by Tiana Laveen
“Hello.”
“Hi, Monica, this is Antonio. How are you tonight?” Monica instantly thought that he wanted to get together and rehearse.
That’s what they had been doing the past several weeks when he would call her and meet at the studio. She had gotten much more comfortable with him and enjoyed their natural chemistry.
Antonio seemed to be enjoying her company as well.
By now they felt like old friends. They spent a little time getting to know one another, but he had never called her in the evening before. Monica’s stomach instantly filled with butterflies.
“Hi, Antonio. I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. I got a new cell phone number, but that’s not the reason for the call. I know it’s last minute, but I wanted to know if you wanted to meet me tonight. We can discuss some more of the ins and outs of the job – I mean, not literally, but…”
Monica laughed.
“You know what I mean. I thought maybe I could cook you some dinner if you haven’t already eaten. You can bring Simone as well,” he offered.
“Oh, she’s with her grandmother spending the night and, no, I haven’t eaten. Sure, I’d love to meet you. Where’s your place?”
Monica grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down Antonio’s address.
* * *
“Oh, my goodness,” Monica said as Antonio opened the door.
“Please, have a seat.” Antonio escorted Monica in. She looked around. Everything was modern and had an Asian flair.
There was a rectangular, stark white couch with two matching chairs. The floor was honey hardwood with irregularly shaped, white throw rugs. The couch had square white pillows with tan trim. Monica looked up and noticed that the big-screen flatpanel television was built into the wall. Below it were a fireplace and large, silver figurine of a man tightly embracing a woman.
“Antonio, your place is beautiful. Wow – and so clean,”
Monica said as she continued to survey the surroundings.
“Thank you. I’m just a bit of a neat freak, so pardon my compulsion to keep picking things up I see laying around,” he laughed. Monica smiled.
“It’s so different from your dressing room – the decor.”
“Yeah, I’m acting at work. This is the real me. The dressing room at work helps me get into character and focus on the job at hand.” Monica was suddenly distracted by the smell of garlic and sautéed onions.
“You really do know how to cook, huh? I expected to see a pizza box,” she laughed.
“You’re darn right I know how to cook. I have five Italian sisters, an Italian mother, and a grandmother straight from Italy.
My family’s really large, and cooking is how they show they care. Like I said, my family’s really large.” Both of them laughed. Monica walked into the kitchen. The appliances were stainless steel and the counters, black marble. A row of scented vanilla candles sat on the eat-in kitchen table along with two wine glasses and sea green, woven place settings.
“So, how are you feeling? Are you more relaxed now after all of our talks and practicing?” Antonio asked as he sprinkled cayenne pepper over the sizzling crushed garlic.
“I tried to look at some of my boyfriend’s boxed-away porn, but all that did was make it worse. I can’t look and act like those women. It’s going to be really difficult,” Monica shrugged.
“Your first mistake was comparing yourself to other women.
Your second mistake was using porn that wasn’t created with the same principles that AAPP upholds. The whole reason why you’ve been brought on board, Monica, is because you’re different. We have plenty of Barbie dolls. You want to use that to your advantage, especially while it lasts because undoubtedly, more will be brought on board as time passes. You’re a pioneer.
Your skin’s brown, your lips are naturally full, you have an incredible ass, and you’re sexy. You’re what many White men fantasize about but don’t discuss. Most White guys, even the racist ones, know that they would like to have sex with a Black chick at least once. They want to see if the stereotypes are true. I of course know that they’re not, but it still leaves endless possibilities for fantasy play. That’s what we offer – fantasy, like I told you before. You’ll help fulfill that fantasy for so many people,” Antonio assured.
Monica heard a sizzle. Antonio laid down slabs of skinless, marinated chicken on his griddle.
She watched him meticulously season them with basil and sea salt. He stirred a pot of pasta and turned the heat off. He opened the oven and pulled out a loaf of bread and grabbed a bottle of half-consumed virgin olive oil. She took note of his muscular arms and legs. He was built like a professional bicyclist. He was wearing tennis shorts, gym shoes, and an athletic shirt.
“Wow, that really smells good,” Monica said as she crossed her arms.
“Thank you,” Antonio smiled.
“I hope you like how it tastes even more.” He slowly drizzled the olive oil over the chicken.
He picked up a bowl of homemade pesto and began to stir it into the drained pasta. She watched him add black pepper and sea salt then mix in the chicken. He took out a cheese grater and a wedge of deli-style parmesan cheese and slid it up and down.
The slices of white goodness landed on the wide wooden platter.
He collected the cheese and sprinkled it over the pasta dish.
Antonio pulled out a bottle of wine and a bowl of salad and began to set the table.
“Oh, let me help me.” Monica brought the rest of the cheese and bread over. Antonio popped the cork and poured slowly.
“Would you like some balsamic vinaigrette for your salad or bread?”
“Sure,” Monica smiled as she scooted her chair closer to the table. Antonio returned, seating himself and raising his glass.
“I want to make a toast.” Monica smiled goofily and lifted her glass.
