Going Down in La-La Land

by Andy Zeffer

  Excited thoughts raced through my mind the whole drive there.

  I can’t believe I’m going to this powerful man’s house to sleep with him. Should I have brought a resumé? Nah, I don’t think “gym receptionist” would impress him very much. Maybe he’ll want to see me again, even for a few weeks. Then I’d have a lot of money. He might even notice I’m reasonably intelligent and offer me a great job, who knows?

  Eventually I passed the restaurant on my left that Ron had told me to look for when giving me directions.

  It was an excruciating task to make out the numbers of the buildings while driving, as it was so dark and each number was placed somewhere different on every home or apartment, some barely visible at all, others nonexistent.

  That was one thing I noticed about LA, especially when driving up in the hills. It was as if no one wanted to be found. Some street signs where hidden behind trees, and many homes didn’t display numbers at all. And if the numbers were on a curb chances were that a car was parked in front blocking it. That always drove me nuts, and I consequently got lost in those twisting roads in the hills.

  Anyhow, eventually the numbers I could see grew too big and I knew I passed the correct address, so I swung around and drove south again. Maybe this time it would be easier driving on the same side of the road as the house, the beach side. Finally I spotted the right number on the gate of a two-story home. I parked on the side of the road and walked up to the buzzer. The place had a tall wooden fence and hedges in the front, obscuring it from the street. I pressed on the intercom. A voice answered, asking my name and then telling me to come in. The gate buzzed open and I nervously went in. It was like I had just made it to the Emerald City and was finally seeing the wizard.

  Here we go, I thought, and braced myself for the unknown.

  I could see now that the place was a pretty Cape Cod–style beach home, with a perfectly manicured lawn and a brick path that led to the door. The door opened as I approached it. A short man in a plain white T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers appeared. He introduced himself.

  “Adam?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Wayne.”

  We shook hands and he motioned me inside. The place was immaculate, furnished expensively but tastefully. Casual but chic, as one would expect a weekend beach home to look. There was a kitchen on the left after the door, a large room in the front, and a smaller room with a television also on the left, around the kitchen. Wayne told me to have a seat in the room with the television and asked me if I’d like a beer. I could hear him clanking around in the kitchen. It seemed that there had been somebody else, probably a housekeeper, in there when I entered; now they were gone. I assumed they had been sent away. Eventually Wayne came back from the kitchen with a beer.

  “Do you want anything else?” he asked.

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t want any pot? I have other stuff too,” he pressed.

  “No. That’s cool,” I answered.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  I supposed most everyone else who came over for this purpose grabbed took up his offers like kids grabbing for sweets in a candy store. Maybe it was the only way they could get comfortable. I didn’t want to risk becoming a total mess.

  Let’s just do it and get it over with. I tried to make small talk but wasn’t very successful. Wayne just sat there nodding his head with a superior expression on his face. What did you say to someone who had a billion dollars and was close to some of the most fascinating and famous people on the planet that he could possibly find interesting?

  “I wish the weather were warmer; it’s freezing tonight,” I blurted out.

  Wayne Hanley looked at me straight in the face, his heavy-lidded eyes gazing at mine steadily, and said, “I wish a lot of things, Adam. I wish I were a foot taller. But there is no point in wishing on things I can’t control, is there? It’s just a waste of time. It doesn’t get me anywhere to focus on it, wouldn’t you agree?” he said in an authoritative and somewhat demeaning tone.

  “Umm . . . sure,” I stammered, somewhat taken aback. So much for discussing the weather. God forbid I ever bring up something of substance, such as politics. I could only guess how I’d get cut down in a discussion pertaining to that.

  I sat there a little taken aback as Hanley flipped the channels with the remote, frequently stopping at CNN and bypassing the other programming. We continued to make small talk. Then he stopped in the middle of conversation, looked at me, and laughed.

  “You’re funny,” he said.

  “How so?” I asked, fearing I had said or done something really wrong, and might have messed the whole thing up.

  “I don’t know. You just are,” he responded.

  We kept making small talk, and it was as if Hanley had some little quip or comeback to whatever I had to say.

  “Are you being facetious?” I asked at one point, by this time more irritated than intimidated. Hanley looked a little caught off guard.

  “Am I being facetious? No. Just making conversation,” he replied in amusement.

  You could bet that most of the tricks, if any, didn’t use words like facetious. Obviously it wasn’t the kind of vocabulary Hanley was used to hearing from the hustlers that frequented his place. He told me to come over to the couch closer to where he was sitting, and stretched his legs across my lap. I started clumsily taking off his shoes.

  “We should do this somewhere more comfortable,” he ordered.

  With that we stood up and went upstairs, bringing our beer with us. The staircase and walls were a beautiful polished wood. The steps lay straight to the bedroom where floor to ceiling blinds covered what must have been a spectacular view of the ocean. At the end of the room there was a large bed and a bathroom to the left.

  We went near the bed and undressed. I was glad I washed well, and that my ass felt fresh. I was also thanking God I didn’t feel any bowel movements coming on. This was the most inopportune time for feeling the need to take a dump.

