CHAPTER EIGHT
Big vato daddy mac strides out of his
house. He owns a clapboard family home on the edge of the
The elevator ride up to his new and well-heated
penthouse suite is short. One sassy lass is seated there
already, fidgeting on the vato’s divan. She’s feeling plush amid the cushions, lounging
and killing time on the front furniture of the suite.
It’s Cherisse, the blonde athlete. She’s
on the lookout. Impatient. Where the heck is he already? Where is this
so-called monkey-sex consultant? She hasn’t yet spotted him through the space-age
partition of tinted glass and titanium.
He, in turn, does not yet know a couple of
facts. 1) Cherisse is 2 years younger than her ID states, or 2) that she is a
runaway.
It’s true, though. She recently took off
from home (to escape her overbearing family). Now she has run and run and run
all the way to downtown
Daddy Mac waits before turning the
doorknob. He puts on his best auditioner’s face. Now he can open his act, and the glass door.
He enters, leans over the couch and puts a
hand on Cherisse’s shoulder. He can tell through her red blouse she has toned
shoulder muscles. Mmmm.
"Yo
hey," the vato announces apparently to the ceiling. “Glad you could make
it.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cherisse responds
carefully, craning her neck around.
He steps around front and gives her the
quick once over. Cherisse’s body is ripe and sleek alright.
Cherisse also sums up people fast. She’d
describe this guy as one who feels he's got something to prove. Just to let
people in on the secret that, like, he's no longer just the head doormouse, you know? Nowadays he's hot steamin’
shit. He's DA MAN!
His name is Portero
X.
* * * *
Portero X coughs: “Ain’t
I seen you downtown somewhere? Hm. Speen round, girl. So you Cherisse, huh? Let's see whatcha
got, girlie. Geev eet up, dollparts…” She had changed outfits in the elevator, but vato
sees that she forgot to cut off the price sticker from the new open-nipple bra
she’s wearing.
He claps his paws together. The sound is
like a crack of a whip.
‘Hooooo boy,’
she thinks, ‘is this Portero X going to be one
ruthless monster, or what?’
A ClapOn switch
turns on his hidden stereo player. It
kicks in a STS9 web-radio stream of trip hop.
Cherisse is not that concerned. She’s
pretty sure she is in. She has a patented pole dance. She smiles a tad
nervously and quickly remembers to turn it into coyness. Despite her
misgivings, despite his scowl and minty breath, she
knows she can perform the necessary acts to get this job. This is not a
problem. She’s already doing them and more anyway, so she might as well get
paid for them! Great money awaits. And she badly needs
it.
Two more showgirls abruptly strut into the
suite, naked.
There’s another tense moment. One nods:
“Hi.”
“Hi,” mimics Cherisse in the exact same
tone of voice.
The two nude showgirls take up flanking
positions, one on each side of the Daddy Mac—framing his big, cheesy face...
What the hell are these 2 chicks doing here anyway? Are they
auditioning tonight also, or are they judges? Are they my sistas,
or some nudist friends, or his lovers, or what?
Cherisse hopes they’re all stupider than
they look. She’ll be up shit creek quickly the second any of them discover her
real age.
Portero X is going to
want to get his cut off my work, but what do they want? Or should I say,
how much do they want…On the other hand, maybe
the two girls are only voyeurs... hoping to jump on my deal, jump on our train
of sexual agreement… Maybe they will
vicariously participate through his eyes; or maybe they’re even expecting to be
invited onboard my ass right her and now.
…To be mutually beneficially
surprised?
The Mexican man demands in a gravelly voice, “Now loose the clothes babeeee
and let’s see the rest. Take you time, relax, jees? I
hear you got what it takes, huh?”
Like,
do I have naked
ambitious expectations?
“Hell yeah”, Cherisse asserts. She knows
for sure that she has the goods. She’s a
natural, she’s got the right stuff. She is built to
please, even at 16.
Cherisse briefly encapsulates her modified
life story for Portero X, like she is a contestant on
American Idol.
Then she strips. She performs confidently,
maturely, serenely. She’s dynamite, and her body is an absolute TKO: not so
much from the stripping but because she runs cross-country—just for the thrill
of the blood pumping, just for the rush of the endorphins, just for the
challenge, just for her love of the Body and of all things Physical.
The showgirl on the left is apparently named
Happy. Happy scans Cherisse up and down with a mixture of scorn and lust during
the performance. Phew. She’s feeling the heat.
