We went out to dinner, we watched movies together, and we made love. Most people don’t realize that even with all the fucking that goes on on-screen, we are still capable of making love. With Eric, that time spent alone with him was gentle when I needed it to be and it was rough when I wanted it to be. For fuck’s sake he was perfect. Except for one thing. He had a drug problem.”
“I haven’t heard about him in a long time,” Tension said.
“Cause he’s dead,” I informed him.
Saying it hurt more than I thought it would. It wasn’t the first time I’d said it but it was the first time I’d had to tell someone the whole story and then top it off with that. I’d only told my sister about Eric. But even with her, I’d never told her how in love I was with a porn star.
“It hurt a lot.” I said. “We’d had breakfast that morning and then both drove off in our own cars to our own sets for the day and apparently, after one scene where he fucked Angelina Reigns, they both went into the bathroom to do some blow and he had a heart attack. Died right there in front of her. She was pretty devastated, but the way I see it, that’s what she gets for doing coke with my man. Her job was to fuck him not to do dope with him. And now he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Tension said.
I believed him. The sad sag in his eyes told me he’d suffered loss himself and hearing my experience was making him relive his.
“So after that I went through another deep, dark spell. Once again, I considered killing myself but like the last time I was a coward. So I kept fucking for the camera, smiling for the viewers, and crying when the filming stopped.
Instead of feeling like an entertainer of any kind, I simply felt like a whore.
I was a whore. I’d always been one.
“Do you know what makes you a whore, Detective Tension?”
“Getting paid for sex?” Tension said, but more like he was guessing.
“No,” I said. “Getting paid for sex makes you a sex worker. It’s an honorable job and is one of the oldest professions. What makes you a whore, is when you stop feeling anything and fuck to fill a void. That makes you a whore.”
I was a whore.
Then it happened. Following a long scene with a co-star I hated, the empty shell I’d been carrying around finely shattered.
I flipped my wrists up to show Tension the scars. He didn’t say anything but he knew what they were. So I continued.
“I didn’t do it right. Even whores have friends and one of mine ended up saving my life when she stopped by for some business advice and to have a few drinks. She found me in a pool of blood. I woke up in the hospital. Alone again with only the aggravating beeping of the machines and hoarse breathing of respirators to keep me company. It was the perfect soundtrack for my gloomy mood.
My head pounded and my eyes felt swollen. My arms hurt. It took me a minute to remember what I’d done to land myself there. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how I’d failed at ending my life.
By that time I expected to either be standing in front of St. Peter or in front of Lucifer. Either way I was sure to have some explaining to do. But instead I ended up explaining to a heavyset nurse named Charlene where I rated my pain on a scale of one to ten. I said eight and shortly after I was asleep again.
The next time I woke up to an angel standing over my bed, wearing white, his short hair messy atop his head, and glasses stuck to the tip of his nose. His blue eyes squinted as they grew closer to my face.
“Am I dead?” I asked.
He laughed and as he did a bit of spit flew off his lip and hit my forehead. If he weren’t gorgeous I might’ve been appalled but instead I found it interesting.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to laugh like that. Near death is never this funny.”
“So I’m not dead?”
“Close to it, but no, no you’re not dead.”
I thought he was trying to be humorous but I was still a bit dazed. He sat down on the bed next to me and pulled out a stethoscope. He set it to my chest and listened for a few seconds.
“I think you’ll be okay,” he said.
“You think?”
He brushed a strand of hair from my eyes and tucked it behind my ear.
“If you were trying to get a day off from work, there are better ways to go about it.”
He was making fun of me. I should’ve been mad but he was so pretty. He was the handsomest man I’d seen in a long time.
He was intelligence in a white coat, cleverness in a grin, sexiness in a beautiful package. He wasn’t the cocky, sweaty, chain-smoker I’d gotten so used to working with. If he had tattoos he kept them hidden and the size of his cock wasn’t on display in his loose fitting scrubs.
He was unfamiliar territory and that’s what attracted me most.
I was contemplating all this when I passed out again.”
Chapter 3
“Tension,” I said as I contemplated how to continue with my story. “How do you measure passion?”
He didn’t answer right away. He looked out the window and onto the bright street where two boys tossed a football back and forth.
“Excitement,” he finally said.
I waited for more and when it was clear I wasn’t going to get any elaboration I took it upon myself to create the need.
“And how are you excited?” I asked.
“Is this about me?”
“It is now.”
