Baggage 5

Baggage

By Cabot DeWine

My first day in Los Angeles was already a mess. I am not superstitious, probably because I haven't lived in California long enough to start buying into the woo-woo shit, but I still took it as a bad omen for my whole trip out here.

I had an important audition coming up and the airline had lost my suitcase with some of my most important outfits and props in it. I had scheduled this trip tight, and if I didn't get my bag in time that could affect my chance of succeeding out here. And heading home... that just wasn't an option.

I was on the phone with the customer service rep, who was trying to assure me that the airline was doing the best that they could.

"Can you give us an idea of what else may have been in the bag? Specific clothing items?" the customer service rep asked.

I sighed. I didn't want to detail my personal belongings. I was ready to call the producer and see if I could reschedule, and to figure out who I could ask for money to stay another day in Los Angeles, when the rep spoke up.

"Looks like the bag was just checked in at LAX. We will have it delivered to your hotel immediately."

I didn't know what "immediate" meant to them, but as long as it came before tomorrow I would be okay. Still, I would have felt better if I had a chance to go through my stuff in preparation for my audition.

I had hoped to spend my arrival time in Los Angeles walking around the city, taking some pictures, and posting them online for my fans. My hotel even had stationary that I thought would make for a nice way to write thank you notes to fans who had helped fund my trip out here. I decided to write those notes out while I waited. I may not have planned where my life would take me, but I didn't make it this far by wasting time.

I had finished writing some notes when there was a knock on the door. I got up and looked through the peephole and saw a man in a skycap outfit with my bag next to him. I opened the door.

"Hello, Gwen Morgan?" he said.

"That's me," I said.

"I'm David from the airline. I have your bag. May I bring it in?"

I nodded yes and let him in. He rolled in the bag and I took it. I snuck a good look at him. He was about 6ft tall, with medium length brown hair, short stubble beard, and what looked like an athletic build. I supposed handling bags all day was a way to keep in shape. I wondered if he was an aspiring actor as well doing this as a day job.

I took the bag and he pulled out a small tablet.

"Can you look inside and confirm this is your bag and all items are accounted for?" he asked.

I took the bag and put it on the small couch in the hotel room. It was positioned in a way where he couldn't see what was inside. The stuff inside was sensitive, to say the least.

I unzipped the bag and looked inside. The outfits and items where there, but out of curiosity about whether the baggage handlers had messed with my items (this happened before), I decided to look inside. But when I lifted the top of the suitcase to look inside, the whole thing slid off the couch, spilling the contents on the floor.

"Shit," I said in frustration, but immediately regretted it.

"Oh, let me help!" David said.

Before I could wave him off, he was around the couch. Before his brain could register was he was seeing, David had already reached down into the pile of fallen lingerie and sex toys.

"Oh!" David said, cheeks reddening as he sheepishly lifted a handful of lingerie and a butt plug.

He quickly placed the items in the suitcase.

"Ugh, I take it your a porn star of some type?" he said.

Well, the cat was out of the bag, along with my other stuff, so I knew there was no point in hiding it.

"I'm hoping to be. I am in town for an audition," I told him.

"You seem, uh, well prepared," he said.

I continued folding and putting some stuff back in the suitcase.

"Well, I work as a cam girl and OnlyFans model, but once people in my small town found out I was harassed about it," I said, "At this point, I could apologize and still be known as the town whore, or I could make the jump to going full time and big."

"So, you decided to go big, not stay home," David said, "You picked the right city to do it."

He seemed nervous as I folded a dominatrix outfit.

"Don't feel weird about this. You know how many people would pay for the chance to fold my laundry?" I said.

David, maybe out of professional courtesy, helped pick up and fold some outfits.

"What brings you out to Los Angeles," I asked, "You look like an actor."

"I've done some of that, background mostly, but I want to direct," David said.

"Cool, what have you directed?"

"Shorts, mostly. I haven't been able to break in yet," David said, "Almost had something, but then the pandemic killed that project."

"Huh," I said, "Have you ever directed adult stuff?"

"No," David said, "More than a few directors have, but I just always worried about that following me. Plus, it's not like you can tell that good of stories."

