Thank You John Carpenter

"It's this song," Bix started resting a hand on Eric's thigh. "It's called Tech Noir. It's by this Synthwave band."

Eric's brow creased. "What's Synthwave?" the movie played in the background letting Kurt Russel's know-it-all swagger fill the room.

"It's this sort of future-retro music I've been jiving too. Anyway, this song has John Carpenter doing the intro. John, fucking, Carpenter."

Bix's voice grew punchy with excitement as she spoke. "He's in the intro doing this sorta' end of days farewell bit." She tossed her hair back and looked at Eric, who was hanging on to her every word.

"Is it any good?" He asked.

"It's pretty good," she smiled. "But I didn't believe it was him. I had to look it up to be sure."

"Well, he's a musician too," Eric added. "He has his own band now."

"Really?" Bix asked. "I wonder what they sound like?"

Before Eric could answer, she slowly began to rub her palm up and down his thigh. He laughed a laugh a nervous, jittery laugh. It didn't take long for Bix to notice the budding strain in his jeans.

"Is this because of me?" She asked in a honeyed tone. "Or was it all the John Carpenter talk?"

"Bit of both." He answered through a half-smile. She moved to unzip his fly, but Eric put a hand over hers, barring her path to seduction.

"You sure you want to do this?"

"Do what?" She asked with a wisp of defiance in her voice. "I just having a look." She flung his hand away and worked his jeans open until his cock was free.

She traced his length with playful fingers and was pleased that he was hard enough to cut diamonds.

"Sorry," he said. "I haven't been like this in a long time."

What did that mean? Was he embarrassed? Was he cock shy? She stroked him lightly, letting each question sink to the bottom of her mind. She was too distracted by how thick he felt in her hand.

Eric watched her work stroke him off for a moment before letting his head fall back on the couch. "We shouldn't be doing this. I'm old enough to be your..." But the rest of his speech died in his mouth.

Bix imagined a handful of men filming them she stroked his cock and studied Eric's face. She liked how he twitched in her grip. She loved how his nostrils flared as his breathing became rough and excited. They'd make a hot couple on film.

A year ago, it was hard for Bix to imagine she was the reason for anyone's hard-on. Most guys her age didn't look her way, and Bix knew why. She was lean, with squarish knees. Her body was almost boyish with barely a handful of tits or ass to compliment. She didn't have the curvy hips of an Instagram model. She didn't meet the body standards of what Millennial guys wanted.

Then on a whim, she'd started swiping right on older men, and pow, she was Princess Jasmine, singing A Whole New World! She met a man with flecks of grey in his trim bear and flint colored eyes. It didn't hurt that he looked a little like Kurt Russel.

In the Hotel room, he picked her up and tossed her on the bed with a grizzly smile that made Bix feel a torrid desire all over her body. She'd been nervous, but he was experienced and teased her with foreplay and filthy little promises in her ear until anticipation pulled taut around her waist. Bix all but gave herself over to him.

There'd been several older men since then. Men who collard her, and cuffed her. Men who tied her up and bound her. Men who ate her until she couldn't take it, and men who used her mouth until her jaw ached. Men who lifted her up, pushed her down, and carried her as if Bix were a dollop of a plaything for them to do as they saw fit.

Eric wasn't quite as old as some of them, but he did have that rugged swagger that made her swoon a little. It helped that he'd shared a love of movies, especially John Carpenter movies.

They'd gushed over his body horror masterpiece "The thing," And how it was under-appreciated at the time of its release. How cool it was that it was finally getting the recognition it deserved. Then Eric suggested they watched his favorite Carpenter film: Big Trouble In Little China.

Bix leaped at the idea, already knowing they wouldn't finish the movie. Eric seemed gentle, almost hesitant after she'd said yes. Bix thought she might have to tease a little roughness out of him.

A week later she showed up at his door in jeans shorts and a black "directed by John Carpenter" shirt. Eric smiled when he saw her and Bix pretended not to notice the bulge in his trousers.

"Stop," Eric Grunted.

"Stop? Why?" As if to spite him, Bix let a stream of spit cascaded down onto his cock before stroking him faster. "You said I could have a look."

Eric moaned and twitched a little while Bix felt his cock throb between her fingers.

"You're doing more than just looking." Eric mewled, but she kept stroking him faster and faster until her hand was a blur. She watched with a sunny glee as his pre-cum spilled down and coated her fingers. Then, Eric's body tense next to her.

"Bridgette!" He called, and she stopped mid-stroke, surprised to hear her full first name. Eric didn't seem to notice. He flexed his hips and pumped his cock into her hand as if it were a fleshlight. Then he came, and the strength of his climax came out in thick alabaster ropes.

"Yes!" Her voice took on that Honeyed tone again. "Cum for me!" She said before erupting into a burst of champagne giggles. The sight of her influence sharpened her arousal to a fine point.

She decided that she couldn't stop there, and without a word, she stood up and pulled off her jeans. A moment later, she mounted him.

His cock had lost some of its vigor, but she was pleased to feel that it wasn't entirely down for the count. She didn't slide his cock inside but instead rocked her hips up and down Eric's length. The slick sensation of his cock sliding between her pussy lips felt lovely and made Bix feel like a slutty horse jockey.

"This is too much," Eric muttered under his breath.

She leaned down and asked, "Am I too much for you?" When he didn't answer, Bix felt a smug little smile spread over her face. She rocked her hips harder into him in a cruel tease. His labor roughened hands track down Bix's body until they rested on her thighs. He guided her gently, not wanting to restrict or overpower her. Instead, he seemed content to play the role more of a masturbation toy, and less of her lover.

