Linzer Ch 02

Here's part 2. I strongly suggest reading part 1, since it would make no sense without the backstory. Again, this is satire, and hopefully amusing, not an attempt at a realistic story.

*****

"So that's why you didn't graduate. Everyone was kind of surprised, and the rumor around school was that you going to California to do porn—"

"Yeah, I know. I told Tara and Cassidy the truth, but they told me no one believed them."

"Or that you were pregnant."

"I heard that, too. I mean, I understood the thought, but anyone who knew me, knew that I would've gotten an abortion."

"But that didn't make for a good story."

She paused. "As you can guess, it didn't bother me that I was being talked about by everyone."

I realized at that point, clearer than ever before, that what she had become should not have been a surprise, based on her behavior back then. But who'd have thought that far ahead? Other than Lindsay, of course.

"You probably know that every guy at school, and even some of the girls, spent the rest of the school year, and the summer, trying to find you on the porn sites."

"Yep. I heard."

"But once college started, I was too busy to keep doing that, and other things got in the way."

"You forgot about me?" She pouted, but I couldn't tell if it was real or whether she was putting me on.

"Not exactly. I mean, you never forget your first time, right? And you're pretty unforgettable—" She smiled. "But I kind of filed you away in the back of my mind. If it wasn't for prom—"

"And prom

night

—"

"And prom night, we'd been drifting apart for years, anyway."

"Yeah. And I'm gonna admit, Tater, that I wished that hadn't happened."

I shrugged. I also noticed that while she was talking, her robe had opened a little at the top, exposing an expanse of creamy white skin, bisected, at the bottom, by a touch of serious cleavage. "So what shit hit what fan?"

She sighed. "I guess that you are entitled to hear the whole story, considering how I fucked up your nice quiet life. And I trust you—always have. Anyway, this part I've been able to keep out of my "official" bio, and I want to keep it that way."

"Of course. What do I care?"

***

Between modelling and promo appearances, and a few shifts waitressing at one of those bars that dresses its waitresses in tight, revealing clothing, I was making ends meet. There were enough attractive and wealthy men who were interested in taking me out and buying me gifts, and from this, I found sufficiently talented partners to satisfy my needs. But I felt like I was on a treadmill. A few of the girls I worked with were stripping, or even doing escort work, but I saw that as a dead end.

Then, my phone rang. It was from an unknown number, but some of my friends used burner phones for various reasons, so I didn't think anything of answering it. And if it was junk, or an asshole, I knew how to block the call.

"Hello?"

"Lindsay?"

The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Um, who is this?"

"You don't recognize your own father's voice?"

It took me a couple of seconds to gather myself. "Considering I haven't heard it in almost 10 years, no. Fuck you." I was about to disconnect, when I heard him say:

"Don't hang up. I'm in real trouble."

"How did you get my number?"

"Your mother."

"She gave it to you? She hates you, and I thought she loved me."

"That should give you an idea how desperate I am."

The bottom line was that he was into some very bad people for a fairly large sum of money. The kind of people who kill their debtors and make their body parts disappear. He was so desperate, he actually called Mom, who was probably close to wanting to kill him and make his body parts disappear after he walked out on us. Mom, of course, had nothing to give him—the house was fully mortgaged, and anyway, she wouldn't borrow money to save his sorry ass. But I'd been telling her some lies about how well I was doing, so she thought I might have some money.

Somehow, he guilted me into trying to help, and maybe subconsciously, I realized that this might be the kick I needed to maybe get rich and famous myself.

In Los Angeles, and I bet pretty much anywhere, there are wealthy men who want young, beautiful girls around. To be arm candy at events, to look good in a bikini at their pool, and yes, to fuck. And for this, they are willing to be generous. In my mind, at least, it wasn't being a hooker, more like being a personal assistant with benefits. So, I called a girl, who knew a girl, and she put me in touch with one such sugar daddy, who I'll call Lorenzo. We met, we seemed to hit it off, and I agreed to move into his truly gorgeous house in the hills. I was able to negotiate enough of an upfront "bonus" to get the bad guys to give my father some breathing room, but told him that we were done, and I never wanted to hear from him again. From what I gathered, that upfront payment was less than tip money for Lorenzo.

