A Little Side Business Pt. 02

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Of course, it’s better if you read part one first.

*****

A Little Side Business, Part Two

The Sample and a Glimpse behind the Facade

In which our hero is tested for the first time alone by the boss.

I walked quickly down the hall trying to detumesce, wondering if I’d just been sexually harassed. Was it harassment if I liked it? It’s not every day your female boss shows you porn, but she wasn’t trying to get in my pants or blackmail me into some action. She was offering me another job. Sometimes opportunities come from the most unexpected places. And work rules are more of a suggestion and an ass-covering exercise, right?

I didn’t have time to give it much thought as I went out onto the noisy sales floor and got back to helping people move their address books, sign into email, understand why their bill was “so damn high”. Though my shorts were a little sticky and vagrant images of that black cock parting Charlotte rose into my mind, the rest of the afternoon went by fast – we were very busy. We’ve got a good team in the store. The sales people grind out the numbers, we Experience Specialists pick up the slack and keep the customers from losing their shit over simple things. Cell phone users like to lose their shit. Here’s a pro tip from tech support: Google it for Christ’s sake!

Well, all in a day’s work and as I said, I could forget it the moment I went out the door. Seven PM got there soon enough. After showing an ungrateful grandma how to call the insurance company to replace a phone she’d put through the washing machine, I checked out with Karl and Tamika, the two Assistant Managers on duty, then went to the men’s room and changed into my riding gear; black shorts and shoes, yellow jersey and socks. I was going to be riding a little farther than usual to get to the mystery address Charlotte had texted me, but it was hot and the light would hold for another hour on that July night.

Hopping on my single-speed in the parking lot I headed east through some neighborhoods to keep off of the busier streets. I get my best thinking done while riding, my body occupied and my mind wandering. Once past that first mile, when my legs move unconsciously to the rhythm and my lungs fill and empty effortlessly, I get into a euphoric state. The endorphins course through my bloodstream and I’m flying, high and free. That was how I tolerated that job and the patient wait for retirement. It was even a passable substitute for sex sometimes. I dreamed of riding around the world.

After a brief detour on Eisenhower to get past the expressway, I rode into more suburban streets, bigger lots, and more money in the form of McMansions as I approached the marshes. Through the live oak trees bearded with spanish moss I saw the water and sky open up. Thunderheads over the ocean sailed toward the purpling eastern horizon trailing skirts of rain and sun beams. A good place to see rainbows.

I wondered what Charlotte’s meeting was about. Probably more details of the job; what she’d set up for customer service, how to deal with this kind of clientele, maybe I would meet some other employees. I still didn’t know how much money she was offering. I guess I got distracted. Could I ask to see more product? I wondered if she could give me a link so I could watch it at home and finally get off. The memory of the morning video kept bubbling up in my thoughts as I rode. I reflected on just how much more powerful the film was because of the beautiful, uplifting score.

And the editing-that was exceptional.

I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going, but I’d done some Saturday morning group rides on this route. It was a pleasant 30 mile circuit filled with marsh vistas and classic low-country scenery. There were always egrets and ibis in the channels. Sometimes a dolphin pod broke the water following one of the trawlers.

I crossed Shipyard Creek on Diamond Causeway, light evening traffic slipping past me as I followed the directions. I didn’t think there was anything on Pigeon Island other than birds and turtles, but Google told me to turn right onto a gravel drive flanked by two old brick columns at a nondescript spot in the road. There was no sign or street number, but I could see that vehicles passed through this gate occasionally. The grass showed two ruts. So I biked down one of them under a canopy of ancient limbs, spanish moss and resurrection fern, the evening growing dim and quiet as I passed more deeply into the island. If you aren’t moving here something will grow on you. I had the sense of cycling into the past.

Finally I emerged into a clearing where an old brick and tabby house stood in stately shabbiness. My carpenter senses tingled just looking at it. There’s nothing like restoring an old home. This one was once a great house, too. Now it was maintained, but clearly not regularly occupied. No lights shone from the neatly ordered windows of its Georgian facade in the bahis firmaları falling evening. I heard no sound as I stopped and the crunching of my tires on the gravel died away. Some birds, some wind, a very distant whisper of traffic on the causeway; otherwise nothing. No sign of human life.

