Barry's Sluts Ch. 01: Suzanna

"Yeah . . . I figured as much," Barry said dejectedly.

"Sorryyyyy . . ." she cooed sympathetically. "But if you still need a job, there are several work aid and work study positions available . . ."

"Nah," Barry answered, "I kinda wanted to do off-campus work." The makings of an idea flashed in his head. "Although . . . Maybe there's something in sociology? Or general social sciences?"

The blond lifted a curious eyebrow. "What is your major, exactly?"

"I . . . don't have one yet," Barry confessed. She was becoming more confused by that answer, so he elaborated. "Last night, I kinda got an idea of what I want to do. I just sort of figured that psychology would be the closest thing to it. But, I dunno . . . I guess it could be part of sociology and general social sciences."

"What is it you're interested in?" she asked, her confused expression unerring.

Well, it was now or never; no point in holding back now. "Well, actually . . . sex," he told her. "I want to study sex."

The statement prompted the girl to blink a few times, her heavy, bolded eyelashes flashing at him, presumably daunted by the boldness of his confession. "W-What . . .?"

"I'm just interested in studying the subject of sex," he said again, aware of the irony in confessing this to the incredible pillar of hotness before him. "Sexology, human sexuality, sexual reproduction . . . all of that stuff."

Her eyes darted around a bit at first, flabbergasted by his response. ". . . Seriously . . .?" she asked him.

"Totally serious," he nodded.

"Well, damn . . . other than 'Biology of Human Sexuality' and 'Sex and Advertising', I don't know of any subjects that are explicitly about sex." Again, she pouted at him. "I think you may be in the wrong school for this."

Barry sighed, his worst case scenario coming to pass. "I thought as much. But . . . well . . . I had to try anyway."

The girl was still studying him with visible disbelief. "And you're really serious about this . . .?"

"Yeah," Barry told her again. "Even if I gotta transfer schools or something, this is something I gotta do. I just want to do something, whether on campus or off, where I can kind of delve into the subject of sex."

The girl paused for a brief second before reaching for the post-it notes on her desk, taking a pen in her left hand and scribbling something down upon it. When she was finished, she peeled off the note and handed it to Barry. He glanced at it, reading the name 'Suzanna' and below it, a time and place.

"What is th—"

"If you're serious, show up at the place and time I wrote. But, if you're trying to play games, don't bother. I don't have the time or the disposition to be jerked around." She glared at Barry, her expression conveying how serious she was about those last two statements.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll be there."

"Good," she told him, turning back to the keyboard and returning to her original task. "And don't tell anybody else."

"Right," he acknowledged.

"Goodbye," she said abruptly. Barry got the hint and made his exit.

******

Some ten hours later, at about 5:50, Barry showed up at the location the girl had written—Manny's Pizza—located on the far side of the campus, near the Gym/Stadium. He was the only customer in the place when he entered, and he declined making an order, which only made the restaurant owner eye him funnily when he took a seat. Barry had no idea why he'd been asked to come here, so he wasn't inclined to order anything or prolong his visit. He was here for one reason and one reason only: because 'Suzanna' had asked him to be here.

And it was hard to disappoint that face.

She arrived less than ten minutes later, refreshingly punctual compared to most college students. She entered and smiled at the clerk, who seemed equally happy to see her. Barry understood why—she was dressed largely the same as earlier, with the exact same red heels click-clacking on the floor. It had been those heels, in fact, that had alerted him to her presence even before she entered the pizzeria. There was a distinct rhythm to her walk, one that had become unmistakable after only a single meeting between the two of them.

The only difference in her appearance now was that she wore a thin white and blue coat made of nylon. The coat was rather unremarkable on its own, but the way she wore it was pretty distinctive. The coat was longer than the dress she was wearing underneath, but only barely, and she kept the top of it unzipped so that the corners fell down around her bare shoulders. The combination served to make her appear completely nude underneath the coat, as her strapless and short-hemmed dress was undetectable underneath. The style made her look deliberately slutty, and she undoubtedly enjoyed the attention she got from it.

When she finally sat at the table, across from Barry, his cock was almost fully at attention underneath his jeans.

"Glad to see you're on time," she told him with a gentle smile.

