Lola Licett - Queen of Porn:

There was a conference room in the office building where every week Devlin would meet with his senior staff, the so-called Three Merry Wenches. That was the theory. In practice, Devlin hated meetings and, as a consequence, the furniture was as cheap as he could get away with—a plywood conference table in three sections and the kind of mass-produced chairs you find in state school staff rooms. The three women would show up, one of them usually driving in specially, only to have some skinny fluff girl pop her head round the door to say that Devlin couldn't come because 'something had come up.' 'Now I wonder what that could be?' said Phyllis dryly and the other two had laughed. By the third time Devlin cancelled, it stopped being funny. Sitting round a cheap table on crappy chairs which threatened to collapse under them was no one's idea of a good time and Phyllis and Dolores had suggested they scrap staff meetings.

Gladys thought otherwise. She saw to it that three sturdy conference chairs were brought in and she took the lead that Devlin wasn't there to give. Phyllis and Dolores both resented this, but they couldn't say that the meetings weren't productive and sometimes even fun. To call the three women kindred spirits would be inaccurate, but being fat in a world which worshipped Thin did give them a sense of shared suffering. All three knew what it was like to be subtly mocked and passed over for people dumber than themselves. All of them had difficulty in relationships, mixed feelings of longing and contempt towards men and an intimate knowledge of loneliness which they hid under a hard-boiled exterior. They also shared a sense of irony at how satisfying work in the porn industry sometimes was. Phyllis once said: 'The last thing I wanted was to work in a place full of thin women, but being in charge of their paychecks is sweeeeet!'

It wasn't only paychecks that were affected. Under the Three Merry Wenches, contracts had been nipped and tucked until actresses needed the equivalent of a royal decree from Devlin to get anything. Pregnancy was virtually abolished and any loopholes which may have resulted in actresses being given any kind of consideration for motherhood were closed. 'Get an abortion or get fired,' said Gladys who had organised champagne for that particular meeting and the Three Merry Wenches had clinked glasses to toast the new regime. Having never had children themselves, they all found it deeply satisfying moment.

But on this day, there was no champagne on the table. Gladys was sipping a black coffee, Phyllis swigged from a bottle of diet coke and Dolores bottled water poured into a glass.

'Why don't you drink from the bottle?' said Phyllis.

'Like you do?' said Dolores in her flat monotone.

Phyllis glared and was about to say something when Gladys spoke.

'Ladies, we have a problem,' she said. 'I heard there's a rumour going round the studio that one of the fluff girls has tested positive for HIV.'

Phyllis snorted in disgust. Dolores kept her expression neutral and took a drink of water to cool the warm satisfaction she felt inside. Her plan to get back at Shirley 'Let-me-show-you-my-ass' Goober had worked after all.

It was a simple enough plan.

A couple of days earlier, Dolores had put a doctor's old report of a girl with HIV into Shirley's file and left it on a chair in the studio café for someone to find, preferably one of the male actors. If she was lucky, they would see the letters HIV and panic without seeing that the names and dates on the papers were different. By the time it could be explained as a clerical error, the damage would be done—Shirley's name would be associated with HIV and no one would want her around, especially Devlin. However, after leaving the folder in the café at lunchtime, Dolores spent an agonising afternoon in suspense, waiting in her office for an angry porn actor to storm in at any minute who never came. At the end of the working day, Dolores went back to the studio café and found the file pretty much where she left it. She put the paperwork back where it belonged and drove home feeling a gnawing resentment towards God for protecting that skinny cock-sucking slut.

But someone had seen it.

Indeed, as Dolores drank her glass of water, it occurred to her that this was going to work out even better than planned. With all the paperwork in its proper place, there was nothing connecting Dolores with the rumour. That dumb little fluff girl was going to get what was coming to her and Dolores didn't even have to take the heat for a clerical error. She sent up a silent apology to the Almighty for having ever doubted His wisdom.

'Well, it's hardly surprising, is it?' said Phyllis. 'Those tramps would fuck anybody.'