And to be fair, things with him were great. For a man in his line of work, which I won't discuss, he treated me like a princess. Anything I wanted, I had. He threw, and we attended, some of the best parties around, and we flew all over the world in his private jet. And he was pretty good in bed, and also had no compunctions if I wanted to fool around with other guys, as long as it wasn't in his house. I was beginning to live the life I had always dreamed of. My bank account also was growing, and my picture started appearing on party websites, and I was beginning to get noticed. Which led to more modelling gigs, product placement deals, more and better appearances, and on and on.

Then, in a very short time, two things happened. First, I met Jammy Rage. We had an immediate, explosive reaction. I thought I was in love. And then, Lorenzo needed to move back home, quickly, for legal reasons, and we amicably terminated our relationship. I even got a severance bonus.

Jammy was not only gorgeous, talented and the best lover I ever had, but he was a smart businessman. You don't build a rap career and label as successful as his by being a dumb gangster. He got me to sit down with a bunch of advisors, and I began to create a team, a brand and a company, despite the fact that all I was selling was myself. But, while I had set myself up for success, it was hard to break through. I didn't want to live off of Jammy, or any man, for that matter.

And, I assume, you know what happened next.

***

"I haven't seen the video," I said.

"Bullshit. Everyone has seen it."

"Not me. Look, I admit to having checked out some of your pictures over the years, but not that."

She smiled, and I noticed that her robe had come apart, just a little more, giving me a peek at the top of two of the world's famous breasts for the first time in years—at least in person. "Why not?"

"Honestly, I know what it is like to have sex with you. To this day, it's the best I ever had. I just couldn't bring myself to watch you screw some other guy, and when I heard about some of the details, I just didn't want to."

"That's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard."

"Well, then, can I ask you a question? Tell me the truth, and I promise never to say a word."

"What?"

"The rumor is that you and Jammy leaked the video on purpose, to get publicity, and as it turned out a few million dollars from the video company. True or false?"

***

I had no problem when Jammy asked me if we could film ourselves having sex. I had never agreed to it before, because I knew how easy it would be for it to end up on the Internet, but I trusted him, and I also wanted to see it. Sex with him was beautiful, and the idea that I could watch it whenever I wanted to turned me on incredibly. So, we set up the cameras and lights, actually got some advice from some experts, and did it. The video was everything I hoped it would be. When I did watch it, I actually came without touching myself, it was so hot. Sight unseen, one of the guys who helped us set it up suggested we sell it, and Jammy and I discussed it, but decided not to.

But that guy, that fucking asshole, paid off one of our staff to steal it, and that's how it got released. He tried to forge some releases, and that's how our lawyers got us the settlement.

Was I happy that the world saw me deep throating Jammy? Or doing anal? Or any of the rest of it? No. I have a mother, and someday I might have a kid, and the Internet is forever. As I told you, I could have done porn from pretty much day one out here, but refused. Do I still think the video is beautiful, sexy and unbelievably hot? Yes. Do I still watch it occasionally? Yes. Am I sorry that it broke me through to another level of fame and put a few million dollars into my account? Not a bit. Bad shit happened, and instead of letting it destroy me, I made a fucking career from it.

Because then came "The Jam and Lin Jam," which ran for three years of increasingly bizarre phony reality TV, and I became a household name. And my team, the best member of which you insulted in the car today, turned that fame into a global money making machine. Now, I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whoever I want. Taylor Swift? We hung out last weekend. You want to fly to Paris tonight for croissants? Let me get my jet fueled up. I did it. I got where I wanted.

***

"I also never watched the show."

"Really? It was pretty funny, at least at the beginning."

"I just couldn't bear to watch you act dumb."

"I was playing a character, that wasn't me."

"I wasn't sure what you were, and by that time, it had been so long since we had seen each other, I really wasn't all that interested."

"Sorry. I laughed all the way to the bank."

"Not when Jammy left you."

All of a sudden, her expression turned dark, and I wondered if I had gone too far. "No, that sucked. We got so into the fake reality characters we were playing that it turned real, and got shitty."

"You still loved him?"

