Tyler Knight

Fuck Viagra. With Cialis, I can actually feel my dick and my heart isn’t threatening to spray the inside of my chest like a microwaved packet of ketchup.

The game of puff-puff-pass Judas and Mr. Darkus played with the kronik downstairs has melted into me and Judas playing fuck-fuck-pass with Lana. We’ve both taken our turns going biblical on her with savage impunity for the vaginal sex positions. There are only two anal sex positions in this scene and he’s already done the first one on Lana. My turn to fuck ass.

Judas steps off camera to clean his dick with a baby wipe from the rape kit. Lana rolls over onto her belly, props up on her elbows and rests her head in her hands.

Pussy drunk, when I step off the bed to grab a bottle of lube from the rape kit, it’s with all the grace of a newborn fawn discovering his legs. I hold the bottle of lube over Lana’s ass cheeks but I do not squeeze. Gravity does it’s work. The clear, sparkling oil oozes from the nozzle with the lethargy of tree sap. When the cold lube hits her skin she emotes a squeal pinched off by a cough, and the gelatinous lube piles upon itself like soft-serve ice cream before spreading out under its own weight; I write my name on her ass the way a kid would decorate a pancake with syrup. I feel my heart pulsing in the tip of my aching cock.

With my shaft, I slather the lube on her cheeks, then on her asshole with my tip; the viscous goo warms with the friction. Next, I take the excess fuck-oil on my hands and massage it into Lana’s supple cheeks. I take a Tyler moment to enjoy my handiwork.

The narcotic scent of fresh-churned, primo cunt hangs in the air like fresh-baked cookies and seeps up my nostrils doing all kinds of primal shit to my brain. To a pervasive perv like me it’s inebriating. I inhale deep and there’s a phantom taste of pussy on the back of my tongue.

A slap from my hand makes her juicy flesh jiggle and glint golden under the glaring lights.

Lana coughs and lies on her side, inviting me to lay behind her like spoons.

How does a girl that looks like this end up getting her ass bored out by two strangers in porn?

Right before I insert into her anus, I notice something odd. That voice that usually screams in my head when I’m unsure, afraid, or trying something new is silent. I wait something to go wrong, like locusts to come crashing through the bedroom window. Nothing happens.

Sometimes things do work out for me, I guess.

My tip pushes past her o-ring with a thuk, she grips me tight, and I take my first hit of ass. Ever. Not sure what I should have expected; it’s like pussy, but not. Tighter, but only at the entrance. Not bad, not great. Just different…sort of. While fucking away I forget I’m partaking in the sodomy arts and I say how great her pussy feels by mistake. My first anal position speeds by without incident and is over within a few hundred strokes.

Stan say, “OK, we gonna take the stills of the sex now, then do the pop shots.”

I forgot the bastard was even in the room.

Judas takes command and says, “Let’s work backwards–last anal position with Tyler then mine, then wipe our dicks off for vag and bj so we can fuck pussy to pop. Easier.”

Stan says, “Coo, coo. TK, just stay in the ass since you all up in it right now.”

“OK.”

The stills are being taken of me spooning Lana’s asshole, and I’m still pumping away.

“Tyler,” Stan says, “Stop fucking, yo. You gotta lemme take the stills.”

This is stupid. Holding fuck-poses for stills without actually stroking makes as much sense as trying to balance a biscuit on a puppy’s nose. It’s a digital camera. No film to waste. Why not increase the shutter speed and rip off shots like he’s shooting sports action?

The three of us talent go through all the positions for stills. Judas knows when to pump to keep the erection going between shots and when to freeze for the picture, changing up fuck faces, hitting each pose sharp. He’s the drag queen, Willi Ninja, fuck-voguing to house music in his head. I take notes.

Stan says, “Aight, who gonna pop first?”

Lana coughs.

Judas says, “Let Tyler go first, I can pop at will.”

“Yeah, I know how you get down, Judas,” Stan says, “TK, we gonna clear off the set so you can fuck to pop without a bunch of niggas starin at you ‘n shit. Holla when you feelin it, but give a nigga thirty seconds so I got time to turn the camera back on, aight?”

Say, “nigga” one more time, white boy…

“Yeah, sure.”

Even though Lana and I have been slam-fucking for the entire scene, now we may as well be first cousins sitting in church. We sit side by side on the bed, both of us staring straight ahead and out the window, looking but not seeing at the cityscape sprawling at our feet.

She’s the girl I picked up at the club to fuck and when I wake up she’s still there in the morning and we’ve got nothing to say to each other.

What would 50 Cent do?

My silly alter-ego turned off with the camera and I’ve got nothing to hide behind. Right now, I’m not that silly nom de guerre, Tyler Knight, just Eric, and being Eric has never been quite good enough with the ladies. No one is more amazed than I for the high quality pussy I’ve scored in spite of myself.

Lana makes the first move by stroking my cock. “I guess we better hurry, they’re paying location fee’s by the hour.”

“Yeah.”

I lean over to kiss her but she turns her head.

Smooth. Real smooth.

She says, “We should keep it professional. Besides, I have a cold.”

