Married to Porn Pt. 02

Hello all, thank you for checking out this story. For a more indepth look into the main characters and their physical characteristics i urge you to also read Married to porn pt one.

As always, all sexual participants are over the age of 18 and are all disease free. Enjoy

Preface

One day prior at a Gamblers anonymous meeting.

"The first time I placed a bet in my life...I had no idea what I was doing you know...shits and giggles right? I went to the dog track with a few old army buddies, put down four hundred on a real long shot, and boom! Just like that; I was $40,000 richer.

I bought everyone around us a round of drinks and then I rushed home to tell my wife the good news.

I took a detour onto Rodeo Drive and bought her that Prada bag she had been hinting about. I ordered one of those nice wooden outdoor play sets for my kids.

And since it was the summertime; I surprised my family with an impromptu trip to Disney world and Universal Studios.

Two weeks' vacation, just like that. It was magical.

Here's the irony though. With my wife and kids having the times of their lives, all I could think about was getting back to LA so that I could get back to the dog track.

Thank God I didn't realize that there were dog tracks all over Florida.

So the trip, the purse, and the outdoor play set ran me close to 25k. Hell's bells why should I give a shit; it was found money.

Besides, I had hit the track for forty k once; how hard could it possibly be to do it again?

I found out just how hard it could be after I gave back the 15k and lost another 5 grand from my kid's college savings account.

And the losses continued to mount up...

I eventually got banned from the dog track after repeatedly getting into fights with other gamblers after loss after loss after massive loses.

My wife asked me to move out.

I got to the point where I was throwing craps in a back alley in South Central L.A with gang bangers.

Can you believe that? Me...a white boy from "The Burbs" throwing dice against a wall surrounded by a bunch of brothers in blue bandanas.

Then it all came to a head when I watched a murder take place right in front of me.

Was it the sound of the gun? The guy pleading for his life? Was it the sight of his guts on the sidewalk or the repugnant smell of shit that came quickly as life left his body that woke me up?

Humph...I'd honestly like to lie and say "yes" to all of the above...

The truth was though, as I looked down at the dying man on the sidewalk, I felt rage and contempt only. I looked at him and said, "very nice motherfucker! I was winning for once and you just fucked up the game by dying".

That was when I knew that I needed help. That I had lost control. My name is Phillip, and I have a gambling addiction."

"We love you,Phillip." Was the reaction from the group circle.

The counselor, a middle aged portly yet very pretty black woman turned toward Damon Hartsfield and asked, "would you like to share? You don't have to of course, but the option is there if you want to."

"Uh, no ma'am. I'm fine. Just taking it all in."Damon replied.

"Love your work bro." A random guy in the circle said to Damon which garnered a fair amount of giggles from the rest of the attendees, including the counselor who quickly regained her stoic composure.

Damon, on the other hand, completely lost his own.

"I was bullied into being here. Bullied by my wife, my employer, society..."

"Why are you blaming society for..." someone from the circle attempted to ask but Damon cuts him off.

"I didn't interrupt anyone as they spoke; I'd love the same courtesy. You wanted me to speak; well now I'm speaking.

Why do I blame society? Let's think about that for a second...down the hall is an AA meeting taking place. I saw it on the board outside. Across from there is a sex addicts meeting taking place.

Directly across the street from here there is a liquor store, and right next door is a sex shop. Inside of the liquor store, you can purchase lottery tickets.

And all of this is 100% legal.

Do you remember when it was a cardinal sin and basically a crime to take steroids?

Today, you can walk into a low T center and not only get testosterone injections, but human growth hormone, nandrolone, progesterone.

Some of you are old enough to remember when it was illegal to make an adult film. But today the industry brings in billions of dollars annually.

Billions, all legal, all taxable."

"Damon? I have to ask, where are you going with this?" The counselor asked with a confused look on her face.

"If gambling is so dangerous then why is it condoned and legalized? Same with alcohol, same with THC, same with porn, or any other so called "vice" that someone else decides for everyone else that they just might take it too far.

I can drive a few hours away from here; check into a hotel filled with slots, craps tables, roulette wheels and black jack dealers, and not one employee of that hotel is going to ask me if I have a gambling addiction.

Even if I'm an alcoholic, they're going to give me all the free booze I want as long as I keep gambling.

