Fluff

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I chuckled once and turned to face him. “Yeah, he did. And you are a nice guy. I’m asking for a favor…”

  He interjected, “You’re asking for a fuck…”

  “Yeah, maybe I am. With a nice guy. Ignore your daily job. You are a decent guy. I can tell.”

  “You are a terrible judge of character,” he laughed manically. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. I could be a damn axe murderer. You think cause I am being nice to you that warrants your offer—you are flawed.”

  “No shit, I am. You don’t get raised like I was and not end up messed up from head to toe.”

  We fell into a quiet disagreement. Most guys would have hopped on the chance to have at a girl like me. And though I didn’t think much of myself, I knew I had a cute face and a decent body. Clearly, judging by his reaction there was something very wrong with me if a porn star wouldn’t have sex with me.

  My self-esteem dropped to an all-time low in the back of the pick-up that night. The humiliation of asking and being denied was enough to have made me want to quit. A tear trickled down my cheek as I wondered why I didn’t deserve love or at least some dick. Maybe good guys didn’t exist. Maybe they had all been snatched away and married to good girls from fine homes.

  I was never a good girl.

  He assumed I was some sort of innocent creature, unable to have ever made my own decisions. Cy never understood that years in the park insured two things: one, survival and two, knowing things I never should have known. I could roll a doob with the best of them, hide evidence when the knock at the door showed up, and told lie after lie with a straight face. All was not what it seemed.

  I was actually a very bad girl.

  The details proved unimportant, but Cy wasn’t the only enterprising business person. With my sister off with Jimbo, I had little choice and no food. I did what I had to do.

  I moved to the tailgate, dangling my legs off the edge. I wanted to run away since I turned fourteen. I realized then that I could, and I would be better off without all of them. I stayed for my sister, believing she would stay for me. I was wrong.

  Dad disappeared after putting his sperm in mom. Mom vanished the day I evacuated from her drugged up body. Sister motored off the second she could. Everyone always left me. So why would I have cared about this precious thing called virginity? He would leave, too. And it didn’t fucking matter who the – he –was.

  Without saying a word, Cy pitched the smokes and lighter to me. He seemed to understand the fracture and the fissure; I wasn’t right, and I never would be. The foundation crumbled before I had a chance. I existed in a war zone, a perilous fight to stay alive and sober. The simple fact I wasn’t gone to the drugs deserved an award. There was no reason for my sobriety.

  Except for one—I wanted out. I had hopes and dreams of finding a peaceful place. One without turmoil and hatred and self-loathing and damn dirty old men. Heaven existed anywhere that hell was not. Including the back of Cyclone Blonde’s mud covered pick-up truck.

  The porn world was a cakewalk compared to my old stomping grounds. Dancing was a dream job, something to covet and chase. No matter what kind of guy Cy was—he was just the hero I needed.

  DALE

  FLOPPING ON THE bed, I flip through the images of Amber on the web. She is everywhere now. While I should be happy for her, the whole idea of her move leaves me unsettled and restless. I want to know why she felt the need to move to such a remote location.

  The performer Mae East was a social butterfly. It seems completely out of character for her to run and hide in the middle of deserted west Texas. She adores the energy of the city. While I know she loves nature and animals, it feels wrong—too far out, too removed from a decent civilization for her to go and dance the night away.

  Glancing at the clock, I sigh at the time, close to midnight—the witching hour in New Orleans. Gina’s bar is packed and pumping with life. With no other option, I dial the only number I have.

  Music blares through the phone as woman screeches, “Gina’s, what can I help you with?”

  I query, “Is she there?”

  “Gina?” She chirps, “May I ask who is calling?”

  With a smirk, I inform, “Her boss.”

  “One moment, Mr. Archer.”

  Reaching for the whiskey bottle stashed under my bed, I chuckle. I am going to want a smoke if I kick back the amber tranquility. Amber. God, she does unimaginable things to me. I miss her desperately and wonder what she is doing.