I paused and shot him a look.

"What? Porn doesn't favor good stories," David said, "It's all about what goes in where, or on where."

"Maybe that idea is driving creative people from the industry," I said, "Honestly, my stripper friends put a lot of effort in planning their dances. And I know I always think of what I'm trying to say in my photo work."

"It's not that it doesn't matter, but I need something more engaging that some lonely housewife just banging the plumber, or pool boy, or something. 'Oh, we just met, let's just fuck!'. Where is the creativity, plot, dialogue, or romantic little character building moments?"

As he said that we both reached down and grabbed the same dildo. Or eyes met.

"Is this not a romantic little moment? Lady and the Tramp?" I said.

He let go of the dildo.

"Which does that make me?" he asked.

"I'm no lady, though I could play one," I said, "But I love to be the tramp."

I began to lick the edge of the dildo for emphasis. I could see he eyes widen and his face flush with excitement.

"I'm sure you could, but I warn you, I would be an exacting director," he said.

"You wouldn't need to warn me if there wasn't a path to yes," I said.

I felt excitement well in my chest. This was the thrill of seduction. I couldn't have told you then whether he was a good director or a bad one, but I knew I could seduce him to the dark side. And maybe, if the bulge in his pants was what I was imagining, I could get a costar as well.

"I could take direction well," I said, picking up one of the ball gags on the floor and putting it in my mouth.

"Not like that," he said, "I mean, maybe not right now."

"Like what, my director," I said, shooting my shot.

"Well," he said, "I don't know. I've never thought about what I would shoot in porn."

"Liar," I said.

"Okay, your right. But I don't know which to choose."

"You have one shot, quick!" I said.

"I don't know. Part of me wants to shoot something artsy and sexy, and part of me just wants to fuck you," he confessed, "And I don't know how to square the two."

I reached out with the dildo and tapped his bulge. He backed up.

"That's because of all the blood left your brain and went there," I teased.

"Well, what would you want me to do?" he asked.

Unlike him, I didn't have to think much. Less for romance than mere practicality, I already knew what I would want him to do.

"What if you helped me shoot something here, in this hotel room, for my OnlyFans, and if you do a good job, we see," I suggested.

He considered the idea, then looked down at the tablet in his hand.

"Um, technically I am still at work," he said.

"You didn't come out here to handle luggage. You could work at any airport and do that," I said.

He looked at the tablet, then back at me, and nodded.

"I'll tell them I am going on lunch," David said.

"Perfect," I said.

"Pick three outfits while I wait. I assume you have the cameras?"

"I do," I said.

I picked out three outfits while David phoned his boss to check out for lunch.

By the time I had come out in my first outfit, he had already moved the couch to get the best light. Honestly, I don't know why I felt the need to change in the bathroom. Other than touching up my hair, I could have changed right there. But somehow I knew some of the magic would be lost. Certainly I was thinking more cinematically of my entrance now that I was in the presence of an auteur.

Snark aside, I felt butterflies in my stomach. This obviously wasn't my first nude shoot, and not even my first hookup with the photographer. But there was something different in all this. Maybe because I had taken the role of aggressor, luring him in. I'd done plenty of seduction for online tips and when stripping. But that was all for money. I wanted to have his talent.

I realized I didn't actually know his talent. I'd been dickmatized by his endowment. So this was essentially as much a mystery for me as it was for him.

I stepped out of the bathroom and David turned his attention to me. His eyes lit up and he smiled. He lifted the camera he had and took a photograph. Without a thought, I began some poses.

"Those photos may not come out the best, I just needed to capture the moment," he said.

"What'd you see?" I asked.

"I think it was the look on your face, and the nervous energy," David said, "You looked like you were ready to run or pounce."

"Where would I run to? I got what I want in my sight," I said.

I approached him, slow and steady. He reached for his camera again, but only lifted it halfway, his eyes still focused on me.

"No picture?" I asked.

He didn't say anything, just beckoned me to the couch. I followed his instruction. His eyes followed me every step of the way.

"In this scene, you have invited the viewer up to your hotel room to talk," David said.

"Just talk?" I asked.