If I want to get laid, I can go up to my room, go online and order a hooker and no one is going to arrest me for it or ask if I have a sex addiction.

But back in the real world...for people like us? They tell us that we're sick and then force the cure upon us."

Damon shifts anxiously in his chair. He was definitely hoping that someone else in the circle would take up the baton and carry the talk forward. After all, hadn't he given them enough info to springboard off of?

When everyone remained mute, Damon decided to end his rant with...

"Is the time up? Because I have somewhere to be."

"Actually we are out of time. I hope to see you all back next week. That includes you as well Damon.

Damon doesn't say anything, he rises and walked toward the back of the room where the coffee pot is located. He is fairly disgusted with himself after his geopolitical tirade.

Why is he so angry? Who is he angry with? His wife? Surely not. Caz? Hell Caz settled the debt that he owed to a ruthless and sadistic mafia capo.

"Excuse me young man." An elderly voice from behind said as Damon poured his coffee.

"Uh, sorry ma'am, let me get out of the way." He said as he moved from in front of the pot.

"No young man." The elderly Caucasian lady said to him. "I just wanted to tell you that I know who you are and I'm a huge fan of your work."

"You are?" Damon said, somewhat taken aback.

"Of course! I used to watch you every weekend. I almost stopped after they killed your character off at the end of season three."

"I'm sorry ma'am." A highly confused Damon replied. "But I'm not following you here. What "work" and season are you referring to?"

"Season three of The Wire. Your character, Russell "Stringer" Bell. You had the right idea when you allowed Prop Joe's people to set up in the towers. Too bad that Avon Barksdale wasn't the visionary that you were."

"Why me Lord?" He asked quietly as realization set in that the woman thought that he was Idris Elba.

"That's very kind of you to say ma'am. Thank you."

"By the way...do you have any hot tips on the Lakers or the Clippers?" She asked in hushed tones.

"Uh, if I get any, you'll be the first to know." Damon told her with as genuine a smile that he could muster.

After she had ventured outside, Damon took it as a chance to exit before more "Wire" fans accosted him.

Only one other person didn't speak in the meeting. And to Damon's surprise, that someone was leaning on his car.

"Quite the speech you gave inside. Made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The swarthy diminutive man with slicked back hair and a heavy New York accent said.

"Glad you approved." Damon retorted. "Now, if you don't mind, would you please get the fuck off my car so that I can go?"

"Oh, you're a tough guy now? And here I thought that you were only a scumbag pornstar and degenerate gambler."

"I'm also the guy that can kick your greaseball ass if you don't get off my car."

"Go ahead and take a swing." The unknown antagonist said to him. "They'll find pieces of you in all 48 states, and half of your cock will be in Hawaii with the other half in Alaska."

"Ok, you've got my attention. So, who are you connected with and what do you want?" Damon inquired once he realized that he was talking to a wiseguy. Suddenly...realization set in. "Don't tell me...Tony Fishtank, I presume?"

"Yeah, I work for Tony Fishtank. He wanted me to tell you that he misses you. He misses your action.

Anthony "Tony Fishtank" Lombardo, made that animal Tony Blundetto from the Sopranos look like Gandhi.

Even hardcore Mafia "hitters"; those that did the bulk of the wet work/killing for a family, viewed the sadistic Capo as an abusive gorilla.

"He's like Roy Demeo, Tommy Karate, Anthony Gaspipe Casso, and Sammy the Bull all wrapped up in the fucking body of Greg "The Grim Reaper" Scarfa." Mobsters would whisper to themselves behind Fishtank's back.

"We are in a gambler's anonymous parking lot and you're trying to get me to place a bet? Get back indebted to Fishtank?

How low can you people really go?" Damon asked.

"Careful stud. That "you people" thing could be considered a racial slur."

"Wrong. "Greaseball" might be considered a slur, "you people" simply means "you assholes".

"Look...whatever, Mr. Big time Smut pusher. So, what do you wish for me to tell Fishtank? And be warned, I relay very detailed messages; so, if you're thinking about using words like Wop, Guinea, Greaseball, or the aforementioned "you people", in anyway that relates to Tony Fishtank, trust me, he'll definitely hear it from me."

Damon takes the threat very seriously and wisely chooses his next words.

"Please send my regards to Mr. Lombardo, and tell him that I said thanks but no thanks. If I should need his services in the future, I'll be sure to seek him out."

