Linzer Ch. 01

"Take off your socks, Tater, and join me," she said, licking her lips suggestively.

I didn't need any more encouragement. Removing the socks, I scrambled into bed with Lindsay and found myself pressing against her voluptuous curves. My hands roamed over the hills and valleys of her body. What struck me then, even with my lack of experience, was her incredible responsiveness to my touch. Every caress, kiss, suck, nibble, lick, whatever, resulted in a sigh, moan, smile, back arch or some other indication that whatever I was doing was making her feel incredibly good. I found my face between her legs, licking her dripping wet pussy, and my probably amateurish work still caused her first to writhe and moan with pleasure, claw at the sheets, and then, amazingly, to have what still is the most violent orgasm that I have ever seen a woman have. Legs shaking, body thrashing and screaming, it made me glad that a wild party was still going on, or I figured the police would be breaking through the door, looking for a torture victim.

But she was undaunted, guiding me inside her for my first ever actual sexual experience, which lasted longer than I expected, but shorter than Lindsay appeared to need, because after I came, she immediately started sucking on my cock until it was rock hard again.

As I have gained more experience in sex over the years, I generally prefer positions in which I can see my partner's face, tits, etc., so I'm basically a fan of missionary or cowgirl. But when Lindsay rolled on her stomach and hoisted her perfect ass in the air for me to look at while entering her from the rear, I can't say that I was displeased. To the contrary, once I got the hang of the position, I found staring at her butt while pounding her to yet another intense, body-shaking orgasm was pretty incredible.

After that was done, we lay in the bed for a while, my arm around her and her head resting on my chest, catching our breath. Lindsay turned to me and said, "So, now that you've tried it, do you think you like fucking?"

The directness of the question, and the obviousness of the answer, coupled with the tension that I was feeling having just lost my virginity in spectacular fashion (and with the endorphins screaming through my bloodstream probably contributing) caused me to start laughing hysterically, and Lindsay caught the bug, and she started laughing herself, making her tits jiggle cutely. When we stopped laughing, Lindsay looked at the clock in the room and said, "That was great, but I think we need to clean up and hit the road."

That didn't really seem like the best idea, but I realized that it was the right thing to do, so we washed up, got dressed and made our way downstairs, where the party was dying down to a group of drunk and/or stoned teenagers sleeping on couches or groping each other in dark corners as the music continued to blare.

There wasn't much to say in the car on the way home, so we just listened to music as we drove though the quiet streets. It was somehow clear that this didn't mean that she was my girlfriend, but it certainly was nice pretending for a few hours. Lindsay gave me a slightly more than perfunctory kiss when I dropped her off at home, and when I got home, I quietly slipped into my room, got undressed and into bed. I tried to mentally recap the events of the night, but I was exhausted, and fell asleep, knowing that I was no longer a virgin, and that Lindsay Applewood was an incredible friend.

***

We rode in the limo for a while as the members of Lindsay's entourage that were with us briefed her on her schedule. She spent a few minutes responding to texts and emails on her phone before turning to me.

"It's really been a while, Tater."

"That's true. Since senior year."

She smiled. "Prom night."

I smiled back. "That wasn't the last time we saw each other. Don't you remember a few days later you introduced me to Dani and Allie at the coffee shop?"

She nodded. "That's right. It seemed like you needed a bit of a push in those days when it came to getting laid."

"You were right. And I have to thank you for that, because I had a really great summer." It was weird talking this way about my high school sex life with Lindsay, not to mention her hangers on.

One of those hangers on, a short, hot Asian woman in a blue suit, handed her phone to Lindsay. She looked at the screen and said, "This is incredible. Unexpected bonus coverage."

The Asian woman said, "Yeah. The number of tweets and retweets about the "Mystery Man," is sick."

It struck me that maybe I was the "Mystery Man," so I said, questioningly, "Mystery Man?"

