An Unusual Life

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A creampie wife, a camera, and the truth.
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A true story, by Tommy Blue-genes.

There have been so many airports this year.

First Phoenix, then London, then Glasgow—and finally, Boston. Travel like I'm running away from something, or like I'm finally free. Or maybe it's the same thing.

Tonight is a bad night though, and the voices in my head won't shut up. I can't sleep, so instead, I'll sit here at this computer and write.

My father died holding a gun to his head. My mother is a writer. I'll try her method first.

Boston. It is a place where modern buildings line cobblestone streets, and graveyards skulk between skyscrapers. Everywhere, there is the memory, the smell, the idea of the ocean.

I can see why she loves it there. Every guy has that oneshe, doesn't he? The one girl who doesn't, necessarily, need to be named. For me, that girl lives in Boston.

I have perfect recall of her at the airport; I can still see the expression on her face as we made eye contact the single time I flew out to visit.

She pulled up to the curb in her red Cherokee and got out to hug me. She's tall, maybe 5'11", and kissing her has always felt different than kissing other girls—I don't have to bend down, and when we step back, we're looking eye to eye.

I won't describe her more than that. You don't need to know. She was still married then, and she's still married now, I think. You can judge me if you want; but there are things you don't know. Circumstances that blur the lines between wrong and right. It had been her husband's idea, after all. At least in the beginning.

I won't write her name here. Even her first name. Not yet. She told me she reads these stories sometimes, and I'm not ready to write about us yet. So I'll write about other things, until enough time has passed that I can write about her.

Does this seem strange? That I'd start writing about her and then skip to something else? It's only strange if they are just stories I'm writing. But, of course, they aren't just stories—they're different aspects of a single, unified life. They're the truth, and the truth is always stranger than fiction.

Everything I write here will be true, because I honestly don't see the point in staying up late tonight to write about something I made up. Not tonight.

There's so much that's happened, and every part connects to every other part. I've had a very unusual life—and it all comes down to where I want to start. So, of course, sitting here at the computer, I started with her, my girl in Boston. And on some sleepless night when I'm again weighing the benefits of my parents' respective forms of panacea, I'll probably end with her.

Tonight though, I'm going to write about the night Ron introduced me to Lisa.

Ron met her on his trash route. That's all he'd say at first as we drove through the rain to meet her. It was a wet night, a few degrees below freezing, and the heat in his old Chevy wasn't working. The windshield wipers beat the slush away while I rubbed my hands to keep warm.

Ron is my oldest friend. We came up together, as close to brothers as two friends can be. We'd taken different paths for awhile after high school—he'd spent a few years in Texas, and I'd gone away to college—but now that we'd settled into our early thirties, we hung out pretty regularly.

"You're not going to believe this chick," he said.

"You saying she's that good-looking?" I asked.

"No, it's not that."

I looked at him.

"I mean, she's cute," he said. "She's got a nice face but that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"You'll just have to see."

I studied his face in the green dashboard light. Like me, he has dark hair and blue eyes. Some people assume we're related because we've got the same coloring, and we're about the same height. But I've got a bigger nose, a bigger jaw—a bigger, more rectangular face. I'm a blockier version of him. Growing up, I'd never had his shock-and-awe looks, but we still seemed to do about the same with girls. I was the brilliant one. The crazy one.

"You fucked her, didn't you?" I asked.

There was a pause, the tiniest pause. "No, of course not," he said. "This is just business."

I cocked an eyebrow but questioned no further. Ron had called me a half hour ago. He'd gotten me out of bed. Ron was a garbage man who used to be a business man—and who now wanted to be a business man again. He'd worn three-piece suits to work when he first got married. He'd run an office for Motorolla. Then came the lay-offs. Now his wife watched him got to work with a name tag sewn onto his shirt. For some kind of women, that wouldn't have mattered. The best kind, I think. Hey, a job's a job. But Ron's wife wasn't the best kind. And he knew it, even if he'd never admit it. Ron loved his wife, and in a fucked-up way, he was doing this for her.

"Porn," he'd told me a dozen times. "Is a billion dollar-a-year industry."

I had a good video camera. As his oldest friend, that made me his partner. We'd talked about it before, but we'd never done it. Ron had never been able to find a girl willing to fuck on camera.