"This is a journey. If this were a night shoot, I would do it differently. As it is, you chose the room with great natural lighting, and it would be a waste to not use it," David said.

He looked around the room for a minute, then out the window.

"What are you looking at?"

"If we did want to do a night shoot, we might be able to pull it off. We'd need a kit and gels, but that neon sign across the street might be bright enough to come in the room and color the shots," he said.

I walked over to look out the window.

"Look at you," I said, nudging him playfully.

"Huh?"

"Like, you're seeing the whole space. What's that word, mise-en-scène?"

"Something like that," he said, sheepishly.

"Don't be shy. I wish I could see things so completely," I said.

"You could, with some experience," David said.

"Maybe I could be your Galatea, and you my Pygmalion," I said.

"You read Ovid?" David asked.

"Yes, though only because I starred in my high school production of My Fair Lady."

"As Eliza?"

"No, understudy and chorus. I never wished mono on someone more than Deborah, the girl who got it," I said.

"Where is Deborah now?"

"Married, one kid, still in the hometown," I said.

"Well, then, now your the star," David said.

I looked down demurely and could feel my cheeks flush a bit. I turned my gaze down to his hands, which held the camera. The myth of Pygmalion came to my mind, the sculptor who fell in love with his own creation. His hands weren't the rough hands of a working artist, but not the soft hands either. I'm sure handling baggage all day adds some sort of strength. But I imagine his hands covered in dust, moving all over me as he molded and formed me. I no longer was worried about the talent. I worried about whether I was a good enough piece of marble.

His left hand went up and under my chin. He raised my gaze to his.

"This, right here: The banter and the looks. That is the scene we want," he said.

I understood him. I wasn't sure what all that would mean, but I trusted that he would give me the direction.

The photoshoot started. He had me lounge around in the outfit, casual, but always aware of the camera as a viewer. He talked to me all the way through it, a mix of direction and talk to elicit a response. He made few teasing jokes to arouse me, a few roasts to exasperate me, and once out of annoyance I took a swing at him with a couch pillow. Ever the professional, he got the shot, capturing the action of the pillow, my pursed lips and hair flying wildly.

"Chase me," he said, and I followed him around the hotel room. David not only managed to run backward without hitting or tripping over anything, but guided me through the room, catching the right light.

"Now chase me," I said.

David obliged, and started following me while I would duck behind the couch, behind the bed, in the curtain.

"Let me know if I should do anything," I asked.

"This is all you, I'll just document it."

The chase had run its course when David got a call from his boss asking where he was.

"Look, I'm probably not going to make it back today, alright. Something came up," David said.

I could hear the boss complaining on the other end of the phone.

"Well, I've got a lot of paid time off you never let me take. I can walk over to any airline at LAX and get hired tomorrow," David said.

The boss groused some more, but David just rolled his eyes.

"Look, I'll be back tonight and the evening rush, okay?"

David wrapped up the phone.

"You shouldn't risk your job for this," I said worriedly.

"I let my boss talk me out of opportunities that may have gotten me out of this job," he said, "I haven't felt this creative or alive in years."

There was a mix of anger, sorrow, and exhaustion in his voice. I wanted nothing more than to pull him to me and make him happy.

"I know chasing your dream can cost you a lot, but I don't want to take the little you have," I said.

He laughed.

"You've given me a lot already," he said.

"I can give you more," I said.

I leaned in and kissed him, The first was gentle, sensual. The next was more erotic and animal. I moved my hand toward his crotch.

"Is this like the scene where you can't pay the pizza man?" he said.

"I really can't pay you, but I really do want to do you," I said.

I could see the conflict on his face.

"You can let go. I am a porn star. Or I will be. I love the high minded art, but sometimes we've got to put it all aside and embrace our id," I said.

"Tonight," he said, "I have a fantasy, but it requires some time and set up."

"Want to check my toys for props?" I asked.

"No," David said, "You're doing the casting scene tomorrow?"

"Yes." I said.

"Your first?"

"Yes," I said, "First scene other than my self-taped."

"I want to do a scene like that, my way," he said.

"What's your way?" I asked.

"Classier. I don't want the low lighting, cheap camera look. I want you in a robe, like you're a star already."

"Like a real actress?" I asked.