“I want to toast to your joining the company, enjoying yourself, and making new friends.” The glasses clinked. They both took a sip then Antonio leaned close to Monica and kissed her lips before proceeding to eat.
“This is so good! Can I hire you to be my personal chef?”
Monica blurted with her mouth full. Antonio nodded and laughed. They enjoyed small-talk, talking about their families, friends, and previous jobs.
“Antonio, how does your mother feel about this?” Monica asked seriously. He stopped chewing.
“Feel about what?”
“About what you do? The porn.” Monica dipped her bread in more olive oil.
“She isn’t crazy about it, if that’s what you mean. She’s accepted it, though. She wanted me to settle down with her best friend’s daughter, and now she feels like I’ll never settle down because I’m a gigolo. Her words, not mine.” They both laughed.
“Monica, she just wants me to be the good Catholic boy she raised me to be. She doesn’t really understand that I still believe in God. I can have sex on camera and still pray and believe someone’s listening. It’s not either or,” he shrugged. Monica was very intrigued by Antonio’s mention of his religious beliefs.
“What about your father? What does he think?” she asked.
“I don’t know because he passed away when I was seven. He had a heart attack.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Antonio.” Monica turned away.
“No, it’s OK. From my brief recollection and my mom’s stories, he was a good man. I hope he’s watching and protecting me.” He made the sign of the cross over his chest.
“My two youngest sisters think it’s fantastic,” he chuckled.
“So, what made you decide to go to nursing school?” He took another sip of his wine.
“When I turned twenty-seven last year, I looked at my daughter then at my boyfriend drug dealing to make ends meet. I told myself I had to do something about it. I always wanted to be a nurse, so it wasn’t a stretch for me. Brian, that’s my boyfriend, said he’d pay for whatever grants didn’t cover, so I enrolled and have been goi
ng to school ever since. I’m the oldest in the class, but I don’t care,” she smiled.
“That’s admirable. You have goals and ambition. That’s important,” Antonio said, taking another sip of his glass.
“Everyone wanted me to be a doctor. I was in medical school for three years,” he said. A look of surprise came over Monica’s face.
“Really? Why would you stop that to do – this?”
“Simple mathematics. I was going to be six figures in debt by the time I graduated. I now make six figures a year without worries of malpractice lawsuits. I also knew I could always go back, and when I did, I’d be able to pay cash. Sheila and Lisa were out on a date at the restaurant I worked at. I was trying to pay for school at the time. My income didn’t even make a dent. I was a waiter and back-up cook. Before I knew it, they were asking me to take my pants off.” They both erupted in laughter.
“What type of doctor did you want to be?” Monica chewed a piece of seasoned, succulent chicken.
“A pediatrician – I love kids,” he smiled, taking another sip of wine. After their meal, Monica helped wash the dishes and clean up. She noticed Antonio giving her behind occasional glances. He squeezed one cheek.
“I knew you were going to do something. I’ve been watching you,” Monica laughed, hanging up the dish towel.
“How can you not play with your own ass all day? It’s perfect!” he grinned. Monica rolled her eyes and smiled.
“Would you like some more wine?” Antonio asked holding up the half-drunk bottle.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Monica fell onto the couch, lying back, propping her bare feet underneath herself.
“Of course not.” Antonio gave a sly grin. He poured another glass and walked over to the couch.
“Do you have any more questions? Is there anything you want to practice or go over?” Antonio asked honestly.
“I wonder why Lisa would want someone to start porn at my age. I thought you guys only wanted eighteen-year-olds,”
Monica asked. Antonio nodded.
“Well, here’s the thing. You don’t look twenty-eight. You’re much more mature than an eighteen-year-old. Lisa and Sheila try to avoid hiring anyone that’s under the age of twenty-five.
They want the person to be sure that this is the career path they want to take. That’s why they avoid traditional college students.
It takes a certain mindset to be able to do this, and an eighteen-year-old generally doesn’t have it. They’re still a kid, despite being legal. They try to get the best of both worlds: an actor that looks younger than they are but is more mature than they look.
How old do you think I am?” Antonio asked crossing his leg.
“I thought you were in your twenties, but you said you’ve been doing this for eight years, and you also said they try to avoid hiring anyone under twenty-five, so even though you look the same age as me, you must be about thirty-two or thirty-three.”
“Bingo. I’m thirty-three,” he smiled.
“I know what I need help with. Let’s go over the kissing again.” Monica said as she started to feel the effects of the wine.
Her panties began to moisten.
“Ok, what do you want to see or practice?” Antonio leaned in close to her.
“Just – kissing – the kissing.”
“OK,” he responded. Antonio took the wine glass out of Monica’s hand, and laid her flat on the couch. He tugged at her jogging pants, sweeping them off in one quick swoop.
“Wait a minute!” Monica rose up. “How is this kissing?”
“Wait and see,” Antonio said as he worked her panties off.
She saw him wiggle like a worm until he was positioned right between her legs, chin perpendicular with her crotch. He took his right hand, making a ‘V’ with his fingers, spreading her lips apart. He gently kissed and sucked her vulva and clitoris.