I take her by the chin and turn her head towards mine; she smiles at me–really smiles at me–and lose the power of speech. I’m doomed.

“You’re beautiful,” she says not much more than a whisper.
She looks into me and I into her and I feel fire going down my body like a shot of aged rye. We kiss.

I finally manage a, “Thank you.”

She strokes my cock as I finger her clit which is swelling under my fingers.

I say, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She smiles. “Same as you.”

Lana lies on her back and pulls me atop her. Kissing. Faces pull away. Eyes sync. I enter her. It feels right. Too right.

Helooo, asshole! You’re a professional, Eric. We’re both professionals and we’re here to do a job. YOU ARE AT WORK! This is a j-o-b and Amanda loves you! Chill.

Within a few strokes our pace speeds to a blur and I wrap a handful of her sweat-drenched, honey-flavored locks in my fist; my other hand cups her supple ass. Her pubic bone slams into mine with the fury fists trapped under ice. Her lips part to form an “O”, framing slick alabaster. Eyes exchange what words would ruin. Connected. One.

Our mouths touch again and stay that way, shattering the last vestige of pretence porn stars construct to keep it professional.

Biology pulls a “Surprise, motherfucker!” on me.

FUCK!

Lana’s face screws into a questioning look. “Did you just come in me?”

Lie!

“No.”

I look away and this time it’s her taking me by my chin. “Tyler?”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry.”

She furrows her brow. I feel like the time I got caught stealing sunglasses at the mall and security called my mom. Lana says, “Why did you lie?”

“I dunno.”

She chuckles. “It’s okay,” she says “I’m on birth control.”

Thank Christ, no porn nigglets.

I say, “I’m still screwed though. No way I can give a pop shot now.”

“Relax, you’re still hard. Call Stan back in, and when we set up the pop shot I’ll drop to my knees you’ll pretend you’re coming in my mouth. Leave the rest to me.”

“Thanks.”
———

I’m stroking my dick. Lana is on her knees in front of me. Judas is off to the side. Stan is rolling camera. I give a wail like I’m having the best orgasm ever felt by man or beast then I shove my cock in Lana’s mouth. When I pull out, she lets spittle dribble from the side of her mouth, and fuck me if it doesn’t look like cum. She smiles at me with her eyes and I do my best to keep from laughing. When I step back Judas steps forward to deliver his load.

“Cut, we got it,” says Stan.

Lana and I exchange complicit grins.

The three of us pose for the pop shot stills, and I hold a freeze-frame pose. I do my best to put on the, my-face-is-contorted-in-the-thralls-of-ecstasy, look but it comes across as my, I’m-taking-a-shit-but-the-log-is-too-big-for-my-asshole, face. Apparently this is good enough because Stan says, “Stills done.” and leaves to go downstairs. Judas follows him, Lana goes to take a shower. I sit on the bed, evaluating.

A place of my own.

A yawn pushes past my lips as I come down from the vagina high and I lay back.
———

“How do you think that went, Gee?”

I open my eyes.

He’s not looking for honesty. Don’t say shit about the pop shot.

“Well, Stan. It went well.”

He sits on the bed beside me. I’m still naked. I slide over to make more space between us.

“Yeah,” he says, “I was sure you’d find a way to fuck up, so I threw you in the scene with another guy that I knew could handle bidness in case you failed.”

I nod. “Sure.”

He says, “Didn’t know if you could do it–I had to protect the studio’s money. The pop shot was tricky–”

Fuck.

“–next time tell a nigga if you gonna nut in a ho’s mouth–but I caught it on tape. You did your thang though, homey. You did it.”

He bought it!

He offers his elbow. “Give a nigga a pound.”

I’ll let it slide, this time.

“You can pick up your check in a couple of days from the office.”

He get’s up, walks out the door, and tosses, “I’ma have Wanda holla at you.” over his shoulder.

Lana comes out of the shower. The booty-short-and-fishnets whore uniform is gone. She’s back in her denim gardening bonnet and cargo shorts. She covers her mouth, coughs, and walks over to me.

“I’m Lisa.”

She extends her hand, I take it.

“Nice to meet you, Lisa. I’m Eric.” I kiss her hand.

We smile.

“You’re going to go very far in this business, Eric.”
———

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“This is Wanda calling from DVD Gang.”

Wanda!

I sit up, “Hello, Wanda! Nice to finally talk to you! How’s it hanging?”

Jesus, “How’s it hanging?” You schmuck!

She says, “Your check is ready. The receptionist has it at her desk. Also, Stan said you didn’t blow it other day, so I’m letting 2Coc go and giving you his slot in the male talent rotation. Expect a call from our directors Dana and Alfred Divine tonight. You are working for them tomorrow.”

She hangs up.

“Thank you.”

Amanda, now awake, sits up too. Her bed is small but that’s okay. Beats that fucking train.

We speak in Spanish.

“Who was that, Papi?”

I’m smiling so hard my goddamn face hurts. “DVD Gang,” I say, “I’m *cough* in the rotation!”

Continued…

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Tagged: Creative Memoir