins like a scarlet letter. I'm glad you changed, too. If we'd both been seventeen at the same time, I'd have gotten in your face without a second thought. I've spent a bit of time in my life mixing it up with shaved-headed pricks in cuffed Levis."
He shook his head. "Actually, I don't think there was such a thing as an American Nazi skinhead when I was active. I'm thirty-three, I believe I have ten years on you. I took my tips from the American Nazi Party, Posse Comitatus, and Supreme White Power, the prison gang. If the Nazi skins were around, I never saw or heard anything from them."
Bekka, acting as director, called for quiet. Terry and Dawn were working three guys at once, the rest watching and waiting for their turns. As a bit of intro, Bekka got footage of Crystal writhing on the floor, like a kinetic porno mag shoot. Guys who were prepped came over and watched the show. Bekka checked behind her and saw nine guys tentatively tugging at their dicks. She cut, got Crystal and the cameras in place, then gestured at the guys waiting to get ready to step forward when they were ready to blow, it was showtime.
Things ran surprisingly smoothly. One after the other, mooks would step up, spend between five and fifteen seconds jerking off, then blow off all over Crystal. There were some brief pauses in the action, a few breaks of thirty or forty seconds when no one would step forward. No big deal, we'd lose that in the editing. Crystal kept up her patter with each mook, talking filthy while smiling up at them and groping at herself. There were just two or three mooks left when I realized I had a raging hard-on. Standing next to Bekka, I guided her hand down to my crotch. She felt what was going on and knelt down in front of me, tugging at the zipper of my Ben Davis. I pulled my dick out and she began energetically blowing me. In a little while I gave her a tap. She gestured with her head at Crystal. I was the last one. I walked up, jerking, close to the edge. Crystal saw it was me and did something she hadn't done at all that day: she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, an obvious invitation for where to aim. I did, and bull's-eye.
"Cut, and wrap!" called Bekka, after getting some loving shots of Crystal, panning up and down her body, showing just how well-splattered she was. Mooks began pulling on clothes and talking, with a lot of nervous laughter floating through. Crystal stood up, and Rich tossed her a couple towels to wipe down with. She suddenly started laughing. Bekka and I gave her a querulous look. By way of explanation, she said, "What I was afraid would make me bust up is. There has got to be no more stupid sight than ten guys standing in a group, all jerking off at the same time. And Jesus Christ! I never knew there were so many different techniques to get the job done! There were a couple guys I wanted to ask, "Doesn't it hurt your wrist doing it like that?'"
Everybody began drifting downstairs. I glanced at my watch and saw Leucadia Deli would be delivering at any time, and headed that way myself. I'd bought three cases of Anchor Steam that I'd somehow managed to wedge in the downstairs kitchen fridge, which Terry and I carried out to the patio, then invited the congregated mooks to go outside and tilt a bottle or three. The offer was accepted with cheer. Dawn and Terry joined them. The amateurs gently prodded them both if they were, you know, seeing anyone, and did they have any plans for dinner that night? Dawn would smilingly point at Roach and tell them, See the guy in the Hell's Angels colors? That's my live-in boyfriend. She would immediately be left alone, treated with the most mannerly deference. Terry was prodded a bit more, but her usual style of speech (and her ability to put down a full bottle of beer in ten seconds) kept would-be suitors at bay. Poor Roach, I think every damn amateur walked up to him at some point and said, "Are you really in the Hell's Angels?"
Every time, Roach would grin coolly and say, "Only people who are sick of living wear the colors if they aren't." Roach quickly became known as "sir" among the amateurs.
Crystal showered and got dressed in her street clothes, black Levis, a grey men's dress shirt with sparse gold thread striped vertically, and black Doc Marten brothel creepers. Her arrival downstairs revived the collected amateurs interest in romance, much to her amusement. Smoking a Camel and sipping an Anchor Steam, she would smilingly tell them that not only did she live hundreds of miles away, but really, what was the attraction in some chick who got paid to have dudes jack off on her? No, she didn't really get off on having that happen, it was only performance. With a smirk, she began addressing the amateurs (and a few pros) with new nicknames, based on what she'd observed of them. One guy got named "Twister." Another she called "Buddy Rich," due to his lightning-fast wrist action. A different one was labeled "Bugs," as apparently his eyes bulged out of their sockets during orgasm. And on and on.
The arrival of the food was greeted with great joy,and everyone tucked in. Bekka grabbed the two tapes of raw footage, plus the audio, and headed for Small Steve's office to prepare for her first solo attempt at running the video editor. The amateurs greeted her arrival on the patio with both awe and joy, oh my God, they got to eat lunch with Becky Page. She happily signed autographs and dispersed hugs. At one point she pulled me aside and said, "When everyone has cleared out, you are taking me in your office and fucking me like a punch press."