So I followed the track around the building. There I found a badly neglected formal garden with a lawn stretching toward the water of a channel deep in the marsh. There was a light out that way, so I kept walking. I found Charlotte’s car and with regained confidence guided my bike down an old brick path. The no-see-ums were about to get fierce. On the left there was a nice pool, well kept with a mowed grass verge. I entered onto a small patio of dark tiles and stood before a pool house big enough to make most families a good home. The sun was dimming fast in the trees behind me as I leaned my bike on the hedge and knocked on the open sliding glass door from which yellow light spilled. Soft music played inside somewhere. I was about ten minutes early.

I had never seen Charlotte out of her polo and khakis. Correction: until that morning video. Though I’d imagined her runner’s legs wrapped around me more than once. Hey, an old guy’s got to work with what he’s got. And I’ve got a good imagination and a strong right hand. And stamina.

“Welcome to Bateaux,” said Charlotte, sliding open the screen. She was barefoot and wrapped in a red beach robe, her hair wet, apparently just from the shower, looking much fresher than I, who was dripping sweat. Charlotte gestured toward the old house. “Long story short – there are a couple of robber barons in my bloodline who bought this from the original family in the 1920s. This is where the family stashed me when I got into trouble. Now headquarters of Chatterley International,” she giggled. She held a wine glass and I thought it might not be her first.

I slipped past her in the open door, appreciating the AC.

“Woo! You might consider a shower, Frank,” she said with a slight pinching of the nostrils. “I’ve got a spare robe and towels. Go through that door and you’ll find them on the right, just by the shower.” With that she pushed my shoulder and I couldn’t say no. I located the still steamy shower, took a quick one, toweled off and wrapped in the robe, deep red and thick. There was nothing else to cover myself with, so I rinsed my nylon riding shorts and slipped them on underneath before joining her in the sitting room where she was pouring me a glass of what looked like merlot. Who stole my cheese?, I thought when I noticed no food to go with the wine. But it didn’t seem polite to say it out loud.

The place had a modern, country-cottage look. I was sure I’d insult Charlotte if I mentioned Martha Stewart, so, gallantly, I didn’t. I sat on a chair opposite her and took my wine, still wondering what kind of meeting this would be. Charlotte coiled herself into the couch, pulling her feet up under her. Her crimson toe polish matched the robe.

She looked at me appraisingly for a few long moments. I wasn’t sure where to look. With her hair down and dry Charlotte was a much softer woman. On the couch, in the soft robe, even her posture was less stiff. She was curled, willowy, around her wine glass. Should I be surprised there was another side of Charlotte, especially after our earlier meeting? Of course, none of us brings our whole self to work. Inside the VoltT box we were all business. You could not be sensual at VoltT – it was against company policy.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you here,” she giggled, again. It was awkward to see her less than professional. I was still scrambling to integrate her new persona into my idea of her. “Frank, I’ve got a need for your skills. The business has a need for your skills, I mean, and so I hope you can get on board fast.” Her brows knitted charmingly when she struggled to concentrate.

“What does Chatterley need?,” I asked, leaning forward, evincing a business-like interest even in my robe.

“You have a part to play, Frank, but I need to start you out small before getting to the big stuff.” Her mind seemed to wander for a moment. “I’ve been getting requests that are beyond our current staffing. Business has been surprisingly good. It’s just been a few months, I told you, but I’ve got orders that are beginning to tax our production capacity.” She slurred ‘production capacity’ a bit.

“I know one of the first hurdles of a business is to avoid growing too fast,” I ventured. “You know a lot of needy women, apparently. But you said overhead was very low. Where’s the issue specifically?”

“Actually, Frank, the women can wait. In fact, scarcity for a product like mine makes it even more valuable. A waiting list is a plush…plus in this market. What I lack is staff.”

“Right, so I’m here to do what, exactly? Customer service? Project management? Accounting? I have experience from my own business in those areas.” I leaned back, spreading my hands expansively.

Charlotte put her wine glass on the table and leaned forward, lacing her hands together, kaçak iddaa elbows on her knees. There was that cleavage I’d seen a hint of that morning. I dragged my eyes up to hers.