Lindsay looked at me with an amused expression. "You, dummy. The world wants to know who the mysterious unknown man named "Tater' who called me 'Linzer' before getting whisked away into my limo." She smiled. "This should be good for a few hours of unexpected publicity."

"Great," I said. "My nice quiet life is over."

The tall, thin male factotum responded, "For a while, until they find something else more interesting."

"Wonderful," I said. "I mean, Linzer, your life has been an open book for years. Everything that you do, and I mean everything, is posted on the fucking Internet. I know everything about you, because you want everyone to know everything. Me, I'm different. I like flying under the radar."

Lindsay looked a little pissed off. Actually, more than a little, and I briefly flashed on the fact that she seemed to command a small platoon of bodyguards who easily could break me into small pieces. "You don't know shit, Tater," she said in a low, seething voice. She looked around. "Not now."

The car was quiet except for the sound of cell phone notifications and typing. After only a few more minutes of riding through the stop and go traffic—which I was able to notice was going in exactly the opposite direction from my apartment, adding to my annoyance, the Asian woman looked up from her phone and at me. "You're Tate Bynum?"

I nodded.

"The Tate Bynum?"

"It depends on what you mean by that."

She looked at me like I was being a stupid, petulant child, and maybe she was right. "The app developer Tate Bynum. The almost-billionaire-until-you-gave-a-bunch-of-it-away Tate Bynum. The Tate Bynum who earlier today sold Cityzenz—which, by the way is a terrible idea—for more millions?"

I must have looked shocked, and just nodded and said quietly, "Yes, that's me. And it probably is a terrible idea, but I just made a bunch of money from people who disagree."

She stuck out her small hand and said, "Lillian Komatsu. I've been a big fan of yours since I was at Wharton."

I looked over at Lindsay, and she looked stunned. "Nice to meet you, Lillian, but I've tried hard not to have fans."

"Trust me, you have them. What you've been able to do is the subject of more than a few B-school case studies."

"Wait, Lillian," Lindsay interrupted. "Tate here is famous?"

"Sorta." She then gave a very concise and accurate summary of my career and accomplishments, and a fair estimate of my net worth, considering that not every aspect of my financial dealings is public.

"Holy shit, Tater, just holy shit."

"I'm a bit hurt that you seem so surprised that I could have become successful. I mean, we kind of lost track of each other at the end of senior year, but I sorta thought that you knew I was at least a little intelligent. Considering we've known each other since fourth fucking grade."

I could tell that it hit home. But I was pissed off at having my privacy blown, simply because I ran into an old friend on the street—admittedly, she was currently the Internet obsession of the day, or more accurately, the past few years, but still, I was feeling a little screwed over, and not in a good way. And sometimes, when I'm angry, I can be a little nasty. Turning to Lillian, I said, "If you went to Wharton, what are you doing trailing around behind Lindsay? Hoping to bask in her reflected fame? Or to pick up some of her discards?"

The car got very silent. Lillian turned to me and said, "Wow. I guess it is lucky for you that you've been out of the public eye, because you sound like a douchebag. First, do you really think that the Lindsay Applewood brand could exist without people with serious business training? Ask yourself how many other pretty girls are out there with a similar resume to Lindsay who aren't multi-millionaires? Pretty fucking every one of them. But she was smart enough to hire me, and Ted over there, and a bunch of other really smart people to create her empire. And as for your second stupid comment, you might have noticed this-" She brandished her left hand and showed me a rock nearly the size of a golf ball, and a platinum band encrusted with more diamonds—I'm married to," she said the name of one of the richest young hedge fund managers in the world, "so I really don't need anyone's discards, asshole."

At which point, Lindsay jumped in. "Let's all calm down. I'm sure that Tate is just annoyed at losing his privacy, and I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, right, Tater?" She batted her fake eyelashes at me, and like pretty much every heterosexual male, she had me.

"Lindsay's right, Lillian. I'm sorry. I'm angry and I lashed out. Please accept my apologies."

