The Usherette

The dusty black pick-up entered Main Street of the small town, a town like hundreds of others Selwyn Masters passes through each year on his quest to visit every small community within 500 miles of his hometown.

It would be regarded an interesting concept if Selwyn were a sociologist, a town planner or perhaps an unhinged urban adventurer but no, he was an author who twice a year took off two weeks away from his wife and family to do this quirky thing, insisting that it freed his mind and brought him into contract with people and fascinating conversations and incidents impossible to experience as a traveller with destinations decided and all bookings made.

The name of the town was Jonesville. Why a town should have an unimaginative name like that was anyone's guess but Selwyn had noticed an unusually high percentage of the name Jones written on mail boxes as he entered town, so assume there must be a connection.

He saw a young woman photographing the exterior of a dilapidated boarded-up cinema, which used to be called The Picture House in the town he lived as a kid. She looked interesting and may possess character qualities and have a story within her that might find their way into one of his books so he stopped, waited until she'd taken the photograph and said, "Good morning, could you please tell me where I can find Main Street?" That question always was good for an opener.

"You're right on it, mister."

Time for another question nearly always answered: "What are you doing?"

"You wouldn't be interested."

"Try me."

She was a pretty filly, about twenty, with a face blemish free – his face had all the wrinkles and blemishes because it had been out in the sun and worrying about bills and heartaches twenty-fives years longer than hers had been exposed to things that age one's face. His chest was much flatter than hers, their hips looked about even but his was about ten inches taller and he'd like to think he had about the same amount of hair but that was an outright delusion. He had bigger feet, she smaller ears and was sweet and he had not much sweetness left in him and his current publisher was whingeing that Selwyn's writing was losing its magic, the sense of excitement and adventure locked within his writing was fading like the sales of his books.

"I said pardon me," she frowned at having to repeat herself.

"Oh, pardon me. I was looking at you wondering if you were a Jones. What I had said was try me, meaning I could be very interested in what you are doing."

"What's that?"

"I'm a writer."

Bingo, he was at first base.

"Oh God, so am I or at least trying to be," she enthused." Are you published?"

"Yes, multipliedly."

"Is there such a word?"

"I think so, but I've not used it correctly; editors are paid to correct me."

She stared at him and after a moment asked: "Are you planning to harm me?"

Selwyn was horrified and gunned the motor: "Goodbye miss."

"Stop!" she called as he moved off. "My name is Gina Jones."

He slowed and leaning out the window called, "That's a name that ought to sell books."

"Stop I say!" she yelled as he began accelerating away. He looked at her in the rear vision mirror waving her hands in the air. She really wanted him to stop, so he did a wheelie in the near deserted street – it was siesta hour after lunch – and returned to her slowly.

"If I don't talk to interesting people I won't write interest things," she said, adding a thank you for coming back to me.

"That's a body worth coming back to examine again."

She turned pink, shuffled and said that was not a very proper comment and a hand sneaked up to check that the top buttons of he shirt were fastened, an action that only served to focus him on the outline of her boobs – the firmness of the young, and probably not even haltered, he concluded, nipples young, pink and yummy.

Yummy. The fucking editors would replace that word with another quite inappropriate such as 'delicious'. Not the same thing, at least to a man looking at a firm body. Bloody editors.

"You have to live the book you're writing and as you precede you have to be true to your book, Jenny Jones."

"Gina Jones."

"I know, stupid. Just testing that you were listening.

"No-one but my husband has ever called me stupid."

"I know," Selwyn sighed. "Fucking arrogant husbands."

"But you can't possibly have known that," she said, chin thrust forward. "Lucky guess."

"I know you've attempted to initiate an affair but it came to nothing."

Gina Jones turned pale and sat on the sidewalk, her camera hanging on the cord and swinging slightly just below her breasts, causing Selwyn to look just above the camera.

"Is the hot sun getting to you?"

"It's not hot today with this cloud. You've upset me. No-one but him and I are supposed to know about that."

"He."

"What?"

"He and I."

"Fuck you."

"Gina Jones, that's a disgusting comment from lips so young. Apologise at once and join me here in the cab – I have coffee and two peanut slices. Don't come into the cab if you are a virgin."