“Frank, that piece you saw earlier was made with materials at hand, so to speak. I wrote and directed it. Marcus from the 17th St store is the black actor. The cinematographer is Rita, in Sales at our store, and a woman named Julie from SCAD wrote and created the music. I do all the jobs you listed above and I do just have enough time to do them all, for now. Frankly, errr, Frank, I need an older man.” She giggled again and took another sloppy sip. Definitely tipsy.

I sat there stunned. I knew all but one of those people and I had no idea they were living this double life. Then I heard what she said.

In order to preserve his dignity an older man can be willfully blind to a young woman’s advances. Of course there was a part of me that wished passionately that this set up, us sitting alone, freshly showered in plush robes, half drunk, was going to end in bed. But I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. And I was beginning to feel a bit foolish sitting there in the short robe, sipping wine with my drunken boss, whose porn film I’d just seen that morning. I could be about to have a terrible misunderstanding.

“Wait, what do you mean you need an older man?” I pressed myself back into the couch.

Charlotte took a deep breath. “We’ve had a request for a film with a storyline that involves an older husband and his much younger wife. In fact, several scenarios with older men. It surprised me. I thought these women would be wanting to see the young studs, would be fantasizing about boy-toys. But no, it turns out a lot of us want older men.” She smiled self-consciously and looked away. She poured herself another glass.

I was very tempted to pour myself another, too, but being dehydrated from my ride, it would go straight to my head. The situation was weird enough. I wanted to think straight.

“You want me to act in a porn film. Is that what you’re saying?” Maybe I should have gotten drunk and lost my inhibitions right at that moment. But I had come to talk business and I was having a hard time wrapping my head around this development.

“I can’t imagine a better candidate for the role, Frank. You’re fit. Your hair is naturally salt-and-pepper. You speak well and carry yourself with confidence. And the glasses. You are damned sexy…” she trailed off as if she’d said too much. Yet, she was making a pitch to get me to do just what the market demanded. I was beginning to try to imagine myself in the role, nothing I’d ever thought about seriously. I think watching porn made me less likely to want to be an adult actor – besides their enormous equipment, those guys seemed really low class. It was outside my physical ability and below my dignity, I had thought. But this highbrow erotica that Charlotte was creating? Hmmmm, maybe.

“Frank, I’m sort of desperate.” Charlotte spread her hands, robe teasingly parted enough to see the curve of one breast. She was waiting for something. Finally, sighing, she said, “You can clear five thousand a month for a few hours work.”

I nearly snorted my wine.

“Dollars?” I asked. Now this was getting interesting. I could definitely reach my retirement goals a lot sooner making that kind of bank. But, porn. Really?

“It’s a lot like the job you already do, Frank. You would be problem solving, pleasing people, filling a need.” Charlotte was rambling a bit. But I was beginning to reframe the idea. Just a job. Being creative. Making beautiful things, groundbreaking things. Bespoke Erotica had a nice sound to it. I didn’t want an emotional attachment in my life and that had kept me from dating much. So I wasn’t getting laid much. But if it was my job! And just a job, well maybe it could work.

Charlotte began to tear up. “Frank, I know I’ve sort of misled you today. I toyed with you, letting you know only enough to get you to say yes to my proposal. I got you out here alone for the final pitch. This is a big threshold to cross. Making love on camera is not easy. But I want to capture genuine happiness and joy and beauty. I want that in my films. I can see you expressing that. It will take a very special man to do this the way I want to do it.” She paused, looking down, “I’ll understand if you can’t.” She wept then and I crossed the rug to her on the couch, the damsel in distress. The deal was sealed that moment.

“Charlotte, I think if I can approach it as a job that I can try to do it. No promises, but I’ll try.” Now I was trying to convince myself by convincing her. She buried her face in the thick robe on my chest and cried. I might have been more concerned that she was being affected so much by the wine, but my mind was reeling from the idea of trying to be a porn star. Clearly, she was drunk, passing from giddy to maudlin. I knew this pattern too well. I felt a tender sadness for her.

I didn’t know what to do next. She lifted her soft, salty lips to mine and kissed me, then. I kissed back with a little hesitation. At kaçak bahis the back of my mind was the whole boss/employee thing, but not far back. So we kissed tenderly for a long time.