“Hmm, I am excited by a woman who is able to think for herself, a woman who’s able to fight for what she believes in but can admit when she needs strong arms to hold her tight. I’m excited by the silhouette of her naked in front of a window. Sipping a glass of wine. Her nipples as prevalent as the stem on the glass.”
Holy shit. That’s no answer from an ordinary man. You’ve thought about this before.
I crossed my legs, so I could feel my pussy pinch closed. Something about the way he focused on the word nipples made me wet. I wanted a little tension between my legs.
“How long has it been since you were last…excited?” I asked.
He went to loosen his tie but it was already slack.
“Hot?” I asked.
“It’s umm, it’s been a while. But let’s get back to your story.”
“It’s a long one,” I promised.
“I’ve got time.”
“As do I. And maybe if you’re here long enough I might entertain you with a glass of wine and my silhouette.”
“You talk a big game,” he said.
“You’ve seen my films,” I reminded him. “If you still think it’s all talk, you should let your cock know.”
I nodded my head at his lap to hint that he might want to look that way. He did and saw what I saw. He was solid in his slacks, his head clearly identifiable by the thick ridge that separated it from the stem of his cock.
“Let me get back to my story,” I said.
“I stayed in the hospital for a few days. And each day the good doc came to see me. Dr. Sebastian Reese. He liked to be called Bastian.
Bastian asked me questions about myself. Things no man ever asked me. He wanted to know my favorite color and my favorite animal. Who the hell asks someone’s favorite animal? But I loved it. He really wanted to know me.
It was strange, I thought, but I played along. Anything that would allow me to stare into his eyes and gaze at his handsome face was okay by me. The more questions he asked, the more time he was going to spend with me.
When he wasn’t around, I spent my time alone thinking of questions to ask when he arrived, questions that might cause him to stick around longer. The strange thing is, with Dr. Bastian it was never sexual. For once in my life, a man seemed to be into me and it had nothing to do with my reputation.
I did wonder if he knew that I was in the adult film industry. Most men that I knew watched porn and I knew a couple of doctors who were both into it, one had even quit his day job to fuck beautiful women on screen.
One day, when he was off duty, Dr. Bastian came to the hospital to see me. He wore jeans and a white linen shirt, so fucking fresh and crisp that I wanted to eat him alive. He said he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me being alone and wanted to stop by to see if I’d thought of any new questions for him. That’s when I decided to finally ask him. I wanted to know the truth. Was he hanging out with me because he wanted to get some or did he have a real interest in me? Or was it something different altogether? I needed to know.
“Do you know what I do for a living?” I asked him. “Or did? I’m quitting.”
“Hmm, quitting…are you a drug dealer?” he joked.
“You got me,” I said. “Have you ever heard of Madame Blow? I’m the top distributor on the West Coast.”
Joking about drugs instantly brought back memories of Eric and I felt bad. Making fun of drugs and addiction felt like I was making fun of cancer or something, a sickness that had taken someone important to me.
He patted my knee and I looked up to see that he had a corner of his mouth scrunched up, like he was chewing on his lip.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sorry. Just…memories.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to. In here, with me, your slate is wiped clean. We deliver babies all the time. Think of this as your rebirth.”
That meant so much to me. It meant more than any other words I’d ever heard in my entire life.
“I think I want to tell you,” I said.
“Look,” he said. “If you decide to that’s okay. If you can handle it. But I’ve seen your wrists and I’ve examined you several times. I think I already know what you’re going to tell me.”
“I’m a sex addict and I tried to kill myself,” I said. “There. It’s all out there. Now, if you decide to judge me…”
“Stormy Winters,” he said.
Ouch. That hurt.
It bothered me that he knew. He’d never brought it up. I wondered if he did indeed want me for sex. Was I just a conquest, maybe a sick game, a bet he’d made with the other doctors in the hospital?
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t think anyone else has caught on. I only know because your friend, the one who brought you in here, told me. She was worried about you and wanted me to check you very thoroughly. Then she gave me her number and told me she was in the industry too.”
Conniving bitch.
I had to laugh at that one. Her real name was Sara but she went by the name Lacey Swears on screen. She was quite possibly more of a hornball than I was. I could totally see her worrying so much about me but being able to put that on pause long enough to make a pass at the hot doctor.
“Did you call her?” I asked.
“Would you think less of me if I did?” he replied.
I couldn’t answer. Instead I played with a piece of string coming off my blanket.
“I didn’t call her,” he said. “I’ve been preoccupied with this beautiful blonde who’s nosy as hell.”
