The One with the NDA

He picks up the revised script and flips through it.

"You can wake up crying everyday about how you're being praised by your predecessors and studied by your successors, but when you look out that window and see the problems that those people have to deal with, it all seems pretty miniscule in comparison."

"Save this shit for your lakeside, Shel. Other people suffering in the world doesn't minimize my problems. I tell you I'm suffering and you don't give a fuck."

"Food will be up here in two shakes of a lamb's tail," the assistant hollers from across the room.

"Yo! the yelling," Tati screams back. Eyes roll at the development of diva.

"You think I don't care about the shit you're going through?" Shel says, looking at me now. "I've been trying to soften the blows of this situation since you started acting out. I know, it sucks, but you know this is a lot bigger than me and you. I have a job to do just as you do, but don't think I don't give a shit, DuNotti."

"You only care because of the percentage you make," I shoot back.

"No. I care because of the percentage I make and the fact that you've been the biggest part of my life for the past twenty years."

"You have kids."

"One of the biggest parts of my life. And just like right now, I have to leave them alone in their mother's care because you seem to need 24/7 babysitting. You think that's fair to them?"

I sulk.

"I know I'm supposed to be the heel at all times, but I'm not the one that's so comfortable discarding people from my life. That's you."

"I don't really have much of a choice do I?" I continue, pouting.

"You had a choice," he says. "And you chose. Now you're mad because you're being held accountable for the decision you made."

Just then, you can hear the flicker of a lighter and the room fills up with carcinogens as the flame singes the tobacco. Tatiana blows out an elegant cloud of cigarette stank which sends the room of non-smokers in an uproar.

"Put that nasty shit out!"

"Go outside with that!"

"You dumb bitch! I'm allergic!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she exhales. "I'm a fucking model for Christ's sake."

"Tati, seriously, read the room," I argue. "This isn't 31 fucking Rue Cambon. Get that shit the fuck away from me."

"I told you guys to STOP! FUCKING! YELLING!" she yells as she picks up her bag and crop dusts the smoke fumes out the room, slamming the hotel door behind her.

Kim sighs and looks at her assistant. "We're women. We'll take care of it."

They follow her on the other side of the door.

"I don't know what else to tell you," Shel continues. "We can continue having the same conversations over and over again, but you and I both know that this situation is out of both of our hands. We made a commitment to the man and we have to see it through, and plus, I love you... and I know you love this phrase... but you're contractually obligated."

"Next time a man tells me he loves me, I hope it isn't one who threatened to have Mossad murder my mother because I decided to go off the grid for a few days," I remind him.

"Please. That was, like, five Yom Kippur's ago and I already told you I was just hangry and wouldn't have done anything."

Just then, Shel's cell phone rings. He drops the script and picks it up.``

"Yeah. She what? Jesus fucking Ch... Alright. I'll be right there." He hangs up. "Speaking of hangry. You're fucking girlfriend..."

"What?" I question.

"I'll be right back," he says, signaling for Tatum to come with him. "Stay here. Don't move. Don't get in any trouble."

"What the fuck did she do?"

The door shuts before I could even start my interrogation.

Damn near as soon as it closes, I hear a few loud beats on the other end.

"Ronnie!" I yell out for my assistant, who I'm just now realizing I haven't seen since last night. "Tatum! Bitch with the clipboard!"

The knocks continue.

I annoyedly pull myself up and stamp over to the door. When I open it, a tall, dark, svelte Latino guy with a cart is standing opposite of me. I'd almost forgotten about room service.

"Where would you like it?" he asks with a decently attractive accent.

"Over there is fine." I motion towards the sofa and take a seat, realizing how hungry I am as the scent of the food hits me. "Mar y tierra."

"Tierrrrra," he enunciates, rolling his r's. "Tierra means land."

"Thank you, Dora. You can place it right here."

After revealing the meal and handing me the cutlery, he just stands there a beat and I realize we usually tip these guys. It's 2023 so I never have any cash on me, so I'm hoping... a picture will suffice?

"Would you like a photo?"

"No. I know what the food looks like," he answers, confused.

"I mean, like, a selfie."

"I know what I look like too," he says, nervously laughing.

"No, I mean..." I sigh. "Do you know who I... I mean... Have you ever seen Gigantic?"

He shakes his head negatively.

