I nodded, grinning too much for words. Half of me still didn’t believe that any this had really happened, and that I would wake up soon on the sofa with Boris pushing his face into my neck to tell me that it was long past his breakfast time.
“Hmm,” I smirked, and fell back beside Olivia as Udo’s hand found its way between my legs. “But not right now.”
I was an adult now, finally. And I was going to love every minute of it if this was how it was going to be.
Chapter Four
Jazz in the Key of ‘F’
“Get some sleep now,” Olivia called after me as I fell out of her car at some ridiculous hour of the early morning. The sky was pink and grey and the City had barely woken up yet – and here was me, seeking to go back to bed again, recovering from more debauchery than I had ever imagined I could see in all my life.
“I’ll try,” I whispered after her with the broken remnants of my smoky voice. “Take care.”
“Love you,” she said, and closed the door behind me.
I stumbled up the stairs to the front door of my apartment and found a scowling Boris sitting there outside, glaring hatefully at me as if he knew every intimate detail of all that I’d been doing the night before, for which I had left him locked out of doors until now.
I opened up and went inside, feeling him deliberately push past me as I did so. If he’d been a human, he would probably have shoulder-charged me aside and knocked me flying, such was the attitude that I sensed seeping from his direction. I flicked on the hot water tank and sat by the window, my eyes running with tiredness and residual smoke, trying to focus on the breaking dawn. I saw the shafts of light stream out between the buildings, throwing the streets and their old, slightly crumbly architecture into dark shadows. And I grinned inanely to myself, too tired to sleep now, too sleepy to do anything else until I remembered that I had a bath standing waiting next door, calling my name through gurgling pipes.
I spent an hour in the old tub, trying to scrub the smells of the smoke out of my hair and off my skin, and didn’t come out until I felt fresh and clean and human again.
I dried off and fell onto the bed wrapped in my robe, and fell asleep almost at once. I slept until Sunday evening and woke up in the dark. My mind still felt like wool and after a couple of cups of water to loosen out my cracked and parched throat, I fell asleep again and stayed out cold until the early hours of Monday morning, by which time I had no idea of even what day it was, or where the weekend had gone.
Boris still ignored me as I shuffled around the kitchen, making breakfast, as if he was unwilling to forgive me for abandoning him all weekend. Usually he liked to hang around me whenever there was food on the go, but not today.
“Sorry,” I muttered to him as I buttered my toast, “I promise I won’t vanish like that again. At least, not for a while, anyway.” I coughed, still able to taste the incense and the herbs from Alfreda’s place – as well as the sexual juices, male and female. I laughed aloud as I thought about what my mother would have said if she’d known. But Boris was in no mood for laughs, and hissed at me in anger before jumping off the kitchen table and disappearing out into the hall. I could see this wasn’t a sulk he was going to get over quickly.
“Little shithead,” I muttered to myself, “Just because you’re not getting any fun.”
I went through to the living room and sat by the open window to watch the sun melt the murky sky above the rest of the city. My head still swam with all the lingering thoughts and sensations of earlier. I realized that I had grown up very fast, the last week or so having educated me beyond all expectations. I had no idea where it all might lead, but as the Monday morning opened up around me, I wondered for how long I’d be able to keep up this strange twilight existence.
But I’d made my choices, and that was that. Boris didn’t seem too happy about the arrangement yet, but at least it was all putting food in his belly, and in mine (at least, when I was up and about to do so) as well as keeping a raging fire between my legs.
All through my time at school and growing up, I had never imagined that I would ever have felt so liberated, so intensely excited. I had long thought that only long-haired racing drivers were the sexiest human beings on the planet, and that nothing and nobody else could ever interest or inspire me. I had never imagined that women could be just as exciting, but now I understood: they knew exactly how another woman responded and how she felt, and that was how Olivia and Alfreda had managed to make me feel so good. It didn’t bother me now as to what I was, or what others – like my mother, or old-fashioned Church types like Mrs. Groenenberg – might think of me, or accuse me of. In fact, it was even more exciting knowing that I was really something that they feared or disapproved of, a challenge to their stupid old rules and morals.