"Uh, yeah," Barry responded whimsically, barely able to think as he stared at the cleavage she proudly displayed. "Um . . . totally on time."

She giggled at his attention and reached into her purse for a cigarette—completely ignoring the sign on the wall beside them which said "No Smoking". As she lit up and took a huge puff, Barry noticed that the owner wasn't offering a word edgewise. Of course, it seemed Suzanna was counting on that.

"You ordered anything?" she asked him.

"No," Barry told her. "What're you having?"

"Nothing," she told him, exhaling a puff of smoke in a slow, erotic fashion. "I'm kinda on a diet."

Barry merely nodded and held out a polite hand. "By the way, my name's Barry."

"Suzanna," she responded with a soft shake. "Though, I guess you already knew that." She twisted her hips sideways, lifting one of her slender, silky legs over the other while draping one arm over the back of her chair. "So . . . about this 'internship' you're looking for. Why are you looking at 'sex' for it?"

"Those reasons are personal," Barry replied, knowing there was no way he was going to tell her his real motivation. He wasn't even going to head the topic in that direction. Suzanna looked pretty bright. If she got him talking, he might reveal something a little too personal, and Barry had no intention of even hinting what his he and his mother had done. That would be just between them, and no one else.

"That's all you need to know," he finished.

"Really." She sucked on the cigarette once more, staring at him from the corner of her eye. He had piqued her interest—he could see that much. "Well, listen. I did some looking at the office, and there isn't anything specifically about 'sex' in our curriculum. You might be able to find a few classes here and there for a custom major that might sorta add up to what you're looking for, but I wouldn't put too much stock in learning anything really meaningful. Fact is, you're not going to find what you're looking for at our university. Period."

Barry groaned loudly and folded his arms. "You could have told me that on the phone or something. What the hell we doing here?"

She snuffed her cigarette into an ashtray shaped like a compact. "I might be able to help you learn what you want to know another way. But first, I kinda need to know why you're interested in sex specifically as a subject."

"What . . . What do you mean?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Is it something you want to learn because you want an intellectual career in it? You wanna eventually go for your Masters and try to be, like, the next Sigmund Freud or something? Or do you want to learn for the sake of . . . " her eyes scanned him at one sultry glance ". . .your own benefit?"

Barry already knew what his answer to that was, but he mulled it over for a moment or two anyway. Would it be more in tune with his goals to pursue a serious study about sex? Or did it not matter what he learned, or how he learned it?

Which did he value more—the knowledge, or the education?

"My reasons are personal," he told her, once again being as vague as possible. "But, if there's a way for me to learn, even outside of the school if need be, then I'm listening to what you have to say."

She smiled wickedly, her sultry red lips exposing an impossible set of pearly teeth. "Good. Then, I'll get right to the point. I'm an actress. For porn. I work for a major studio down in Los Angeles. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, I drive down there to film and do photo ops. The sessions start at four in the afternoon and don't end until ten . . . sometimes even later. If you're interested, they've been looking for a guy to help out with some minor tasks—setting up props, fetching lunch, that sort of thing. If you agree to come down there with me tomorrow, I'll put in a good word for you, and it's just about guaranteed that they'll hire you."

Barry couldn't believe it—he was sitting next to a real, live porn actress? It wasn't much of a stretch, considering her manner of dress, along with her unbelievably erotic demeanor. The girl obviously knew how to act like a total slut, and even seemed to revel in it. But he had never actually met a woman who had sex to make a living. His mother would freak if she knew that her son was talking to someone that was, for all intents and purposes, a professional whore.

. . . Yeah, the same mother that he had fucked not even a few days ago.

Irony was a bitch.

But this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Barry had no idea what a real porn set was like—he'd watched porn like every other kid his age, but it never really seemed like a "real" thing to him. Silly as it sounded, he'd just as soon assumed that none of those people fucking on camera actually existed in real life, and everything took place in some little fantasy world. The idea of seeing that sort of thing up close and personal gave him a shiver of excitement.

"Well?" Suzanna asked him, fishing or another cigarette.

Barry smiled at her. "Where do I meet you?"

******

He couldn't get the idea out of his head: he had met a real porn actress. Even better, she was gonna take him to her studio. For a minute, he completely forgot that his reasons were that he was going there to "learn". Even if that weren't the case, he didn't think there was any way he would pass this up. It was unbelievable—here he was, only once-removed from his own virginity, and he was about to go and watch professionals do it. If he wanted to become less shy about fucking, this certainly seemed like the right way to do it.

