Burn My Shadow

by Tyler Knight

  I don’t dare stop talking. As time passes, the other inmates tell me their stories. Shitty Pants Man joins in, and turns out to be the raconteur. Many tales of their exploits remind me why I’m glad these guys are in here. My fellow inmate’s stories turn into confessionals, and I’m dispensing sex advice, making shit up on the fly. I swear to Jesus to get every single one of them into porn when we get out of lock up.

  When the crowd thins, Alpha Male says, “Hey TK, don’t worry. Me and my boys, we got your back. Lay down and get some sleep. Ain’t nobody gonna fuck wit choo.”

  The inmates clear more space for me on the bench. I lie on the bench, doing my best to rest my brain with my eyes wide open. Apparently I doze off for a bit, because when I open my eyes there is a pile of plastic-wrapped cookies at my feet. A cookie shrine.

  Alpha, watching me as I wake up, says, “We figured you was hungry, TK, so we got you some cookies.”

  Looking around the tank, there is evidence that guards delivered lunch as I slept. Some prisoners eat apples. Others drink cartons of OJ. Nobody else but me has cookies. This is not the time to tell him about my low-carb diet.

  Alpha and his gang watch me work my way through a half-dozen cookies from the pile. The door opens. A couple of deputies enter and shout out a few names to see the judge. They shout my real name among them.

  As I walk to the door, several of my new buddies shout their email addresses and Facebook pages at me. One of them says he will send me a friend request on Facebook. (He actually does.)

  As I’m processed out, a deputy cuts my prisoner identification wristband off with safety scissors. Outside, I squint. The sun is up but the day on the calendar is different. I see Amanda waiting for me on the steps. She hugs me.

  Across the street is the property return office. My personal effects, including my cell phone and wallet with my IDs, have been lost and the clerk tells me to wait while they look for them. When I ask how long this will take, the response is, “However long it takes.”

  I say to Amanda, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  We leave.

  A few blocks away is Plaza Olivera, the oldest street in Los Angeles, made back when the city was just a mission. We find a cantina and sip mojitos, watching the foot traffic from an outdoor patio table. The setting sun colors the Los Angeles sky with colors not possible without smog. When the first round of drinks is finished, I order another. Then another.

  She says, “How much longer are you going to keep doing porn?”

  “I don’t know. Job market sucks. Not a lot else out there.”

  “That’s bullshit. There are opportunities out there if you look for them. But you have to start looking now and give it time. Dig your well before you’re thirsty, Erik.”

  “I’m still doing well enough. For now. I’m up for a lot of awards this year again—”

  “Who won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor this year?”

  “I dunno. I can’t remember.”

  “Neither can anybody else, and the Oscars were just three months ago. So, do you think anyone really gives a damn about porn awards? What have the awards you’ve already won gotten you? More money?”

  We pause the conversation while the waitress brings us our appetizers. Neither Amanda nor I touch the food.

  I say, “No.”

  “Those people don’t give a damn about you.”

  “I know.”

  “Wait until you have a few off performances and then see how they like you. Those pills you take can’t be good for you.”

  “No.”

  I occupy my hands by wrapping them around my mojito.

  She says, “Porn is easy money—for now, anyway. You’re just lazy.”

  I take a sip of my mojito.

  I say, “It’s not easy money.”

  She says, “What the hell are you hanging on for, then? What do you want out of life?”

  Then I chew a mint leaf. “Fuck…I don’t know.”

  “Well, what about my health?” she says. “How many porn-related HIV scares do you need to put me through before you think of someone other than yourself?”

  “What can I say? You’re right.”

  She stares at me. “I’m not going to wait for you forever, Erik.”

  Happy Ending

  Barney Blaze sends me a text message:

  Barney: r u avail 29th or 30th 4 a nuru massage scne?

  Me: Either is fine. wtf is a “nuru?”

  Barney: go 2 nuru-massage-dot-com. it’s bad ass.

  I go to my laptop.