As the first early birds began to appear on the street below, I felt the burning urge, again, to play. I slid my pants down and leant back in my chair, legs wide apart and both hands between them. I drew one foot up onto the window ledge and looked down on the passers-by, two storeys below, as I conjured back more thoughts and memories of Udo, Olivia, and Alfreda. There were tongues and fingers all over my nipples, tongues wrapped around mine and squirming inside me as I felt hands touch me, stroke me, tug and pull me – the centre of a storm of sexual delirium. I still tasted Udo’s cock in my mouth, felt his sperm on my lips, and Olivia and Alfreda burying their tongues in my pussy.
My mother would probably have called me a dirty whore for even thinking such things, never mind doing them. And that thought made me smile as I rubbed and teased myself.
The dawning sunlight warmed the brickwork in orange tones and threw a shimmering pale haze the length of the street. I gnawed on my knuckles as I looked at the windows of the blocks opposite. Most of the windows were still curtained, reflecting the long fingers of the dawn, but a few were open. The warm fluids were running down my thighs and moistening the cushions underneath me, and I knew I was close. I pulled my top up, giving my other hand free access to my nipples and, in a moment of pure abandonment, I stood up at the window, exhibiting myself to anyone who cared to be passing by. The cool outside air wrapped around me gently, tickling, urging me on.
I ground my hips against my hand, shaking my hair and my tits as I brought myself further and further to the edge, then slowed down – backed off – pacing it, as though it were a performance at the Klub. Tension and release, as Olivia had described it earlier that week – make them wait, but give them a little more each time so they have a reason to keep looking.
I turned around and swung my ass, bending over to show a little of my cheeky lips underneath. Then faced the window again, playing and moving not just for a few in the Klub but for the entire world. I had been born for this, I realized. It was a need, a desire, the very purpose of my life. I remembered what Udo had said about movies, and secretly I hoped that one day, I might be able to do this in front of a camera, too.
As I looked out again, I saw movements at a few of the windows. An odd flash of skin. I was being watched again.
I swung one leg over the window ledge and out onto the balcony, straddling the wooden frame. I pulled the chair cushion up between my legs and sank into it, feeling my moisture spread all over it. I sucked my fingers through a dirty leering grin as I noticed faces appear at the windows, looking on. I waved, just to check who was really paying attention, and my heart bounced as I saw several hands wave back, or throw off hearty salutes.
And then I came, shooting my lady cum out through my fingers and sending drops and streams spattering down onto the street below. I stretched my neck to see if anybody was passing at the time, but thankfully the place was clear. God knows how I would have explained that to an unlucky passer-by.
Once the tremors had subsided a little I stood up, legs apart and arms behind my head, reveling, basking in the rising sun and the impromptu audience I’d managed to assemble. I bowed, shook my hair at them and then drew the curtains, indicating that the show was over.
Maybe next time, I thought with a laugh, I’d write out a board to hold up at the end: That’s All, Folks!
Later that afternoon when I was sure my audience had left home for the day, I decided to go for a wander down to the other end of the road – the bit where I would never want to walk again at night, but which would be, I was sure, of quite a different character in daylight hours. Wolves only came out at night, surely; it was the moon that brought them out and besides, it was a bright day, and my curiosity was in need of satisfaction.
The other half of the street was, disappointingly, rather quiet, with lots of boarded-up doors and steel shutters instead of windows. One or two of those women from the other night – or ones who looked very like them – were hanging around at the edge of the pavement, but this time I was moving with a lot more confidence and less fear than before. I felt their eyes in my back but heard no words, so that was an improvement. I passed what I was sure had been the alley where I was threatened to within an inch of my life. Instead of hurrying on past it, however, I stopped and looked down the corridor of dark shadows and rusty metal rubbish bins. There were no predators lurking in the darkness now, no glinting knives, no red-rimmed eyes or figures from a slasher movie. I tossed my hair back, laying my throat and neck bare in defiance of the lurking creeps which sometimes emerged from the recesses of my mind. But nobody came for me, no hands reached out of the walls, and I strode on, invigorated and impressed that I had faced a fear, faced it down, and won over it.