"You are an actress," David said.

"You passed the test," I said, "I might have kicked you out."

"It's still porn and I am still hung up, but I won't get this chance again," David said.

"It's not like you're getting Hollywood actresses to do it, are you?" I asked.

"I wouldn't do it then, you know. No casting couch or 'Me Too'. I would never do that in real life, but it doesn't mean I haven't fantasized."

"But with porn it frees you to do things you couldn't do," I said.

"Yes. Not that I look at you differently, just..."

"Don't be so chivalrous," I told him, "Porn can be the safe place for fantasy. And not just the sexual type."

"What other types?" David asked.

"Hollywood has failed you. You are creative as hell, and fun as hell. You're handling baggage while other create mediocre crap. Porn might not be looked upon well, but it's a hell of a lot closer to a meritocracy," I said.

That same pained look from earlier crossed his face, only briefly. There was a deep well of pain under that, and I wanted to provide some relief.

"You know, if you asked my fantasy when we first met, I'd have told you a threesome. But you're so damn good at drawing stuff out of me, now I just want to imagine myself where I thought I would be when I first moved out here."

"That is what you could bring to the genre," I said, "Tits and blowjobs are great, but sex workers know there are other holes that need filling, and the genre isn't serving that."

I saw the conflicted look on his face, and knew it was time to step off the gas there. He wasn't ready for that yet.

Instead I went through the camera roll and looked at the phots.

"These are gorgeous and artsy, but my subscribers are going to want more nudity," I said.

"There is some," David said.

He wasn't wrong. There was a nip slip here and there, a lot of butt cheeks, and even some of my vagina. But nothing fully nude.

"We gotta go at least HBO on this," I said.

He nodded.

"Okay. This is your area of expertise. You do what you do, I will record it."

So we did another round of photos. We recreated some of the shots, only with me more stripped down. I felt more in control and in my element as I posed, clench, arched and contorted my body to arouse the most out of the viewer.

At one point, as I was removing my panties, and idea came to mind that made me smile. When my panties were off I held them back like I was about to throw them. As soon as David got the shot, I did throw them at him. Ever the professional, he got the shot. We reviewed it.

"That's really hot," David said.

"Not as hot as this," I said.

I picked the panties off his shoulder, then reached down and shoved them down the front of his boxers.

"What are you doing?" David asked, his voice cracking a bit in excitement.

"Calling dibs on your dick," I said matter-of-factly.

He reached down to pull them out, but I slapped his hand away.

"Keep them there. I want you to have painful blue balls all day until you get back. I want you to know you could have fucked me if you had let a little blood leave that hyperactive brain and go to your dick," I said with seductive aggression.

He looked down at me and for the first time he really seemed to notice that I was completely naked. I was no longer a project, an art piece, a professional collaborator. I was a woman, naked and available, a creature of sensuality and sexuality he could have. No date, no pretenses, just a partner willing and eager to satisfy and satiate his lust.

He gingerly touched my back, and I knew I had him hooked.

"You can touch me, but the pants stay on until later," I said.

He let his guard down and his hands explore. They weren't the rough-hewn hands of sculpture working his art, but they were hungry. It was the kind of hunger when you smell the best meal in the world and suddenly feel like you're starving. His face move in, kissed me, and then started to move down my body. Against my immediate desires, but knowing full well it was worth it, I lifted his head.

"Sorry, but you made the rule. Not until later," I said.

"Can we change the rule?" he asked.

"No. I want your artistic integrity intact," I said, "You need a few hours of tortured pain to tear down those inhibitions."

He nodded, though I could tell his mind was clouded in his fevered, lustful state. One of his hands brushed my vagina, a finger circling my wet lips. Another grabbed a handful of my ass firmly, then a solitary finger ran down the crack, brushing my anus.

"Remember what you want right now and be ready to ask for it," I said, "It can all be yours."

The finger in my crack paused and lightly stroked my anus again. I nodded. Everything he wanted. So long as he asked. So long as it combined his lust and art.

I put a hand on the bulge in his pants and gave it a firm squeeze. Whether it was pain, or trying no to cum, it served my purpose in causing him to stiffen and step back.