"I apologise and now I have the confidence that you are not here to harm me, so I'm coming in, Mr Whoever-your-are. How did you know peanut slab is my favourite?"

"I had to make up something to lure your into my vehicle which is so aptly named."

"What do you mean, you big tease," she giggled, getting into the vehicle and bursting into laughter – "My God, you are so clever; it's a pick-up."

"And you are smarter than you look. I'll pour the coffee – the peanut slices are in the glove box."

"Right, Gina Jones, answer the question: Why are you photographing this clapped out building?"

"It's due for demolition. My mother, who has returned to live in Ireland, came to this country in the 1960s and her first job was working in this picture house as an usherette."

"Picture house – one such young as you shouldn't be aware that's what locals used to call these places of entertainment."

"It's what she called it. She used to tell me many stories about her three years working in that place."

"Did she now – she may have even been working there when I was young. I used to go into this picture house," Selwyn lied, though it was very much like the one he did frequent. Perhaps they were built by the federal government as a community service during the Depression Years, all built from the one plan.

"Can we get in there?"

Gina licked crumbs off her lips, her kissable lips.

Selwyn stared at those lips. She was very aware of that, and the lips parted slightly.

"Do you have a torch?"

"In the glove box."

She found the torch as said, "Come on, let's go inside and allow you to re-live your youth."

The rats scattered through the dust but the spiders remained, watchfully defiant.

Gina went to turn to the right as she entered the theatre proper but Selwyn turned left and said, "This way."

"What's the difference?"

"A great deal if you're a shy eighteen-year-old lad without a girl."

"What are you talking about?"

"See this last row of seats, set back in the return of the passageway? All theatres of this type were built like that – and this is where it happened."

"What happened?"

Selwyn told her. She listened without interruption and when he finished she said, "Ohmigod, you could be my real father!"

"No, impossible. Actually it was a different town and would have been a few years after your mother had stopped being an usherette."

There was a long silence, and then she said, "I'd like to engage in a re-enactment, er, as part of my literary research."

"Very well, here's the torch. I'll dust the seat – see how it's a double seat for the usherette. She would pit on one half and put her torch and handbag containing snacks on the other half. Very astute in design, don't you think?"

"Yes, I understand. You go out and come back in."

"Good afternoon, the movie has just started. Not many in here this afternoon. You are alone; would you like to sit with me?"

"Yes, that would be nice. I can't really see you as my eyes are adjusting to the darkness."

Gina put the torch under her chin, illuminating parts of her face.

"Ma'am, you're beautiful."

"Don't be silly, young man. You're seen too many movies."

Gina sat Selwyn down, moved her non-existent handbag on to the adjoining single seat and sat beside him.

"This film is boring, isn't it?" she said.

"Yes, I think I'll shove off."

"Unless..."

"Unless what, miss?"

"Unless you would like to do something else."

"What else is there to do?"

Gina unzipped Selwyn and pulled out his penis.

"Miss, what are you doing?"

"You haven't had a girl do this to you, have you?"

"I might have."

"Don't lie to me."

"Sorry."

"Ooh, it's getting stiff. Let me look and taste it. Yum. Are you sure this is all right?"

"It's fantastic miss. Keep going."

"Miss, I think you better pull away, in fact pull away now!"

"It's all right – just let it shoot."

Selwyn blasted cum into Gina's mouth. She voiced surprise and asked where did all that come from, and was told to get back into her role.

"Get on to your knees in front of me, but wait till I remove my panties. There, now gently insert two fingers – oh, that's good. Hmm-hmm. Taste me now – put your tongue right in if you wish. Don't worry about the smell, you'll become so used to it over time that you'll be able to smell women walking close to you if you're hungry enough for sex."

"I like the taste and you've ever so juicy. More?"

"No, but good boy. Is your pecker stiff again?"

"Yes, as soon as I knelt down and smelt you I went painfully stiff."

"Oh you young man, what an amazing recovery rate you have. Come between my legs and let me slip it into me – that's it, now gently push it in all the way – there's plenty of room," intoned Gina. [Selwyn whispered liar as it was such a tight fit he was ready to explode].

