Tyler Knight

9.30.09
Wed.

Today is Nuru massage day. Been looking forward to this all week. I’m taking a shit last week when Barret Blade sends me a text.

Barret: r u avail 29th or 30th 4 a nuru massage scne?
Me: Either is fine… wtf is a “nuru?”
Barret: go 2 nuru-massage-dot-com. it’s bad ass

I snap off a turd, zip up, wash my hands and go to the site…

Me:Oh. My. God!
Barret: U like?
Me: me gusta mucho

I scroll down and un-zip. I take out my cock…

Me: Genius!

There is a video embedded, I play the video…

Me: I <3 u man!
Barret: Cool what day?
Me: BOTH!
Barret: lol just only need u for one.
Me: k. confirmed for 30th.
———-

Since my drivers license is being held hostage I hired a Lincoln Towncar to pick me up and drive me to set: a post modern architectural overlooking the bluffs of the Valley. The driver, Jacob, is a refugee from Soviet Georgia. He is missing several fingers; clearly severed off in the same precise locations. I don't ask.

I'm 20 minutes early and no one else is there. After ten minutes, a rental car pulls up and a precocious, tanned little Asian girl leaps out! Jackie. Her little polo shirt is straining to contain her tits but her pencil-eraser nipples come bursting the fuck through.

She is excited and riled up like a motivational speaker on PCP-laced Pixie Stix kinda way which makes me excited. By the time the crew pulls up, I'm damn near chanting "I Can Do This! — I Can Do This! — I CAN DO THIS!" Between her Olympic gymnast body and her zeal, I'm convinced I can fuck a God damned cobra!
———-

Inside, the usual paperwork bullshit while the crew sets up and the girl gets ready. That done, I scan the script. It's a wall of text full of bullshit, I stop reading. This is a Tyler improv day.

It's Wicked Pictures contract director Brad Armstrong house. Upstairs in the master bedroom where the set is for the day we are talking about the top contenders for Best Picture this year; his 2040, which is a look into the future of porn and The 8th Day, which is universally lauded as the greatest adult film ever made.

We whip out our cocks so-to-speak to compare notes on all the shit that went wrong on the sets. He broke a few lights and shared that he was still writing 2040 as they were shooting it.

The 8th Day took a year to make from pre-production to editing (we were still shooting up to June), Lawsuits, ruined marriages, destroyed friendships, heat stroke, felony rumors, studio-on-studio feuds, key crew members recusing themselves from the film, three month production shut down ETC. I win.
———-

I excuse myself to a vacant bathroom and wash my balls till they sparkle and bling. When I return to set the girl and the crew are waiting. We start with me outside.

*Knock-Knock!!*

Jackie: Yes? What do you want?
Me: Hi, I’m here to talk about your insurance policies for your…
Jackie: Password. You got the password?
Me: Err…Nuru massage?
Jackie: Come in.

She takes me by the hand and guides me inside to a sofa.

Me: So as I was saying, I have a lot of policies that could benefit your business.
Jackie: This is a massage parlor, you bumbling idiot.
Me: I see, I see… well, you have employees right? Let’s talk about annuities…
Jackie: No.
Me: No? You’re not even going to let me finish telling…
Jackie: Look asshole, if you want a massage it’s a hundred and fifty bucks!
Me: You take credit cards?
Jackie: Cash motherfucker!

She leads me into an expansive bathroom, undresses me, leads me by the hand to the shower. She soaps me up well then passes me the soap to lather her up. Her skin is toast-brown with patches of caramel where her bathing suit covers, a cluster of suds slides down the slope of her tit and is hung up on an angry nipple. Another set of suds bumps the cluster free and the new cluster of bubbles are hanging to the bottom of the nipple. They just hang there. Stubborn motherfuckers.

Her skin is glistening and my cock is bursting out of it’s God damned skin. She drops to her knees and starts blowing me…just a little bit.

Christ, I’m suppose to keep the gag going talking about insurance.

Me: You know, you live in mud-slide country…
Jackie: Shut the fuck up.

Problem solved.

She rinses me off, cuts off the shower and guides me over to the hot tub. It is filled with bubbles. I am hugged by the soapy water as I lower myself into the tub. She gets in behind me, sitting on the ledge and wrapping her legs over my neck, pussy lips suction-cupping to the space between my scapula. Her feet stroke my cock, sticking up through the suds like a periscope. I surrender my body to the white noise of relaxation and pleasure. First my arms then my torso, releasing control as I work my way down. My legs float. I see Barret waving at me from behind the camera to keep the dialogue going.

Fuck off, I’m taking a Tyler moment!

