A Little Side Business Pt. 03

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Of course, it’s best to read the previous chapters.

A Little Side Business, Part Three

It’s Like Riding a Bicycle and She Blows Hot and Cold

In which our hero is tested before a group.


I haven’t convinced my young coworkers to ride their bikes to work. They’re earning their first good paychecks. I suppose they’d rather spend them on higher status items, like cars. They think people who cycle are either kids or have lost their driver’s license. I don’t have anything to prove to anyone anymore. Look at me, fifty-five and about to be a porn star!

I was having these thoughts as I rode back into town that July night, gliding like a ghost through the neighborhoods. There’s nothing like a midnight ride when it’s still 80 degrees and the moon is full. No cars, silence, time to think especially deep thoughts. Or maybe the endorphins make those thoughts seem deep.

Anyway, I was reeling from my encounter with Charlotte. I hesitate to call it a meeting when we ended up having a moment. At least I think it was a moment. It felt like more than just sex, but she was hard to read. So I was in danger of making something out of nothing and that would just fuck things up. I have a confession to make. I said earlier that I got laid once in awhile. I lied about that; it had been at least five years. I’d gotten accustomed to thinking it might never happen again and then I fell into this, whatever this was.

Charlotte had climbed the stair out of the pool in the moonlight, silvered and wet. She had watched me for a long time, sunk to my neck in the warm water, letting it wash the sweat and sex juices away. I had been holding onto the exquisite pleasure of our odd scene, not thinking about what I had seen in her eyes; the longing, something more than the business of lust that she had been inviting me into. But earlier, when we’d been kissing, had she wanted more, then? Should I have been more assertive?

I’d seen behind her facade and I think she regretted letting me. Why did she do it? I hadn’t let her see behind mine, though she had a foot in the door.

When I’d finally followed her into the pool house I had found her dressed again, this time in jeans and a big tee with some indie-band name. I don’t recognize too many after Led Zeppelin or Van Halen, so it didn’t mean anything to me.

Charlotte had brought my other clothes out of the bathroom and I put them on. Both of us seemed OK with silence. She didn’t get up from the couch when she said, “Frank, there is one rule about Chatterley: NO ONE talks about Chatterley.” I couldn’t tell if she was trying to be funny. “Don’t speak of Chatterley at VoltT. I’ll keep you all informed as needed.” Then she rushed on, not giving me a chance to speak.

“And two more things, Frank. One, you need to work on your tan. Your ass is so white you could use it for a night light. You’re welcome to tan by the pool here, but check with me for scheduling. Don’t just drop in. Two, you did well earlier. To critique your performance: I see a plus in your ability to orgasm when directed. Your volume and distance is good, though those aren’t nearly as important in our work as in mainstream porn. Related to that, no sex or masturbation before Tuesday. Also, you take instruction well enough, although that will be something we work on because, besides being scripted, we sometimes need to improvise on camera. Finally, I need you to grow a beard – will you be OK with that?”

“OK…,” I said, meaning yes to it all, I guess. I could have been insulted a couple of times over, but what did I know about the business? Feeling close to her after our ‘scene’, I leaned toward her in the chair and she said, without looking up, “Goodnight, Frank.”

And with that I was dismissed. Back into the dark on my bike, riding in the midnight moonlight, puzzled and excited.

I wondered how the screen test would go on Tuesday, only four long days away. And where does one get a quicky STD test, at the Doc-in-a-Box? Would it be covered by the VoltT medical plan? I only realized as I neared home that she hadn’t told me if my pussy eating was any good.


I got five hours of sleep that night and woke to a text from Charlotte: “No sex, no shaving”. Charlotte had the day off, but I opened at the store, so had to be there by 8:45. Tamika was there, too. Did she know Charlotte’s plan? How many films had she made in these last couple of months? Was she looking at me differently? Information at VoltT is on a need-to-know basis – new initiatives appeared out of nowhere, ostensibly so we couldn’t reveal new plans or policies early to customers, but it also left us flat-footed sometimes, unprepared for the changes.

I felt that way about Chatterley now. I didn’t know anything specific but what Charlotte had told me and I knew there must be much more to the company. güvenilir bahis So I wondered who else was in the loop, what they knew and when they knew it. But I was also walking with a lot more pep in my step, as grandma used to say. Me, a porn star. I felt desired, validated, young, virile.