"Apology accepted," she said, shaking my hand.

Ted interjected, "Actually, I'm here for Lindsay's discards."

There was a brief pause, and we all started laughing.

The mood in the car had lightened considerably, when Ted looked up from his phone and said, "Tate, just to give you a heads up, your identity as 'Lindsay Applewood's prom date turned 'App King' is currently trending all across the web."

Lillian looked at me. "You were her prom date?"

I nodded.

"So, prom night...?"

I looked at Lindsay, and we both nodded.

"Oh my god. This is going to get us days of coverage. O.K., we need to keep Tate away from the press. Build up the suspense. Wait a few days before he makes a statement. Lindsay—who else might be contacted to comment? We need to get ahead of this, so we can manage the message."

My phone had been buzzing incessantly in my pocket, which I knew was not good. "Um," I interjected, "have you ever considered that maybe I don't want to be part of this 'story?' That maybe I just want to go back to my regular, quiet life?"

Lillian shook her head as if she was speaking to someone with brain damage. "Ted—show him."

Ted typed something into his phone and turned the screen to face me. It was a picture of the front of the building where I had my offices. Filled with paparazzi and gawkers.

"Show him the other one."

He typed again, and showed me a picture of the front door of my apartment building. Also filled with people watching and waiting.

"And the upstate house."

He typed some more, and showed me a picture of the gate to my cottage. More reporters.

"Your life, as you knew it, is over, at least until she" she gestured at Lindsay, "does something to distract them."

Ted interjected, "Or a war starts."

I wasn't sure if he was kidding, but I was resigned to this now. "So," I asked, "how long?"

Lillian looked at her phone. "We could move the next nip slip up a couple of days. Or what about the pregnancy rumor?"

Lindsay appeared to be thinking. "Will that interfere with the fragrance launch?"

Ted interrupted. "I think you could do the nip slip at the children's charity benefit red carpet instead of the museum opening, and hold off the pregnancy rumor until after the launch."

Lindsay looked at Lillian, who nodded. "O.K., Tater. Three days max. Then you can become nobody again. Anyway, you kind of owe me."

Lilian looked up from her phone. "She deflowered you on prom night, I'm betting?"

I felt my face warm up. I kind of did owe her, I guess. "Fine. Three days."

Lillian looked at Ted, "I knew it."

"What do I do?"

"You stay with me," Lindsay replied, licking her lips in a way that brought me back to prom night. "I'm sure we can think of ways to keep you occupied."

At that point the car came to a halt. When the door opened, we appeared to be in a private parking garage. Disgorging from the car, along with the passengers in another limo that arrived at the same time, I was surprised to see no crowd.

"Where are we?" I asked.

Lindsay replied, "The 9."

"The 9 what?'

She laughed. "You really are out of it. The 9 Hotel. The hottest boutique hotel in the city. I have a little store in the lobby for my clothing and perfume, and the use of a couple of suites when I need them, in exchange for leaking to the press that I'm here. And they have great security."

"If you say so."

The entourage formed its defensive perimeter and we moved from the garage through a door into the lobby. Rather than a big reception desk, like in, you know, every hotel, there was a man, in a fancy suit, sitting behind a large, glass desk. He stood, handed one of Lindsay's retainers an envelope, and sat down, without ever making eye contact with anyone.

Lindsay took my arm and led me toward the elevator. She turned to the crowd that had come in with us. "It's time for me and my old friend Tater to catch up. See you later."

Her suite was not huge, but it was stylishly decorated in a minimalist style. Two bedrooms, each with a bathroom, and a living room. I guess for New York, it was a pretty big hotel room. When we got in, she motioned to what turned out to be a fairly comfortable chair, and I sat down.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, turning to walk into one of the bedrooms. And yes, I watched her from behind because I'm a heterosexual guy, and she looked great from that angle, as evidenced by the millions of hits her pictures get on the web. I heard the shower start, and I decided to check my phone. It was not a pretty sight. But inspiration comes at the strangest of times, and I began texting furiously.

