He finished up for the night around nine o’clock. He powered down his amp, unplugged his Strat, and then closed up his tune notebook, which was full of scribbles, cross-outs, and corrections, both in the written word and in musical notation. He left the bong and the tray of marijuana where it was and then unlocked the door and made his way downstairs. It was time for a couple of drinks, a smoke, and then maybe a little tap in the ass with Kim.
Kim Kowalski, aka Mary Ann Cummings, was sitting at her desk in the office just off the main entertainment room. She was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra, her hair back in a ponytail. She had an array of paperwork spread out before her and was tapping away on a calculator with one hand while holding a pen in the other. A portable radio, tuned to the local pop station, was playing softly atop the raised portion of the desk.
“Hey, Mattie,” she greeted when he walked by. “All done for the night?”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “I got a few more riffs worked out, managed to nail down a few more lyrics. Things are coming along.”
“That’s good,” she said, looking over and giving him a smile.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just going over some of the financials for the company,” she said, referring to the pornographic movie company she held controlling interest in. “They’re looking pretty sweet.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Those assholes I’m partnered with keep trying to get me to cut costs on production, remember?”
He nodded. They had had this discussion before. Her partners were established porn producers who thought they knew everything about the business and considered Kim to just be an investor who should not interfere in how they wanted to do things. Kim, however, thought they were out of touch with their audience and were in the process of killing the industry with what they believed to be ‘the formula’ for producing porn. It was a story that was very familiar to Matt. And it was the very reason why Kim had set up her company in such a manner that she had controlling interest in it, and therefore the say-so in how things were run. She was most certainly not the dumb porn actress they had all assumed she would be.
“They keep wanting us to just find some hot performers and have them fuck on camera. Little short clips of ten to fifteen minutes that are nothing but sex. No back-story at all. No establishment of who the characters are or why they’re fucking. ‘That’s what the porn watcher wants’, they keep telling me. ‘They don’t need to know the people, they just want to watch them fuck so they can get off’. Package up ten to fifteen such clips on a video, put some provocative imagery on the front, give it an attention catching name like: Buttfest 92 or Sorority House Sluts, and throw it out to the rental market.”
“That kind of porn sucks,” Matt said righteously. “I can look at fuckin’ Hustler if I just want to see some tits and snatch or a dyke-out scene without any context.”
“Exactly,” Kim said. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along. I ask those fuckers all the time, ‘when was the Golden Age of Porn?’ And they will agree with me that it was the mid to late eighties, when the factor of home VCRs and video rental both came into being. That was when porn had some fuckin’ style, and a big part of that was the plot. The best selling porn movies of that era were the movies that had the most significant plotlines to bind together the fucking. They won’t acknowledge that shit, however. They whine at me because I pay higher end writers, producers, and directors to put our videos down on camera.
“‘There’s no need to have a director,’ they tell me. ‘Why are you spending ten grand to have some idiot tell people how to fuck?’ And the writers...” She shook her head. “You should hear them go on about me giving another five grand to a script writer.”
“But the financials are proving you right?” Matt asked.
“Fuckin’ A, they are,” she said. “That piece we released back in January—Hometown Pussy—the one about the guy coming back from LA to where he grew up in the small town in the Midwest, is the top rental of the year so far. We’ve sold more than thirty thousand copies of it to adult rental stores at a profit margin of four dollars per unit. And guess what the number two rental of the year is?”
“Enlighten me,” he said.
“That would be Step Mom’s Temptation, a premier release from Mary Ann Cummings Productions and featuring a complex story line conjured up by one of the premier writers in the business. We’ve sold twenty-six thousand copies of that one.”
“That was a pretty good flick,” Matt said appreciably. He particularly liked the scene where the step mom in question gave into that temptation and dyked out with her eighteen year old stepdaughter after rubbing oil on her next to the pool.
“Of course it was,” she said. “It was hot because you knew who the characters were, because you could relate to the passion and the lust. That is what makes good porn.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, baby,” he told her, “but I will tell you one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“All this talk about porn is getting me fired up. How about I slide you some schlong?”
“Can it wait a little?” she asked. “I kind of need to finish this up tonight. There’s a board meeting tomorrow.”
“You can keep working while I bust one out,” he offered.
She thought this over for a moment and then shrugged. “Okay,” she said casually. She stood up and pushed her chair to the side. She then pushed her sweats and her panties down and kicked them off her feet. Now naked from the waist down, she bent over the desk, her shapely rear end pooching out toward him.
While she went back to the task of going over the numbers on her financial sheets and making notations in her ledger, Matt dropped his own pants and underwear, freeing his weapon for use. He slid his fingers into Kim’s famous vagina and began to pump them in and out, gently at first and then with more force. Soon she began to lubricate. When she was wet enough, he lined up on target and slid inside, where he began to thrust in and out of her while holding onto her hips.
“Mmmm,” she sighed, punching a few keys on her calculator and then picking up her pen to note down the result. “That feels good.”
“Fuckin’ A, it does,” Matt said, speeding up his motion. “You want me to make you come?”
“Naw, I’m good,” she told him. “I dildoed myself earlier. Go ahead and fire at will.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna put it in your ass though.”
“Do what you need to do,” she said with another shrug.
He pulled himself out of her vagina and inserted himself into her tight back door. After working his way in and making sure there was enough lubrication, he went to town, developing a hard, fast rhythm that would make short work of him. Just as he was really getting into it, however, he became distracted by the song that was playing on the radio. It was a mellow piece, with a saxophone laying down the primary melody. He had never heard the song before but there was something familiar about it nonetheless—something in the way the guitar chords were being played, something about the voice of the woman singing.
“What’s this shit?” he asked Kim.
“What’s what shit?” she asked. “I’m clean back there. Took a bath earlier.”
“No,” he said, “I mean the song that’s playing. Have you heard it before?”
She listened for a moment and then nodded. “They’ve been playing it all week. It’s your old nemesis: Celia Valdez. She’s got a solo album coming out, apparently.”
“Ahhh, the Mexican bitch that likes to dance,” he said. “I’ll be damned.”