He reached down and squeezed my thigh. It was the first time he’d touched me in a way that had nothing to do with checking on my health. That moment of warmth from him broke me down. I don’t know why but I started sobbing. I was so ashamed. I was a whore whether I was playing a distressed damsel or not. Several times I’d thought about fucking Dr. Bastian. I was and always would be a whore.
“Can you do me a favor?” Bastian asked. “If you really mean to quit your job, can you please ditch the name Stormy Winters? You’re a beautiful, glowing woman. And that name is depressing as hell. I’m going to call you Sunshine if you don’t mind.”
From that day forward I was Sunshine.
***
The day I was to leave the hospital was the day that changed everything. I’d been concerned about where I would go. Sure, I had my own apartment, but it was the same apartment I’d been in with Eric and a few other coworkers I’d brought home.
It was the same apartment I’d tried to kill myself in. I didn’t want to go there. I was scared to death to go there actually.
I didn’t have any friends or family at the hospital with me that day. Sara, aka Lacey, never came back to the hospital to check on me. I understood. I was a downer and she was busy trying to go places. I didn’t want my family to know what I’d gone through. My sister was the only one who knew the truth about my lifestyle and she’d become kind of distant lately. She was ashamed of me, that much I could tell, but she didn’t come out and say it out of fear that I’d disappear from her life altogether.
So I was alone, sitting on the foot of the bed, waiting for my discharge papers, when Dr. Bastian stopped by.
“You’re leaving me,” he said.
“I am,” I replied. “But it’s not you. It’s me. We’re just…growing apart.”
He beamed and I realized I’d completely fallen for him. I didn’t want to leave the hospital. As uncomfortable as the place was and as much as I wanted to have some privacy, I would’ve stayed a month if they’d let me. I wanted, no, I needed to see him every day. I wanted him to surprise me the way he always did, making my heart flutter as he rounded the corner and said some wise-ass remark.
“Where will you go?” he asked, his face turning serious.
“Home I suppose. Back to the comforts of my meager living arrangements.”
“And what will you do for work?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’ve saved quite a bit so that’ll get me by until I find something new but I really don’t know. Maybe I’ll get an office job or something.”
“And be the eye candy of an office boss?”
“You think I’m eye candy?”
“I think you’re stunning.”
I felt faint. Thank God I was still sitting or I might have wobbled. That would’ve been embarrassing.
He’d never said anything like that before. His flirting had always been so subtle that I couldn’t be sure it even existed. That or he was being sarcastic and I couldn’t tell if he meant it. This time I heard him loud and clear. He’d complimented me and he’d meant it.
I wanted to respond but I found myself looking up at him, staring into his eyes, waiting for whatever he might say next, hoping it would be anything but, “here are your discharge papers.”
“Sunshine,” he said. “You don’t belong in that apartment. I’ve been wanting to do something, to say something…to…invite you somewhere for a while now. I can’t really explain it. You just have to trust me. You belong there. Come with me.”
I didn’t really understand what he was saying. He wanted to invite me somewhere?
“Look, go home when you’re released, and pack some things. Pack only what you can’t live without. And I’ll pick you up at five o’clock.”
I found myself agreeing, nodding with each word, never really saying anything myself. I think I was in awe. He hadn’t explained himself at all and I didn’t understand what I’d agreed to. Scenes from Pretty Woman flashed through my head for some reason. Movie fairy tales didn’t happen in real life.
By four o’clock my bags were packed and I was sitting on my living room sofa in the dark. I had to pee but I refused to go to the bathroom. That’s where I’d slit my wrists. It’s where I tried to end my life. I felt like a stranger in my own home.”
As I talked of my attempted suicide, I glanced over at Detective Tension and saw that he’d gone soft. Good. A man can only stay hard for so long before he starts to think of nothing but relieving himself. I wanted him to hear my story before he did that.
But he did need to be at least slightly aroused so I put a finger to my neck and let it run up and down. It tickled and did the trick as Tension’s eyes were once again glued on me.
“The car ride to the community was oddly quiet. Dr. Bastian, who I’ll start referring to simply as Bastian, put a hand on my leg at one point and caressed it with his thumb. It was nice. We didn’t talk much at all. He told me once that I was going to love where he was taking me but tha
t was it. That was all. The rest of the ride was done in silence.
E. Mayberry…”
“Erotic Mayberry,” Tension interrupted,
“Yes, Erotic Mayberry. Have you ever seen it?”
Welcome to E. Mayberry Page 2