On the other hand, when Lindsay emerged from her bedroom, wearing a fluffy white robe and a towel around her head, without any makeup, that was a pretty sight, and one that brought me back in time.

Before I could say anything, she started, "Tater, the one thing that you said in the car that really bothered me was that you knew everything about me. You didn't then, you don't now, and despite everything you can read about me, almost nobody does."

***

I had just gotten home from school. It was a warm day, and I couldn't believe that I had only a couple more weeks before graduation. Mom was at work, and I had the house to myself. I looked around the place, and realized how difficult things had been for Mom, trying to make ends meet on her salary, while letting me have all the things that I needed to maintain my position at the top of the social ladder, That meant clothes, and makeup, hair, manicures, and a car, and all of that. Not that I ever paid for anything when I went out. That was the guy's responsibility, and I made sure to reward them generously in other ways. I enjoyed being the object of everyone's desire, and I enjoyed, even more, allowing some of them to obtain their objective. But sex was not just a tool for me to get my way. I legitimately enjoyed pretty much everything about it, and learned quickly that I had few inhibitions.

Prom was a little expensive, but I found the dress in a thrift shop, and once I dumped that asshole Todd, my night out with you was cheap—we took your car, we went to a party, we fucked—you did quite well for a virgin—and we went home.

I was sure that Mom was going to miss me when I moved to L.A. after graduation, but I bet she was looking forward to not having to support me. I knew that college wasn't for me—not that I couldn't hack it, because I could have—but I wanted certain things, money, fun, excitement, great sex, and I figured that I would be able to get that in L.A. I knew I was hot, although I wasn't built like a runway model, but I knew that I could use my assets and my wiles to support myself initially, and get what I wanted.

What to do? As usual, my mind wandered to screwing, and I thought about calling you up for a booty call. I figured you'd jump at another chance with me, although I had heard from Dani and Allie that they were having fun with you. But I had promised myself not to go there again. It almost felt like I was fucking my brother, we had been so close as kids, so no. Not you. But who?

My thoughts were interrupted by my phone chiming. When I checked to see who was emailing me, I was surprised to see that it was from a modelling agency. Not one of the famous ones, but also not one that was a front for porn. I knew that high fashion wasn't in my future, but I also wasn't planning on getting into porn, although the offers had come in off of my teen modelling portfolio.

They were offering me a bikini shoot, in L.A., starting immediately. Apparently, another girl dropped out at the last minute, whatever, and they wanted me to fly out for it. And if that worked out, there was another thing the next week.

I was ready. I mean, the last couple of weeks of school were a waste, anyway. So, I'd miss finals and not graduate. I could always get my GED, if I wanted to. But I needed to discuss it with Mom. Being 18 and all, I didn't need her permission, but I wanted it.

So, I called her, and while she wasn't altogether happy about it, she understood that it was at least the first step in my realizing a dream, so I told them I was in, and would be there the next day, if they sent me a ticket. They even offered to put me up in a hotel during the shoot, so I had a place to stay, at least. I started to pack what I needed. I figured I could deal with school whenever, and I texted a couple of friends. But to be fair, I had planned on leaving this town behind as soon as I graduated, and there really was no one who I intended to keep in touch with outside of social media.

The first shoot was a success, it was for a local catalogue, and I got the second one, too, which was for an Internet store. The next thing I knew, I started to see my picture appearing on websites that posted pictures of hot girls wearing bikinis, or other revealing clothing. So, I figured, why not try to get some more exposure, and that's when I created my Instagram account and began posting selfies.

I probably would have been happy, at least for a while, gathering followers, comments, and the occasional legitimate modeling or promo gig, and it paid the bills, but not to where I wanted to be. I knew that there was a world just out of my reach, with limos, and stars, and money and big houses and sports cars, and jets, and I needed to find my way in.

Then, the shit hit the fan.