Monica moaned. Her right leg flopped over the edge of the couch. He circled the folds of her beauty with his tongue, licking her inner and outer lips, then softly bit her clitoris. It began to emerge from under its sheath, budding and ready. He continued to caress her essence with his tongue. She could hear him lapping her like a kitten does a bowl of milk.
“Oh, my God.” Monica closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers through his hair.
“This is from years of practice, my Dear,” he continued.
“And there you have kissing.” He gave her a peck then abruptly stopped and sat up. Monica busted out laughing.
“I didn’t mean those lips!”
“And you didn’t stop me or correct me either. You have to be specific.” Antonio got up and poured himself another glass of wine.
“And how are you going to leave me like this? You didn’t finish the job. You aren’t right.
That was cold.” Monica sat up weakly.
“I finished the job. I don’t want you accusing me of taking advantage of you,” he said.
“That wine must be strong. I only had three glasses, but I can feel it.” She rubbed her head.
“You want to stay here tonight?” Antonio offered.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to impose,” Monica responded.
“You’re not imposing. Let me get one of my T-shirts for you to sleep in. You can sleep in the spare bedroom if you’d like,”
he suggested.
“Huh? I’m confused.” Monica waved her hand. “So far I’ve sucked your dick – more than once, you’ve eaten me, and now you’re saying I can stay in the guest room? Antonio, you don’t make sense.” Monica wrinkled up her nose in confusion.
“Sure I do. This is work – business. We’re not dating. Just because we do these things, doesn’t mean I should assume you’d want to share a bed with me. A person’s bed is a very sacred place, and only the woman that I’m involved with in a serious, romantic relationship should be in it.” He turned and left to retrieve a shirt. Monica sat on the couch, disoriented.
“Whatever,” she muffled. Antonio returned with the shirt.
“Here you go. Let me show you the room. I have extra toothbrushes, too. I know you didn’t expect a slumber party, but don’t worry, I’m prepared,” he smiled. Monica gave a fake grin nodding. She just wanted to go to sleep at this point. She sat in the guest room listening to the radio. The room was decorated just like the rest of the house. She heard the television in Antonio’s master bedroom. Monica slid out a drawer of a tiny dresser. She saw various bank statements and a folder marked AAPP. She opened it and read all the movies Antonio had appeared in.
“Damn, there are over two hundred listed here,” she thought to herself. She read all the awards he had received. She saw interviews, news article clips, and photos of him with famous porn stars. She put the folder back and saw another one labeled
“Johns Hopkins University.” She opened the folder and saw tuition notices, class schedules, and book receipts.
“Wow, he was at JHU. That’s no joke,” she said out loud.
Monica yawned and decided to retire from her snooping. She removed her clothing and slid on the black, Nike, oversized Tshirt. She crawled into the bed and nestled under the sheets after setting the alarm on her cell phone. Two hours later she awoke, startled. She thought she was dreaming. She saw Antonio’s silhouette at the door of the guest room.
“Sorry I woke you. I was just checking up on you. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly.
“No, no. I forgot where I was for a minute,” she laughed. She watched as he looked down at the floor then back at her, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.
“Antonio, can I ask you something?” She decided to break the ice.
“Sure.” He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her.
“Tell me if I’m wrong, and I promise to back off. Do you think, that maybe, just a teeny bit, you like me more than just as a new co-worker?” Monica asked, slightly smiling. Antonio looked towards the window and smiled, reflecting for a few seconds.
“I
suppose there could be some truth to that. I think you notice that we have a mutual, authentic attraction for one another. I can’t deny that.”
“Because I like you. I really like you, Antonio. I’m a little confused right now because everything’s happening so fast, but I know what I feel. I think we have – a special bond,” Monica said. Antonio nodded.
“I’d be lying to you, and to myself, if I said that my thoughts have never gone there. Despite what we do for a living, many of us, including myself, really do want a monogamous relationship – with someone that understands, cares, and has similar interests and goals. I’ve been searching for that special someone for years.” He smiled at her.
“I understand. I hope maybe, I am her,” Monica responded.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Antonio smiled.
Monica scooted closer to him, lifting up her shirt. Antonio laughed.
“No, not that.” He led her out of the guest room, ushering her into his bedroom. Her jaw dropped as she looked around. The walls were brick. There was a built-in flat panel TV across from the massive King-sized, black, high-post, canopy bed. Asian art depicting naked women lined one wall. On the other wall was a bookshelf filled with medical, astrological, and human sexuality titles. An assortment of books written in Italian sprawled across a coffee table.
Antonio removed his robe and slid under his sheets, naked.
He motioned for Monica to join him. She removed her shirt, and followed suit. She started to kiss him and reached between his legs.
“No, no, Sweetie. I don’t want to work; I just want to feel you next to me to find out if you belong in my bed.”
He nestled close to her, burying his face in her nest of Creme of Nature-scented hair. His arms hugged her waist, keeping her ever so close. His hot breath felt good against her skin.
Antonio intertwined his legs with hers, locking her into place.
They remained that way, comfortably, until the morning.
* * *
“Hi, Monica. This is Lisa, how are you doing?” Lisa cheerfully asked the following morning.