Confused, I said, "Oh, indeed?"
"I'm so fucking horny right now I'm gritting my teeth. Watching all those guys jacking off, getting themselves off, got me going like you wouldn't believe."
"Uh.... Really? It's not like that's a foreign sight to you, that's how you take half your money shots."
With a twisted grin, Bekka said, "I think it was, like, the volume of guys, all doing it at once. It just seemed so lewd and decadent. Hell, it was decadent. If nothing else, this loop will prove that not everything Inana does is artsy, that we're capable of raunch too. I wonder if Crystal would like to do another loop.... Or a whole damn series. Yeah, we could call her 'Cum-Crazy Crystal,' think up different little vignettes for her. I wonder if there really are women who honestly get off on that sort of thing. Haw, their dating lives must suck, trying to convince a whole bus load of guys to show up at your apartment and blow a load on you."
We pulled Crystal aside and asked. She laughed and said, "Sure, why not? Shit, by my calculation, I made a thousand dollars an hour today, just by getting naked, sticky, and talking dirty. And to be honest? I did get a thrill out of it. It struck me on about the fourth guy, hey, this is how happy I make dudes when they see me naked. It's flattering, and it kinda turned me on, like the very sight of me naked forces men to compulsively masturbate. Like my body short-circuits their brains." Crystal eyed me with a smirk. "So Lenny, what prompted you to make a contribution?"
I replied, "Dammit woman, you are fucking hot. I see beautiful nude women all the damn time, but seeing you just.... Wow. I swear, I wish there was a cure for hep C. I wouldn't care how much it cost, I'd pay for it and make you an Inana girl in a heartbeat."
Bekka added, "Not only do you have that incredible rack, your whole body seems to say, 'I was built for fucking.' I can't lie, you turn me on too." Her eyes got a wild look. She breathed, "I will pay you $500 if you let me play with your tits for three minutes."
Crystal looked a bit wide-eyed and paused. Then she gave a demure smile and said, "You can do it gratis, and you can take your time. Where should we go?"
Bekka grabbed Crystal by the hand and began pulling her back into the mansion. I followed. We went in my office, and I kicked the door shut, locking it. Crystal took off her shirt and bra and stood there cupping her breasts. "You really like these, huh? I guess I'm just used to them."
"Ohhh yeah," Bekka hissed, and began squeezing, stroking, and toying. After a minute she leaned forward and began licking and sucking, switching back and forth between nipples. Crystal began to breathe heavily. She slid one hand down into her jeans and began rubbing. Bekka caught the movement and reached down for the button of Crystal's jeans. Crystal cut her off.
"No. Pussy juice is a pathogen. I won't.... You're my friend, and even if you were just using your hand, I still don't want to put you at even the smallest risk."
"Okay." Bekka turned to look at me with a small smile. "Did you like that little display? Judging by that bulge, I'd say you did. What I asked you to do earlier? It's time. Your wife needs a good fucking."
She kicked her shoes off and was out of her pants in three seconds. Pushing crap on my desk out of the way, she hopped up on the edge, leaned back, and grabbed her legs, spreading them high and wide. "Fuck me, you criminal bastard," she told me. I dropped my pants to my ankles and obliged. Crystal stood there and watched us, lips parted, hand down her pants. It didn't take Bekka long. Within two minutes she was arching her back and pounding the desk and rasping, "Asshole, fuck me, motherfucker," and other terms of endearment. Then her eyes sprang wide open, she gasped, and let out a long wavering moan. Then she went limp. Next to us I heard Crystal emit a more restrained moan, and her hand finally stopped moving.
"Damn, girl," said Crystal. "You really rip 'em, huh?"
Bekka chuckled. "It's Lenny that makes me rip 'em like that. He makes me come so hard, I've gotten fan mail from the seismic lab up at UCLA."
I pulled up my pants and fastened them. Crystal frowned and said, "Did you come?"
"Nope," I replied.
"You're just gonna.... stop?"
"Well, yeah. That was for Bekka, my work is done here, and I want more pizza. Why?"
Continuing her frown, Crystal said, "It's just.... Every damn dude I've ever known would insist on finishing. Tell 'em they gotta stop midway, they'll start bitching about blue balls, how they gotta drop their load or they'll be miserable. The goddamn building could be on fire, and they would still insist on busting their nut before evacuating. It doesn't bother you to not come?"
Shrugging, I said, "No. I can come later, and I'm sure Bekka will be happy to help. I've never had blue balls in my life. Personally, it sounds like the dudes you know are being pretty childish, like they went to all this trouble so far, and now they're owed an orgasm. Besides, think about the millions of orgasms denied to women over the years because the guy was finished. Bekka finished, that was the point. I didn't. Think of it as a bit of subtle feminist revenge or something."