She nodded. Probably to avoid further discussion, she stood up. Her robe had come apart even more, so that I could see her cleavage, almost down to her toned belly. And I realized how short the robe was. She went to the minibar and returned with two bottles of water. It was a brand I had never seen before, Pinguin, made from melted Antarctic snow. I took a sip—it tasted like water.

When I looked up, Lindsay was standing in front of me, the robe fully open, displaying a body that, either through hard work, good genes, plastic surgery, or some combination, still looked remarkably similar to what I had last seen on prom night. Lindsay grinned at my probably stupefied look and said, "Tater, this confession thing is getting boring. Let's fool around."

I wasn't an 18 year old virgin any more. I had my share of lovers since prom night, so I wasn't completely paralyzed by fear. I was rock hard with lust, but that would be expected considering the circumstances. But there was something holding me back.

"Is this a good idea?"

"You tell me. What's bad about it? I mean, you weren't bad when you were 18. At 32, you should be better, right? I know I am."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"You're making too much of it. We're friends. Not friends like we hang out all the time, but old friends. Why can't we just enjoy each other? This isn't going to be a long term thing. You aren't going to become Mr. Lindsay Applewood, and I'm not planning on becoming Mrs. Tate Bynum, not that you asked."

She was right. What was the big deal? I'd had a couple of one night stands in my life, not that it was my general rule, but it happened. And maybe this was going to be a three night stand. Or until, apparently, Lindsay was going to "accidentally" flash her nipple at some party raising money for children, and make the world forget about the Mystery Man. I'm a man, and she, assuredly, was a woman, and she was offering me what promised to be a very good time.

I stood up and began to remove my clothing. I could see Lindsay smiling. I hoped that part of that was the fact that I had filled out a bit since high school, in a good way. One advantage of being really rich and not having to do much is that you can work out in a nice place, at your convenience, and I had packed on some muscle since we were last naked together. Not that Lindsay would be offering me a bodyguard job, but on the other hand, I was in here about to fuck what they were outside guarding.

By the time I was naked, Lindsay had retreated to the bedroom and was already under the covers. And by the time I got myself under them, I could feel the heat generated by her body. I rolled over to meet her, and the feeling of her soft curves pressing against me really did bring me back to prom night. But it was different. We were different. Back then, I was the naïve nerd, and she was the more experienced beauty. Although she was an international symbol of sexuality and beauty, I was a successful businessman, with more than a few notches on my proverbial bed post.

As we began to reacquaint ourselves with each other's bodies, it again struck me at how incredibly responsive she was. It was as if she could anticipate what I was going to do, and no matter what I did, she enjoyed it. My engineer's mind realized that Lindsay was pretty much what you would design if you wanted to create the ultimate in giving and receiving pleasure. Her mouth, her neck, her ears all proved to be erogenous zones, and when I began to caress her heavy, yet still firm breast, she indicated only that she was happy with my attentions, and wanted more and more, and I was more than willing to oblige. When I took her hard nipple into my mouth, she arched her back, pressing my face deeper into her mound, and moaning with delight.

Her appreciation of what I was doing was such a turn on, that it made me only want to please her more. And this time, when I went down on her, I'd like to think that my work was more expert than the last time, but the result, a wild, body shaking orgasm, was the same. Lindsay then returned the favor, giving me a blow job that was beyond any that I had ever experienced, and she looked as if she was enjoying it almost as much as I was. She did things with her mouth, tongue, lips, throat and hands that had my head spinning, and when I came in her mouth, I nearly passed out.

There was, unfortunately, one nagging concern that I could not get out of my head. At the moment when Lindsay, straddling me, her incredible breasts bobbing in front of her, was about to slip my resurgent cock into her slick pussy, I pulled back. As much as I wanted to bury myself inside her, my rational brain kicked in.

"Uh, this is going to sound a little weird, but I have to ask you this. You've been with more than a few men—" She nodded. "Before we do this, I'm assuming that you're using birth control-" She nodded, and made a face that indicated "of course." "And you are, uh, clean?"

She looked at me, and in that moment, it could have ended. But it didn't. "I get tested every three months, and I'm clean." As she finished speaking, she dropped down, impaling herself on me, and arching her back so that her gorgeous tits pointed directly in the air.

