“This is the fuckin’ life.” I shout at Mike who’s still nursing a beer. He responds with a nonchalant shrug, followed by a long hard slug. Shame Kris had to bounce early but at least he left a nice hefty tab at the bar.
Fuck Scarface! You don’t need money or the power to get the women. All night these girls have been hanging off my every word – I don’t even have to tell a joke to get a laugh.
“So is the raging bull starting to kick in?” Kirstin my mystery blonde asks while rubbing my thigh.
“Only one way to find out.” I say knowing she wants it so bad I can taste it. But the last thing I wanna do now is weaken my sex appeal and possibly give up my shot with Chloe (who’s been crossing and uncrossing her legs so much that I’m starting to get a draft!). Do I stick on 17 or twist for 21? What am I crazy? Looking at Chloe I’m not so sure. Last time I had sex I was performing a service, but this-this could be magic.
“So what’s the wildest thing any of you girls have ever done?”
Kirstin’s eyes come to life and tells me she briefly dated one of the guys from Guns N’ Roses. Who hasn’t?
Mike’s grenade proceeds to tell the group some pointless story about sky diving, and how some various charities benefitted (yeah good look with that one bro). Stick or twist, stick or twist? Given the past few weeks I’ve had I should be praising the Lord for my 17. Even in Vegas a 17 is considered pretty good.
Chloe continues to keep us in suspense, sipping away at her empty cocktail through a straw. Drinking up our anticipation.
“I had a threesome back in college,” she says pausing to play to her captivated audience before adding, “a couple of times.”
Fuck Vegas. Hollywood is what dreams are made of.
Mike’s grenade drives us back to Kirstin and Chloe’s place and I’m not really sure how any of these arrangements happened. One minute we’re discussing if Lindsey Lohan still has a career (she had a career to begin with?) and next thing I know I’m outside clutching a bottle of vodka with the grenade yelling, “Hop in.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Is all I can say as we pull up outside the gates of an imperial mansion.
“We’re house-sitting for a friend who’s currently over in London producing a rom-com.”
Holy shit to crash in this place I’d let Axl and Slash tag team me. Even in the pitch dark of night the house glows a magnificent perfect white. As we pass through the electric gates censor activated lanterns showcase some of the house’s more opulent features – marble tile driveway, statue guard lions on either side of the doorway, and roses as far as the eye can see.
Kirstin haphazardly bashes in various pin codes to deactivate the alarm system while I survey the vast hall entrance. Old carpets and various paintings line the wall in a very minimalist Mediterranean fashion with tanned brown and white the only colors on display.
“You like?” Chloe says grinning like a proud air hostess.
“Yeah it’s something else.” I say as Kirstin creeps up behind me.
“Fancy a tour…” She says whispering seductively in my ear, “of the bedroom?”
Kirstin leads me by the hand where I’m joined at the base of the spiral staircase by Chloe. Savoring every step I look back at Mike who’s forcibly engaged in some painstaking conversation with the grenade about some artist nobody gives a shit about. Some guys have all the luck…
Fuck Playboy I’m living the Hustler dream. Who wants to be smoking a pipe in their PJ’s when they can be balling two incredible honeys. My ass hasn’t even touched the bed before I’m stripped and ready for action – 100% pure bison. I feel like Martin Scorsese as I direct the girls meticulously to cater for my every whim starting with my own private show. I make the girls slowly undress – too slowly – and impatient with my own direction I aggressively strip off both the girls like a mechanic removing car parts causing various limbs to get caught in clothing and Chloe’s head to get stuck in the arm of her dress.
“Relax,” Kirstin says ever the consummate professional helping to untangle Chloe, “we know what we’re doing.”
And that they did. What started off as some gentle petting and soft tonguing quickly graduated to a hardcore sex fest, both girls fighting over my meat – licking it like a lollipop. I watch on almost vicariously as the girls hungrily devour my cock, in a state of unequivocal bliss, trying to figure out if this is really happening?
Afraid I’m about to awaken from a slumber I slide myself deep inside Chloe from behind – the bison throbbing so hard it has its own heartbeat – and fuck her like a frantic Duracell bunny. I do my best to steady my breathing and try to treat the sex like a blank canvas with slow methodical brush stokes but have all the subtlety of a bucket of paint splashed against the wall as I pound furiously. Desperate to share the love I pull out quick and have Chloe mount my mechanical bull and give it to her hard and fast. I do my best to focus and for the first time actually take in the girls and their beautiful bodies-inebriated sexual blurs suddenly taking shape to become a mind-blowing reality. Greedily I scan every inch of Chloe’s body as if to save it for a rainy day; her dark olive store-bought skin, gravity-defying breasts, and athletically toned stomach nothing more than an intimate snapshot of a person I know nothing about. People say the eyes are the gateway to the soul but feeling Chloe slowly melt all over my cock I know it’s total bullshit. People tend to philosophize about things they’ve no actual experience in, but me? I’m with Shakira – the hips don’t lie. Halfway through a robotic Kirstin continues to play with herself awaiting instruction, our eyes briefly meeting and for the first time I see genuine emotion; a deep filled sadness craving recognition – the poor thing’s probably starved. So I roll Chloe over and duly oblige.