'It's kind of their job,' said Gladys.

'Which some of them enjoy a bit too much.'

'Whatever, Phyllis. We still need to nip this situation in the bud.'

'That's simple enough, surely?' said Dolores. 'Get rid of the girl.'

'I would if I knew who it was,' said Gladys.

Despite the water, Dolores's throat went dry and the warm glow in her gut was replaced with an icy chill.

'You don't know who it is?' said Dolores.

'That's what I said,' said Gladys. 'Are you sure that's water you're drinking?'

'But the rumour has to be about somebody.'

'Does it? The story I heard is that someone saw a fluff girl's medical file lying on a chair in the studio café. The person who opened it remembers seeing "HIV positive," but doesn't remember the name on the file.'

'Who's that stupid?' said Phyllis.

Dolores could think of someone. She had a very bad feeling about this.

'Apparently, it was one of the actors,' said Gladys. 'Guy with a moustache and mullet haircut.'

'Not Roger Ramrod?' said Phyllis.

'Could be.'

'But he's an idiot!'

'He's a man.'

'Yes, but even for a man, he's an idiot! Who's going to believe him?'

'Are you kidding me?' said Gladys. 'These people exchange bodily fluids for a living! Which of them is going to take a chance on this?'

There was an uncomfortable silence as the three women digested this.

'Does Devlin know?' said Dolores.

'Not yet,' said Gladys. 'But if this doesn't get resolved by the end of today, I'm going to have to tell him.'

'Why?'

'Because if the rumour is true and there is someone out there with HIV, we need to shut the studio down until everyone has gotten tested. That's going to cost thousands. The alternative is to risk half the actors getting HIV and suing for millions. Even if we won in court, we'd still be finished.'

'What I don't get,' said Phyllis, 'is what a medical file is doing on a chair in the café.'

'If it even existed,' said Dolores. 'Roger could be making it up.'

'Why would he do that?' said Gladys.

'He could be getting back at a girl who hurt his ego.'

'So he starts this rumour as revenge?'

'It's possible. Men are bastards.'

'But then he forgets the name of the girl he's taking revenge on?'

'He's a stupid bastard.'

Gladys stared at Dolores in a way that made her uncomfortable. Phyllis felt it too and spoke up.

'What are we going to do?' she said.

'I want you two to go through the medical records,' said Gladys. 'See if there's a file missing and see if anyone has tested positive for HIV. Meanwhile, I'm going to see if I can get to the bottom of this story.'

After the meeting, Gladys went to her office and Phyllis went downstairs, heading for the records archive. Dolores went to the ladies room and locked herself in a cubicle.

'Think, Dolores, think,' she muttered to herself, sitting on the toilet with her drawers round her ankles. 'What are you going to do?'

Her intestines responded with a loud gurgle and Dolores surrendered to a heavy bowel movement. There was a short thunderstorm in the white porcelain pot.

'Okay ... NOW what are you going to do?' she said when it was over.

Her first thought was to go to Gladys and fess up. Phyllis would know by that afternoon that none of this month's medical reports showed an HIV positive result and the big question would be: Who left the file on the chair in the café? Gladys used to be a lawyer and Dolores couldn't see her not figuring it out. Humiliating as it might be, it was probably better to come clean as soon as possible. On the other hand, it was worth talking to Roger first to see who else he might have told. She might even get him to remember the name on the file.

Dolores washed up and went to her office. She checked where Roger Ramrod was due to be filming—some epic called 'Doggy-Style Della, the Fuck-Fest Fornicator'—and she was off to the studio, hoping that God had some miracle up his sleeve.

Roger Ramrod was at work.

That is to say, he was stark naked and lying on his back, his hands on the hips of the woman who squatted over his body. She faced away from him, but Roger could tell by the mane of raven-black hair that it was Lola. His head was propped up on a pillow and he had a premium view of the round, olive-skinned buttocks that went up and down as she fucked him. What he did not have was a view of the camera lens.