"Dawn of Time? Survivor, the Chuck Palahniuk adaptation? Two Bodies at Cedar Ranch?"

Three more negatives.

"Dos Cuerpos en el Rancho de Cedar," I say, remembering the press junket for Spanish media.

"Are these movies? I don't really watch TV much. I didn't have one at home."

"Jesus Christ. Are you Amish?"

"No," he says, the same confused look on his face as before. "I'm Venezuelan."

I'm reeling it in, but the only thing I can possibly attribute to Venezuela is remembering my assistant telling me that the men usually have big dicks. Suddenly, My interest is piqued.

"Really?" My face softens. "How long have you been here?"

"Almost three years," he responds. "I just received my residency and started working here."

Not knowing what he was talking about, all I can offer up is: "Your english is good."

"Thank you," he glows. "I get embarrassed to speak sometimes."

"So how have you been acclimating yourself to America?"

Another confused look. I guess his English isn't that good.

"How do you like it here?" I say, a little slower.

"I love it here!" he beams. "I make a lot of money. I send money back home. And I can be myself."

"What do you mean, be yourself?" I ask, finding my way in.

He scratches his head. "I... I'm really not supposed to talk to the guest. I should be going before my jefe..."

"No. No. No," I repeat, standing up and grabbing his arm. "Take a load off. Have a seat."

"I can't. I can lose my job."

"Fuck this job."

"I love this job. It's the best one I've ever had."

"I could get you a better one."

"Really? Doing what?"

I think. Venezuleans. Venezuleans. "Janitor? Best boy, maybe?"

"What's that?"

"Look, I can find something for you."

He takes this in. "You must be a very good actor. This room is very es-pensive," he says, looking around.

"What? Good? I'm one of, if not, the best." No disrespect to Sal.

A beat.

"Are you in the new movie they are making at the new casino across the street? The one with Henry Pla-che?"

"You know who the fuck Henry Plache is but you don't know who I am?" I ask, exasperatedly.

"I love Henry. I've seen all his movies. Can you introduce me to him?"

"You've seriously never seen Gigantic? He...He...He-gante, I think?"

Another unfortunate nod. I sigh.

"Can you introduce me to him?" he continues pleading. "I'll do anything."

My fingers are messaging my eyes now. "He's... in artist mode right now. Don't think it's possible."

"Aww. Well, maybe you can get me a job on the movie. Something close to him. I won't bother him. I promise."

"Why don't we just sit down," I suggest, pointing to the black leather sofa, assuming he's getting more comfortable with the situation. He obliges.

Admittedly, the fact that he genuinely has no idea who I am has made the situation a million times more attractive. I've been a household name for well over a decade now, and was a virgin up until I signed my first contract and fucked myself, so the obscure nature of this encounter is a novelty to me. He physically isn't exactly my type, but this wouldn't be the first time I got horny and fucked outside my preference.

"Yeah, sure, in a few months, maybe, I can introduce you to him," I submit, crossing my legs. "But,"--and I cringe as I do this, but this is how it works in Hollywood and I need to accelerate this process before Shel returns--"what are you going to do for me?"

I look at him to gauge his reaction and he lowers his eyes for a beat. They fill up with a certain alertness when he lifts them back up.

"And maybe twenty thousand dollars?" he recommends, understanding the situation. I guess this is how it works in third-world countries.

"And you sign a non-disclosure agreement?" Cheaper than the 50k.

"What's that?"

"A piece of paper that says you can't say anything about this situation or anything about who I am."

"But I don't know who you are."

Cringe.

"Well then... this shouldn't be that hard of a bargain to keep up."

Even though I thought we came to a tacit agreement, the room goes quiet for a while, so I have to say something before the silence changes his mind.

"Show me," I half-whisper, nodding towards the exposed zipper peeking out of the fly on his black work pants. Now that he's sitting down and I'm paying attention, I'm noticing how thick his thighs are. It's a surprise the seams haven't given out considering how much the fabric has stretched to accommodate the mass.

"What I wanted to say was twenty-five thousand," he reneges. A powermove for a pittance. The five grand I'm spending a night for this room should've alerted him that he could maneuvered for a little more. Whatever. Still cheaper than the 50k.

"Deal," I agree, sticking my hand out. We shake on it and the room goes quiet again. "What? You want it now?"

"It's ok," he says. "Later."

