Man of the Year

by Bianca Giovanni

  Shawnna is 36 now and she’s been retired for several years, but she started her own production company, Electric Lady Entertainment, and she helped James out of a major quagmire by purchasing the rights to his back catalogue of films from Sin Cinema after his feud with Rick. She also fast-tracked his sex toy line, something Rick from Sin Cinema had been dragging his feet on for ages, much to James’ annoyance.

  We’re going to the convention today as a way of saying thank you to her for all her help. James will be signing at her booth, which will draw a huge crowd given his Man of the Year nomination, and he’ll be talking up Electric Lady and what fine, high-quality porn they produce. In truth, they really do make good shit. Shawnna seems to favor high production value and all her performers are beautiful—Hollywood beautiful, not just porn beautiful.

  James and I finish breakfast and dawn some real clothes. I opt for skinny jeans, which I have to cuff at the bottom because they’re too long for my annoyingly small body, and a thin, navy blue t-shirt with a modest v-neck, nothing too cleavage revealing. I dress it up a bit with a silver lariat necklace, another reluctantly accepted gift from James, and an airy cream sweater, which, when combined with my brown t-strap sandals, gives me an earthy, pseudo-bohemian vibe.

  James goes for jeans that flatter his heartbreakingly perfect ass and an olive green tank top meant to show off his broad shoulders and bulging biceps. He’s sexing it up, trying to look extra hot for his fans. It’s working big time on me, so I can only imagine the effect it will have on the ladies at the convention.

  When we hit the convention floor, I try to take in the expansive array of booths in our immediate area. Most people have a simple table in front of a curtained off square, boxes of products visible between the sheets of black fabric. There’s money changing hands, credit card sliding, receipt signing, plastic bagging and big smiles as happy customers purchase everything from lube to latex apparatuses like the ones in our gift bags last night.

  The larger companies have elaborate setups with stages and lighting. We pass one area where three girls twirl around poles as a crowd of eager male fans cheers them on.

  “See that?” James asks me, pointing to the stage. I nod. “That shit is a great marketing tool,” he explains. “They do that, kind of tease those dudes, then they do a meet-and-greet, but you can only get a ticket if you buy something. So, if you want to meet the girls, you have to shill out some cash.”

  “Good method,” I nod my head in agreement.

  “Totally, right?” he smiles.

  “You gonna shake your money maker on a stage before you sign your stuff?” I tease him.

  “My money maker will only be shaken for you from now on,” he says with a grin before giving my butt a little squeeze.

  We walk past the endless rows of booths and I decide to check out the crowd. These guys seem to fall into two distinct types. First, there are the older men, the ones who look a bit pervy and have thick mustaches or t-shirts with their favorite sports teams. These guys are the old school porn fans, the ones who still buy DVDs instead of wanking to webcam girls online. The second group would be politely classified as douchebags—the popped collar, gelled hair, puka shell neckless crowd. They look like frat boys and they seem to travel in packs of three or four, roving the floor scoping tits and making comments about every woman who passes by.

  James is holding my hand when we enter the orbit or one such pack. I try to look away, hoping that they’ll ignore us if we ignore them, but that method doesn’t really work when you’re with a tall, strapping superstar who sticks out like a sore thumb.

  “Holy fucking shit! James fucking Langdon!” one of them points.

  “No fucking way!” another gasps. “Dude! You’re my fucking spirit animal. I, like, model my whole fucking life after you.”

  James smiles and laughs, shaking their hands and patting their backs in that “bro hug” way that frat boys seem to favor.

  “No shit, dude, I have seriously seen, like, all your stuff. That one you did a couple years back with Carina Cole and Jenna Tyler, fucking hot, man.”

  “Totally, dude,” the third one chimes in. “You fucking held that bitch’s hair and you were like, ‘Yeah, suck that fucking cock, slut!’”

  “That was pretty fuckin’ sweet one,” James nods. He’s in “famous dude” mode and I let him roll with it.

