Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.
Shakespeare – Twelfth Night
Introduction -- Son of the Beach
Sometimes your life's work is handed to you. Sometimes you fall into it. Sometimes it comes to you in a kind of religious experience. That was how it was for me. This is how it happened.
I was never a great student, a great football or baseball player, a great employee, or, frankly, a great lay. Of course, at the time, I would have said otherwise. High School kids are cocky that way. Following senior year, I drifted from job to job, and finally landed with Charlie Conner of Conner's Custom Van and Detail, in La Jolla. Charlie hired me to wash the vans as they came in. When I was finished, the detail team did their thing.
It was entry level work, with an opportunity to learn detailing and the custom car business generally, not that I cared. The money was enough that I could kick a couple hundred a month to my parents, for the room I was still using. On occasion I could borrow a van, but fucking in a van gets old, and there was hell to pay if the van came back smelling of sex. Like any 18, then 19, year old kid, I wanted a place of my own, to turn into a sex haven. I was drifting, and did not have a clue that I was doing so.
Then along came the big announcement; Charlie was putting a team on the road for a string of car shows. Everyone wanted in, until they found out that it meant being away from California for almost six months. Soon all the married, engaged and seriously committed guys had pulled out. A bit reluctantly I think, Charlie put me on the traveling crew. I had never been a great employee, but I look good and speak well.
Charlie needed a portfolio of pictures from the shows, so he had hired a professional photographer named Justin Immons. Justin and I worked closely during the shows. I was lighting man, gofer, agent, model, or lover, depending on time, place and circumstances. After Philadelphia, Charlie and several of the team headed home. Justin wanted me to stay on and continue working with him. Much as I wanted to get back to the coast, and to my board, I agreed.
It shows how much a simple decision can lead you to unexpected places. A few weeks later I found myself, gagged, tied up like a turkey, hanging by my armpits, staring at a totally beautiful witch as she stretched her catlike legs on a ballet bar. Then she looked at me.
Chapter 1: - Snow in my Sandals
The car shows had been going smoothly until we hit Syracuse. Charlie had gone back to La Jolla, leaving CJ (Charles Jr.) in charge. Yeah, I thought it was funny too. At least I did until CJ dropped the ball. Charlie had only made modeling arrangements one city in advance. When he left, CJ did not make any new arrangements, which left us without any bikini girls. A car show without bikinis is like a surfboard without waves: functional but it gets no action. In a fit of desperation we had a contest. We went to the college hangouts and posted announcements:
Four Days Immediate Work
Professional Portfolio Shoot
It worked like a dream. We got six very hot girls, eager to work for a quarter of what we were prepared to pay agency models. After the show, five of the fashion shoots went smoothly. The portfolio gave each girl had a solid introduction to any modeling agency in the country. That was enough for most. Then there was Gina. She was a 20-something college senior and high priced call girl. Her portfolio was not intended for Madison Avenue. Shoots were for 30 minutes. After 10 minutes of watching her undress for the camera, I was ready for a cold shower. Justin was ready for me.
He blew me in the hotel elevator. By the time I had the door to my room open, he had a tube of K-Y in his hand. It was my cherry. Little Jay had never corn holed anyone before, but in the next six weeks the little guy did it 30 times at least. In Cleveland, Justin had the room next to mine. That night I reamed him out. In the morning, he returned the compliment. Since he did not stay the night, the wake up blow job was a complete surprise.
It became a pattern and then a game. I never gave Justin a key, but he was always inside my door for his bedtime ass reaming. He would go to his room and I would go to sleep, sooner or later, depending on my company and what time she (they) left. In the morning he would give me my wake up. I changed rooms, set alarm clocks, asked for wake up calls, all in an attempt to be awake before his lips locked on to my little buddy. Except Sundays, when Justin went to mass, I only managed it twice.
It became clear as we moved through the Midwest that word had gone before us. In Cleveland Jodi followed Gina's footsteps. In Scranton it was Candy and Bambi, and then Carmen and the twins; Melissa and Marissa. By Dayton Justin and I were turning away more pros than amateurs. Gina had been a hot Penthouse style shoot. Jodi wanted a prop, and I was handy. Then Melissa and Marissa were into kink, and they offered to do scenes on the side. After that, I never spent an evening alone.
So it went, to the last show in Atlanta. I learned to go without sleep and Justin was doing fantastic business. Word of mouth generated a ton of business offers on the side. Justin's voice mail was wall-to-wall hookers wanting publicity shots and Madams wanting catalogs. When the last show wound down in April, Justin's studio was booked through Labor Day.
It was a hell of a summer, but that would be another story. Suffice to say that I had enough on camera sex to keep a teenager happy, and enough off camera experience to run a gigolo college. It is amazing what working girls want to do on their own time, especially if they pay you.
I laid down some rules in Ohio, and mostly the girls respected them. That left a lot of room for experimenting. If that was insufficient, Justin was available to blow me at any time, in any place, not to mention giving me his tight ass. Justin was not the only one who carried K-Y everywhere. Most of the girls wanted to play out some their fantasies in my hotel room, not that that stopped Justin from getting his night cap. There were exceptions. Jay managed three kinds of sexual penetration of Tanya in a Transit Authority baggage stall, with pictures. I still have them.
Chapter Two -- The Road to Perdition
Eventually the flood slowed to a stream and Justin started fishing for other work. He found a beauty. It was a High Class auction, with a very discrete profile. Two big name firms had looked at the job and walked away. A lesser company had picked it up and set it aside. Time was short, and the client was getting desperate.
The project was the auction catalog. Justin's summer of slut and smut may have given him an inside track. Everything in the sale was sexually charged. It was all either erotic, sexually oriented, or associated with someone famous for sexual reasons; and expensive. The centerpiece of the sale was a collection of D/s wear, with related gear and implements, from a Hollywood brothel of the 1920s. The minimum bid on that item was $500,000, but it was expected to bring well over $2 Million. Justin was beside himself with excitement, as I would have been, except for two things.
The first problem was Peter. He was an equipment nerd Charlie had hired for the road show. Peter and I disliked each other on sight. Within a week we had moved past not speaking to not even acknowledging each other. My duties did not require me to speak to him, so I didn't. Unfortunately, he and Justin got along fine.
The other problem was the client, Sean Richards. As the man with the checkbook, what Mr. Richards wanted, we wanted to get for him. The problem was not a like/dislike, it was communication. We could never figure out what he wanted. Sean was extremely literal. He dealt in facts not ideas. If we brought something to him, he would like it or not, but never could tell us why or why not. It drove all three of us nuts. We had worked three weeks getting every item shot a dozen times, in all kinds of light, against all kinds of settings. Nothing worked. Then Sean brought in Cynthia.
We had been having a typically unproductive day. Peter and Justin were arguing something technical about film speed and light flux, when a message came from Mr. Richards to come to his office. We had been waiting about 10 minutes when she walked in. Cynthia, Mr. Richards introduced her with no last name, was tall, dark haired and moved with a dancer's grace. If you remember the old song Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress, that was her to a T. Think of the line "tall walking big black cat": smooth, sinuous, dangerous. Her suit was conservative, but she made it talk. As I said, she looked dangerous. Sean introduced the three of us, by full names, and left us alone with her. I felt outnumbered.
Peter opened up with a technical question. Cynthia sent it back with topspin. Justin pulled out some of the more provocative prints. She pulled out a portfolio that topped his. Even I could see she had a great eye for depth of field. After maybe 15-20 minutes of verbal fencing, she sent for Mr. Richards. I had no need to listen; she knew her shit and she was The Boss. Sean Richards just underlined it.
.... There is more of this story ...