His hands slide down to his belt and he goes through the protocol. He fumbles around inside for a second while I get a good peak at his ungroomed bush.

"It's no hard yet," he says, whipping out a thick piece. Even while only sporting a 20% stiffy, I can see it has a lot of potential. Like most Latinos, he's a queso-hoarder, which I've grown to be more fond of over the years, but could turn into a lust-wilter during spontaneous sex.

I ask him to jack it a little and as he retracts the foreskin, I don't spot or get an overwhelming whiff of smegma.

He squeezes his eyes shut and begins abusing his meat, but the anxiety of the moment has all the blood pumping to his heart instead of where I need it to flow. I take my hand and pull one of his legs apart wide enough for me to kneel in between.

"Just... imagine that I'm Henry Plache."

As I place the floppy sponge in my mouth, he moves his hands up towards his chest and begins messaging his nipples through his shirt. There's the slight musk on his bush of a wage worker who's been earning his pay, but nothing offensive to the olfactory glands.

Silent moans creep out as I'm working on him, but his erection is buffering at a tortoises pace. I take it out and smack it against my prickly, hangover beard and that seems to get a wilder reaction out of him. Typically, the excitement of having Cesare DeNotti servicing them was the only Viagra they needed, but my celebrity was no good here, which made my erection throb even harder.

He reaches down and frees his dark nutsack from under the elastic waistband of his briefs. Unlike the jungle that surrounded his uncut cock, his balls were slippery smooth. The other hand falls off his nipple and pushes my head down, signaling that that's where attention should be paid.

I oblige and spit on it, spreading the saliva around with my tongue as the scrotum begins to relax and his nuts fall into my mouth and around my chin. I get down on all fours for better angling and swashbuckle both of them, softly, exactly how I like mines played with. He begins moving his groin around as his moans begin to fill up the room. I can feel his balls being pulled from my soft grip, then loosened as he jacks his dick up and down with a fury.

It isn't long before I feel a knocking on the top of my head. The vision of this erect monument would make Stanley Kubrick proud. The transition was completed. The Venezuelan lived up to the stereotype. It still amazes me when I see men with something as special as this doing menial, grunt work. Is he unaware of the blessing that nature bestowed upon him? Does he not understand the type of doors and walls he can open up with something of that magnitude?

Even with a hand squeezed around the base, there's still too much dick to fit into my mouth. He unbuttons his shirt and licks his fingers, continuing to abuse his nipples. This is my first time noticing his nametag and the name of my new deity: Jesús.

As a man of great faith, I have no choice but to worship.

I unzip my pants and let my own erection loose, which was drowning in a puddle of pre-cum forming in my underwear. I have enough Moor ancestry in my blood to keep me from being insecure about my size, but still, the object of every woman and gay man's affection has nothing on the guy serving the salsiccia.

As the tip of his dick reaches the limits of my throat, I shift for a better angle. After a few more attempts, I find the other hole and begin to swallow a little more of his pipe down the wrong pipe. Gag reflexes push me back and I take a few deep breaths as strings of saliva fly in the exhale. I go under for another attempt. The deeper I push, the louder he shouts, the harder I get. My sinuses give out before I do as mucus flutters from my nose and I pull back again.

Spit drips down the dry, un-throated part of his dick and I can see I still have a ways to go until I complete this personal side mission I set up for myself. I jack his dick off and suck on the tip to try to buy me some time as I catch my breath and sniff up the drip, spitting it back on his dick to slick it up even more.

"Suck. Suck," he says, demanding and begging with the same tone. He looks blurry through my tear-rimmed eyes.

When I put it back in, I prophesize the third time being charm. I'm mentally prepared. Lower. Lower. I stop as I feel a gag creeping, giving it time to pass. Once it dissipates, I feel a force on the back of my head. Jesus pushes me down. Further. Further. Until my nose is buried deep in his forest.

I've never had this much cock curved down my throat. It was so thick at the base, my molars were pressed into his skin, but he didn't seem to mind. He yelped in pleasure, grabbing me by the hair and bringing me up and down until I start to feel bile rising up and push back off his thighs.

Deep inhales. Sharp exhales. Sniffs. Swallows.

As I'm going through the routine, he pulls me up by my shirt and pushes me on the couch. I begin to pull my pants down and bend over, but he instructs me on my back. Grabbing me by the shirt again, he hangs my head off of the angled armrest which almost lines up perfectly with his waistline. He takes two fingers on both of his hands to keep my mouth pried open and sticks his dick in between them, shifting his groin around until he finds that hole.