  Me: Oh. My. God!

  Barney: U like?

  Me: :D

  I scroll down and unzip.

  Me: Genius!

  There is a video embedded, I play the video.

  Me: I <3 u man!

  Barney: Cool what day?

  Me: BOTH!

  Barney: lol just only need u for one.

  Me: k. confirmed for 30th.

  • • •

  I hire a Lincoln Town Car to pick me up and drive me to set: a postmodern architectural overlooking the bluffs of the Valley. The driver, Jacob, is a refugee from Soviet Georgia. He is missing several fingers: severed off in the same precise locations. I don’t ask.

  I’m early and no one else is there. After ten minutes, a rental car pulls up and a tanned Asian girl leaps out. Julie. Her pencil-eraser nipples press against her polo shirt. She’s riled up and excited in a motivational speaker on PCP-laced Pixie Stix kinda way, which makes me excited. By the time the crew pulls up, I’m damn near chanting “I Can Do This! I Can Do This! I CAN DO THIS!” Between her Olympic gymnast body and her zeal, I’m fired up!

  Inside, I do the usual paperwork while the crew sets up and the girl gets ready. That done, I scan the script. It’s bullshit, I stop reading. This is a Tyler improv day.

  I excuse myself to a bathroom and wash my balls, my pre-scene ritual. When I return to set, everyone’s ready. We start with me outside.

  • • •

  Knock-Knock!!

  Julie says, “Yes? What do you want?”

  “Hi, I’m here to talk about your insurance policies for your—”

  “Password. You got the password?”

  I say, “Err…nuru massage?”

  “Come in!”

  She takes me by the hand and guides me inside to a sofa.

  I say, “So as I was saying, I have a lot of policies that could benefit your business.”

  “This is a massage parlor, you bumbling idiot.”

  “I see, I see… Well, you have employees, right? Let’s talk about annuities—”

  She pushes me down on the sofa, and says, “No.”

  “No? You’re not even going to let me finish telling—”

  “Look asshole, if you want a massage it’s a hundred and fifty bucks!”

  She undoes her robe, revealing golden skin, and lets the robe slough off her shoulders and onto the floor. She places her hands on her hips, pouting. Her nipples stab the air.

  I say, “You take Discover card?”

  “Cash, motherfucker!”

  She leads me into a bathroom, undresses me, shoves me into the shower. She soaps me up well, then passes me the soap so I can lather her up. Her skin is toast-brown with patches of cream where her bathing suit cover. If she were wearing one. Her skin is glistening and my cock is bursting out of its damned skin. She drops to her knees and licks and kisses my knob just a little bit.

  Christ, I’m supposed to keep the gag going talking about insurance?

  I clear my throat and say, “You know, you live in mud-slide country—”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  Problem solved.

  She rinses me off, cuts off the shower and guides me over to the hot tub filled with bubbles.
Bubbles part and pop as my feet break the soapy water’s surface tension. My body warms up as I lower myself into the tub. She sits on the ledge behind me and wrap her legs over my neck, pussy lips suction-cupping to the space between my scapula. Her feet stroke my cock, which periscopes up through the suds. I surrender my body to the white noise of relaxation and pleasure. First my arms…then my torso, releasing control as I work my way down. My legs float. I see Barney waving at me from behind the camera to keep the dialogue going.

  Fuck off, I’m taking a Tyler moment!

  Julie lowers herself into the tub and swim-crawls to my side. She stroke-sucks me. I’m looking at her tan-lined ass bob in and out of the tub; each time it rises above the water line sheets of water cascade off her cheeks. I’m about to lose my fucking mind. I talk about deductibles, anything to take my mind off of what this kid is doing to me. She gets out of the tub.