I wake up to the sickening smell of bacon and a half dozen questions to which I have no answer. Where are the girls? When did I fall asleep? And what the fuck am I going to tell Cassidy? All race through my fuzzy brain as I slowly look to establish my bearings. Struggling to put back on my socks at the end of the bed I can’t help but notice the room’s lack of personality or identity which consists of nothing more than a large wall-mounted TV, the four-poster bed I sit on and white as far as the eye can see. Staring around the room for clues I come up short and decide to head downstairs to investigate further. I make my way downstairs following the sound of conversation until I find Kirstin and Mike chatting over a coffee marble kitchen island.
“Good morning Mr. Sleepy.” Kirstin beams, her sunny disposition far too much to take at this hour, “You want something to eat?”
“A juice would be great,” I say sliding in beside Mike as Kirstin walks over to the fridge.
“You want apple or OJ? She says displaying both like prizes from a game show.
“Whatever’s handiest Kristin.” I reply and she responds with a quizzical nod of the head and dejected demeanour.
Mike failing to contain his laughter, “Ricki that’s Chloe.” He says reveling in the anarchy.
“So who the fuck is Kristin? Was she your grenade from last night?”
“No that’s Sammi. Kirstin’s the blonde.” He says quietly as Chloe approaches with my OJ.
“Thanks Chloe.” I say with a heavy emphasis on her name, which because of my uncertainty comes out rather sarcastic.
I drink the orange juice slow seeking refuge and still wondering whatever happened to the girl I thought was Crystal.
Not wanting to be rude but unwilling to forsake my relationship any further for the sake of civil banalities I have Chloe call us a taxi and it’s only when she’s confirming the address on the phone that I realize we’re in Mulholland drive (which I guess explains the house).
When our ride arrives we leave with a level of detachment usually reserved for whores-Chloe too engrossed in her magazine to walk us to the door offers nothing more than a limp wave.
“So did you get it in last night?” I say repeating myself to Mike who keeps staring blankly out the window.
“No. We just had a few drinks in the Jacuzzi and played around for a little bit.” He says trailing back off into his own private world.
“What’s up with you dude?”
“Got a case of the fears that’s all,” He says before pausing, “What you gonna do about Cass?”
“I’ve no idea.”
And that’s as far as he humors me throughout our entire journey-curiosity certainly won’t kill this cat. I dream up various scenarios in the vain hope of striking lucky; we got jacked outside a club, I brought Mike to a hospital because he was complaining of chest pains, shot some hoops with some disadvantaged youths in a midnight basketball program – each excuse lamer than the last. I run over telling Cass the truth (well at least my version of the truth) that I went back to some girl’s place with the intention of hooking up, but that I just couldn’t do it because I loved her. Throw in some lines about the pressure of not having auditions, combined with the problems we’ve been having and I might be on to something. Shit, I could even say I’m jealous of her relationship with Jorge and salvage a victory from the jaws of defeat.
Outside the house Mike settles up with the taxi driver while I try to compose myself as best I can.
“You ready?” He says putting his key in the door.
“1-2-3 okay let’s do this.”
Inside Cassidy is pulling up the couch looking fit to kill. I’ve barely closed the door yet Mike’s already darted straight up to his bedroom. Cassidy looks at me furiously before returning her rage to the couch, “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Sheepishly I make my way over, “Are you okay?”
“I can’t find my car keys anywhere.”
I stand paralyzed on the spot not really sure what to do.
“So how’d you get on last night?”
I try to form words but my best-laid plans now seem stupid and hang heavy in my throat.
“Well aren’t you going to tell me about it?” She snaps still searching for her keys.
“I don’t really know where to start.”
“I really don’t have time for your dramatics. Tell me everything,” and before I have a chance to respond she’s back again, “what are these projects Kris has lined up for you? And is his house in Malibu like Charlie Sheen’s beach house in Two and a half men?”
Not really sure what to say my inner sociopath kicks in instinctively, “I told him I wasn’t happy with the shitty auditions I’ve been getting lately and that he needs to make something happen.”
“And the house?”
“It was okay I guess – lacked personality.”
Right then Leanne burst in waving a set of keys yelling, “Found ‘em.”
Cass gratefully accepts the keys and briefly entertains Leanne’s solving of the missing key mystery, which were left by the blender, before returning to me. Her face filled with adoration.
“I’ve gotta shoot babe or I’ll be late for my yoga class.” She says planting a full bodied smacker on my lips. Remnants of a passion I long felt expired.
After shooting the fictitious shit about a night that never happened with Leanne I head upstairs to the privacy of my bedroom and give Kris a call.
“Kris you saved my fuckin’ ass man.”
“That’s what family’s for bro. I figured you might need my help when one of the camera crew said you never made it home last night.”
“I owe you big time.”
“Seriously don’t mention it. Now rest up bro I need you fresh for all these auditions I’m working on lining up for you.”
I thank him unreservedly until he finally hangs up laughing and decide he’s probably right about resting up so hit the sack, where I spend the rest of the afternoon with my hands down my pants compiling highlight packages of the greatest night of my life.