by Mia Masters
Getting her on all fours, I entered her from behind and started riding her immediately. I couldn’t help it. We were instantly and intensely fucking.
I grabbed a bunch of her hair and pulled her head back a bit as I pounded her tight pussy. She gripped me so hard, I almost came. I held back, because I knew it would be more intense if I did.
“You like that? You like that, Jenny?” I teased, using her character name.
“Oh, yes, Tyler!” she said, playing along. “Fuck me hard! Fuck me hard for those computer codes! Make me cum and I’ll tell you everything!”
I pressed balls deep inside her again and again. Her pussy was so wet and moist and warm. I just wanted to fuck it all night long. I slowed down and pulled out.
Again, I was trying not to cum yet. She rolled over and spread her legs. Then she looked me in eye, patted her pussy and lifted her legs in a “V” as if to say, “Come here and fuck me.”
Obliging, I took my cock and rubbed it up and down the length of her slit. I placed it against the hood of her clit and her lip started to quiver.
“Mmm! Mmm!” she started to moan.
I worked her clit with the top of my cock for a bit and she just whined in pleasure. Now that I had cooled down, I press in and I was back inside. I pulled her to the edge of the bed so I could get the best angle and I started to fuck her as fast as I could.
“Yes, yes, yes!” she panted. “Oh! Just like that. Don’t stop! I’m almost there. Almost there!”
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t now. I was past the point of no return. I could feel a climax welling up inside my unit. I let go inside her and came. I came so hard my knees almost buckled.
“Oh, fuck!” I gasped. “Oh, shit!”
I fell on top of her and I could feel her squirting into my torso. She was quivering underneath me now, vibrating inside. She gasped again and again. It was intense and I knew immediately that I was trapped now. That I needed to have this in my life. I had never had such an intense, erotic experience and it was this that I had to have always.
For several minutes, I just lay on top of Blythe. We were breathing in sync. I could feel her heartbeat.
We were both soaked in sweat now and gasping for air a bit. We kissed each other gently in the dark. It was intimate and sweet.
Then, slowly, I pulled out of her and she shivered. I moved over to the trash can and disposed of the condom. We climbed into bed together under the covers to spoon.
“Mmm, that was so good, Christian,” she said.
But was it good enough to have a relationship with just me?
We’d have to see if the boys could live up to that!
Maybe I would win this thing after all. We would have to see.
In the meantime, we just spooned and then fell asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning, we woke up fresh and energized, and it was by far the best date I had ever had.
Chapter Seventeen
Blythe
Wow, what a night!
If things didn’t end up working out with Zack and Monk, I thought they could certainly work out with just Christian. He really knew how to show a girl a good time.
I was in a fantastic mood the next day when I got back to the apartment. Harlow and Layla were lounging around in the living room, having coffee.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” I greeted.
“Oh, looks like someone had a good time last night!” laughed Layla.
“I actually did,” I beamed. “Not that I can talk about it, because that wouldn’t be lady-like.”
“We got some calls for you,” said Layla. “Did you forward your cellphone to the land line?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to be distracted,” I said. “Thanks for taking the messages. Who was it?”
“Zack and then Monk,” said Layla. “Zack didn’t leave a message, but Monk said he wanted to invite you to a gallery showing this afternoon.”
“Oh, gosh, it’s almost noon,” I noticed. “I’d better call him back.”
“I’ll see you later,” said Layla. “I’m going food shopping. You want anything?”
“Oh, no thanks,” I said. “The studio is feeding me non-stop. I’ve got a whole fridge of homemade food back at the trailer. I’m going to have to bring some of it home when we wrap.”
While Layla got up and left, I called Monk.
“Hey,” he greeted me.
“Hey,” I said back.
“You busy?” he asked.
“No, I just— I’m not busy,” I said. “What’s the gallery opening of?”
“My little sister is a photographer and she’s doing a show. I’ll swing by around two?” he asked.
“Perfect, gives me just enough time to get ready,” I said.
“Okay, great, I’ll see you then,” he said, hanging up.
I put down the phone and was greeted by Harlow. She looked at me, frowning, with her arms crossed.
“Blythe, what the hell is going on with you?” she demanded mildly. “You were out with Christian last night and now you’re going out with Monk and you’re talking to Zack, who was clearly interested, too?”
“I’m just having a good time,” I said.
“You’re playing with fire, is what you’re doing,” she said. “You can’t date three guys at once. Not to mention that they’re all your co-workers!”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “They all know. I told them.”
“Three young, hot successful guys all sharing the same woman? Yeah, that’s not going to blow up in your face!” she said sarcastically. “You can’t trust anyone in this town, Blythe. Everyone in this business has an angle.”
“It’s not like that with the guys,” I assured her. “We’re working together and getting to know each other. Plus, just ask Mallory. It worked out for her.”
“That’s rare. Just because it worked out for her, don’t get your hopes up that the same will happen for you, no offense. They’re actors, Blythe,” she reminded me. “They get paid to convince people they’re something they’re not every day. For all you know, one of ‘em’s gay and wants to use you as a beard!”