  “Hello!” Gina charms. “How are you D?”

  Tilting my head, I realize why Amber has been calling me D. I don’t come out asking the questions I actually want answered. Instead, I poke around at the less obvious and hope that leads to a solution. “Did Lady Mae have any private clients?”

  “Gee… You are asking me?” She stutters nervously at the unexpected. “You mean other than seeing Nero?”

  “Ya,” I say, chugging back a gulp of whiskey. “Was there anyone strange or threatening that would have caused her to move to Texas?”

  “D… You know the kind of clientele I have. We have the regulars, but where we are, I get new ones nightly,” she states with a hint of remorse. “I have to assume some of them hired her for services.”

  With a serious don’t-fuck-with-me tone, I inquire, “Which were?”

  “I know she did some scenes in her space above the bar, I don’t know how far she took it,” Gina admits like she is cornered. “If you are asking me if she had sex for money, I don’t know.”

  My anger flies to the surface as I get up and go to the window. I crack it open and light the smoke. If Oliver is allowed to smoke in the house, I don’t understand why I can’t. Exhaling out the screen, I ask, “Did she see any seedy types?”

  “You know, Nero was good about keeping her safe for the most part. There were always guys in the bar trying to cop a feel for free,” she says. I can tell she is thinking by how slow she is coming back with answers. “Actually D… There was a guy, last year. Real odd, didn’t look like he belonged here at all.”

  I take a long drag on the butt. “What do you mean?”

  “He was different, I don’t know. She never spent much time in the bar with him. Always took him up quick which was unusual. She typically stayed in the bar for a couple rounds.”

  “You don’t happen to have a name?”

  “God no, and she took all her records with her when she moved. You know she never told me she was quitting, didn’t even give a notice. One day she showed up with boxes, packed her stuff, and left town.”

  Burning the one down, I light another. “From there?”

  “Yeah,” she responds. “Nero brought his truck to her and she had her shit. They came here, got her things, and immediately high-tailed it.”

  “Thanks, Gina,” I say.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Ya, I am just a worrywart,” I play off with a laugh.

  “Take it easy, D.”

  Hanging up the phone, I realize I need to call the Kid and figure out what in the hell is going on. He wouldn’t have shown up without a reason. And she damn sure didn’t leave on a whim. She loved New Orleans, even called it her home. My gut is telling me something happened.

  And I am determined to find out what that is.

  I continue to flip through the pictures. Finding a couple of her videos on a cheap and sleazy site, I watch as she acts her way through a bad sex scene. Her mouth is wrapped around some guy’s rod, and as much as I don’t want it to turn me on—it does. It’s all I have right now.

  Flopping on the bed, I grab my dick and stroke it slow, delaying the inevitable. I wish she was here. I’d shoot my load up in her time after time, all night long. I’d use her body like my own personal sex toy… sex slave …that’s what she was to me. At that thought, I jerk hard and come all over my belly and hand as I drift off with nothing but Amber on my tongue.

  * * * *

  She sat on the edge of the truck – far away from me – for
a good half hour. Her long blonde hair wisped the top of her shorts, teasing me and my johnson. What I wouldn’t have given to take her up on the offer of taking her innocence, her perfect, delicate angel. One I wanted to sin and stain.

  I was wrong, I knew even then. Not only was Amber young, she asked me to do something that I knew was morally reprehensible. Fuck me because you will. Take me because you can. I wasn’t a nice guy. She seemed to know that, too. But I was nicer than the bastard that tried to rape her, and to her, that made me a fucking king.

  I won’t lie. Even during our spat over her virginity, I was packing a chub. Part of me wanted to shut her up by shoving my cock down her throat. Part of me needed to get the hell outta dodge. And the bet that would win—my savage dick pounding into her hungry cunt.

  The moment she said take me, I knew I was down. I was only playing with her now. I was always gonna fuck her tonight, but her naivety didn’t know that. I was a twisted, sick fuck, enjoying watching her beat herself up and crying like a little girl. Her tears turned me on, driving my sanity into madness.