  I try not to think about that particular video, but these jerkoffs have brought it to the forefront in my mind. James shot it with Rick in partnership with a more douchebag-targeted company that usually uses very enhanced women and aims to objectify them—but, you know, more than they’re usually objectified in porn. The sex was very rough and, at one point, James was concerned for one of the girls when the other started harshly going at her with a dildo. Ever the champion for vaginas near and far, James took control of things and made the aggressive girl tone it down. These walking boners would love a semi-degrading video like that.

  “I bet you’re gonna fuck some fine ass bitches later, huh?” one of the bros smiles. “I wish my girlfriend was here. She always says she wants to fuck you and I’d totally love to watch you tear that pussy up!”

  I cringe but I try to hide it. I’m afraid that if I roll my eyes with warranted gusto they’ll get stuck up there in a permanent sarcastic position.

  “Nah, I’m out of the game, dude,” James replies to the guy. “Just chilling with my girl here,” he nods to me and I pretend to smile, though I don’t want to be dragged into this conversation.

  “Yo, what up, girl?” the one guy says, scanning my body from head to toe. “You in movies?”

  “No, just a civilian,” I reply.

  “You’re fine as fuck, baby,” another guy says to me. “You got some big old titties.”

  James clears his throat and the guys snap back into line. A pack of "bros" like this will usually bow to an alpha male like James and I know he’s fighting back the urge to get in their faces about their uncouth commentary regarding my bosom.

  “Babe, should we get to the booth?” I ask him, looking up into his eyes and silently communicating my matching desire to knock some sense into these asswipes.

  “Yeah, we should head out,” he nods and lowers his mouth to mine in a sweet, politely sexy kiss.

  I get what he’s doing. He’s trying to exert his ownership so these other guys will get the message that I’m off limits. So territorial.

  A few other douchey guys stop us as we pass through the corridors to the Electric Lady booth, which looks pretty impressive. It’s a large block with a loft platform about 12 feet off the ground. The bottom section contains a long table with a single chair and another table with three cash registers. There are flat-screens adorning the back wall and the borders of the loft, each showing a loop of clips and trailers for various Electric Lady films. There’s a large “back stage” area, quarantined off by a black curtain on one side and a large step-and-repeat banner with the company logo on the other side. This is a big operation. I knew Shawnna has cash, but this had to set her back a few bucks.

  “Darling!” an older brunette beams as she walks over and hugs James around his hips.

  She’s not Shawnna. Shawnna is blonde. This girl is a former star named Veronica Kane. I know this because James briefed me on the business side of Electric Lady. The entire board is made up of former female stars and the company is run by women for women. They’re the leader in the growing female-friendly market for "couples erotica" and landing James Langdon was a big get for them.

  “And you must be Lola,” she says, smiling at me and giving me a hug. “Shawnna will be so thrilled to meet you. I know she was really hoping you’d come today.”

  “Absolutely,” I smile. “I really wanted to meet her and see the setup down here.”

  “Well, right this way then, darling,” Veronica says, leading us behind the tables to the black curtain.

  Inside is a small room—I use that term loosely because the walls are made of step-and-repeat b
anner. There are two card tables, one topped with snacks and drinks and another with four chairs and a half-eaten to-go container of salad.

  There are two guys lifting boxes, likely containing James’ toys and DVDs, as a petite, very toned blonde woman dishes out instructions on where to put the products when the signing starts.

  She turns around, her huge blue eyes opening wide, and she rushes over to James. Her arms shoot up over his shoulders and he squeezes her around her waist, lifting her up and kissing her cheek.

  “My baby! I’m so happy to see you,” she says warmly as he puts her down. “You look fantastic. Look at those arms! I see somebody’s been hitting the gym in his spare time.”

  He blushes. Shawnna Hendrix makes James blush. It takes everything I have to not snicker.

  “And you must be the lovely, beautiful, enticing Miss Lola,” she says, hugging me and giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  “You did alright for yourself with this one,” she grins at James as she motions to me. “What a beauty!”