“They are definitely not gay,” I laughed.
“This isn’t funny,” she said. “Someone could get really hurt.”
“Look, I know this kind of thing is serious. That’s why I told all three guys,” I said. “But the real scandal is my director. He made a move on me.”
“Jim? Isn’t he married?” recalled Harlow.
“Long-time girlfriend with a kid,” I explained. “And apparently that’s not exactly a voluntary situation. I found out he’s not the person I thought he was. He was super creepy and aggressive. Thankfully, Hansley walked in and put a stop to it.”
Harlow turned a little pale and walked out the room abruptly. Something in my story clearly struck a nerve with her. She came back a few seconds later with her earbuds in.
“I’m going for a jog,” she said. “Whatever you do, follow Hansley’s advice and stay away from that creep.”
And with that, she left. There was no stopping Harlow. She was like a force of nature when you got right down to it. But I could tell the information shook her.
Something had happened that she didn’t want to talk about. There was no sense pressing her about it, though, since she clearly didn’t want to tell me what it was. She could be as stubborn as a rock sometimes.
I went into my room, stripped down, got a shower and got changed. Just as I finished reapplying my makeup, I heard the doorbell ring. I rushed to answer it. It was Monk.
“Hey,” I greeted him.
“Hi, you look nice,” he said. “C’mon, the limo’s outside.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that for me,” I said.
“Well, I don’t drive,” explained Monk. “I never learned how.”
“Oh, I could teach you,” I offered.
“No, thanks,” said Monk as we walked to the limo. “Los Angeles drivers are out of their minds.”
Monk held the door
for me, and I got inside. He walked around, talked to the driver for a second and then got into the back with me.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered, opening the bar. “I know it’s early.”
“No, that’s okay,” I said. “Unless you have some water or diet Coke.”
“Here’s a water,” he offered, before getting himself one, too. “Cheers.”
“So, what’s the gallery show about?” I asked.
“My sister, Vanessa, is the photographer. She takes pictures of inner-city kids, crime and stuff like that,” he explained.
“Ooh, that sounds dangerous,” I said.
“Yeah, well, she’s had a few close calls with gang members,” said Monk. “But you can’t tell her anything. She’s very headstrong.”
“Don’t take this question the wrong way, but is this gallery going to be depressing?” I asked.
“Yeah, pretty much,” said Monk. “Not a lot of happy pictures in Compton.”
“You ever do any of that stuff? You know, charity or social justice stuff?” I asked.
“Nah,” said Monk. “I don’t believe in doing anything unless you know what you’re doing. That’s an area where you need to do your research and I just don’t have the time. There’s too many people in this world that exploit those kinds of issues for political gain, so I don’t think it’s very smart for celebrities to sign on board, either.”
“Yeah, I never wanted to be one of those political activist actresses,” I said. “I mean, I vote, and I have an opinion; I just don’t have the urge to spread it all over Hollywood like my heart is on my sleeve.”
“Exactly. It’s almost like it’s a form of bragging,” said Monk. “It’s what half this town does all day when it isn’t shooting movies. These rich assholes live in the hills and scream at their maid, then they go on Facebook and pretend to be a friend to poor people. Meanwhile, the maid is poor as shit, being paid half wages under the table.”
“Now that’s depressing,” I said. “There’s so much hypocrisy in the world.”
“Definitely,” agreed Monk. “And in Hollywood, hypocrisy isn’t just a thing, it’s a lifestyle for some people. I mean, I’ve met a lot of celebrities and some of them are great. But some of them are the most cynical motherfuckers on the face of God’s Green Earth. I knew a guy— He was all about the Earth publicly, right? Recycle, be green, all that stuff. But then he had his servants burn his trash after a party because he didn’t want to pay extra to have a guy haul it away! This was in Los Angeles! He could’ve burned down half the city with a stunt like that.”
“What happened?” I pressed.
“Well, the cops saw the smoke and he ended up getting fined. The firemen had to come out and put out the fire. Then they coated his entire backyard with a flame-retardant chemical to make sure the ashes were all out. Ended up killing his grass. Cost him way more than if he just had called a trash pick-up. Serves him right. What a douche.”
“If I get rich from this,” I vowed, “I don’t want to be like that. I want to stay normal.”
“It’s hard,” said Monk. “In defense of even that guy, it is hard. This town is so awash in nonsense, it’s hard to get your bearings sometimes. Thankfully, I have my spiritual advisor. He helps me keep it real.”
“That sounds kind of… cult-like, if you don’t mind me saying,” I said.
“Oh, I know,” said Monk. “But I keep him at arm’s length. I’m no Scientologist or anything like that. Those guys go all in and they never come out. Tom just helps me. He’s more of like an unlicensed therapist with hippie trappings. Someone to talk to who’s not in the business. That’s all you really need, when you think about it.”
“Monk, you’re so chatty now!” I smiled. “I never heard you talk so much! Even on the set, your character doesn’t have much dialogue.”