Ten minutes before opening the Sales Specialists were trickling in. I finished the morning inventory as Tamika counted the cash drawers. The black girl was short and rounded, but not overly so and very perky. I guess she had a bubble butt, which is a thing among young folks, I understand. She was the most consistently happy person in the store, always laughing with customers, solving escalations with the assholes and ending with smiles all round. I hope this doesn’t sound racist, but her hair was amazingly done in giant curly ropes that were like big black springs coming out of her head. I had been afraid to ask her if I could touch it.

I watched her with new eyes. Eyes that dared to undress her, to peel off the polo and khakis and play with that hair. Would the pubes be that way? As I contemplated the possibilities, opening time came and we were all thrown into the rush of the day. At one point I took a handoff from her; she had exchanged a phone, I helped set it up and transfer the customer’s data.

I looked down at her as I stood beside her. Tamika leaned in a little and whispered, “I’m going to like working with you, Frank,” her smile impish.

“I, uh, yeah, I like working with you, too,” I stumbled. “She’s new here,” I lied to the customer. No more was said until, as we took the unsold merchandise into the inventory room, Tamika whispered, “You remember I told you one time, with that voice you could tell me bedtime stories any day?”

“I thought you meant, like, actual bedtime stories, like your dad would read you.”

She grinned, “No, I meant BEDTIME stories. Your voice makes my insides tickle, Frank.” And we went back to our day jobs.

Rita was on the closing shift, so came in around noon and was busy selling all day. I had always been attracted to her slight, latina body, slim and quick, her hair cut short. She looked really good in her bright red tennis shoes for some reason and was nimble like a cat. Like all good salespeople she was always smiling on the floor, but she could diss somebody pretty harshly in the back room.

Guys, appropriate or not, we all think about whether we’d have sex with women we meet, right? I mean, we may just quickly make a determination and file it away, knowing it is absolutely impossible or undesired, and then go on to coexist in our work like regular adults, valuing them for all the other qualities that make us human, but we still have that thought. I ranked Rita in the top three in the store that I’d bed if I wasn’t as old to them as a manual typewriter. So she was the cinematographer. Did she play any other part for Chatterley?

She did whisper one thing in my ear as we passed in the back hallway going and coming from lunch. “The camera is going to love you, Frank.” Everybody is breaking the one rule.

Our days off didn’t coincide, so I wouldn’t see Tamika or Rita again until Tuesday morning. I did get my STD test at the doc-in-the-box ($25 co-pay) and emailed the results to Charlotte on Monday. I had the Sunday off and spent it in my wood shop working on some shelving for my library, listening to classical music on the NPR station. At news time I have a thing for Sylvia Poggiolli. There were a lot of books still in boxes after five years in the house and I needed a place to put them. It was easy to get lost in the process of creation and I tried not to think too much about Tuesday. The unknowns were too many and too confusing. It made me anxious. I would play it by ear. I got a text from Charlotte Monday night reminding me to be there. She couldn’t have thought I’d forget?


I was only about a fifteen mile ride to Bateaux from my place downtown and I started out early on Tuesday morning so I could take a short swim to get the sweat off before we started. And it was a little cooler on the road, too, before the sun got high. Traffic was light and gulls were laughing over the saw palmettos at low tide as I pedaled southeast into a light, cooling head wind.

I rolled down the gravel drive and the brick path to the pool house, the sunlight slanting and already hot to the skin, looking forward to a dip. Leaning the bike on the hedge again, I pulled off my riding jersey and slipped off my shoes. I stepped out of my shorts, leaving just the bathing suit I’d worn underneath and turned to the pool when I first saw Charlotte.

She was floating naked, letting the ripples rock her gently, eyes closed. Her ears were underwater or she would have heard me, I guess. I watched for a while, unsure if I should announce myself, happy to watch. She reminded me of the Millais painting of Ophelia, the drowned love of Hamlet, driven to madness by his indifference. Not good thoughts, but a beautiful painting.

Charlotte’s hair haloed türkçe bahis around her and her arms lay still, fingers curled in utter relaxation. She paddled her feet occasionally since, being so lean, she didn’t actually float that well. Her trimmed pubic thatch swayed in the little currents trailing around her body. Sunlight dappled her golden skin from above and below.