  “Wow, thanks,” I giggle. Now I’m blushing too.

  She hands us a couple bottles of water and James grabs a handful of carrots from the veggie platter as we sit down at the table.

  “Is this your first convention?” she cheerfully asks me, putting her hand on mine like we're on a talk show.

  “I went to our local comic con once when I was little, but this is the biggest one I’ve been to so far,” I reply.

  “It’s fun. The fans are great, for the most part. Sometimes you can get the unruly ones who think they can grab your tits or your ass, but they’ve been pretty well behaved so far,” she says with a smile. “I’m just so happy you guys could make it.”

  “Of course we could make it,” James smiles sweetly. “Shawnna, you’ve basically saved my ass. I’d do anything for you, babe.”

  I will not get jealous. Shawnna is just a good friend to him, even if they have had sex many, many times.

  “You should have seen the response we got on Twitter,” she says, grabbing her face like she’s in shock. “There are girls flying in just to meet you.”

  “Really?” he chuckles.

  “I had a girl from Canada tweet us who said that she’s flying 2,000 miles just to meet the man she fantasizes about while she has boring sex with her husband,” Shawnna muses.

  “No way!” he laughs and I giggle.

  “That’s right, big shot,” she teases. “Ladies’ll be lined up around the block.”

  About 20 minutes pass as we chat about the business. I learn that porn isn’t raking in dough the way it used to back before broadband and that it’s important for stars to build a personal brand. Shawnna’s company encourages stars to cultivate a social media following and they’ll often “leak” clips from new movies onto the popular tube sites that distribute free, user-uploaded porn to help generate a buzz for the upcoming title.

  As she talks, I can see why she loves James so much. His “personal brand” is more valuable than Apple in this industry. His website gets a ton of hits and subscriptions increase every year despite the availability of free porn. He’s big on social media and he answers fan questions and gives out sex advice on his Tumblr blog. He’s great at marketing himself, but more importantly, he’s genuine. James has never thought of things in terms of outward appearance. When he says something nice to someone, it’s because he means it, not because he’s trying to look like a good guy. I think the transparency of social media has really helped people see that good-natured person behind the hot bod and the huge dick, and that’s what’s shot him to the top of the game so fast.

  When we peek back out from behind the curtain, I see that a gigantic crowd has gathered in front of the booth. Showtime, stud.

  While the demographic in the exhibit hall is largely male, this booth must have drawn in every woman in the building, because I see more female faces than I have all day. He’s like fucking Jupiter and they can’t escape his gravitational pull! There are gasps, swoons and excited squeals when he steps out and waves at the crowd.

  “They’re crazy about him. It’s like Beatlemania,” Shawnna jokes to me, nudging me with her shoulder.

  I laugh and watch from behind the scenes as he sits down and takes out a Sharpie from the box on the table.

  Shawnna and I comment like we’re sportscasters as fan after fan moves up to the table to greet the apparent King of Porno.

  There are young women who might possibly still be in high school, soccer moms who probably sneak in a quick session with their battery operated James toys when their husbands are asleep, young douchebags like the guys from earlier, older men who want to shake his hand and take a picture with him like he’s Sylvester Stallone, and a few gay guys who’ve probably only watched straight porn to see my stallion of a boyfriend.

  I know James wants some pictures of this to put on his blog, so I sneak out and stand on a box so I can look over the crowd and snap a few shots with my iPhone. There are easily two hundred people here and I’m glad that we’ve allotted at least an hour for the signing.

  As I look down at James, I can’t help but smile at the way he really pays attention to each person he meets, particularly the younger girls who seem nervous to meet him. He looks in their eyes, jokes with them to ease their tension and calls them “sweetheart” a lot. He’s such a natural flirt that every single one of them leaves with that fluttery look you’d see when a girl talks to her high school crush. A goth girl with black hair parted over her eye seems incredibly meek when he shakes her hand, but after two seconds, she’s giggling and kissing his cheek when her friend takes a picture of the two of them. This is how he’s always operated. It’s disarming. He can instantly make any girl relax and that’s been the foundation of all his sexual accomplishments. James Laird: Pussy Whisperer.

