Mark de Silva - Square Wave

Her muscles ached from a hangover accruing from a full week of drunkenness. Her hands trembled as they had before, from the blackjack. She was dizzy now too. The vapor of grain alcohol filled her mouth again, overriding the blueberry aftertaste. She dry heaved once but in a controlled way. No one noticed, she hoped. She was in no shape for this much movement, and there were pains in places she hadn’t felt since the beating. It would have been easier, she thought, to lie there and get fucked. Maybe that’s what she’d need to do the next time around. Probably these same two men would shoot it. There’d certainly be more cash in it.

“Okay,” she sighed, losing a little of her brightness. She held her stomach and rubbed it in circles. She felt very strongly like shitting, just as she had after the morning’s enema. “I think it’s done!” she said, finding some vigor for the camera.

She put the glass on the floor. The lens dipped with her as she squatted and stared out of frame, above the camera, as if in contemplation of a weighty matter.

Before she could settle into position and bear down, the smoothie squirted from her, onto the outside of the glass and the floor, purpling the grout lines. The incontinence brought a twinge of embarrassment to her. She felt like a child with undeveloped faculties, or a geriatric with worn out ones. Quickly, though, she tamed the flow and shot it into the glass.

She turned down to look at the rising puree. There was an animal satisfaction to the expulsion. As the movement came to a close she bore down harder, forcing stringy yellow mucus into the drink. She was empty now, and this gave its own kind of satisfaction, to be voided, to have purified the vaporousness she felt herself to consist in, after sixty hours now of living on little more than spirits. She’d been asked not to eat before the shoot, for her own benefit, mainly. It would make the cleanse simpler. She’d forgotten the instructions, but other forces, her compulsions, drove her to much the same.

The glass was more than half-full. She reached between her legs and lifted it, but as she rose out of the squat she stumbled to one side and sloshed the glass. She found her balance and held the drink up near her eyes. “Look what I made,” she said. She stirred it with a spoon from the drawer and began to drink.

It was less cool now — it had taken on some of the heat of her guts — but as if in compensation, the flavors had bloomed: the floral tones of the papaya, the tartness of the kiwi, the simple sweetness of the banana. There was a new sharpness to it as well, an acridity that complicated the drink, deepened it. It was more than sugars now. It was something that defied the appetites.

Texturally there was fresh interest. Amid the uniformity of the puree, the tiny points of evenly distributed fruit, she could feel the mucus slip around her tongue and mouth in long bands like egg whites. They clung to her throat as she swallowed, so that sending them down with the rest took more aggressive gulps.

She could taste the incompetence of the morning’s enema. The saline never really ran clear. Twice she fell while squeezing the rubber balloon. The hangover had taken her patience with her balance.

But she was ravenous. And though bitterness remained at the heart of the drink, she found herself emptying the glass. The more she took in, the more repulsed she grew. Yet there was no stopping. Two warring instincts and hunger won.

The two men watched from behind the camera. Often a girl would balk after a sip or two, and they would have to cut the shot and threaten to pay half or nothing at all. Not that the girl didn’t know what she was supposed to do when they started the shoot. Only the seasoned shameless, though, could be counted on to keep their nerve when the brew was served.

Lisa set the empty, slimed glass on the counter.

“Am I ready to ace this test!”

The men marveled. Few debutantes gave such committed performances. But then, in her famished state, it was hardly that. Aspirations, obligations, they were idle.

They cut the camera.

“You did great,” the shorter one said. “Perfect, really. How was it?”

“I think it went okay,” Jen said.

“No, the shake.”

“Really?”

“You pounded it.”

“It wasn’t bad.”

“Five hundred bucks and you didn’t even have to look at a cock,” said the tattooed one.

She burped. They all laughed. Jen could taste the salutary rot. This, finally, might keep the spirits at bay.

BONEYARD: I’ve been waiting for #4 a long while. No previews at Evil Angel yet. Ah!

ARCELOR: That’s cuz Elegant not Evil produced it. Angel.

PTERODACTYL: No I’ve seen… amazing. She is so sweet and giggly.

BONEYARD: Dactyl send me a link in Private? Tx.

MATCHMAKER: 1 stanal! Takes it like a champ. That’s a big fucking cock.

BONEYARD: Dirty Debutantes was 1 stanal, Match. Like a minute of it till she pulls him out. His cock isn’t even that big. Didn’t get more than the tip in. *Real* first time maybe?

ARCELOR: No no — camera angle / bad lighting. It’s in her pussy. In missionary, right.

BONEYARD: Yeah that’s it. It looks like it’s in her ass though. But she does have one of those assholes that’s really close to her pussy, so maybe not. But on top of that she reaches down like it hurts. Then he pulls out and it seems like after he puts it back in she’s not in pain.

ARCELOR: First taste of porn cock — it hurt.

MATCHMAKER: Of course you know

ARCELOR: Three months now Match and you still can’t keep up. Boneyard, you can blow that shot up. There’s no switch. She licks her hand and rubs her pussy. Just dry.

VIOLETSKYE: Hi guys just wanted to clarify this is my FIRST anal scene. I saved it for Elegant to get it right. It was scary but exciting too. So glad I finally did it. Hope you guys liked it most of all.

ARCELOR: Welcome Violet!

BONEYARD: VIOLET!!! So Debutantes had no anal — you can confirm?

VIOLETSKYE: I hear that all the time but no it really is lighting and the distance of the shot. Now you know! They should spend more. Maybe they would have got it.

ARCELOR: Bet the director likes the rumor though. Couldn’t have hurt sales.

VIOLETSKYE:;)

PTERODACTYL: The new scene looks so good. No condoms. Just waiting to see the whole thing.

BONEYARD: Congrats on your best-new-starlet nomination, Violet. And best three-way too!

MATCHMAKER: Yes congrats that is great news. Totally deserved.

VIOLETSKYE: Thank you Matchmaker. That scene was even scarier. And being nominated too!

ARCELOR: That nom, that was just your first three-way wasn’t it?

PTERODACTYL: That’s how good she gonna be.

VIOLETSKYE: On camera, yes! My first three-way ever was a private session. Not a fun one actually. Sketchy. Creepy. But this one went great. Jeremy H. is such a good director. Makes it easy on the girls.

APACHI5: Shooting any features now? Would love to see you in character again. And doing interracial! (We can dream…).

VIOLETSKYE: I’m not shooting any right now but there have been more offers since the nominations. They pay better but I don’t think I’m really into the playacting thing. It’s distracting enough with the lights and crew. The gonzo stuff, pure sex, is better for me, if only it paid. And no interracial I think. Sorry.

MATCHMAKER: You’re so adaptable though. And you don’t talk as much as the gonzo girls.

VIOLETSKYE: Deer in the headlights:) I can’t do that on purpose though. It happens or it doesn’t and it’s happening less now. Too familiar. You’ve got to actually play the part once you can’t just react and expect guys to get hard from the wide eyes.