  I was shocked at what I saw next.

  This little man had one of the largest cocks I had ever seen on anyone, and I had seen plenty at this point.

  The gigantic penis in front of me was made even more apparent by the fact he was wearing a snug cock ring around the base of the shaft, obviously well prepared for the night ahead.

  Hanley propped some pillows in front of the headboard and motioned for me to go down on him. Before I knew it I was choking on the tycoon’s enormous dick. This went on for minutes, with him grabbing the back of my head and shoving it facedown forcefully. Drool was spilling out of my mouth everywhere. I took it out of my mouth and started slapping it against my face, just to give my throat a break and give myself time to breath.

  During this whole time Hanley was being very forceful and asking me repeatedly what other sex acts I liked, but not giving me any time to answer.

  “So what else do you like, huh?” he seethed with a clenched jaw. “What else turns you on?” All the time he jammed his freakishly huge schlong down my throat.

  The man apparently had a sadistic side in bed. If he was this ruthless and brutal in business, no wonder he was one of Hollywood’s most powerful men. I tried to break away and make my way up, attempting to suck on his nipples a bit and give myself a rest. But it was evident Hanley did not want to be bothered with above the waist, and even told me so after a few attempts.

  “I don’t care for that, Adam, and don’t try to kiss me,” he ordered.

  I went back down and Hanley again kept asking me what else I liked.

  “So tell me what you like to do?” his now sinister voice rang from above.

  Did I like toys? Did I like to get fucked? I tried to ignore him, afraid of what would happen if I said yes to any of these questions. There was no way that thing of his was going up my ass. I finally told him I didn’t do it up the ass without knowing my partner well.

  Big mistake. Hanl
ey stopped shoving his anaconda in my mouth, paused to look at me, and calmly stated, “I’m in perfect health.”

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t that I was worried about as much as my ass being torn in half, but I restrained myself.

  Luckily he didn’t push the issue.

  I brought my head up for a sip of beer and then got an idea. Wouldn’t it be sexy if I dribbled some of it on Hanley’s crotch and then licked it off? Maybe he would think that was hot and even throw in an extra couple hundred bucks.

  This was not one of my more brilliant ideas. I went a bit overboard and some beer spilled between his short legs and onto the sheets. Hanley squirmed and bolted upright.

  “Adam, why did you do that?!” he snapped in an annoyed, scolding tone.

  “I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I thought you might like it.”

  “I don’t want this to seep into my mattress,” he went on angrily. “Some people do not care if their homes smell like beer. I prefer to have my house not smell like beer.”

  Hanley went on about it at length. I felt bad enough for my failed attempt at being kinky and creative in the sack. Why did he have to rub it in further?

  Son of a bitch, I thought. Like he couldn’t afford to buy every goddamn mattress in the whole country.

  We continued to go at it despite the beer incident. Finally Hanley came. I got a little in my mouth but most of it on my chin and the side of my face. Then I lay back and came over myself. He got up and went into the bathroom, bringing towels with him. He went on for a bit babbling about cock rings.

  “They have to be leather,” he babbled on. “The rubber ones just pinch and are far inferior.”

  We made some more small talk, and Hanley continued with the snotty comments.

  “You know, you’re not really facetious—just condescending,” I finally said.

  He looked at me for a moment and then grinned like the Cheshire cat. This he definitely wasn’t used to hearing.

  “You like to use big words, don’t you?”

  Well, I might as well put what has so far proven to be a worthless college degree to some use, I thought to myself.

  Hanley brought up the beer again. Apparently he wasn’t over the incident yet.

  “I think it’s time for me to turn in,” he said a few minutes later.

  “Do you want me leave?” I asked.

  Hanley looked at me as though he had insulted me and asked, “Is that okay?”

  “Sure. That’s cool,” I replied.

  I was only mildly insulted he didn’t ask me to stay. It would have been nice to wake up to an ocean view instead of Candy clattering in the kitchen, or arguing with Dean over the phone, or worse, fighting with her estranged husband Frank when he occasionally dropped into town. Things had gotten so bad between them that a few nights earlier he came home in a drunken stupor and she dumped a bottle of Merlot on his head and threw him out the door. He had even called my name in a stupor, pleading for help, but there was no way I was coming out of my room to intervene.

  Yet hearing about the beer one more time would have been torture, even compared to the drama at Candy’s.

  I got up from the bed where I’d been laying naked the whole while. The room was still dark, and my body was just a silhouette. I knew my broad-shouldered swimmer’s build and narrow waist must have looked good, even to someone like Hanley who had seen the best bodies out there, and I was proud of that. I felt confident and cocky walking around the room, picking up my flung pieces of clothing and putting them back on again. I had accomplished my mission and was proud of myself for that.

  We walked down the stairs together, and Hanley asked me how I got connected with a sleaze bucket like Ron, only he used the word “gentleman” to describe Ron for the sake of throwing more sarcasm out there.

  “Of course, using the word gentleman and Ron in the same sentence is an . . .”

  The word escaped him.

  “Oxymoron,” I answered for him. Hooray! Yet another big word out of the male whore!