The still unnamed mafia hood smirks. "And that is the message I'll relay to him." He said as he finally got off of the hood of Damon's car. "You know..."Master D", it's ironico. That means ironic in Italian."

"I'm a long way from being stupid. What are you saying is Ironic?"

"You make a living by using that baseball bat of a dick of yours to fuck women that you aren't married to on camera. Yet inside back there, you spoke like you had Plato and Machiavelli crammed up your ass.

I always figured that when God gave out dicks and brains; the bigger the dick the smaller the brain."

"Your point?"

"You really impressed me with your summation of the addiction problem in this country. Which I really didn't disagree with."

"What's your name man?" Damon asked.

"Carmine. Carmine "Jack boots" Altieri."

"Carmine I'll say this...me in porn, you in the mob...we all make bad choices when we are young. I was never a dumbass, I just made a dumbass decision at 18.

The difference is this though...

I'm in the process of leaving my life of smut and scum. When do you leave your life of murder and mayhem?"

The man called "Jack Boots", chuckled at the suggestion that he could simply "leave" his current life.

"Only one way out of this "thing of ours"; and that's death." Carmine explained.

"Tell that to Sammy Gravano and Mickey Scars."

For the first time in the back and forth...Carmine Altieri seemed genuinely offended at the thought of going the route of famous mob turncoats.

"Becoming a rat? Snitching on my friends? Not in this world; not in this universe; not in this fucking life."

Part 1 Revelations

"Ya know, in retrospect, maybe telling your wife that I had just got out of San Quentin wasn't the smartest thing I'd ever done.

I thought that I was going to get picked up for trespassing after standing outside your gate for over an hour."

"What did you expect Devonte'? You show up at her home unannounced and..."

"And she had no idea who I was, thanks to you right Lil bro?"

"There was never a right time to bring it up." Damon tried to explain.

"Try this... "Diane, I have a brother named Devonte' who is incarcerated."

"You think it's really that easy don't you? You always did view the world with a childlike simplicity." Damon noted.

"And you always acted like you were ashamed of me. Even when we were kids."

"It wasn't that I was ashamed of you. I just felt like one of us needed to not break momma's heart."

"Yeah, because she just loved your career choice didn't she?" Devonte' countered."

"She didn't know what I did for a living."

"I'm calling bullshit on that one. She never told YOU that she knew. But I heard about it every time she came for a visit.

It was the same every-time, "where did she go wrong", "she thought she had raised us in church", "why did she have children with a gang banger"; that's how our visits went.

I suppose since you had gotten her out of Compton and into those five star senior living townhomes, she wasn't going to kick the goose that lays the golden eggs."

"What do you mean about her having children with a gang banger?" A surprised Damon asked.

"Oh? You didn't know? Yeah man, Pops was the baddest cat in Compton in the 80s and 90s. Long ass body count. Led the toughest street gang around.

His street name was "Steamboat", his real name is Leonard Randolph."

"Is?"

"Yeah that fool is still kicking. I ran into him at San Quentin a few times. Straight up lifer."

Damon's mind reeled. He just discovered that his now deceased mother knew all along of his life in porn and how much that knowledge shamed her, as well as just learning that the father he never knew was nothing more than a common street hoodlum with a penchant for murder.

This was supposed to be one of the greatest days of his life. Somewhere in the neighborhood of the birth of his sons to the day he married Diane, great.

He would sign a deal with Bamboo Comics as their newest artist/writer, he'd be free to leave porn entirely after just one more shoot and his household income would double to at least a million dollars a year allowing Diane to also quit the business and become a stay at home mom or to go back to school or something other than being fucked in front of a camera.

But before he could gain any traction in what may have been his one and only shot at impressing Stan Kirby, the head of Bamboo Comics; Diane called him to let him know that a Devonte' Hartsfield was outside the front gate in need of lodging for an indefinite amount of time.

And now, here the two of them were, in the back yard by the pool passing a marijuana joint and sipping on bourbon as Devonte' filled Damon in on all family secrets.

While back inside the main house, another meeting was being held that pretty much discussed the same thing.

"Attempted murder, armed robbery, assault, get this...assault on a police officer, threatening a DA, gang activity...