  I watch her from my place in the tub as she pulls out an inflatable air mattress and a wooden bowl. She kneads a clear gel-like goo in the bowl, raising her hands and letting the slime slide between her fingers and drip down in foot-long globs. The slime, thick and viscous, is like nothing I have seen on this earth. Julie rubs the goo on her body, seemingly merging the liquid into her skin. She looks like she is melting as the translucent slime drips and runs through crevasses of her ass and tits and onto the mattress. Jesus. Fucking. Christ! How much of this can a man take!

  Barney waves for me to get out of the tub and join her. I go to say something about insurance, but I’m running out of material. I lie face down on the air mattress. Julie loads her hands up with the primordial sludge and slathers it on my body. The slime—so cold at first it’s jarring—warms to my skin temperature. After a few passes, she turns my back into a fucking Slip’N Slide, massaging my body with her body. I feel her tits trace a line up my spine, and I’m about to pass the fuck out from the blood rushing to my dick.

  Julie yells, “Turn over!”

  I pause at the apex of the roller coaster looking down, and the anticipation speeds my pulse. I obey. I look up to see this golden nymphet…foamy and slimy…stalactites of slime swaying to and fro on every possible plane of her body…my reflection in a shiny tit smiling back at me.

  She lowers herself onto my body and mounts me. As she makes an upward pass, I feel her hot breath, her tits and then her steamy pussy lips slide on my cock.

  “SO!” I say, “This stuff is very slippery and may present some workplace hazards. May I suggest a liability poli—”

  “If I let you fuck me, will you shut the fuck up?”

  I say nothing. This is the correct answer. We aren’t scripted to fuck, but there is no way I’m turning this down. She lies on her side. I spoon behind her. She reaches for my dick and rubs the head on her labia for what seems like a full century, teasing me with her folds…and slips it inside her.

  squish-squish-squiiiiish…

  Our bodies slide frictionless on the air mattress as we drift weightless. It’s a bit of a challenge to gain leverage to thrust when both of you slide in unison, but I’m motivated and figure it out. I feel her hot ass press against my lower abdomen with each pass. I’m not going to make it! Gotta give it at least two positions.

  squish-SquISH…

  I yank my cock out of her, guide her onto her back, then glide into position between her legs. I slide her up and down the mattress as we continue zero-gravity space fucking.

  SQUISH-SQUISH-SQUUUIIISSSHHH!!

  Losing all concern for the camera being able to see, I hunch over her turning myself into a man blanket, lying flush with her, chest to chest. One hand cups her ass underneath us, the other hand wraps a fist-full of wet hair. Her hips bucking, mouth cooing. Weightless. Primal.

  Julie kneads me with her Kegels, and it’s just about over, folks. I pull out of her hoping I can gather myself and go longer. Just seconds from withdrawing, my dick dripping with slime and pussy juice, I come delayed-reaction on her pubic bone and belly.

  • • •

  I stand inside the hi-tech shower, hands on the tiled wall, watching the goo spiral down the drain. Conflicting emotions wash over me.

  The feeling is ninety-proof cherry-flavored cough medicine because the day fast approaches when I no longer do this for a living, and some MBA who was teething when I was in college tells me when I can do life-sustaining things such as eating lunch or peeing. Excitement for what the Act II of my life and writing has waiting for me. Reality tempers those feelings…because at any given moment The Darkness will throw a burlap bag over my head and kidnap my life, holding me hostage and inert months at a time. Most days I still fight in mortal terror against The Darkness which seduces me to thank my sponsors and step in front of a bus on a day to day, moment-to-fucking-moment basis. Because one day I will lose that fight. A curtain of fog clouds my mind and imprisons me into a solipsistic hell of my own thoughts forming fractals into infinity. David Foster Wallace explained this feeling by relating the phenomenon of people leaping from burning buildings to their deaths. How a jumper knows he will die, but he jumps anyway. And how this forces the observer to consider what experience could be so horrific that anyone would opt to escape it by jumping to their death. I personally don’t think about jumping because I believe things can’t possibly get worse… To the contrary, I contemplate it because I believe things probably will.