“Hey, I say things that I’m passionate about,” he shrugged. “When I think of something important, I say it. I don’t just blather. That’s another big thing in this town. People will just drone on and on about nothing, without any consideration for how the person listening feels. I hope I’m not doing that to you.”
“No, no, I find your perspective interesting,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind getting more spiritual. It’s probably something I need.”
“Well, I could certainly show you how to meditate. You get into a lotus position and then concentrate on a point straight ahead. Then, you just breathe in your nose and out your mouth. And you keep doing that, just concentrate on your breathing. It really centers you,” he explained.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Yeah, pretty much,” he said. “You try and clear your mind.”
“How long do you do it?” I asked.
“I would start with just a couple of minutes,” he said. “I wouldn’t go beyond five to ten minutes, once you got into the regular habit.”
“That’s it?” I laughed. “Sorry, I just— that seems too easy.”
“Well, if you do that every day, you’re going to be shocked at the results,” he assured. “Trust me. I was running around this town always drunk, doing a shit ton of drugs, partying, in and out of bed with different women— I had fun, but I was miserable at the same time. My life was utter chaos. Doing this finally centered me enough that I could take control of my life.”
“You’re sweet to put up with all my questions,” I said.
“Oh, not at all,” dismissed Monk. “We can’t learn if we don’t ask questions, right?”
“Can I ask you something more personal?” I began.
“Sure.”
“Are you a Buddhist?”
“No. Well, I thought about joining, but I just want to do my own thing,” he explained. “I never thought any organized religion was for me. I kind of pick and choose what works for me. So, in that sense, I’m very Buddhist-like. The Buddhists respect all religions. Gun to my head, I guess I would join them.”
“Fascinating,” I said. “Getting to know you is like peeling away the layers of an onion. There’s much more to see.”
“I’m glad I could expand your consciousness today,” he smiled.
The limo pulled into a parking lot. The building appeared to be a warehouse or maybe an abandoned school.
“Where’s the art gallery?” I asked.
“This is it,” said Monk. “I know, it’s in a really bad part of town, but— artists. They do weird things, right?”
“We’re artists,” I reminded him. “How weird are we then?”
“Touché,” he said.
We got out of the car. The place looked pretty desolate. Until the door opened and I could see all the people inside, I could imagine he brought me here to murder me and hide my body forever.
But inside, the place had been painted. There was light music plus dozens of people walking around looking at photographs and drinking wine.
“Okay,” I said. “This is a bit of a shock when compared to what’s outside. Where the heck did all these people park?”
“That’s part of the illusion. Hi, I’m Vanessa,” said a woman who had stepped up to us. “Hey, Monk.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Vanessa, this is my co-star, Blythe,” he introduced us.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “So, what’s the illusion?”
“That you’re in a rough part of the city,” she explained. “That you’re alone without resources or hope.”
I looked around. The patrons were getting their wine poured and dining on tiny steak sliders on toothpicks. They did not look worried in the least, despite the graphic depictions that were in the photos.
I didn’t get the sense that anyone was really getting the message. Vanessa seemed to sense that I sense that.
“I know,” she said, as if almost reading my mind. “But someone has to pay for this. Why not these rich art snobs?”
We walked around the building, which closer inspection had revealed was an abandoned school, after all. The interior had been m
arred by graffiti. There were pictures of kids at a skate park, other abandoned schools, books on the ground that had bene torched, a picture of a homeless guy— pretty much any depressing subject you could think of for the hellscape that was Los Angeles, Vanessa had captured with her camera.
“Hey,” said Vanessa, as we got to the end of the presentation. “You want to see something?”
“Sure,” I said.
Vanessa brought us inside another room. This one had been repainted and restored to its former glory. The patrons inside it weren’t drinking wine; they were hipsters that seemed to be in the know that the real message was in this gallery.
The pictures in this room were in color. The ones in the hall had all been either black and white or had their color washed out.
These were happy, brightly colored pictures of kids and people of the poor sections of Los Angeles. They had hopes and dreams and ambitions. The pictures, surprisingly, celebrated that.
“Ah, ha! You got me!” I laughed. “I thought this was going to be just what the outside presented it. Another depressing, urban assault.”
“Exactly,” said Vanessa. “You weren’t expecting this room, just like most people don’t expect the poor to blossom into something great. This room, the true art, celebrates that.”
“Now were the wine drinkers actors or actual patrons?” I asked.
“Actually, it’s a mix of both,” she explained. “Some people just have the wine and stay out there. They’re not willing to go the extra mile to see this room. They just never get to it and I won’t show it to them.”
“Wow, that’s a brilliant commentary,” I said. “I am so impressed, Vanessa. Well, now I have to buy a picture.”
“You don’t have to,” said Monk.
“No, no, I have to,” I said. “As in I want to. I want to support this.”
I cut Vanessa a check for one of the smaller reproductions. The bigger ones were quite expensive! And the small one wasn’t cheap, either. But hey, she deserved it.
Afterwards, Monk took me to a little coffee shop. It was out of the way and had wood paneling. It reminded me of something you’d see on the East Coast. The café was just there; it wasn’t super full of itself. We got some lattes and sat down.