Max Goes Hollywood - Revelation

"Try not to take overlong in the shower. Ms Catawnee would like us to remember there is a drought on for LA county. And mute your SI App for the weekend, you won't need it."

I almost walked right past him in my half-awake stupor. Honestly, I should have stopped in the bathroom, thrown some water on my face and maybe hit the newsstand for one of those five-hour energy things that makes my chest ache but keeps me up for a few hours if I need it to.

Instead, I headed for sunlight and noise. You'd honestly think a city-by like me would know better.

"Mister Maxwell Connors? Sir? Maxwell Connors?"

The voice was unfamiliar, but I still could recognize my own name (Hey! Improvement!). I looked around and saw a young man holding one of those move the letter signs with my name on it. Guy looked snappily dressed in livery of some sort, clean, tidy and disturbingly awake at what was, even for me, an ungodly hour of the day. I wasn't sure if I admired his get-up-and-go or hated him for being a morning person.

"MAx," I croaked. Quite literally. My throat was dry as toast. I swallowed and tried again. "That's me. I'm Max Connors."

"Good morning, sir," he chipperly... chirped, coming close and reaching for my suitcase. Not sure why, but I let him take it. "My name is Juan. I've been sent by the studio to take you where you will be staying."

"Where AM I staying?" I shook off a little fatigue and followed him outside where the hot air, even in the early morning, shocked my system.

"I don't really know sir," Juan led me past a few cabs and town cars to a long white limo. I didn't even ride in a limo to prom. "I'm with a service and the studio just gave us an address. It's not a hotel; I can tell you that much."

"Why do I feel like I just walked onto the plot of an old detective movie? Maybe something by Agatha Christie where a bunch of strangers are brought together and slowly murdered one by one?" I sighed, knowing my irritation with flight had resurfaced, in spite of the distractions provided by Joyce and Tamira.

"'Ten Little Indians'. Also known as 'And Then There Were None'." Juan nodded and handed in my suitcase. "Good story and a good movie. I like the 1974 version best."

"Not helping Juan."

"No sir. Sorry sir."

'Let's just get there. The sooner they murder me the better." Yes, I was complaining unnecessarily. Three days of frantic writing that still needed major editing to be presentable, a flight where I didn't get much rest for significantly better reasons and now some well-rested morning person with a disgustingly happy attitude- tired and irritated just about covers it.

"Long flight sir?" Juan asked from the driver's seat as he pulled the big car out into traffic.

Or not long enough with two hot-to-go flight attendants in a small, cramped space but he didn't need to know that.

"I'm not a good flyer," I confessed instead, looking around the interior of the limo. "Is there any coffee?"

"I can stop sir, if you like." Juan offered helpfully. I suppose the idea of keeping a pot of boiling water in an unsecured space like the back of a moving vehicle is considered 'bad'. "Or you can help yourself to the mini-bar?"

I spotted the nice decanters and a small fridge built into the seat opposite me. Felt a bit early for scotch, especially on little sleep and an empty stomach. I opted for the old standby and started chugging the orange juice plain.

"The address is in the West Hills so we should be there in about a half hour sir," he informed me as we rolled through the slowly awakening city in the early dawn. "You can catch a bit of a nap if you like."

A sane man might try to stay awake. To get his bearings in an unfamiliar city, especially one the size of Los Angeles. To take in the sights of one of the world's most famous places, even if only from the backseat of a car. To enjoy the beauty of the West Coast with its palm trees and warm breezes off the Pacific. To maybe catch a glimpse of some star out for a morning jog or trundling out to get coffee. Writers are not sane people. I was asleep before he finished talking.

Juan, to his credit, did not wake me when we arrived at the place I would be staying. He wisely left that chore to the attractive young woman in the white blouse and pencil skirt now sitting beside me in the limo gently shaking my shoulder.

"Mister Connors? Time to wake up sir. You've arrived."

"I'm up!" I jolted awake with a start, blinking furiously to clear my eyes and unfuzz my brain. Ah, panic adrenaline. Gotta love it. "I'm up! Where am I?"

"You're at the home of Ximena Catawnee, Mister Connors. She will be your host for the weekend," the young woman informed me, indicating the open door and the sunlit driveway beyond. Why did she seem familiar? Never mind, it would come to me. I could see Juan waiting outside with my suitcase and satchel. "I am Jessica and I have been asked to help get you situated in the guest quarters by the pool. A breakfast buffet will be served to you and the other guests in an hour. If you'd like to get freshened up?"