I walked slowly down the stair into the pool and drifted toward her. I said, “Charlotte,” and she startled, making a big splash as her limbs thrashed. She shrieked and her eyes found mine. I saw genuine terror and felt horrible for a moment. Then she moved quickly toward me, splashing, trying to hit me, encumbered by the water. Charlotte got an arm up and swung at my face. I caught her wrist, laughing, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Her other arm caught me around the neck and she pulled me into a clutch, squeezing herself against me, using her legs to bind herself to me. Her breast flesh was hot against my chest and I felt the hard bone of her mons grind into mine. Angrily she pounded on my back with her free hand and screamed, “NEVER!”. Then suddenly she let loose, dropped off, pushed me away and made for the stairs, not looking at me, not saying anything. She ran into the pool house. I stood there in the water, dumbfounded. It was just one fucking surprise after another with this woman, like she had some kind of a thermostat problem. And the more complicated she got the more I was drawn to her.

I dithered for couple of minutes, and before I could decide to follow her I heard voices on the path behind the hedge – Tamika, and Rita, chatting about nail polish as they stepped onto the patio. Both broke into big smiles when they saw me, their sundresses flouncing around their thighs as they walked, reminding me why I moved to a place with such heat.

“Frank, I’m so glad you joined Chatterley!” exclaimed Rita, putting down the case of equipment she carried. “This is going to be fun!” With that she walked to the shed by the patio and began taking out lighting gear. I couldn’t help but notice she was braless under the thin yellow dress.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” said Tamika, blowing me a kiss where I still stood waist deep in the pool. Then she turned and began peeling off her dress. I watched, a little uncomfortable at her nonchalance. But I did watch through the drops on my glasses. Off came the purple, light cotton dress over her head, revealing that bubble butt, firm and round on her long, bronzed legs, a tight waist and a matching set of bright pink bra and panties. The bra was quickly unfastened and unceremoniously dropped in the pile at her feet. Her back and shoulders were a thing of sculpted beauty. Then she turned and stopped, looking at me, as if just remembering I was there. I stared at her grapefruit breasts, the large areolae smudging the brown skin.

“Aren’t you going to undress?” she said, pointing at my trunks. We were each down to one piece of clothing.

“Isn’t it too early to tan?” I asked, stupidly.

“When its eighty-three at 7:45 AM I’m gonna give the girls some air any chance I get.” I couldn’t argue with that. She cocked her head to the side, “You growin’ a beard?”

I remembered my four days of stubble. I hadn’t looked so good in the mirror that morning; like a hungover homeless guy, I thought. Maybe that’s why I scared Charlotte in the pool.

Just then Charlotte returned carrying a tablet and wheeling a large cooler, in shorts and another indie-band tee, hair in a tight ponytail as usual. We three became attentive. A couple of our phones buzzed. I climbed out of the water to retrieve my iPhone.

“I’ve just texted you a link to the Drive file for this script,” Charlotte said, pacing the patio. “Take a minute to read through it, then I’m going to explain things to our newest team member.” She smiled at me, then, and my heart rose in my chest. The other women made little clapping gestures and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am!” said Rita, getting an Evian from the cooler.

So we all turned to our screens. It was a request from a client in Los Angeles who stated that she was worried that her husband strayed now and then, as powerful men often do. She had tried to keep him interested, but realized several vital things after some therapy. 1. She loved him, but really couldn’t control him and would make herself miserable trying. 2. She was bi-curious and lonely, unsatisfied in the bedroom herself. 3. She liked being rich and wanted to stay that way.

Her solution, at least short term, she said, was to try to imagine scenarios in which both of their needs were met. She hadn’t had the courage to enact these ideas, but she wanted Chatterley to bring them to life as a kind of trial. The woman provided some background and Charlotte fleshed out a script with some directorial notes and suggestions. Basically, the woman was to seduce the au-pair with the intention of inviting her husband into their affair. Tamika was to play the girl, from Jamaica, I was to be the husband and Charlotte, the adventurous wife.

Oh, güvenilir bahis siteleri boy, I thought, trying to envision the scene. My heart was racing, my breathing shallow. This was like the worst job interview ever.

Charlotte paced the patio. Tamika had reclined on a chaise lounge, airing those pneumatic breasts, reading and texting at the same time. Rita fiddled with some reflectors after skimming the script. I was afraid to ask questions.

