Living in L.A. has been very good to me. It has allowed me the opportunity to sample many flavors. Let's face it, I like dick...a lot.
Being a whore to the entertainment industry is a farce, but it has its benefits. I sat down to work that morning going through my regular routine of checking my email, scanning the trades, etc. when my computer alerted me to the meeting scheduled in 15 minutes. I rolled my eyes and tired at the thought that it was to be another boring session of the no talent, my daddy gave me this job so I can throw a temper tantrum if I want to VP OK'ing his weak ideas whilst shooting down all of those coming from the rest of the staff. I got up and walked to the ladies' room and refreshed my extra dark berry lipstick, played with my long wavy hair, and studied my gorgeous image in the mirror. I was wearing my standard work day gear of dark jeans with a wide leather belt and large buckle riding low on my shapely hips, a navy and white ¾ sleeve baseball t-shirt with a local lingerie store's logo stretched across my full breasts, and of course my Adidas. Being cute doesn't hurt when dealing with this guy; he's smarmy and thinks with his dick.
I made my way from the ladies' room upstairs to the meeting, and filtered in with the rest of the crew. I caught the smarmy VP's eye as I took my seat in the conference room. I smiled at him when I made eye contact. He 's not my style, but a little harmless flirting helps to promote my career in this game. The VP ended his lecherous scan of the female contingent, and began with the business of the items on the development list. I was asking myself, "Why am I here?" when the new project teams were introducing themselves, since my production is in its second season, when a voice broke into my consciousness. It belonged to a golden, spiky haired, nicely muscled piece of work clad in a black t-shirt that showed off the contours of his broad chest, and a pair of Levi's covered his nice ass. Wow! That's why.
It's been some time since this sista has had the Asian persuasion, but I think I'm due again.
After the meeting, the silken threads of his voice permeated my thoughts the rest of the morning. I needed to know what he was about. All I had to go on was from what he said at the meeting. His name was Kenji, and he was the associate producer for a new pilot we were working on. Three cheers for the diversity in the media initiative. I broke for lunch and walked down to the studio commissary to pick up my usual turkey sandwich and raspberry iced tea. Amid the other lunching studio whores I saw Kenji, sitting alone at a table contemplating the attack of what supposedly was a cheeseburger from the commissary grill.
"I think you better shoot it before it multiplies," I said as I came upon his table.
"It really is some incredible shit," he said looking up at me.
"Don't worry, your stomach will build up a tolerance to it. Hi, I'm Diana. I didn't get a chance to introduce myself at the development meeting this morning." I flashed him a winning smile.
This was the time to do some genuine flirting. I was standing beside his table with my torso in his eye line, the word "Trashy" over my breasts and my navel peeking from under my shirttail and above my belt buckle.
"Kenji. Nice to meet you." He said offering me a handshake but then realizing my hands were full, gestured to offer me a seat at his table. I put down my tray, and extended my hand.
"Nice to meet you too. So is this your first tour of duty here on the farm?"
"Yeah, I was working in New York for a while but I decided to come back home, cause I couldn't take the winters there."
"Don't I know it? So, you're homegrown, where abouts?"
"Oh, right here, in L.A. I miss the sun, and I miss my car." He said while still negotiating the burger.
"Your car? That's a new one. I'd expect maybe an 'I miss my Mom', or 'I miss my girl friend', or something."
He laughed. "My passion is for my car, I've dedicated a lot of time to it." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "I street race." He then sat back up straight in his chair. "It was a shame to be in New York where owning a car was a complete liability."
"Wow, you're so hot, I'm really intrigued." I stopped and realized my Freudian slip and tried to play it off. "I mean that's really hot, street racing I mean." I said reaching for my iced tea.
He caught my slip up, and blushed a bit. "Well maybe if you're good I'll show her to you."
"Oh, I can be good alright." I responded to his flirt volley. He raised an eyebrow, smiled and took a bite of the burger. "You know," I said "There's no reason to subject ourselves to junior high cafeteria flashbacks by eating lunch in here. We can always take this back to the 1st floor conference room and bask in the glory of basic cable television on a giant screen."
"That sounds like a great idea to me, lead the way."
We left the commissary and made our way to the conference room, the blinds to the glass walled room were closed, and I opened the door to find it empty. I put my lunch down onto the large table, and sat in one of the leather seats, Kenji followed suit. He picked up the remote sitting on the table and switched on the tube, flipping through the channels until he settled on BET.
"You like to watch this stuff?" I asked.
"Yeah, they show all the decent hip-hop videos that aren't all played out on MTV, plus I like seeing all the fine honeys."
" So you like watching the ebony sistas, huh?"
"Ain't nothing finer."