"Ummm, yeah, that would probably be a good idea. Shower, wake up and screw my head on straight." I climbed out of the car, and took my bags from Juan, who gave me a warm but silly grin. "What?"

"'Ten little Indians went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine. Nine little Indians sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight.'" He said it in a lighthearted way, but it still unnerved me.

"Oh, very helpful," I growled, pressing a couple of twenties into his hand. Probably more than I needed to, but I've been in that sort of service industry myself and know what it's like. Plus, I don't want to be the kind of celebrity that gets a reputation as a bad tipper. Even if I'm a Low B- / High C-List celebrity at best.

Jessica led me through the main house and out to a poolside bungalow where I would be staying overnight. And yes, I caught myself staring at her ass more than once. She was the sort of woman that one imagines finding all over Hollywood- pretty, good body, moves nicely, probably came looking to be an actress and, not finding work in that field, hired on with someone in the film industry in a different capacity while waiting for her big break. Had I seen her in a movie maybe?

"I'm sorry," I tried wrapping my head around something other than the sway of her hips. "But you said I was meeting with a Ximena Catwee? I'm not familiar with the name. Sounds vaguely Filipino?"

"Cat-aw-nee," she corrected, pronouncing each syllable so I could hear it correctly. "And she's half-Cherokee. You might know here better under her stage name- 'Tawny Maya'."

"What!?" That brought me up short. I mean 'dead stop because my feet short circuited along with my brain I need to process this' short. "THE Tawny Maya? The Dream Wolf?"

"Yes sir," Jessica's smile didn't falter. I had a sense she liked dropping that particular bombshell on unsuspecting guests. "She's looking forward to meeting you."

Ok, for those of you who don't know Tawny Maya aka 'The Dream Wolf' was a porn star back when porn was something you had to buy on VHS tapes and DVDs in specialty 'adult stores' in the days before 99.9% of the internet was creating fuck-me content. It's fair to say she was regularly compared to 'a porn version of Cher'- Native American features, the delicious reddish brown skintones, long raven-back hair, had her boobs done to gorgeous C-cups that didn't look fake, and a tattoo of a wolf's head on her pubic mound. I know for a FACT I'm not the only one who jacked off dreaming about making out with that wolf.

"I thought she retired." My feet started working again, though so much my brain. Or the hard-on I discovered had instantly formed in my pants. I shifted my satchel around to cover it, but I'm pretty sure Jessica had already seen the bulging of my pants. There were scenes when she was starting out she did with Hyapatia Lee and Nina Hartley that are in my spank bank memory STILL.

"She occasionally gets back in front of the camera for special projects," Jessica continued, opening the door to the poolside bungalow. "And so do I. But mostly she's a producer now- looking for projects for Screamdreamer Studios and making sure those projects get finished." She showed me the simple amenities of the bungalow- bedroom and bathroom with a spacious shower before leaving me with the two warnings in the hook and a reminder that she would be back to get me in an hour for breakfast.

It wasn't until she shut the door behind her and I was opening my suitcase when it clicked in my battered brain- she admitted she does porn occasionally, or at least did so in the past. Ok, so my having a hard-on in her presence isn't unusual for her then. Had I seen her in a porno? Something on a website?

Funny, it didn't look like she had a pornstar ass to me, but then, everyone's ass is a pornstar ass to the right person. All a matter of perspective.

I unpacked what I needed to, showered (Taking care of a prominent problem in the meantime (i.e.- I jerked off.).), and got dressed. Poolside meeting called for bathing trunks and at least a polo shirt, though I was regretting not having a Hawaiian shirt along instead. Another crime Tabitha would have to answer for- unpacking that in exchange for an extra pair of jeans. Well, maybe we're scheduled to go out for dinner?

Having fired up my laptop, I battered away at separating out the wheat from the chaff in the chapter I was working on, pulling out the stuff that clearly belonged elsewhere and tossing it into a different document to sort out later, I'd only been at it about fifteen minutes or so when I heard a knock at the door- Jessica had returned.

"Coming!" I called out, closing the lid and jamming my feet into some pool shoes I habitually packed. You never know what's going on in hotel pools when you're on the road. "Coming!"