“Yeah, apparently she all that and then
some. Bet she got one tight little box in there.”
Portero X stares the other two dames down. As in
“keep quiet”.
Unintimidated, the showgirl named Sweaty takes ironic
aim. “High up there on your pedestal, in your transparent plastic bikini with
the, er, frilly lace edges, how cu-u-u-ute. Nice to meet you, Cherisse.”
She shakes the young girl’s hand. “Your act is so, like, sacred and yet , um, wriggly, and that’s not easy to do.”
“Thanks.”
Sweaty pulls Cherisse aside. “Okay look. You
are fine, but you're just too much, Cherisse! Can’t you see how fast you’re
spreading bad vibes around this place? Performance anxiety? Sinking feelings?
You’ve only been here 10 minutes and already two girls are feeling sour, and
why? Coz we know we can't even compete with such an awesome piece of new meat.”
How
is that for a backhanded compliment?
Cherisse stands up for herself. “Like, is
that supposed to be my problem or something?”
Happy mocks: “O it’s like that is it, dear,
Aphrodite? Poor, poor Ishtar! Guess what? It’s time
for you to lap dance for your next supper.”
Portero X, the managing CEO of the operation,
skewers Happy with a look that could kill. And he might just be the type who could
kill for real, too. Or at least he might be the sort who could place a hit
merely by flipping open his speed-dial directory.
* * * *
While Cherisse is getting busy dancing on
the vato’s lap, the pimpin’ CEO softly growls:
"What exactly WERE you two monkeys doeeng een my new penthouse when I got here?”
In a whisper, Sweaty & Happy claim
they were just back from a morning ‘jai alai’ game. And were simply up for an
innocent shower… together…
Portero X doesn’t buy it for a second. He has
sharp teeth for cutting through the neck of Dishonesty. And a third eye that
just won't close until the guillotine drops.
“Well, there better be no precious theengs misseeng after thees latest game of yours, and
you know I weel be checkeeng.”
A hip-hop breed of CEO,
this one.
But now back to your initiation, Cherisse,
you ultimate Sunset Strip hotbod.
Portero X unzips his fly and …
“Now, Cherisse, you’ll probably start
freaking out that our CEO is motivated by all the wrong reasons,” Happy adds.
“But actually it’s cool.”
Oh.
It’s like that is it? Cherisse
takes it that this means he’ll be requiring the lap dance with extras.
Sweaty elaborates: “Yeah, baby, you can
guess what’s coming next. Since you be only two
threads from nekkid, you may as well open up them
ruby pouters and do what you do best. Come on, girl, we wanna
see you nail this fucking job already.
Happy adds, “Yeah, sweetie. We know you
got what it takes.”
* * * *
Does Portero X
not have the best work in the world? His brown manhood hardens between
Cherisse’s lips.
It’s a fine blowjob, but Portero X’s heart opens, for he senses her anxiety.
“Don’t joo be worryin’ yo beautiful leetle head, Cherisse honey. Hey. Why don't joo be… tantalized by thees,
instead? Check out dees magic key I got here.”
The vato slides a silver skeleton key from
his pocket.
He presses the business end of the key up
against his own navel, and pushes it. The key meets little resistance: it
slides right through the wall of his abdomen, through his belly button hole.
Cherisse’s eyes bulge out of her
head. Maybe Portero X is not human?
“Surprise! Lemme teach you sometheeng. Here ees the magic key
to a lock, see. Thees lock has 4 settings. It’s how a
woman get to unlock dee door
to dee Management World which us beeg
boys carry round on our CEO shoulders. Watch thees.”
He takes his hand away. All by itself, the inserted key turns a
quarter turn. It turns 4 times, clockwise.
It pauses at north, south, east and west positions.
She must be dreaming. Do I have any comparable magic? Some
miraculous lap dance that would transcend several steps beyond banal?
Portero X motions to Cherisse to suck in time
with the key.
“Synchronize wid
my key, that ees the secret!” And
to her amazement, the rotation imperceptibly but gradually picks up speed.
As ordered, she locks onto the changing tempo.
Within a few minutes, the handle of the
key in Portera X’s bellybutton is a blur. It
resembles nothing more than the feathered end of a spinning dart.
Hang on to your blond tresses and remain
on autopilot, Cherisse. Go ahead and keep absorbing information while this cyborg explains his belly button magic.
Even as he sits his ass down, and turns
you away from him to face the two other women, even as you lower your hips and spread
your cunt for his big throbbing sex machine.