Goes by the name "D-Heart" on the streets. Brrrrr! Damn girl, anymore deep dark secrets and drop dead gorgeous relatives from the Hartsfield side of the family?" Dionne asked her twin sister Diane as she viewed Devonte's rap sheet after googling him.

"It's only the two of them left. The last remaining Hartsfields. Whether that's the last of the secrets or not; I can't say." Diane said as she tried to mask her concern and contain her anger.

"Did he at least get the new job today?" Dionne asked hopefully.

"He had to cut short his interview. I really hate that I called him now. That ex convict thug motherfucker could have just waited at the gate until he got home."

"In Beverly Hills? Girl be realistic. He would have been arrested within the hour."

"And that would have been a bad thing? Dionne, this man is going to be living with us for God knows how long. Around my family, around my sons, around you, myself..."

"And you're really worried about him influencing Damon."

"Damon's not perfect...his gambling addiction and his lies about it for starters. But I'm more worried that out of guilt, Damon may not be strong enough to stand up to him if some shit pops off.

Sigh...Come on, help me get dinner ready. We will be fixing an additional plate tonight."

Part 2 Family dinner

"I sure as hell didn't eat this good in Quentin. You can cook your ass off sis!" Devonte' exclaimed as he enjoyed a third helping of Diane's signature seafood pasta; a dish consisting of linguine, shrimp, lobster, and crawfish tails, seasoned by an ample amount of Diane's special pasta sauce.

"Uh, thanks Devonte'." Diane said, grateful that her three sons were out of ear shot in the other room eating at the breakfast nook as they usually did. "But I didn't do it alone. I had a bit of help." She said as she gestured toward Dionne.

"And some beautiful sexy help that was." Devonte's replied as he shot a lustful glance in Dionne's direction.

"Thank you brother in law. You're not too shabby looking yourself." A smiling and blushing Dionne said. "Tell me Devonte', did you ever have to shank some fool on the inside?"

Damon nearly choked on his rose'; Diane had a look on her face that screamed, "god please just kill me now".

"Did I ever stab anybody in Quentin? Naw, I still had enough of a rep from what I did in the streets so no one really bothered me.

Besides, I'm not the scrapper in the family. This fool here though?" He said as he nodded toward Damon's direction, "he was the real fighter in the Hartsfield household."

"Oh really?" A suddenly interested Diane said as she sneered jokingly at Damon. "Please, do tell."

"Baby, my brother loves to exaggerate. You can't believe his stories without having a grain of salt in hand." Damon explained.

"So I'm exaggerating when I say that you Mike Tyson-ed Willie Driver? Everybody in Compton was scared of that dude."

"Rosecrans Ave Willie?" Diane inquired.

"Yeah. Rosecrans Wille Driver. Damn sis, you know Driver?"

"I've heard of him. Everybody from the Southside of Compton knows him or of him."

"Bro? You didn't tell me that sis claimed the same set that we do?"Devonte' said.

"It didn't come up while we discussed the volatility of the stock market."

"Forget that! You mean to tell me that my brother-in-law once kicked the ass of the toughest banger in Compton?" An impressed Dionne asked.

"I think that we may be overstating the case." A clearly embarrassed Damon replied. "Willie Driver was a bully like Deebo from the movie Friday was a bully. I just happened to catch him slipping on an off day and took advantage of it."

"Now look at who is understating the case." Devonte' retorted. "You systematically took that fool apart brick by brick."

"The part that my brother is so graciously omitting from this tale is this; Driver and myself wouldn't have even been in a fight had Devonte' here, not decided that out of all the ladies he had to choose from in Compton, he had to sleep with Driver's girlfriend."

"Wait. How old were you when this fight took place?" Diane asked.

"I had just turned 18. Devonte had taken me out for my birthday. We ran into Rosecrans Willie Driver that night."

"That would mean that, his...was his girlfriend Donetta Edwards?"

"Real pretty girl; looks a lot like a young Ms. America Vanessa Williams? Yeah that's her." Devonte' explained. "You knew her? Did you ever know what happened to her?"

"Yes I knew her. She got into porn after Willie Driver went to prison; the reason being was in order to support herself and their two children. But she quit after some inexperienced male talent came inside of her on set by accident."

Dionne chimed in. "Willie was crazy about Donetta. It's a wonder that he didn't kill you."

"Oh it wasn't for lack of trying. He came after me for awhile after I was locked up with him. But my pops got him off my ass."