The woman on the other side of the door was not Jessica. At least not the smartly dressed brunette Jessica who had welcomed me to the house. She might have been the slightly heavier little sister to Jessica RABBIT though- redhead, softer face, wider hips, same heavy chest. Did I mention she was topless? And that the bikini bottoms she wore didn't do much for concealing her modesty.

"Ah hope it takes a bit more than knocking on yer door to make yew cum," she drawled in an accent that made me think of old westerns, Texas maybe? I looked out over her shoulder (Not an easy feat mind you given the view right in front of me. Freckles on the front slope!). The area around the pool was a variety of flesh. Honestly, there's not really another way to put it- two other men I hoped were wearing speedos because I certainly couldn't see anything else from where I was standing, and at least a half-dozen women of various sizes, shapes and racial make-ups. All wearing only bikini bottoms. Tiny bikini bottoms. I instantly felt overdressed. And there was Jessica, still smartly dressed in her white blouse and skirt, waving to me from the table of steam trays bearing breakfast. "Ah'm Bunni-with-a-eye bah tha way."

Smartass mode engaged.

"Of course you are. Nice to meet you, Bunni." Insert your own Fuck before Bunni because that's the vibe I was getting.

"And just wut's tha supposedta mean?" She glared at me in a way that only a topless woman can glare. Obviously, my irritation and short sleep were still screwing with my head. Need to backpedal and resist the urge to put my hand on her shoulder. Don't get too familiar until you've got the all-clear dumbass.

"It means," I put every ounce of fake sincerity I could muster into soothing her ruffled feath...fur. "That I can't think of a better name for Jessica Rabbit's prettier little sister than 'Bunni'. I'm Max, take that however you want to."

You know, the bright pink of a blush really sets off the light brown of chest freckles quite nicely.

Taking me by the arm, Bunni led me to the group getting food, introducing me in rapid succession to (I kid you not.) Kimi, Jessi, Mandi, Brandi, Lonni, Toni, Rod and Byron. And, if pressed, I couldn't tell you just then who was who.

Look, I'm not a prude by any stretch of the imagination. Anyone who's ready three words of these little tales can confirm that. But damn did I feel overdressed and out of place. The two guys looked like they worked out regularly and were built for stamina over strength. And those speedos they were wearing? Packed to straining. And the women? Bunni, who was sexy as hell on her own, might have been considered the plainest of the lot. Boobs ranging from nice little hand warming A-cups all the way up to Bunni's DDs, nice bodies appropriate to their height and weight, the whole nine yards.

And the worst part of it? They were all so friendly and normal about it! No false modesty. No shyness. No one making light of the hard-on I was obviously sporting. Even any flirting going on was mostly just background 'did I hear that right?', 'did she really just say?' type stuff that could have easily gone the other way. I heaped my plate with eggs, vegan bacon (Not my favorite, but when in Rome.), fruits and wheat toast, grabbed a large glass of juice and a coffee and found the table Jessica directed me to.

While I sat alone at the table, the others were close enough that we could engage in conversation without it being awkward. We chatted while we ate, them asking questions about my writing career and me asking those questions that someone not in the adult entertainment industry would tend to ask. Rod and Byron started out as workout buddies and are now a committed gay couple who do straight scenes because that's where the work is. I'd heard of Gay for Pay but not the reverse. Most of the women stripped regularly between movie calls, though all of them had been in as many soft-core Skin-emax movies as they had done straight porn. Bunni specialized in straight gang bangs while Lonni preferred girl-girl groups (Though single guys and threesomes were ok.). I picked their brains a little, vowing to go back, grab my notebook and ask some more detailed questions later on.

"Good morning my children," called a voice from the Main House, drawing all our attention. I turned only to find the relaxation that allowed my erection to go down suddenly left for the Rockies and I'm surprised I didn't flip the table. There she was- Tawny Maya, the 'Dream Wolf' in all her glory. I had been expecting someone a bit refined, gliding effortlessly above the ground like they do when the writer is feeling poetic, dressed in a more business-like manner. Instead, she bounced down the few steps to the pool area with an energy more associated with a woman a third her age, dressed like the others in a bikini bottom with the addition of a towel tossed over her shoulders. It covered her bare breasts until she tossed it onto the table in front of me. She might be twenty years older than me, but she certainly didn't look it. I started wondering about the mythical skin-care properties of sperm. "Sorry I am late. I was taking a conference call with our backers in Italy and they needed a little more convincing."