We went at it, hard and fast at first, slow and passionate later, for a while, until the exertion and the stresses of the day finally caused us to stop, drink some more of the receding Antarctic ice pack, and cuddle. I snuck a look at the clock, and was surprised to see that it was after midnight. I realized that I couldn't keep my eyes open, and fell asleep, listening to my breathing and Lindsay's.

***

When I woke up the next morning, I saw two bad things. First, Lindsay was not in bed with me. Second, it was 9:00, hours after I usually got up. I stifled the urge to check my phone, and went into the shower. I felt sore in places that I hadn't felt sore in years, and the shower felt good. Unfortunately, all I had were my clothes from yesterday, and the idea of getting into them again was unappealing. So, on went the robe, and I ventured out of the bedroom into the living room, hoping for coffee.

It was a little surprising to see Lindsay, comfortably dressed, hair in a ponytail and without her public warpaint, sitting at the small table, with Lillian, Ted and two other women. They appeared to be looking at a tablet, and talking animatedly.

Hearing me come in, Lindsay stopped in midsentence, looked at me and said, "Breakfast is over there. We got you some clean clothing over there. Get dressed, get some food and we need to talk."

I grabbed the bag of clothing from a very nice store and looked inside. Shirt, socks, underwear, slacks, all in my size. And not too different from my style, either, only fancier than I'm willing to spend on every day clothing. I went back into the bedroom, dressed, grabbed some coffee and a croissant, and found a place at the table.

Without any introduction, Lillian started with, "Tate, there's good news and bad news. Unfortunately for you, the good news is for Lindsay, and the bad news is for you. This whole situation has blown up, and we are looking at a bunch of stories about Lindsay and you in high school. They've gotten ahold of some prom pictures, and have spoken to some of your classmates. Basically, the story out there is, Lindsay was great, beautiful, fun, popular, and it is no surprise that her sexual activities have been discussed in detail. And we are all fine with that."

"No publicity is bad publicity, right?" I replied. Lillian nodded. "And what about me?" I asked, knowing the answer already.

"Yeah, that's the thing, Tate," Lillian continued. "Most of the people didn't really remember you from high school, and those that did remembered you as, nerdy, shy, quiet or dull, and a couple of people used the phrase 'pity date' when discussing prom. A few knew that you had gotten into computers, but when the reporters filled in the blanks with your accomplishments, most reacted by saying that they were surprised, and never thought that you'd have made anything like that of yourself."

"That's actually a pretty accurate picture of me back then," I noted, a bit ruefully.

Lindsay interrupted, "That's because they didn't know you like I did."

I smiled. "Thanks, Linzer. But we both know that if it hadn't been for prom, you would've agreed."

She shrugged.

"Look, Lillian, are my home and office still mobbed? I'd really like to get home and get back to work."

The attractive Asian woman typed something into her phone, looked at the screen and looked up. "It's definitely lightening up, but there are still a few people hanging around."

"So, your advice is to still wait?"

Lindsay jumped in before her assistant could answer. "Stick around another day, and by then you should be almost forgotten."

"Even before you accidentally on purpose flash your nipple?" I asked, smiling.

"Maybe, maybe not," she replied. "We've got these people pretty well figured out by now, but sometimes we're off by a day or so. And, in any event, I kind of like having you around."

"Then, I'll need a laptop. I need to work."

Lindsay nodded at one of the new women, a short blonde. "Tina—run out and get Tater a top of the line laptop, asap. Mac, right?"

"Yeah, thanks. Here's my credit card."

Waving her hands, Lindsay interrupted. "No, Tater, this is on me. I got you in this mess, and I owe you."

But I insisted. "No, Linzer, I want to buy it. You don't owe me anything anymore. You never have." I tossed Tina my Black Card and sent her on her way.

At that point, Ted said, "Lindsay, let's go over the nip slip."

"O.K. Which one is it this time?"

Ted consulted his iPad. "We've done 3 lefts and 2 rights, so, let's even it up, and go with the right."

I was incredulous at the dispassionate way they discussed this. Then Lillian interjected, "What's the background and lighting going to be?"