Now that my throat is accommodated, the in-and-out's go by a little easier as he continues pumping. I'm looking at the door, upside-down, from between his legs. A part of me is hoping my new girlfriend came busting in, finding the man who was plastered all over her high school locker in this position. I'm waiting, waiting, for the door handle to shift, until the spit and mucus runs down my face and glues my eyes shut.

"Guou!" Jesús exclaims between gasps, finally pulling back. I wipe my eyes back to 20/20 until I see him bent over, catching his breath. "Your mouth is increible."

I smile a goofy, validated smile that mirrors his.

We lock eyes as we both take off the remnants of our clothing. Although a little paunchy, his body looks a lot better outside of his work clothes. The sweat trickling down his forehead was loosening his hair from the sturdiness of its gelled jail cell and he was forming that wet tassled look that makes men a lot more attractive. I move towards the bedroom and he follows me.

As soon as I bend over on the bed, he dives in face first. My sphincter is still loose from last night's 50k/NDA combo. His tongue flickers in and out for a second, but then he abandons that and just begins to lick around the hole and lightly bite my ass cheeks, which sends my faggot anxiety soaring.

Gay sex has to be prepared for in advance. Spontaneity isn't really a part of the culture. Of course, you take your fiber capsules daily and clean your ass in the shower, but unless you hop off that toilet with clear-water confidence right before the act, you're at risk of an experience you'll randomly cringe about in the future. And although some scents are natural when you're playing in the dirt, they can be a natural dick deactivator.

I hadn't showered since last night, but I haven't eaten since then either. Either way, it's too late to worry about now. Both of our dicks are brick-stiff and a timeout would be vibe-slaughtering after all the excitement we just built up. You just pray to the gay god that blessed King James that you don't go medieval all over some potentially recurring dick.

Jesus stands up and slaps my ass. It was still pretty firm from the intense workouts and HGH cycles I had to do in preparation for the Universal Soldier reboot. I feel him peeking in and pulling back out. Teasing it. I whimper in preparation. Slowly. And then, bang. Every inch all at once. I yelp and try to run up the bed, but he's holding me tight.

Again. Every inch.

I run up a little further and I hear the jingle. Like the soundbite that summons Mariah Carey to come out of hibernation for the winter, I could recognize this noise with Helen Keller's ears.

"Wait a minute," I plead, reaching for the bottle of poppers hidden somewhere in the comforter, but suddenly he doesn't understand English. He continues pumping. I push back on his stomach and run up a little more but he chases me.

My hand finally clasps the cold bottle. I give it a quick shake, as if that does anything, and it clinks as I bring it up to my nose. I hold my yelps in and inhale the VCR head cleaner and let it alleviate the stiffness inside of me. I shake the bottle towards him, but he declines and continues pounding away.

Before the rush reaches its peak, I feel the moisture under my balls and bring my hand back up to clandestinely give myself the sniff test and inhale the sweet scent of nothingness. At least now I can take the mental stress out of this and let my body do the talking.

The man who is made to feel expendable, finds where he's god and he was finding his way into my Top 5.

The chemicals alchemize the pain into something more euphoric. My skin heats up and relaxes as my brain does that thing where it intensifies all of the most pleasurable feelings. I could kiss Jesús for making me feel as good as he is right now. I could tell him that I loved him if my filter was a little dirtier. I hold on to it as he continues penetrating my being. The mind, body, and soul connect for one of the most gratifying moments a man can experience.

...and then it dissipates and I'm falling somewhere south of Eden. He smacks my ass hard and I'm back to being the piece of meat that bottoms cherish being.

I look back and the sweat has matted his hair to his forehead. We lock eyes and he smiles at me. I'm can tell that I'm the superstar of his sexual experience thus far and begin reveling in it. He grips both of my ass cheeks and pushes until he's completely outside of me, then slams me all the way into him. I've accommodated myself to his length so the ride is smooth until the very end. He hits a wall which sends a sensational shock through me. Then he does it again. And again.

"Guou!" he exhales from behind me. He stops and I can feel him admiring his perspective. I give him a little stiff muscle twerk to get his jets going, which works because he begins greedily pounding away again.