Barry laid up in bed the next day, just thinking about what was to come later. Suzanna had said she'd come by his dorm to pick him up at eleven, and that they'd be making a three-and-a-half hour drive to L.A. She warned him that if he wasn't ready when she arrived, she wouldn't hesitate to leave without him. She also warned him that it was a three-hour round trip, so he needed to be prepared if he didn't get a lot of sleep the following night.

It didn't matter, he assured her. He was going through with this, no matter what.

At eleven o'clock exactly, the door to his shared flat knocked, and Barry raced out of bed to answer. Unfortunately, the first one to the door was Simon, who almost passed out when he saw what was beyond the threshold.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Simon stammered. "It's Christmas, come early."

"Holy shit!" yelled Dominic, rushing to the door beside him . . . immediately followed by Andre.

Suzanna, with a pair of thick sunglasses covering most of her features, stood at the door wearing a suede jacket, unzipped down to her abdomen, allowing her ample bosom to be easily visible. Calling it "cleavage" wouldn't have done it justice—the entire top half of her tits were exposed, only arbitrarily covered before any nipple could make an appearance.

And just as before, from the hips down, there was nothing visible underneath the bottom of her coat, making it totally plausible to the casual observer that this coat was the only thing covering her lithe, naked form. Suzanna was a master at titillation, and she obviously knew how to wear her clothes in a manner that stimulated the erotic imagination.

She paid her three admirers no heed, absent-mindedly twirling a red lollipop on her slick, wet tongue. "Can I speak to Barry?" she asked.

"Barry? Maybe . . . I dunno if he's even home . . ." Dominic said. "But . . . ah . . . you can wait for him inside, if you want."

"Got plenty of room on the couch," Andre chimed in. "And some beer in the fridge." Obviously, he must have forgotten that they drank all of Barry's beer a couple days before.

Suzanna's demeanor remained unchanged as she repeated, "Can I speak to Barry?"

"Yo! Right here!" Barry yelled as he donned his coat, sliding between his braindead roomies. "Pardon me, fellas. 'Scuze me."

Suzanna smiled cordially at the other boys before stepping away from the door and walking back to her convertible. Neither of she nor Barry paid any mind to the trio of jealous glares, although Barry burst into uproarious laughter as her car zoomed away.

As the pair cruised south on Route 99, Suzanna brought Barry's attention to the cooler in the back. Inside, he found lots of bottles of fresh water, in addition to a few cans of beer packed in mounds of ice. "I don't drink beer," Suzanna told him. "Too many calories. But, it always pays to be prepared in case I'm riding with guests."

Barry only chose a water for the moment, relaxing in Suzanna's passenger seat as he admired the view of rural Cali. "I never thanked you for this," Barry said. "You're really doing me a huge favor."

"See if you still feel that way after a few weeks," Suzanna laughed. "Remember, I do this drive three times a week, and sometimes I don't get back to Fresno til six in the morning."

Barry nearly choked on his water. "Six!? It takes that long?"

"Not usually," she chuckled. "We try to get things done in as few takes as possible, but sometimes there's . . . complications. You'd be surprised how difficult it can get to keep an actor's wood ready."

"Haha! You must mean with the other actresses," he joked. "No way a guy loses his stiffy with you."

Suzanna didn't say anything in reply, and it was nearly impossible for Barry to read any sort of expression while she wore those huge, dark sunglasses. However, if he looked close enough, he almost thought that he could recognize the makings of a blush.

"You like Guns N' Roses?" she asked him, switching on her stereo.

"Hell fuckin' yeah," he nodded approvingly.

The rest of the long drive was silent, save for the vocals of Axl Rose.

******

The "studio" turned out to be more like a Hollywood mansion situated on a cobblestone boulevard surrounded by palm trees. The building was at least three stories tall, with a lavishly-decorated exterior and all sorts of props and materials littering the front lawn. Suzanna parked her car amidst a number of trailer trucks, well out of the way of any incoming or outgoing traffic. When the car was stopped, she and Barry exited and he followed her to a side entrance.