Her breathing moved from that of a weeping woman to that of an aroused one. She lay limp in my arms, damp and warm, giving and receiving gentle kisses. I wanted to touch her intimately so badly. And she seemed to have surrendered herself to me, twisting gently in my lap. But I was there at her request, to be a part of her business. And she was drunk, but I was a gentleman. I hesitated to be assertive, so was just slowly kissing, gently teasing tongues, breathing deeply, eyes closed. I don’t have to tell you I was hard as a cypress knee.

After a while, Charlotte disengaged and sat up, her robe loose, hair mussed, looking a little angry.

“Do we seem to be on the casting couch, Frank?” Hands on hips, right breast peeking out, eyes curtained by her tousled hair.

“Do I get a screen test, boss? Is this where I say, ‘I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille?” I was feeling a little giddy myself with the arousal and the wine. I smiled at her, looking into her eyes deeply for the first time. There was some sadness and irritation there that I put down to the alcohol. She pulled her robe together.

“Well, yes. I’ll have to make arrangements to do a test filming soon. Probably here.” She was getting business-like again, thinking it through. Maybe she didn’t have a standard practice for hiring actors. I wondered how Marcus had got the job. And were there others? She must have to see it as a job, too, of course, to keep from complicating things. She took a deep breath and composed herself, straightening her robe, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

“You will need a current STD test and about four hours of free time,” she said, pulling up the VoltT scheduling app on her phone. “It looks like you and Tamika are both closing next Tuesday. How about you be here at 8 that morning? I’ll need the results of the test no later than Monday.” She stood and took the empty bottle of wine to the kitchen. I rose and watched her go.

I was confused, aroused and excited about the new prospect. Was the meeting over? Was I expected to have sex with AM Tamika? How was she going to find out about it? Who else would be there? Was everybody else in on this? I was still semi-hard in my red robe.

Charlotte returned from the kitchen, appearing very sober again. “Well, Frank, we can do some preliminaries here tonight. Take off that robe,” she said, pointing and flicking her finger. “I want to see you naked.”

I hesitated a moment, hands at the belt. She just looked at me coolly.

I dropped my eyes and untied the sash, letting the ends drop. I pulled the robe apart and my stiff member pressed my black riding shorts out.

“Seriously?” she said. “Lose the shorts.” I took a deep uncertain breath, skinned them down and my semi-hard-on swayed semi-proudly.

Her eyes lingered there.

“All the way,” she said, and I dropped the robe from my shoulders. It was strange being naked in front of my boss and I began to wilt a bit more. She continued to look, arms crossed, appraising, biting her bottom lip.

“You look as good as I imagined, Frank. Very lean. Such good legs. A narrow waist, especially for an older man.” She was far enough away not to see the wrinkles. “Touch yourself, now. Bring that erection back.”

I did, and it did. My cock rose, thickening in my grip.

“Show me your butt. Turn around,” she ordered and I pivoted, stroking myself slowly. It was good to have her appreciative eyes on me, to hear that she liked what she saw. It had been a very long time.

“I knew you had a nice ass. Now rub one out,” she said, still just watching, judging.

“Just like that?” I asked.

“If you’re going to perform, Frank, you have to be able to perform on command. You are the object of my customer’s attentions and you need to be able to meet their requests, however odd.”

So l started stroking, trying to get my head into a place where I could go all the way with it. But I kept thinking about her staring and my being the only one naked in the room. It made me self-conscious. It was a tricky mental exercise. I tried to use my imagination, like I usually do when alone. But she was right there and though I was hard, I was far from an orgasm.

So I looked back at her and began thinking of her naked, replaying the video of her fleshy labia dripping wet and spread wide by the black cock. I thought about the shiny, wet strand of juice she expressed as she was bringing herself to orgasm. I looked at her while I recalled this, staring at her robe-covered body. I began to strain toward an orgasm of my own, growling softly.

Charlotte relaxed a bit, dropping her arms. Her robe parted enough to show flesh from her neck to her ankle, a long pale strip broken only by the dark shadow of her pubic hair. One hand moved slowly inside of the robe. She trailed her fingers along her hip, pulling the fabric wide. Did she know what I was thinking of; the glistening union of her dripping pussy and Marcus’s cock and the slow triumphant march toward eruption that we watched this morning? How her mouth and her pussy each opened for him, engulfed him, pulled the thick cream up from his balls?

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