  I didn’t necessarily want her to be sad. I only wanted her to sob. I understood that made me a son-of-a-bitch, but her whimpers urged my voyeur on, taking her in was better than watching a stripper. Her wails encouraged my dick to weep, soaking the inside of my jeans. Sick fuck, remember. But I wanted to save her. I needed to be her hero. I held out a little longer, relishing in her tears and wanting to save her from her fears.

  Eight weeks should have killed me.

  Her absolute splendor absorbed by one greedy motherfucker, but she still didn’t get it. She thought I had rejected her because I was some famous chump. She didn’t know I was getting high off her sorrow, pumped on her shame. The desire welled in my gut like I proved invincible. I was her super-fucking-hero, making her cry and getting a raging hard-on for her battered soul and her unbroken slit.

  She and I would have been a dangerous combination. With her need to please, my ravenous beast would demand more and push further. And I was the bastard that knew all of this back then on day fucking one.

  I cracked my knuckles and adjusted my sack, the jeans taut from the rush of her as blood pumped furiously into my hardening cock. “Hey Mae,” I smirked as her name trickled off my tongue. “Why don’t you come here, babygirl… I think we need to have a meeting of minds.”

  And a joining of our bodies.

  AMBER

  THE NEXT DAY I spent catching up on farm chores—feeding the animals, watering the plants, and relaxing. Driving my four-wheeler down to the end of the drive, I fetch the mail and notice a black SUV prowl by. I hadn’t lived in the area long, and I didn’t know my neighbors, but something struck me as off.

  Grabbing the contents out of the box, I lock the gate and pull the four-wheeler down the drive, hiding behind some bushes. I am certain I look suspect and slightly crazy. I stash the mail in the rear compartment and walk closer to the road through the bramble.

  The SUV passes by six more times in the next half hour. I am no crime scene investigator, but I knew a skunk when I smelled one. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I quickly dial the only person I knew who could help me.

  “Hello, beautiful,” Sal charms.

  “Someone is staking out my house,” I whisper, ducking low in the bushes as I noticed a white two-door coupe pass by.

  “What do you mean—stalking?”

  “I mean this black SUV has passed by my house half a dozen times in the last thirty minutes.” Trying to stay calm, I breathe deep.

  “Can you get back to your house?” Sal asks hastily, followed by the question I never wanted to hear. “Do you have a gun?”

  “No, I don’t own a gun!” My voice rises an octave as I cannot believe I need a fire arm for personal protection in the middle of this desert. “Yes, I can get back to the house.”

  “Go. Go now, lock all the doors. I will send someone, she is coming from Taos now.”

  “Ok,” I mumble.

  “Amber?”

  “Yeah?” I whisper.

  “Whatever you do, don’t open the fucking door for anyone but Aimee. She has half of her head shaved and multiple piercings, you cannot miss her. What’s the code for the gate?”

  “6205,” I say, wanting to cry. “Alright! Thank you! Tell her to hurry!”

  I click the end button and watch for another half hour. The black SUV isn’t the only one watching me; the white coupe is patrolling, too.

  Rushing inside, I gather up my dogs and lock the doors. The world around caves in as I sequester myself in the southwest-style ranch house. I knew I had enemies, but I also had no idea they would ever go this far.

  Without a gun, I decide to carry around an old hunting dagger, strapping it to my belt like some kind of roguish militant. I even practice several times, pulling it out of the sheath quickly as I pretend to be something I am clearly not.

  I turn the kettle on for some tea and pace around the kitchen, talking to myself like some kind of psychopath. I had a stalker once—many years ago when I was dancing at Gina’s—but he was relatively harmless, aside from wanting to force me to marry him and bear his offspring. Still, this felt different. Like strangers were coming after me from every which direction.

  Two movies and four cups of tea later, the doorbell rings unexpectedly. I jump up, completely terrified. A heavy knock proceeds to turn into a pounding. “Open up Amber, it’s Aimee.”