Finally, Charlotte stopped pacing and said, “Here’s the plan for this morning – we’ve got three hours to block this in. I’d like ‘Mika, to ease Frank into his first scene. Rita and I are going to be testing some camera work and lighting around you two. Let’s start on the top of page nine, the long pan shot. We’ll be doing this a number of times, so you should be able to get comfortable with each other.”

“Can we do some warm up exercises while you and Rita set up the equipment?” asked Tamika, rising from the chaise and moving toward me.

“Good idea. You two get acquainted. Frank, just relax. Tamika’s a natural teacher.” And Charlotte turned to help Rita set up a dolly track.

I was nearly dry now as Tamika walked up to me absolutely careless about her nakedness. “Have you ever been to a nude beach, Frank, or gone skinny-dipping?”

“The last time I went skinny-dipping was in high school, I think.” I said, unable not to stare at her chest, my inflating cock tenting my trunks.

“Well, let’s pretend we’re at a nude beach. Nobody pays any attention to the bodies there, especially the regulars. And we should be comfortable with each other naked, first.” With that she bent and stripped off her panties and tossed them into the pile by the chaise. “And let’s go skinny-dipping right now.” God, how her melons swayed.

She took the stairs into the pool and began doggie-paddling away. What could I do but follow suit? I stripped and waded in, doing a little side stroke so I could watch her butt bobbing along, her explosion of afro held up out of the water. The cool water flowed along my body touching me in ways I hadn’t felt before, pulling my cock down in the slipstream, caressing me, wiggling a chill finger between my ass cheeks and around my balls, a surprisingly titillating sensation.

At the other side of the pool, Tamika rested her forearms on the apron and let her body rise out behind, floating naturally. I pulled up beside her, squinting without my glasses on.

“So,” I ventured, “how’d you get involved with Chatterley?”

Tamika smiled wryly, “You mean, what’s a girl like me doin’ in a place like this?”

“It’s got to be a good story.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m here for the money. You know I’m gettin’ my LCSW training, right? That’s expensive.”

“The VoltT education benefit doesn’t cover that?”

“You kidding?” Tamika laughed, “What you doin’ here besides gettin’ laid?”

“Money, like you. Obviously.” What was I doing here? “Look, you seen comfortable with doing this, uh, having sex with strangers on camera and all. I’m not sure I can actually do it.”

“Honey, you gonna have two problems. One, forget about what anybody thinks about how you look or how big your dick is. There’s nothing wrong with either of those, anyways. But concentrate on what you feel. Second, you got to separate the physical and the emotional. I know older guys like you have an old fashioned notion of romantic love that causes all kinds of problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Well, you have the idea that a man woos a woman, or a woman captures a man’s heart, they fall in love, get intimate, get married, have babies and are loyal til death do you part. But real life isn’t like that. You ever been married?”

“Err, once, briefly,” I coughed, uncomfortable about going there. “I’ve had a couple of long term relationships since then, but…”

“You don’t have a girlfriend now?” Tamika said, looking intrigued. “Savin’ yourself for that special someone?”

“I don’t think anyone’s saving themselves for me,” I grimaced.

“Look, we’re about to have sex. I’m not ‘givin” myself to you. You are not rescuin’ me. This is not a transaction like your other relationships probably were. You aren’t doin’ anything to me I don’t want you to.”

My God, I thought, my girlfriends and I had an understanding about our fidelity; we gave up freedom for loyalty. I guess that meant we didn’t have to deal with jealousy. But then, where did jealousy come from, anyway, insecurity? My head was spinning. I remembered clearly how in my last relationship sex was doled out for good behavior. God. God Dammit.

“I may have a baby daddy one day, but for now and forever my body is mine”, said Tamika with some heat, looking defiant.

“So you aren’t just making money, you’re making a statement.”

“Let’s get out this pool and let me show you somethin'” and she pushed herself straight up onto the apron, rising from the water like a siren, sheets of crystal liquid cascading down. She swung her leg up, flashing me her bush, then stood, leaned and extended a hand to me. I levered myself up, too, but didn’t take the offered help. I’m not too old to climb out of a pool for crap’s sake, I thought. I did enjoy looking at her bent over that way, breasts dripping and swaying.

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