We pulled up in front of a little duplex that sat just off the main square of Crown Point, Indiana. You could see the clock tower of the courthouse from the front yard. It's the kind of duplex that's wedged between shops and restaurants and probably will end up being an antique store at some point, once downtown has a few more years of sprawl under its belt.

"Her name is Lisa," Ron said. "But don't mention I gave her real name, okay?"

"Sure," I said.

"Sorry I got you out of bed so late, but she's married and can only do this at certain times."

We walked up the stairs to the second floor and knocked.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but Lisa wasn't it.

She answered the door with a huge smile, looking for all the world like some conservative doctor's office receptionist.

"I thought you guys would never get here," she said and ushered us inside. Ron did the introductions.

She was smiley and bubbly, mid-thirties, with dark hair and a pleasant, oval face. She was a little heavy in that curvy, sexy kind of way that makes a little heavy look good. She looked like somebody's wife, or somebody's mother. Not the kind of fake-sexy you'd see on T.V., but the more lived-in kind you might come across in a grocery store.

The small front room was cramped. The furniture was dingy and worn. A poster of a huge body builder armed one wall. It looked like the home of a frat boy, not the home of a married couple.

I gestured to the posters. "So you're husband likes working out I take it?"

"Brian? No." She smiled. "Oh, you mean the posters. This isn't my house. Lord, no. I wouldn't live here for anything. This is my boyfriend's place."

"I thought you two were married."

"I am. Do you boys want something to drink?"

"Sure," I said. Ron declined. I think he was nervous.

"So when is the guy supposed to be here?" Ron asked.

Lisa looked at her watch. "Any minute."

"So we're going to be shooting you and your boyfriend?" I asked, quick on my feet.

She looked at Ron. Ron gave me an apologetic look. She turned back to me. "No, honey, my boyfriend would kill me if he knew I was doing this. He's an old-fashioned guy. We're only using Kevin's apartment because yourfriend," she hooked a thumb in Ron's direction. "is too cheap to spring for a hotel room."

"Oh."

"I can't do it at my house," she continued. "Because my husband is home with the kids...but I had a key to this place, so I figured, what the heck."

"Where's your boyfriend now?"

"Work. He's a foreman at Ford. Doesn't get off till six in the morning, so we're safe till then."

I looked at Ron. "We'll be out of here before that," he said.

"So who's the guy then?" I asked.

"I met him over the internet," she said. "Well, I haven't actually met him yet, but we've chatted."

Ron and I sat on one of couches while Lisa went to the kitchen to get my drink.

"Is Miller, okay?" she asked, handing me the bottle.

"That's fine." I took a sip. It was nice and cold.

Lisa sat down next to Ron and draped a hand over his thigh. She leaned into him and smiled, "So what have you told your friend about me?"

Ron glanced at me. "Not much. I didn't think you wanted me to."

She looked me up and down. The smile widened. She turned to Ron. "He looks pretty trustworthy to me." Her hand drifted to my leg and caressed my thigh. "So tell me, why are you here?"

"I'm going to be taking the stills while Ron handles the video."

"Is that the only reason you're here?"

"And moral support, I guess."

"Is that it?"

I looked at her. "And because I'm curious." It was the truth. "Why are you here?"

"That's easy," she said. "Because I always wanted to be a porn star."

Married women don't film pornos in their boyfriends' apartments because they can help themselves. Or because they're careful. Lisa fascinated me. Everything about her fascinated me. We made small talk while she took her clothes off.

She'd been married for eleven years. She worked as a loan officer for a bank.

She dropped her blouse to the floor and unclasped her bra.

She was a member of the Parent Teachers Association at her daughter's school. She drove a BMW S series.

She kicked her skirt off and stepped out of her panties.

She was a charter member of The Meals on Wheels program, an organization that brought food to local shut-ins. She talked about herself while she stripped.

She sat down, naked, next to Ron and draped a thigh over his legs while she leaned back against the cushions.

She was a real person with a real job and a real family. And she was also, by her own admission, from her very earliest recollection, a freak.

"When I played with Barbies as a kid," she said, an evil smile spreading across her face. "Barbie loved taking her clothes off in front of Ken."

"So you were always like this?" I asked.