Bekka finished putting her pants and shoes back on. "We've briefly debated Lenny being a performer in the past. You've seen his dick, he's not huge, but definitely better than average, and I can tell you from personal experience he's got great stamina and control. Lenny always resisted the idea, he says he'd be too self-conscious to make a good stud, so it's never been pursued."
Walking back out, Crystal said, "Uh.... Bekka, don't get pissed at me for this question, but um, do you think I could borrow your husband for the night sometime? We'll use condoms, it'll be perfectly safe."
Bekka started laughing. "Oh, lord. My husband is getting passed around more times than a case of clap at the Rainbow Gathering. You would be lover number five for him, including myself. Yes, I will give you my blessing for one rendezvous, after that you have to ask permission again. So when?"
"Um, next week when I make my run down here to see Boss? I'll leave early in the morning, sorta time-shift my day a bit, we'll have an early dinner, and him and me could head to my motel from there."
"You know, nobody's asked my opinion of this," I pointed out.
"Do you have objections?" asked Bekka.
"Are you kidding? Fuck no. Shit, Crystal is probably the first woman in over three years to give me a hard-on just by dint of being naked. I don't care if I have to wrap my dick with vinyl siding, you better believe I wanna get naked and alone with this woman."
Ninety minutes later everyone had taken off, most of a full day still ahead of them. There was still quite a bit of beer left, so I schlepped it up to the third floor, intending to put it in the fridge of the penthouse. I got to the door and suddenly remembered: Trish. The penthouse had a resident for another couple weeks. She hadn't come down for the shoot or lunch. I knocked.
Trish answered the door with a bleary smile. "Late night?" I asked.
"Very late night," she replied. "Me, Donna, and Jolene went up to Hollywood to see the Chippendales. Christ. All the dancers were fantastic eye candy, but they were all so obviously gay they may as well have been handing out Queer Nation literature while they gave lap dances. Afterwards we went to the Viper Room for shits and giggles. Donna got recognized as an Inana girl, so we had people buying us drinks until last call, and then some. We were all pretty tanked, we were in Jolene's Cadillac, and she needed to crash for a while to get her head straight. We all slept in the car for a couple hours, then headed home. The sun was coming up when they dropped me off. How were things today?"
"Rather bizarre. It was weird, having sixteen guys prepped on one sound stage. I still consider bukakke to be a highly unusual pornographic concept, but personally, I think what we did today will actually look sexy, and not like some sort of behavioral experiment gone horribly wrong."
"Heh. Yeah, bukakke is demented. Speaking of horrible behavioral experiments, I had lots of fun at the expense of other women while watching the Chippendales. I mean, the dancers were all the most screaming, obvious, unrepentant faggots you could possibly imagine, but the rest of the audience didn't seem to catch a clue. They were all, like, housewives and secretaries from Glendale, you know? Could they all be that oblivious and sheltered? I felt like walking up to women getting lap dances and saying to them, 'You know, he sucks better dick than you ever will, and certainly has more practice.' Totally bust their bubbles. How many Erasure and Pet Shop Boys songs do you need to hear in one evening before the truth sinks in?"
I chuckled. "Ah yes, music to suck cock to. Although I'm straight, but will freely admit to being a big Cabaret Voltaire fan."
I crammed the beer in the fridge. Trish stopped me as I was headed for the door. She said, "Um, I have to ask kind of an uncomfortable question. Look, uh, I think you're a pretty great guy, and you're kinda cute, too. Uh.... What do you think Bekka would say if I asked to borrow you for a night? I won't lie, I've been feeling horny, and you're a cool guy, and.... Uh....."
Somehow, I resisted the urge to throw myself screaming out the nearest window. Instead, I stared at Trish long enough to make her uncomfortable. Then I kissed her forehead and said, "The answer will be no. Maybe that will change a month from now, I don't know. But I believe both Bekka and I feel I'm being spread too thin as it is. Have Jolene take you bar-hopping in Del Mar, she knows where to find places with decent guys. But do not wait around on me, capiche?"
I went back downstairs. Bekka and Crystal were packaging leftovers. "You were gone a bit," said Bekka. "How's Trish? What's up with her?"
I held my face in my hands and said, "Darling? Sweetie? Love of my life? The last thing you want to know is what's up with Trish right now. Just trust me on this, and let the subject drop. Let's make like a fetus and head out, we'll go to the Pink Panther. Right now I need scotch, loud music, and the company of surly social misfits, okay?"
"Why don't we take Crystal down to the Hi-Lo?" suggested Bekka with an evil grin. "She can explain to the Hell's Angels how she earned money today. They'll love it."
"That is a wonderful idea. I need that level of cultural alienation right now."
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