Jackie swim-crawls to my side and stroke-sucks me. I am looking at her tan-lined ass bob in and out of the tub; each time it rises above the water line sheets of water cascade off her cheeks. I’m about to loose by fucking mind, I talk about deductibles, anything to take my mind off of what this kid is doing to me, when she gets out of the tub.

I am still in the tub watching her as she pulls out an inflatable plastic air mattress and a wooden bowl. She is kneading a clear gel-like goo in the bowl. The slime is thick and viscous like nothing I have seen on this Earth. Jackie lifts her hands from the bowl, letting the slime drip down in foot-long globs like saliva from a doberman. Her hands rub the goo on her lithe body, seemingly merging her skin into the liquid. As the slime drips and runs through crevasses of her ass and tits, she looks like she is melting.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ! How much of this can a man take!

Barret waves for me to get out of the tub and join her. I go to say something about insurance, but I’m running out of material. I lay face down on the air mattress. Jackie loads her hands up with the primordial sludge and slathers it on my body. The slime is jarringly cold at first but warms to my skin in seconds. After a few passes, she turns my back into a fucking Slip-N’-Slide, massaging my body with her body. I feel her tits trace a like up my spine, and I’m about to pass the fuck out from the blood rushing to my dick.

Jackie: Turn over!
Me: …

For once, I have nothing clever to say. I’m at the apex of the roller-coaster looking down; the anticipation speeds my pulse. I obey. I look up to see this golden nymphet foamy, and slimy, and slippery. Stalactites of slime swaying to and-fro on every possible curved plane of her body. I see my reflection in a shiny tit.

Id Tyler: Grab it!
Ego Tyler: I can’t! I hafta lay here and let her service me. It’s in the script!
Id Tyler: FUCK the script, TOUCH HER!

I reach out and grab a tit. It has a stress ball effect on me, however, it’s short lived. She lowers herself onto my body and mounts me. As she makes an upward pass, I feel her hot breath, her tits and then her steamy cunt-lips on my cock.

Me: SO! This stuff is very slippery and may I suggest a liability poli…
Jackie: If I let you fuck me, will you shut the fuck up?

I say nothing, and this is her answer. We aren’t scripted to fuck but there is no way I’m turning this down. She lays on her side, me spooning behind her, reaches for my dick, rubs the head on her labia for what seems like a full minute teasing me with her folds and slides it inside her.

An explosion of hot butterscotch flavors pulse in my head and I am watching my feet dangle above the surface of Jupiter in geosynchronous orbit…

*squish-squish-squiiiiish…*

…her body sliding on the frictionless air mattress with mine as we drift weightless. I feel her hot ass press against my lower abdomen with each pass.

I’m not going to make it! Gotta give it at least two positions…

*Squish-SquISH…*

I yank my cock out of her and guide her onto her back. I fumble into position between her legs: this takes great effort because of the lack of friction. I slide her up and down the mattress as we continue zero-gravity space fucking.

*SQUISH-SQUISH-SQUUUIIISSSHHH!!*

Loosing all concern for the camera being able to see (and my God damned mind), I hunch over her turning myself into a man-blanket, laying flush with her chest to chest. One hand cupping her ass underneath us, the other hand wraps a fist-full of wet, black hair. Her hips bucking, mouth cooing: weightless and primal.

Jackie kneads me with her Kegals and it’s just about over, folks. I pull out of her hoping I can gather myself and go longer. After 10 seconds from withdrawing, my dick dripping with hot slime and pussy juice, I come delayed reaction style on her pubic bone and belly. Roll the credits.
——–

I am standing inside the hi-tech shower, hands on the slate-rock wall watching the goo wash down the drain. I am awash with conflicting emotions.

The feeling is ninty-proof cherry-flavored cough medicine because the day is rapidly approaching when I no longer get to do this for a living. Excitement for what the act II of my life and writing has waiting for me. These feelings are tempered with the unfortunate truth that I still wrestle the urge to thank my sponsors and cash in my chips at the advanced age of thirty-seven. The whirlpool at my feet wants to suck me in and I want it to, I don’t give a fuck where it takes me. I step out of the smart-shower, it cuts off behind me.

I gotta see somebody about this. I got a fingernail on the cliff-edge of reality and the fingernail is chipped.

I fold my waiting check off the counter into my wallet, hide from myself behind sunglasses, hop into the back seat of the waiting Towncar and gaze out the window as Jacob takes me to my waiting girlfriend, and the turtles, and the parrot.

What is this feeling? It’s not new…

Oh yeah.

Fear.

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Tagged: Creative Memoir