  I peek out the peep hole and see a short woman with a ball cap on. She stares at the door, revealing numerous pieces of facial jewelry. Cracking open the door just a bit, I am pushed back by her brute force as she barges in. “We need to get a command center set up. I have all my gear in the trunk. I’ll get the scopes out there to watch the street after dark. No one will get down your driveway without me knowing.”

  In her rush to flop her things on my leather sofa, I notice the gun strapped to her hip. “Who are you?”

  “Your best fucking friend. Got an outlet?” she asks, holding up a surge protector.

  I point to under the table. Scooting it over easily, she says, “My name is Aimee Eldemann, and I am your muscle until Archer gets here.”

  “Dale?” I squeal, rushing around the table, closer to her side. “Dale Archer is coming here?”

  “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

  My mind flies into supersonic speed—from what do I wear to needing clean sheets. And then, I panic. Dale can’t just show up and save the day like he did years ago. I don’t want a hero, and I certainly don’t need Dale Archer.

  “I really think that’s unnecessary,” I implore as Aimee continues hooking up her web of cords. At first, she doesn’t catch what I say as I kneel down, interrupting, “Excuse me.”

  “Look,” she panders with her ghost-like eyes. “You seem like a nice enough lady.” Gazing up at me with her grey storm clouds, Aimee gives me a confident reassurance in her words, calming me down. “I heard you the first time. You don’t think Dale needs to come, but Raniero does. I am certain Dale would agree, so why don’t you just sit back or go make some cookies or something and ignore all that is happening?”

  While I don’t bake often, a warm chocolate brownie sounds heavenly at this point. Dismissing myself with a decided scuttle in my step, I nod quietly as I head to the kitchen. I turn my phone on do not disturb, and ultimately, decide to trust the stranger and her labyrinth.

  After baking the brownies, I make an enormous chicken casserole and enough sandwiches for a small army. If nothing else, these people invading – and protecting – my life will have food. I relish happy in the thought of providing them sustenance as they work to insure my safety. It’s the least I can do.

  While nibbling on the brownies, what I don’t expect is my mind to question what else I could do for Dale Archer.

  * * * *

  “Do you think you could do it?” I asked the man as his hair blew in the breeze. “Take my virginity, I mean?”

  “Is that what you really wa
nt? I mean you don’t know me.”

  “I know you well enough to know you are a good, decent guy. I know having my first experience with you would be a hell of a benchmark,” I giggled. “You asked me out to dinner and a movie, but brought me to the woods. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about having your way with me.”

  “You brought me pizza and beer!” He teased, pulling off his shirt. His chest beyond ripped, muscles poured out everywhere the eye could see or the tongue could touch. I inched closer to him.

  “May I?”

  “If we are going to make sweet love under the stars, I would expect no less,” he goaded sarcastically like he didn’t believe I was serious as his fingers tangled in my hair. My lips met his hot flesh, hard and sexy. I opened my mouth, licking and kissing his neck and chest until I find myself working my way down to his sparse happy trail. He mumbled, “The hell girl…”

  “Not what you are accustomed to, I take it?”

  “Hardly. We rarely do any foreplay on set,” his voice coaxed as he rubbed my neck encouragingly.

  With my head in his lap and my fingers running up and down his belly, I asked, “When was the last time you had sex for fun?”

  “College.”

  “No girlfriends?”

  “I’ve never had time or the need to waste my money on dating just to get a blow job,” he said as I smiled, holding back. “Laugh at me if you want, but it’s difficult to have a serious relationship in this industry.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t found the right girl.”

  “Or maybe I have been waiting for you,” he suggested.

  Slightly intimidated by what was to come, I tucked my finger underneath his belt and popped it loose. His hands collided onto my skin—caressing my face, my hair, my back as I unzipped his jeans, gasping at the sight of him tucked inside – hard as could be.

  And suddenly, I wanted to be his girl.