"It started in High School," she said. One hand drifted down between her legs. She spread them wide apart, revealing an open, glistening slit. She was shaved completely bare. She had no embarrassment at all. Her fingers began working circles.

"By the time I graduated, I knew I was out of control. I needed to come three times a day. I needed it." She closed her eyes now, letting her fingers work.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost a whisper. "I tried to be faithful in college, but there were parties, and alcohol, and guys hitting on me; and I found even when I was happy in a relationship, even when I was committed, even when I told myself I wouldn't do anything, I still ended up fucking other guys. I'd get drunk and then some guy at a party would drag me into a dark room, and I just couldn't say no. When other guys heard about it, I got invited to a lot of parties."

"How many guys did you fuck in college?" I asked.

"Dozens. Maybe thirty or forty." Her face scrunched. Her eyes opened. "No, it had to be more than that." She paused. "I was in school for five years, and there were parties two or three times a month. It had to bea lotmore guys than that. It was so crazy. I'd go to these parties and it was like I couldn't get enough, and the best ones were the ones who didn't even ask, or even try to talk to me." Her face lit up while she talked.

"They'd just get me drunk and pile me into a room, all these bodies, guy after guy, that was my favorite. Sometimes they'd use condoms and sometimes they wouldn't. Usually I'd be too drunk to notice, and I'd sit on the toilet the next morning, touching my sore pussy, trying to tell if it was sloppy and full of cum, or if the guy had used a condom. Because I wasn't on birth control back then."

"Weren't you worried about getting pregnant?"

"I was terrified of it. That was the crazy thing. I'd sit in class the next morning and that's all I could think about, being pregnant. It scared me to death—but that didn't stop me. My parents are so religious. Sometimes I'd tell the guys to pull out, and sometimes they would. But if I didn't know they're names, if I'd just met them—a lot of those guys would just hold me down and cum in me anyway. And do you want to hear something fucked-up?"

"What?"

"Those were the best orgasms I ever had. When they did that. When they held me down and just filled me up even after I told them not to. I'd almost pass out from the pleasure—like glass breaking, or something shattering inside me, I can't describe it."

"Does your husband know you were like that?"

"No. I started dating him around the time all this was happening. He was kinda shy, and kinda nice. He was a virgin and didn't really know what he was doing. I liked that. The first time he ate my pussy it was full of what somebody had left behind." She smiled again. "Brian didn't know, of course. He had no experience with it, so he didn't know what to expect. He's done that a lot of times now."

"So how did you end up married?"

"I did love him. I mean, I do." She paused again, and her fingers slowed on her pussy. She looked at me. "He's what I wanted to be happy with. My parents liked him. I wasn't pregnant when we got engaged, either. I made the decision to marry him before I found out about being pregnant. To be honest, by then, after all those times in high school and college, I'd just assumed I couldn't have kids." She shrugged. "Some women have trouble."

"So did you stop fucking other guys when you got engaged?"

"No. I tried to. I really did. But there were slips. I can't work for a man I haven't fucked. I can't respect him. And I fuck a lot of clients, too. I've probably fucked as many people a year since I've been married as I did when I was single."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Lisa got up from the couch and walked naked to the door. She stood to the side and opened it slowly. "You must be John," she said.

A voice from the hall answered. "Yeah, that's me."

"Come on in," she said and led the man into the room. She introduced us. We shook hands like there wasn't a naked woman in the room.

"Where should I put my coat?" the man asked.

"Anywhere is fine. Over there, on the chair."

John was medium height and build, mid-forties, with sandy hair and a trimmed mustache. His hair was thinning a little in the front, and when he took his jacket off I saw the beginnings of a paunch. If Lisa looked like a receptionist, this guy looked like somebody's high school algebra teacher. For all I knew, hewasan algebra teacher.

"You have a long drive?" Ron asked him.

"Not too bad. I live in Chicago, so it took about an hour or so. I would've been here sooner, but the traffic got bad around the state line."

"Traffic's always bad on 94." I said.

And the small talk went on. It was bizarre. We talked about all kinds of shit. The guy told us about his kids. I didn't want to know about his kids. I didn't want to hear about his wife's back surgery, or about his son's wrestling record in middle school. I think we were too nervous to start what we were really there for.