* * * *
Several
blocks away, Jack Tendonian, the seminar leader, had wrapped
up his afternoon lecture like this: “So go ahead, climb on in, climb into that perfect little magical box!
“Forecast
your sales numbers! How good could it get? How much will your business expand?
Don’t forget to imagine how you will feel one day, chilling in your own penthouse suite!
“Now prowl around the real world.
And what do we have to do, people? Network, network, network.
All the time. See who's connected to whom. Keep
talking about your project. Keep talking about it. Use any feedback you get. You’re making it more real everyday as you
keep walking your talking about it.
“That’s
how Jack Tendonian has made the world change, and
that’s how you too can make your world change. You’ll start to see the world
changing around you!
“How? Well, your steady repetition starts
creating an advertising wave. It begins spreading a social wave! An
unprecedented, never-before-seen COALITION!
An audience of listeners, rippling out, tuned in to your message. And
this audience of believers will spearhead the exact goals of your Programme Marketing!
“Now
can anyone tell me WHY?... It’s because these same coalition members
influenced your design in the first place, remember? You built their ideas and
beliefs and wishes right into the very design.
“You’ll
see. My Programme Marketing Manual is a natural way
to get started in all this, my friends, so look through Chapter 1 tonight. Programme Marketing is plain fun! I’m gonna
show you how to get out there and network and see how many wabbits
you can pull out of YOUR magic box!
“Thank
you. Good day, and see you next time."
* * * *
After their fourway
sex party, Portero X and the three ladies are
semi-catatonic and strewn about the luxury couches: Happy is staring into space;
Sweaty is sinking into the trip hop throb.
" Okay, Ms. Up and cummeeng.
Joo got jouself a job,”
states Portero X suddenly. “Y’all start workeeng for me Sunday at 7.”
Yeah! Now Cherisse can really tell her
family to go kiss her fuckin’ ass.
“Just be tellin’
you clients joo wanna try new
stuff, ok!” he continues. “Make some fun bank. Oh, they’ll be back for mo. Joo got a fine ass. We gone make a lotta
scrilla, baby!! Anyway, joo
tell ‘em a bunch of hype, and you be doin’ yust fine. I predeect dat you gonna stick in they heads beegtime!
Joo gonna be colonizing da world's brainwafes, baby! Alright. Now. Joo
remember all that stuff I teach you, Honey?” the vato asks, expecting the usual
dumb blonde shoulder shrug.
She ain’t no dummy however. Cherisse stands up, pretending that this
is an acting audition:
“Step #1) I do da
balanceeng act.
I gots ta keep
moving, and not be makin’ no
mistakes. Start slow, build up speed.
Step #2) My
bid-ness cycles forward best when I got RAW APPETITE for my market, see: when
I’m all hungry for it like for a beeg hot dog. The client base. Uh huh. I’m on it,
baby.
Step #3) I don’t be spendin’
mo’ than ¼ of my time getting’ all analytical on my clients. That make them run
away.
Step #4) To get
my money shot, I gots ta
turbo charge! Flip into fuckin’ overdrive! Be
outrageous, like I be 100% sure of myself! All my goals, I gots
ta back em up hardcore.”
Portero X laughs uproariously. He totally enjoys
her impression of him. This one is a good
nut. I’ll be taking special care of thees one, he thinks paternally.
“Good! I like you already Cherisse, I hope
dees all works out for both of us,” clowns Portero. He doesn't want to do anything more, or less, than
help her follow her own nose through the jungle of the adult business. “Now, eef you'll
excuse me, I gots to cross examine thees two lovely (oo oo) consultants of mine about some meesing
items. Tsk tsk. After everyting
I done for dem too."
And so, the CEO vato
strolls away between Sweaty and Happy, between ferns and mirrors. They retire
down to the jacuzzi.
Over her shoulder, Sweaty silently
pretends to mimic him: “Oo, I like you already
Cherisse.”
Portero X yells one final reminder over his
shoulder: “4 keys: start slow, stay balanced, get real hungry for the payoff,
don’t overanalyze everytheeng, and back up your own
visions BEEG time. Wait that’s 5 keys!”
But Cherisse, the wannabe hooker, has
flopped backward, spread-eagled across the couch. She’s just made a snap decision. If a cyborg can be masquerading as an adult business manager,
then she ought to run for Prime Minister of Canada! Which means she’s going to
have to forget about turning tricks. That won’t look very good on her
resume.
She is feeling the urge to run away again…
It’s like an orgasm, any second now…