  I feel the pull of the whirlpool twisting and sucking between my feet. The micro torrent wants to suck me in and down the drain and speed me down its gullet. I step out of the smart-shower and it cuts off behind me. A long sigh escapes from my mouth…I gotta see somebody about this. How could I hold together if I lost Amanda? What if she got tired of waiting and I return from set to an empty home? I’ll give her an exit date from this business…and stick to it. So few people who do porn for so many years make it when matriculating back into the real world. The recidivism rate for porn performers rivals that among career criminals for the same basic reason. It’s all they know. Doesn’t matter what I am going to do for a living. As long as there’s Amanda to come home to…if I keep on this path, one day when I get home from set she won’t be there. She’s the last vestige of normalcy in my life.

  I take my waiting check off the counter and fold it into my wallet. Then I hide from myself behind sunglasses, hop into the backseat of the waiting Town Ca, and gaze out the window as Jacob takes me to Amanda. What is this feeling? It’s not new. Oh, yeah. Fear.

  From KBC News (Redacted):

  June, 2009

  SoCal Porn Actress Tests HIV Positive

  A Southern California porn actress has tested positive for HIV, reigniting the concern that the adult entertainment industry is not protecting [its] talent from sexually transmitted diseases.

  “There has been a person who has tested positive. There were exceptionally few partners, inside and outside the industry. All partners are currently testing negative and in adult employment quarantine. All required reporting has been complied with, as have the M.A.I.M. and industry protocols. The investigation is ongoing. This is not a major event,” Nichols, an executive from M.A.I.M., said, according to ATM Magazine, the adult industry trade periodical.

  Max Barnes, senior editor of ATM, said the actress was an older woman who was only hired on rare occasions.

  He called the case an “isolated event,” saying she did not contract or spread HIV to or from anyone in the adult film world, a testament to the protocols the industry currently has in place.

  Tiger by the Tail

  “Hey Honey, Shylock at VELVET just called. They’re rescheduling tomorrow’s scene.”

  “Sure, what day did they have in mind?”

  She says, “Today, three hours from now. Are you available?”

  I’m unwashed, three days growth covers my face and I’m standing knee-deep in a pile of dirty laundry at the laundromat, which is full today, so I only have one ma
chine. The first loads of white clothes are already soaking.

  Fuck.

  “Same movie?” I ask.

  “Yeah, apparently there’s some drama on set and he wants to see if they can get the scene shot out today.”

  “‘Drama’? That’s never good, Cindy. What kind of drama?”

  She says, “I asked but he wouldn’t say. I have to call him back to let him know if you’re available right away.”

  Even if I only wash and dry the clothes that are already soaking I’ll have little time to get ready and make it from where I am in Hollywood, the set on the far end of the Valley near the LA/Ventura county line. And it’s going to be rush hour when I head out. My printer’s out of ink so I have to run by an Internet cafe to print a copy of my HIV test but doing that won’t leave time to run to the pharmacy to get my in-case-of-emergency Viagra in the event the girl I’m working can’t lock her psychosis down long enough to shoot a sex scene. The test is mandatory; the drugs, only somewhat. Although I’ve done hundreds of scenes drug free, I never, never, do it without the insurance in my possession. Still, this is a chance to add to my fuck you stack…my savings that erodes month-by-month as I dipped into it because the DVD porn studios are losing their asses to the free-product fire sale via the torrent websites. Fuck it, it’ll be okay.

  “Whatever, that’s cool,” I say, “it’s better than a cancellation.”

  “Okay, Hon.”

  She hangs up and I text the driver to tell him to pick me up at the agency today instead of tomorrow, then I go to the vending machine for a mini-box of powdered detergent. I put the quarters in and the box of Tide drops. In the interest of saving time, I decide to wash the remaining dark clothes with the whites. After stuffing them all in the same load together, I add the detergent and hope it will be okay. My lips move as I read the detergent box:

  “No time to separate the whites from the coloreds? Use Tide! It keeps the whites white, and the colors from running!”