© 2001 Kenny N Gamera

I stood at the bar in a Nevada whorehouse with a bottle of near beer watching a camera crew do their pre-shoot duties. I wondered how in the hell I ended up in this situation for maybe the millionth time since my friend asked me to tag along with him. I didn't belong in places like this waiting to be part of a live studio audience to a pornstar gangbang.

Just be thankful, Gamera, I reminded myself, you could be part of that imbroglio.

Which is what Fred had wanted in the first place.

"Come on Ken, it'll be a blast," he proclaimed. "Besides, you need to get laid."

"No, I need to get off my ass and write that damn article on white-tailed deer for Field&Stream and then maybe see if I can sell something else to pay the rent. Besides, I not so hard up that I need to pay a grand to get sloppy seconds from some bleach blonde bimbo with an eating disorder and a bad tit job."

"Rhonda Casabas does not have a bad tit job!" he protested to me as he had done before when I have questioned the quality of his favourite slut-for-hire's surgery.

"Anyway, I'm not going to go to fuck some porn slut. Especially when it is getting taped. My father watches those things and so does my sister and her boyfriend. If they see it, they'll..."

"... be glad your getting a piece," Fred finished for me. "You haven't gotten any since Julie left you last year."

"That's beside the point," I shouted at him.

"Nope, it is the point." He took hold of my shoulder in a brotherly way. "You're going nuts. A little bit of Rhonda will help settle you down and get the edge off."

"Or get a case of fugacious genitalia," I said snidely.

The argument began after he returned from the dictionary. It continued for most of the night. In the end, we compromised. He really needed me there as moral support, not because he was worried about my developing blue balls. He worried about that, too, but he was happy that I agree to come along without actually participating in the orgy. I was glad to get him off my back even if it meant my watching a few hundred men assembly line fuck a woman with more plastic in her than woman.

Things were done with more class than I would have thought given my general impression of such things. The beer was something other than "Cheap Local Lager" even if it was 'merician. The stuff I was drinking could have almost passed as real beer, which is better than most brands. The company doing the buffet had done an excellent job with it. I had a chance to enjoy some of the best salad bar that I had had in a long time.

Still, it was a pornstar gangbang. The male participants were walking around in at most a tee shirt with the words "Rhonda Casabas: All-star Gang-bang 2000" on them. Others wore just their socks. Some had just what mother had given them for their birthdays. Though, one guy had a photo-realistic picture of Rhonda Casabas tattooed on his chest. Other then the shoot crew, who looked about as excited as a group of shell shocked POWs, I was the only one dressed in a normal manner.

The guest of honour was missing, but I could see a group of women dressed in shorts and plain white tee shirts standing at the far side of the room. There were about ten or twelve of them. The majority was blonde or a reasonable facsimile of one. Three were Asian including one of the blondes. One was black. The last three dark haired white girls.

I scanned them for awhile, mostly because I couldn't stand watching the aging motorcyclists and brain-dead frat boys any longer. Not a one appealed to me. I got bored of the large breasted skinny girl back when I first started sneaking my father's a Playboys when I was in junior high school. Also, the first girl to perform a cardioectomy on me had bodacious tits.

The girl who helped pick up the pieces was a cute little redhead with champagne saucer breasts. Hugging her felt like I was hugging her, not fighting her for a couple of basketballs stuck between us. Since then, I've looked for the petite girls without a lot up top. Being picky has maybe cost me a little, but I have felt it was worth it.

Fred, however, likes them big. He found me again, just as the emcee announced the entrance of the star of the show. He nudged me in the side, a little forcefully.

"Look at those things," he whispered to me as he pointed, rather rudely, at the flesh spilling from her halter-top. "God, I can't believe I'm going to get to slide my sausage between those things."

I didn't tell him that I couldn't believe he'd want to. Instead, I said, "A dream come true."

"It's not too late, Ken."

"You mean I can go home now?"

"No, you asshole, I can still talk the producer into letting you join in. He is a friend of mine."

"I rather go home," I said with a smile, "but you go ahead and have your fun. I'll watch."

"Your loss."

With that he began to get into line. I got another NA and leaned against the portable bar. I wished that someone had brought chairs, but no one had real expected a non-participant to be around. Fred's buddy had gotten me into the show. I think that Fred and he were convinced that I would have jumped at the chance to join in after it had started, but they thought wrong.

I merely watched (feeling like tits on a priest)as the guys formed up into a single file leading up the dance floor of the bordello. Rhonda Casabas lay back on a table in the middle. Above her, the disco ball hung lifeless from the ceiling. The neon moon was off. A thicket of cables had been taped down to the wooden dance floor. It was as stimulating as dad's slide show.

The girls I had noticed before went over to the men at the front of the line. One by one, each dropped to her knees and took a limp, semi-hard, or ridged penis into her mouth. With a talent developed from hours of working at burned out studs, they began to get their assigned studs to a point where they could do the job to the main attraction with the minimal amount of time.

I got another pseudo-beer from the bartender.