'Hey, Cyrus?' he called out.

'What?' came a voice from the other side of the groaning woman.

'Are you sure about this camera angle?'

Cyrus was sat on a fold-up chair just to the side of the camera. In front of them, the vagina of Lola Lickett slid up and down Roger's impressive cock as her leg muscles worked to keep her upright. She gave a groaning sigh every time she went down and Cyrus crossed one leg over the other.

'The camera angle is just fine,' he said.

'Are you sure?'

'Oh yes.'

'But you can't see my face.'

Cyrus took a deep breath and said, 'Let's talk about it after this scene. Meanwhile, we have a great view of your cock.'

'But if this woman moved her leg, you could get my face and my cock.'

'Hey! This woman has a name!' said Lola. Her hips continued up and down, but her expression of rapture was replaced with annoyance.

'Sorry, umm...' Roger noted the black hair '...Lola.'

Hips still fucking, Lola looked at Cyrus in bewilderment. He gestured for her to 'keep going' and she shook her head and focused on getting back into character.

'So are you going to move your leg then?' said Roger.

'How do I move my leg without falling over?' barked Lola. 'Use your fucking brains, you imbecile!'

There was quiet from behind and Lola continued fucking. Then an expression of weary irritation crossed her face and she looked downwards. The cock she had been riding was shrinking and curling away from her even as she watched. She shook her head and stepped off the bed, holding out her hand. The boom-mike guy handed her a black silk robe with a Chinese dragon embroidered on the back. She pulled it on and turned to face the man on the bed. Roger half lay, half sat, his feet stretched out before him like a puppet with its strings cut. His cock lay on his thigh like a dead snail and he looked at it the way a child might have looked at—well, a dead snail. But a snail that had been a pet, which had been cared for and fed with lettuce, and which now had been trodden on by a clumsy parent.

'Cyrus, look what she did,' said Roger.

'What I did?' said Lola.

'Why does she have to be so mean?'

'She is standing right here.'

'I'm not talking to you.'

Lola threw her arms in the air and turned to the director.

'I cannot work like this,' she said. 'I'll be in my trailer.'

Lola walked out in a flurry of black hair and flowing black silk, slamming the studio door. The camera crew looked at one another and then at Cyrus. Cyrus looked at the man on the bed, sighed and then beckoned over to the fluff girl. Shirley put the top back on her water bottle and went over.

'Yes, boss?' she said.

'Our star seems to be a bit under the weather,' said Cyrus.

'And you want me to cheer him up?'

'If you would.'

Shirley nodded and looked across at Roger. He still lay propped on the bed like a child that had been sent to his room. She looked at his limp penis.

'His cock is covered with Lola's love juice,' she said.

'So wash it off,' said Cyrus.

'I mean, it's kind of humiliating to have to lick off the lubrication from another woman's cunt.'

'I just said you could wash it off.'

'Really? You're giving me permission?'

Cyrus opened his mouth to say yes, that's exactly what I'm doing, when he noticed how crest-fallen Shirley looked. The penny dropped.

'No,' he said. 'You don't get permission. This is Lola's cunt juice we're talking about—you don't just wash it off. You'd better lick every bit of it up or you're fired, do you hear?'

Having almost no breasts, Shirley didn't wear a bra, but she did have nipples and they had doubled in size, pushing through the fabric of her white top. She was pink in the face and breathing fast.

'You bastard, Cyrus,' she said. 'Making a girl do stuff like that. I think you enjoy humiliating me.'

'Shut up and do as you're told!' said Cyrus and he smacked her ass. Shirley squealed and scampered over to the bed, pulling her top off over her head and slipping off her jeans, panties and pumps in virtually one movement. Roger looked up in surprise as a naked nymph suddenly leapt onto the mattress and started lapping his cock. Cyrus and the camera crew stared at the girl as she slurped and licked, sighing with pleasure and manoeuvring her ass so they could all see the rosy pink petals of her pussy.