  I’m feeling a bit smug as the signing starts to wrap up. These girls all know James Langdon, the confident hottie who makes a girl drop her panties with just a hello. I know mild-mannered James Laird, the goofy dude who once texted me a picture of him wearing a leather duster with no shirt because he thought it made him look “way badass”.

  When we step behind the curtain, he graciously thanks Shawnna, who enthusiastically thanks him back. I can see why he likes her so much. She’s so outwardly warm and friendly, plus she’s proud of him in that “you did good, kid” kind of way he never got from his parents.

  As we’re getting ready to leave, a tattooed guy who was carrying boxes out to the front earlier comes darting over to Shawnna.

  “We’re out of the dildos and I’ve only got, like, three vibrators left,” he says breathlessly.

  “But there are more in the truck, right?” she asks.

  He shakes his head. “Not the Langdon ones.”

  “Shit, Kenny, I thought we brought two hundred of them!” she says, shaking her head.

  “We did, Shawnna,” he replies. “After he signed, they started selling out. One lady bought ten, said she was going to give them out at her friend’s bachelorette party. People are getting pissed. This one chick offered me $300 bucks if I’d sell her the one I was getting for another lady. I thought they were gonna go to blows over it, man.”

  “Alright, let’s start doing coupons, maybe 10% off for the inconvenience and send people to the site to order them,” Shawnna strategizes.

  “Ok, I’ll tell ‘em,” he nods, “but I don’t think they’ll be happy.”

  “I’ll be out there in a flash,” she nods before turning to us. “You two should probably leave out this way,” she says, moving the banner so we can slip out the side. “Don’t want to start a riot.”

  “Thanks, babe,” James says, kissing her cheek and taking my hand.

  “See you kids soon,” she smiles.

  When we've escaped the horde of horny ladies clamoring for all things James Langdon, I turn and give him a big grin.

  “What?” he asks.

  “She sold two hundred of them already,” I giggle.

  “
Yeah, kid,” he says with a cocky smirk. “I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal. People know me,” he jokes, quoting Anchorman. “I have many leather bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.”

  I laugh loudly and lean into him before tugging at his collar so he’ll bend down enough for me to kiss him without standing on my tiptoes.

  Maybe I’m ignorant, but I never knew there was such a market for sex toys. James has made a substantial chunk of money from these things—and I mean very substantial—and people are raving about them.

  I smile inwardly when I recall the day he went to go make the molds. I was getting out of the shower when he ambushed me in the bathroom and snapped a picture with his phone because he said he needed it for “inspiration” while he waited for the mold to set. I chased him around the apartment for about 20 minutes trying to get him to delete it, but he held it out of my reach and refused. Apparently it worked for him, though, because these things seem to be flying off the shelves.

  “So … what do you think the odds are that I can parlay this fame thing into getting laid right now?” he grins.

  “I think the odds are ever in your favor,” I say with a matching, playful smirk.

  “Then to the room with you, my little tribute,” he decrees, taking my hand as we walk towards the exit.

  Chapter 5 - James

  For the past 45 minutes, Lola’s been super nervous. She’s trying really hard not to show it, but I know it’s true. This red carpet thing is a big fuckin’ deal and I think it’s just now starting to hit her. I’ve decided that it’s my job tonight to take care of her and make her feel relaxed during all this.

  She moves to stand next to me and we both look at ourselves in the mirror. I’ve got my hair pulled back and I’m wearing my new, gunmetal gray suit, but I don’t think I’m going to wear the jacket, since it feels too fancy for me. Instead, I’m just rocking the pants and the vest over my black, knit shirt and I think it looks cooler that way, more relaxed and more my style.