Lisa was the one that got things rolling. While the guy talked about his job at an auto parts store (so he wasn't an algebra teacher after all), she dropped to her knees and unzipped his pants. She pulled out his flaccid cock and engulfed it with her mouth. He stopped talking. That had shut him up.

"So Lisa told you what we're doing tonight?" Ron asked him. Lisa sucked. We were finally getting down to business.

"Yeah, she said you needed a guy for filming." He put his hand on the top of Lisa's head.

"That's right," Ron said. "I'll need you to sign a release."

"That's fine. She told me you'd make sure the porn wasn't sold in Indiana or Illinois, right?"

"Yeah, there are regions I can avoid in distribution."

"Okay, because I can't have anybody recognizing me around where I live."

"No problem."

I hoped for their sakes that Ron really had control over that. He'd talked about distributors to me, and he'd never mentioned being able to control where the porn was sold. Basically, Ron was going to try and sell the footage to a production studio he had contacts with. I guess it was possible they'd agree not to sell it in certain areas.

Lisa and John moved to the couch. Ron wasted no time getting the camera out.

John's cock didn't react well to all the commotion. It took him a few minutes to get hard. Maybe it was nervousness, but Lisa was on her knees sucking away while he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. Ron got a real close-up, and Lisa played for the camera, running her tongue up and down the guy's shaft. He had an average dick. Or like my idea of what an average dick might look like. Around five or six inches, kind of on the skinny side. His balls were shaved, and she moved lower to suck on them.

After a few minutes she moved to the couch and he spread her legs and ate her. Hung though he may not have been, one thing the guy excelled at was eating pussy. I must admit I learned a thing or two that night watching him. He dove in and ate box like a champ. I snapped pictures from a dozen different angles.

When he finally mounted her, he made one quick thrust, and he was balls deep, pushing into her in short, fast strokes.

She moaned, and I clicked, and ray recorded, and it was all so fucking surreal, happening right in front me like that—this housewife from across town, and a stranger she'd just met who's name almost certainly wasn't John.

John drove into her like a piston. Fast. Too fast. We should have seen it coming. In a few moments, he groaned, and his hips bucked.

"I'm coming!" he shouted.

He buried himself in her, ass clenching, and emptied himself into her.Just how she likes,I thought.

"Fuck, yes!" She locked her legs behind his ass, driving him deeper while he came.

Finally, he collapsed on top of her.

"What the fuck was that?" Rob asked.

Lisa looked up at him. The guy just laid there and breathed.

"I needed a money shot."

"I can do it again in a few minutes." The guy said. He still hadn't moved.

"Seriously," Rob said. "This footage is worthless without a come shot."

"Just give me a few minutes."

"No problem., how long are you going to need?"

The guy sat up. "Like fifteen minutes."

"Okay."

Cum drooled from Lisa's open pussy. I closed the camera and turned it off. Lisa got us all beers and we watched the footage on the video camera's view finder. It was pretty decent footage.

"I'd fuck me," Lisa said.

Then came the small talk again. Fifteen minutes turned into twenty, turned into half an hour. The small talk was getting smaller and more threadbare. Lisa tried getting the ball rolling the same way she did before, but this time it didn't work. She sucked the guy's dick, but he didn't get hard.

She took a break from sucking, and we had another beer. I don't even remember what we talked about next. The fucking weather or something. It was as awkward as anything I'd ever seen. Lisa went down on the guy again and this time his dick actually shrank, I think, instead of getting longer.

"I don't think I'm up for another round tonight, guys," he said. By the time he said it, it was obvious.

Ron got him to sign the release, and then we shook hands, and the guy said his goodbyes.

"Email me," was the last thing the he said to Lisa before he walked out the door.

She nodded and waved.

"Fuck," Ron said when the door was closed. "We need a money shot." He turned to Lisa. "Is there anyone else we can get tonight?"

"On camera?" she asked. "It's pretty short notice."

"Fuck."

"What about one of you two?" she asked, looking back and forth between us. "I'm up for it if you are?"

I won't say the thought hadn't crossed my mind.

"I've got to deal with the distributors" Ron said. "They think I'm a producer. It wouldn't be professional if I were actually in the film."

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