  I hope he’s not looking at the top of my head and noticing my thinning hairline, I thought as we walked down the stairs. I walked at a brisker pace to prevent him from noticing it.

  Downstairs I put on my fleece jacket and sat down to tie my shoes. Hanley stood nearby and thanked me for coming over, much to my surprise. Our conversation coupled with the fact that I actually told Hanley what I thought of his personality during the course of the evening must have caught his attention. That and I used a few big words.

  He seemed nicer now that we had finished having sex, letting his big shot guard down a bit and actually showing a softer, human side. I got up the nerve to suggest we do it again, and Hanley had me write his number down. Then he went into a drawer and pulled some cash out and handed me an even five hundred. I had hoped for more and was disappointed, but relieved to have some cash in my fingers.

  He walked me to the door, and before he shut it I turned around and said, “Thanks for everything.” Then I sarcastically added, “My Visa bill thanks you too.”

  He shut the door and that was that. I don’t know what in God’s name possessed me to say something so goofy. I guess I was pissed he didn’t give me more, especially after being so rough. Not that saying something stupid every now and then was anything new for me. But chances were I might have had a better hope of hearing back from him if I had played it cooler. Then again, maybe not. He probably preferred fresh meat each time.

  Candy was in disbelief when we sat on the balcony later that night and I told her I had just had sex with one of the most powerful people in show business.

  “You’re kidding me” were the first words out of her mouth, to be exact.

  For the next twenty minutes I filled her in on the details of how the event unfolded while she grilled me with questions.

  “Do you think he’s going to want to see you again?” she asked pressingly.

  “I have no idea,” I sighed. “No, I don’t think so. I made a crack about my Visa bill. It’s been on my mind because it has gotten so run up from moving out here and not having a steady job. I don’t think he appreciated it.”

  “Well that’s too bad,” she said bluntly. “Having a sugar daddy like that, even for a little while, could solve a lot of your problems.” Candy had my interests in mind, and this was her way of showing that she cared.

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “There is a rumor he takes care of that pretty boy at the gym,” she went on. “The one I pointed out to you, from the music video. They say it was Hanley who bought him a Jaguar. I mean, all the guy does is go to acting classes and the gym, kind of like yours truly. And all he’s done is that one music video. And he is always hanging with a few pretty girls, but none of them are his girlfriends.”

  “Well if that’s the case, I can kiss my chances good-bye. Comparing me with him is like comparing Divine Brown and Liz Hurley. I was the cheap trick for the night. And that’s it,” I murmured while petting one of the cats as it purred loudly below.

  “Come on. You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Look, it’s not like I’m broken up about it,” I spoke up, coming to my senses. “The guy almost put a hole though the back of my neck!”

  “Eww, I guess you’re right,” Candy laughed, scooping up one of the cats and placing him on her lap. “Who needs that?”

  I knew better than to think I’d hear from Hanley again. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. Sure enough, a few days went by, then a few weeks. Soon I chalked Hanley up as another life experience and laid him to rest with all the others.

  Lights! Camera! Coffin!

  The old metal shelves around me were covered in a thick layer of dust, drawn through with lines where videocassettes had been stacked. Due to boredom I found myself fixating on the gray dust and cruddy smears on the paint of the walls.

  For the past few weeks I’d been toiling around the offices of HUNG Video, doing shipping work and whatever else needed to be done. It wasn’t so b
ad. I was getting $10 an hour for mindless work. But I’d tired of focusing on trying to perfect my shrink-wrapping. For some reason I just couldn’t get it right. Invariably the plastic at one corner of the cassette box came out bubbled and fried.

  “You’re holding the blow-dryer too close to the box,” a voice boomed from behind, startling me. I turned around and saw Dale Warner looking my way with a smile on his face, a combination of amusement and mockery. It irritated me.

  “And you’re holding it in the same spot for too long. That’s why you’re getting holes. Here, learn from an expert,” he said while grabbing the dryer out of my hands. Ripping a length of shrink-wrap from the roll, he proceeded to heat up the plastic, sealing it perfectly smooth.

  “Voila!” he said, holding up the shiny tape cassette. The title Jungle Gangbang was blazed across the front, two naked and oiled models wearing forced smoldering expressions staring from the photo with tropical foliage behind them.

  I stood unimpressed with my arms folded across my chest.

  “Wow. That was great,” I said in monotone. “I have a hundred more. Why don’t you keep that for the rest of the day?” nodding toward the blow-dryer.

  “Sorry. No can do,” Dale smiled back smugly. “I’m afraid I’ve graduated from the shrink-wrap department.”

  “Gee, did you wear a cap and gown?” I asked, grabbing the blow-dryer back.

  “Well, we’re sure in smart-ass mode today, aren’t we, Mary?” he said in his finest church lady voice.

  “Whatever,” I murmured as he walked away. Although he was not the perfect pinup of a guy, there was a cockiness about him that was sexy. Maybe it was his skater clothes, gruff voice, and stocky lumbering body. I tried to visualize what he looked like naked. He probably had a thick, fat dick, like his meaty forearms.