As they drew nearer, Suzanna turned to offer Barry a bit of warning. "The director, Clyde, runs the shots on the set. Normally, he's a sweetie, but when we're filming, well . . . he's sort of—"

As if right on cue, the first thing Barry heard when the door swung open was a loud bellowing in a thick Cockney accent. "What the fuck is taking you assholes so bloody long?! I asked for the lighting to be set up twenty minutes ago! You lot can't tell time?!"

"Sorry, Clyde," another man said, fumbling with the wiring on one of the floodlights. "The house has got some weird wiring issues. I'm trying to see if I can work out the problem before we—"

"Hey, sweetheart . . . did I ask for fucking excuses!? Either get the goddamn lights working in twenty minutes, or I'll throw you right the hell off my—Eeeeey, Suzie! There you are, darlin'!"

Clyde rushed to Suzanna and put his arms around her, giving a firm kiss on the cheek. "Oh thank God at least one person around here knows how to be on time and . . . hey, who's this poof?"

Suzanna stepped back and put a hand on Barry's shoulder. "Remember I told you about Barry? He's gonna be our extra hands on the set."

Clyde leaned back and surmised Barry with a glance. "Hey, girlfriend . . . you ever even done a hard day's work in your life?"

Barry shrugged. "Uh, not really . . . no."

"Oh that's just tops," Clyde sighed. "I got another bloody useless set of legs walkin' through my set, and still not one useful pair of hands." He turned toward Suzanna and his shoved a finger an inch from her face. "You vouch for this guy, he better be worth it. He wastes my time, and it's coming out of your pay. Understand?"

"Don't worry, Clyde," Suzanna said, gently gasping his hand and lowering it. "Barry'll pull his weight."

Clyde shot her one last look, emphasizing how serious he was about his threat. As he walked away, Suzanna cast a glance of her own at Barry, emphasizing how serious she was about her promise.

The actual filming didn't start until well after sundown. Suzanna spent hours in makeup and costuming, readying for her scene. In the meantime, Barry made himself useful around the set, first introducing himself to the rest of the crew, and then reporting to the set decorator to get his first assignment. The decorator got Barry to work immediately moving various pieces of furniture and lifting, pushing and pulling several heavy items over and over. Unbelievably, Barry had to have moved the same couch at least twenty or thirty times, sometimes pushing it no further than an inch before the decorator would change her mind and tell him to move it again.

They didn't go easy on him, and Barry was actually glad about it. He wanted to get the worst he could on his first day, so as to minimize nasty surprises later.

Finally, Barry knew they were close to filming when one of the actors entered the room . . . a tall, humongous black man dressed in a football uniform named Sean. Barry had never seen a human being that huge before—except of course, on television and in porno. As the Sean walked to Clyde and asked some questions about his lines, the makeup artist was still adding dabs to the actor's face, even as he conversed with the director.

"No, I'm just saying, theoretically, that it might sound more believable if I called her 'shawty' instead of 'beeyoch'," Sean told him. "I don't even believe anyone uses that word anymore."

"Look, princess," Clyde began, palming his own face, "just do your fucking job and say the lines we paid you to say. You're not going for a fucking Golden Globe here." He callously turned away before the actor could retort. "Now, we've got the 'fuck-er' ready, so where's our 'fuck-ee'?! Gloria, tell Suzanna that if she doesn't get her skinny arse out here in five minutes, I'll come in there for a fuckin' blowjob myself!"

That seemed to do the trick, because not even four minutes later, Suzanna emerged wearing a completely different outfit . . . this time, she was dressed as a typical slutty housewife, complete with a tight violet sweater that outlined every curve of her amazing body and an obscene view of the nipples poking out of the thin material. She wore cutoff jeans which hugged her ass and showed every inch of her toned and sexy legs, along with a pair of blue stacked heels, completing the slutty ensemble.

Barry couldn't help but stare—Suzanna was beautiful, even more breathtaking than usual. Just looking at her made his cock stand at attention, forming a noticeable tent in his trousers. Suzanna seemed to notice, and she flashed Barry a proud smile when she saw him. Then, with direction from the rest of the crew, she stepped onto the set, apparently not phased by the grotesquely bright floodlights pouring in from every direction. Her makeup and costume attendants got everything just perfect while the sound crew lowered the boom mic in place.