"Good boy, now pull out and push forward, pull out and push forward, pull out and push forward. That's it, you're a natural. Now I'll start rocking back on you. When you feel ready to burst send it all inside me – I don't want you shooting all over my uniform as I'll then risk being fired, as the manager thinks of me as his property.

"It's swelling isn't it, I can feel it. Your balls are all hot and becoming swollen and tight. Ah, here comes the cum. Feed it to me."

Gina kissed Selwyn through the driver's open window.

"Thanks, gorgeous. That was the most glorious fuck ever. I don't know your name but it doesn't matter because we'll probably never meet again. Good luck with your next book – here's my address, send me a copy."

"You were my best fuck ever – I thought I'd blown my bladder until I found it was all cum. Live your writing, Gina and be true to your story. Farewell darling."

With great sadness Selwyn watched her in the rear vision mirror, standing in the middle of Main Street, waving to him until sheer separation of distance faded her into a dot.

Twenty months later he was called urgently to the offices of his New York publisher to a meeting of editors and company lawyers.

The big cheese Art Lincoln congratulated him yet again on the runaway success of 'Usherette'. According to latest figures 8,361,000 copies had sold.

"We have a huge problem, Selwyn. There is this dame making a claim of plagiarism against you and it doesn't look good – here's her book. Read the marked section."

Worried, Selwyn took the book and smothered a laugh when he read the title: 'My Mom the Usherette – by Gina Jones.'

"Has she sold many?"

"Half a mil," said one of the lawyers. "Excellent for a nobody with her first novel. The publishing date is confirmed – a month ahead of us."

The group watched silently as Selwyn read the marked passage – it obviously indicated both authors were writing about the same action in the same place and the description was very similar.

"Well?" asked Art.

"Very sexy, makes me get a stiff reading it. She's good."

The men looked horrified and the two women editors laughed nervously.

"Don't worry Art, I definitely am not involved in plagiarism. If you must know the incident described in my book was how I lost my virginity."

Art flushed. "What were you doing all those other years?"

"Maturing late, Art, so I wouldn't run out of thrust too early into my advancing years."

The two women editors looked very interested.

The senior lawyer asked Selwyn if he denied categorically any element of plagiarism.

"Definitely and you fools, our manuscripts would have both been in the systems of each publication house long, long before publication day."

"Tell that to the judge," growled the senior lawyer.

"What does she want, Art?"

Art said it was an odd attempted compromise: she wanted travel and accommodation at first class level for two in Paris and as penance Selwyn must accompany her.

Selwyn was too long in the tooth to rush into this, now with this battery of lawyers present.

"No, fuck her Art. I'm innocence."

"Selwyn, for God's sake, we have women here. However, that rejection satisfies me of your innocence. But I want you to go with her under her terms, Selwyn, with you acting as my direct representative – I want her signed up exclusively to us as I believe she's the Next Big Thing in sexy novels. What do you say, buddy?"

Selwyn put on an act, stroking his chin, looking at everyone and noticing the two female editors and one of the female lawyers were staring at his crotch.

"Make that trip 30-days, Art, and I'll churn out a pot-boiler under the influence of the charm of Paris. It's working title will be 'Small Town Gal' and I want an undertaking you'll pump three times the amount of money you spent on promoting 'Usherette' – but only if I succeed in getting the bitch to sign up with you."

Art conferred with his associates.

"Double."

"Treble, Art. It's going to have cum running out of its pages."

"For God's sake, Selwyn."

Lillian, editor in chief of the women's fiction division said: "Just do it Art; Gloria and I demand to be joint editors on this project; we've always admired Selwyn of course, but this new wave of creative writing from him is turning women on, and his output needs to be handled sypathetically."

"Okay, agreed. Now who's volunteering to look after Selwyn for the rest of today before he takes the midnight flight out of JFK?"

"Gloria and I will volunteer to do that, Art," said Lillian, casually examining her fingernails.

"Right, treat him royally; he's now a Top Ten author.

"Come on, everyone else," Art ordered. "We're out of here and back into the business of publishing. Selwyn, make sure those two give you everything you want."

THE END