Maybe one day, I thought with a smile, I could also get over my fear of spiders – but that was for another time. I was almost at the end of Wilhelmsgasse and then I saw a pink shimmering neon sign in front of me – XXX Movies. I’d never noticed it before, or perhaps the sign wasn’t usually illuminated at night. I had no idea if it was a cinema or a VHS store, so I went inside to find out.
The interior was dark and dusty – so dusty I could smell it, and even taste it. The grime was tangible as I crossed the carpeted floor to the middle of the aisles, which were filled with big chunky video cassette boxes as high as my eyes. The walls, as far as I could see, were covered in posters advertising movies with tits, ass, cock and pussy everywhere I looked. In fact, I must have stood there for a full minute or more just gawking around at the dozens of graphic, explicit titles. I picked a box off the nearest shelf at random and studied it.
More Xs than TRIPLE X! screamed the cover. See sexy Edwige take four cocks at once! Three-way lesbian encounter, and for the ultimate climax, a mind-blowing gangbang!
Sounds familiar, I thought with a smile. I put that one down and picked up another one.
GASP as horny Helena takes a cock in every hole, gets fisted, pissed on, and bound and whipped in a tear-jerking S & M climax! For genuine hardcore perverts only!
I giggled aloud into my hand as I read the blurb. Then I realized that I was actually the only customer in the shop, and the dark figure behind the counter was probably thinking I was mad. I shouldn’t be laughing, surely; I should be skulking around looking furtive, a lone woman amongst all this filth?
“Looking for anything special, Miss?” a voice cut up the aisle towards me, and I hurriedly put the cassette box back on the shelf. I squinted down in the direction of the counter, and was just about able to make out a flash of skin from the surrounding darkness. I didn’t want to shout across the entire shop so I made my way forwards, finding a reasonable-looking human being there, with long fair hair and a heavy moustache, leaning over the counter.
“Um, not really,” I said, when I was close enough. “I don’t even have a TV set. I guess I was just looking to see what these movies are like. Get a taste for it, so to speak.”
“Well, to be honest, we cater to every taste and every perversion,” he enthused, sounding a bit like a male Melissa. “You name it – even if you can’t – there’s something here to suit you.” His face suddenly hardened and attracted heavy, angular shadows. “All strictly legal, of course,” he added quickly, looking at me sideways as if I might have been some kind of undercover cop. “We don’t sell anything with anyone who isn’t aged at least twenty-one.”
“Great,” I grinned, nodding enthusiastically, and suddenly feeling very stupid as I thought about the ridiculous notion which had brought me here.
“If you were looking for a screening, there’s the 42nd Street theatre a couple of blocks down,” he went on. “We only rent cassettes here.”
“Somebody...” I began, and swallowed my pride as I thought about what I was going to say next. “Somebody once suggested I should try being in one myself.” I laughed, deflecting any possible objection to that stupid concept. I waved my hands in the air for emphasis. “Yeah, I know. Crazy, eh.”
“No,” he said. “Not crazy at all. In fact, just so happens that I know some people who do cover the local scene. I can give you their card; they’re always looking out for new talent to appear in their movies. Interested?”
He did something under the counter and passed me a business card. EroFlix read the logo, with a telephone number and an address.
“Movies?” I repeated, not quite sure that I had heard him properly. “Really?”
“Well, videos. Y’know, for the stores, and the mail order market. Some of their stars do go on into real movies, though.”
I picked up the card, toyed with it as I considered my future.
“Thanks. I’ll check them out.”
I left the shop, still feeling bright and enthusiastic about my chances – even innocent. Well, that would all change pretty soon, as it happened.
I called the number that afternoon and was invited to come along to the EroFlix studios and meet the ‘creative director’, a Mr. van Leer.