'Does she want to be filmed?' said the cameraman.

'I think she wants rather more than that,' said Cyrus.

The two men looked at each other. Then they unbuckled their pants like their lives depended on it.

When Dolores arrived at the studio, she could hear the telltale moans and groans through the door. Business as usual, she thought, and she opened the door and went in, taking care to be quiet. She held her breath to get past a scenery flat, stepped over some cables and stopped, her mouth dropping open. In the spotlight on the bed, a girl with virtually no tits was being gangbanged by the camera crew. She was on her back being fucked by the director and when she twisted round to get the sound man's cock into her mouth, Dolores recognised her as Shirley Goober. Rumours of a fluff girl with HIV were clearly greatly exaggerated—either that or five men had decided life wasn't worth living. But none of the men nor the girl seemed at all suicidal. Only Roger looked miserable, wandering around in his white towel bathrobe with his hands in his pockets. He saw Dolores and went over to her.

'Hello,' he said. 'You're a bit big for an actress, aren't you?'

'I'm Dolores. From the office.'

'Oh.'

'You not joining the fun?' she said.

'What fun?' said Roger. 'We're supposed to be working.' He looked over at the gangbang. 'I mean, what are they doing?'

'Seems pretty obvious to me.'

'But what's the point if they're not going to film it?'

'Roger, there are reasons to have sex other than because you get paid for it.'

'Really?'

The two of them watched. The director had ejaculated inside the girl and was wiping his cock with a handkerchief as the boom-mike guy took his place. He had some trouble getting his cock into position and the girl shifted her hips and lifted her knees, her eyes gleaming, all but licking her lips. The boom-mike guy sank his cock into her and the girl threw her head back and let out a guttural cry.

'I fancy a cup of tea,' said Roger.

He made to walk past Dolores and she grabbed the sleeve of his bathrobe.

'Wait a minute,' she said, still staring at the action on the bed. 'Did you see a medical file?'

'A what?'

'A medical file.'

Roger expression went from confusion to incomprehension. Dolores sighed.

'It's a brown folder where doctors put their examination reports,' she said.

'Oh.' Then: 'Oh!'

Light seemed to dawn and Roger's face twisted in horror.

'Oh, my God,' he said. 'Are you here to tell me that I've got a vulnerable disease?'

'Pardon?'

'Lola was talking about that. She wanted to see my file, I remember now.'

'Roger, it's not "vulnerable," it's "venereal" and that's not what I'm talking about.'

'It isn't?'

'No. I'm talking about the file that said...' she lowered her voice '...HIV.'

'Hives?'

'No! H.I.V. The AIDS virus!'

'I've got the AIDS virus?'

'NO!'

Dear Christ, thought Dolores, this is so not going the way she wanted. Roger's face had gone almost as white as his bathrobe and his knees were buckling. He looked like a man staring death in the face and suddenly the girl's 'Ah! Ah! Ah!' in the background seemed wildly inappropriate. Dolores grabbed his arms and looked him in the eyes.

'Roger, listen to me,' she said. 'You're fine. You're clean. There's nothing wrong with you. Repeat: There's nothing wrong with you. Do you hear me?'

Roger's eyes darted left and right as he processed the information. Finally, he looked at her. His eyes were pleading and his face looked as open and trusting as a child's. A malevolent idea entered Dolores's head.

'Roger, the file I'm talking about is someone else's file,' she said. 'Someone not so far away.'

'You?'

'No, of course not!'

'But not me?'

'No, Roger. It's not you. It's not me. And it's not any of the men. Do you see what I'm saying?'

Roger stared at her. Dolores nodded over to the group on the bed. Roger followed her gaze. The cameraman now had his cock in the girl's pussy and was fucking her with gusto. Meanwhile, the lighting guy had ejaculated over her face and the girl was wiping his semen off with her hands and licking her fingers.

'Oh,' said Roger.

'Yeah,' said Dolores. 'Oh.'