Jessica was beside me, coaxing me to my feet. Understandably, I was a bit reluctant, but I guessed my host was used to men being aroused around her.

"Max Connors!" Tawny called out excitedly, brushing aside my proffered handshake and sweeping me up in a very enthusiastic hug. Any attempts to hide my hard cock went right over the fence when she shoved her knee between my legs and ground her crotch against me. It really takes a lot of willpower NOT to reach down and grab the ass that's featured in a lot of your masturbation fantasies at that point. I have NO IDEA how I managed not to. She kissed both my cheeks, then let go, flopping into the chair opposite me as though she'd just run a race.

I swear to everything I hold holy, that damned wolf tat on her crotch winked over the top of her very low cut bikini at me.

"So good of you to come," she continued most conversationally. Everyone else returned to their meals and Jessica brought her boss a cup of tea and fruit plate. "I'm sorry I missed talking to you at Exxxotica, but I didn't go this year. Too many irons in the fire and I couldn't get away."

I thought about this for just a few seconds. In one sentence, she brought up three questions in my mind that I needed answers to.

"It's my pleasure (I hope.)," I replied, sitting back down and sliding my plate to one side. I was still hungry, but I needed these answers first. "I know the usual practice is to beat around the bush, exchange pleasantries and pretend this isn't a meeting for a while first, but I have to admit I'm on unfamiliar footing. I have three questions for you, if you don't mind?"

"Of course, honey, ask away." She stabbed a piece of melon with her fork, sucking the juices off of it before sucking it into her mouth in a way that was going to put me off the track if I wasn't careful. Or at least make me run over to the pool shower when I cum in my shorts.

"Why do you have an interest in my work? It's really too vanilla for your studio. Two- what makes you think I was at the Exxxotica Expo for anything more than grabbing porn star autographs and some hard-to-find porn paperbacks? And, lastly, why am I even here? Not that I'm complaining mind you- the scenery is beautiful and it knocks my apartment in Philly into a cocked hat but I've been getting really weird hit list movie vibes since my agent stuck me on a plane and I don't have the equipment to be the 'last girl' so... yeah. A little confused. And concerned."

Ah, verbal diarrhea, got to love it.

And I just about came out of my skin when Mandi (Brandi? Kimi?) started choking on a piece of bacon because 'Ten little Indians went out to dine; One choked his little self' and so forth. Rod gave her the Heimlich and she was fine. I was less fine, but that's all about to change.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Jessica asked, keeping up that cat-like smile.

"I feel like I should, but I can't place you, sorry." It still bugged me that I SHOULD know where I'd met her, but there are dozens of people at each signing appearance, and I don't really remember half of them for more than a day. "I've met a LOT of people in the last six-to-eight months."

"Don't worry about it. Our last meeting wasn't really face-to-face anyway." She turned around, tugging the back of her skirt even lower and pulling up her blouse. At the top of her ass was a tattoo I recognized- three hearts arranged in a row like the wheels of a slot machine with the word 'Jackpot!' in a scroll above them.

The last time I'd seen that tat was after the Expo when I'd answered an app summons to a hotel room where a woman was sharing out her roommate to anyone who was available. Jessica was the woman on the bed, legs tied open, pussy dripping from those who had been there before me.

"You fingered me instead of fucking me, pulling the beads out of my ass slowly."

"You started begging me to fuck you. You were about to lose it."

"Oh yeah. I needed cock bad by that point of the night. You were about to push me over the edge playing with me." Jessica was trying to reassemble herself back into 'business mode' and having a hard time with it.

"So, I did what you asked, pulled out the last bead and fucked your ass." I remembered the bound woman howling into the bedspread, that tight hole grabbing me with every stroke.

"I lost a bet with Rhonda," she told the group, now listening intently to our recollection. "I was a free fuck to anyone on the SI app who wanted me until I came. But she rubbed a numbing agent on my clit and I don't cum without direct clitoral stimulation so any number of guys could, and did, fuck my pussy that night. You're the only one who played with me and got me to the edge. If you'd fucked my pussy instead?"