I went home and spent an hour picking my outfit for the trip to the studio. In the end I went for the classical look of split leather skirt and matching top, long velvet coat, black garters and stockings, 5” stilettos and a classy 1930s-style hat; the accessory set at a jaunty angle which kept the sun out my eyes, and my eyes out of the sun. I put on my sunglasses just to be sure, and checked myself out in the mirror.
I had already decided upon a ‘porn star’ name for myself, since I didn’t want any connections made to the Kitty Klub in case it upset Bruno (or word got around to anybody else who knew me, for that matter). And besides, nobody in any of the video cassettes I’d looked at earlier seemed to go by their real names. I played around with a few alternatives as I dressed in front of the mirror, and eventually settled upon ‘Annie’, because it was nothing like my own name.
‘Annie Fotzenlekken’, in fact. Well, it made me smile anyway, as I hurried on my way to meet the creative director.
The studio – or what he had called the studio – stood in the heart of the Red Zone, a three-storey tenement block with the name painted on a piece of board above the front door. And painted rather badly, as the name looked more like EroFux – or perhaps that was intentional.
Once inside, I had to get past the female Rottweiler at the desk. She looked like she might once have been a starlet, at the time Mae West was talking about some guy’s six inches, but the last thirty years’ worth of collagen and silicone had puffed and swollen her up to look a bit like a rubbery real-life version of Olive Oyl, aged 89, as she might look if drawn by Robert Crumb.
“Yerrrs?” she squeaked at me.
I blinked, thinking she was referring to my rear end. “My what?”
“Yerrrs, can I help you?” the voice creaked out of her throat like an old attic door hinge in need of oil. I didn’t want to think about where else this old lady might need lubrication.
“I’m here to see Mr. van Leer.”
“Name?”
“Mr. van Leer, I just told you.”
“No. Can – I – take – your – name – dear?”
“Annie.”
“Second name?”
“Fotzenlekken.”
She wrote down what my mother would have slapped me scarlet for even uttering in her presence.<
br />
“Is that a name or your specialty?”
“Uh, it’s my stage name,” I stammered, finding my façade begin to crumble in the face of stark reality and such direct questioning. I could feel the confidence drain from me. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up.
The ghost of Joan Crawford scratched something on the desk in front of her. I couldn’t see if it was a ledger or what, but it sounded like a rasp on a concrete block.
“Mr. van Leer will be right with you,” she said sharply without looking up. “Sit down.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly very intimidated. I was about to be introduced to a cigar-chomping mogul, a producer, a director, who would size me up in a single glance and determine if I ‘had it’ or not. He would never be as kind and forgiving as Bruno. What would I be willing to do to get into movies – suck his cock? Let him stick it up my ass, tie me up, humiliate me? What would his audition entail? Pleasuring the cracked old crone seated across from me?
I pulled my coat tighter around me as I sat on the hard plastic chair opposite Madame Rottweiler’s desk. It felt like those cheap, nasty little chairs you usually find in doctors’ surgeries and dentists’ waiting rooms – in any case, having to sit in one was usually the rather uncomfortable prelude to much worse to come, and it set me on edge even more.
I couldn’t stop myself from chewing on my dark red fingernails as I looked up continually at the clock above her head. It felt like time was standing still for me now.
And then I finally realized, the clock had stopped, and it was still showing five thirty-two. I have no idea how long I sat there, until a door opened in the corridor behind the front desk and a gentleman in a white suit, looking very like the man who’d served me in the video shop earlier, walked out.
“Ah, hello again,” he said as he approached me, and held out a hand. “I’m Mr. van Leer. Glad you could make it.”
“Hello,” I replied, feeling a silly grin break across my face. I felt at ease again now. He was nervous, possibly as much as I was. He wasn’t too used to doing this, I surmised. Or else I was a little better quality than he was used to – well, the thought set my fears back a good few paces, anyway.
Phoenyx: Flesh & Fire Page 8