Bix closed her eyes and saw the film crew again. In her mind, The room filled with the scent of her excitement, and she imagined each of them silently sniffing and taking her in. Then one by one, their cocks grew hard just behind the camera.

She ground her hips hard and fast, galloping towards own slippery climax. Eric's hands felt good on her, and his breath in her ear made her heart race.

"Fuck, Eric!" But her cry was choked off as a climaxed slammed into her. Bix clutched at Eric's chest as the sensation blossomed cherry red inside of her. She pursed her lips, closed her eyes, and let it fill her deliciously until her body trembled. When Bix finally collapsed, It was in a beautiful, satisfying haze on top of Eric.

Eric wrapped his hands around her and pulled her close. Cuddling wasn't something Bix usually did, but his touch settled her. She wanted to curl up in his lap and feel his affection all over her like a warm blanket. Instead, Bix nuzzled comfortably into the crook of his neck. They stayed like that for some time.

"You little tease," he growled in her ear. She heard the gravelly authority in Eric's voice and felt anticipation begin to spiral around in her stomach. Before she could utter a word, Eric reached down and grabbed her ass hard enough to sting.

"I thought you were just looking."

He squeezed her again, and Bix squirmed in his lap. She felt the anticipation from her stomach slowly begin to trickle down into her pussy. "You've had your fun little girl, but enough is enough."

Eric picked her up effortlessly, lifting her under her thighs and spreading her legs open as if they were book covers. Bix let out a cry of surprise before he walked over and pinned her against the wall.

"I've wanted to fuck you since we met."

"Me too," she nodded before Eric eased her down onto his cock, forcing her open and filling her from wall to wall. Bix's lips parted, and she inhaled sharply as if being dipped into cold water; her anticipation finally sated inside of her.

"I was trying to ease into it. Trying to be subtle. But you couldn't be patient, could you?" Bix shook her head.

"Now," He said, turning to the TV. "I have to punish you while Jack Burton watches."

Bix looked over the TV and caught Kurt Russel as Jack Burton standing in his white tank top and the ghost of lipstick on his lips. For a moment, Bix imagined he was watching them.

"I'm gonna' give you what you want." Eric paused and shook her once like she was a rag doll. "Isn't this what you want??"

Bix nodded, feeling her pussy flood. "Yes." Her voice was gossamer, barely a whisper. She tried to swallow but felt her throat tighten.

Eric began fucking her in a slow locomotion; hips rocking up and into her until Bix let out a sharp call. She was still in the fallout of her first orgasm, and her pussy was still sensitive. Eric smirked and drove into her hard. Their hips collided in an audible clap that filled the room.

Bix's body trembled, and her legs shook in Eric's grasp.

"What's wrong?" Eric's words swirled around in her mind. His pace surprised, and the strength of his thrust was leaving her dizzy.

"You like being like being fucked in front of Jack Burton, don't you?"

She heard the smile in his voice and wondered just where this energy came from.

Most of the older guys she slept with lacked stamina. They were good at teasing, or dirty talk, or even good at foreplay. They could be good in short bursts, but more often than not they came too quick, or not at all. When it came to actual sex, male connector to female adapter, Bix found it was more of a power walk and less of a light jog. Compared to them, Eric fucked like a Marathon runner.

"Yes!" She called out. "God, Yes."

She clutched at his back, feeling her nails dig into his muscles as peered over his shoulder. She imagined the same bevy of men twice her age standing just behind a camera while Eric drove into her. All of their trousers unzip as they stroked their cocks. All of their attention pounding into her along with Eric's cock.

Bix's heard herself cry out in a voice that was like a guitar string Eric was bending to the right note. She came again, this time a flood of hot nectar sprayed out of her as if something had burst. She felt it stain her thighs and coat Eric's cock.

"Look at you," Eric started. "Making a mess in front of Jack." But his teasing fell on deaf ears as Bix's orgasm left her spent. Her body went limp, and her head lulled to one side as she wondered in a fog of exhaustion and bliss.

"Stay with me, Bridgette. We're not done yet."

He walked her back to the couch and dropped her on the cushions. It was a clumsy landing, and it brought Bix partially back to the present moment.

"Open your mouth." He said. "I have something for you little Bridgette."

None of the other men called her by her real name and hearing it made her feel exposed. Bix was a role she played or a mask she could put on and take off whenever she wanted. She was Bridgette, the undergrad who rambled about movies, binged Netflix and Hulu, loved cheesy one-liners, and ratty 80's tee shirts.

But she was also Bix, the woman who fantasized about having sex on film. The woman who liked to hook older men and fucked them for sport. The woman who needed to feel little, desirable, and be dominated.

She could be Bridgette, or she could be Bix, but they like Bruce Wayne and Batman, they never occupied the same space at the same time. She kept those parts of her life fenced off from one another, scared of what would happen of those worlds collided.

Still, hearing her full name from Eric's lips made her feel dirty and sexy and ashamed as if she were both women all at once.

Bix scrambled up on her knees, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth. "Bridgette!" He moaned deep in the back of his throat as she felt his first strings of cum let loose on her face. She was surprised at just how much he had to offer. Hadn't he cum earlier?

In her mind, she imagined the camera crew cumming all at once in low, dreary tones. Their hands squeezed around their cocks, stroking every last drop out for her as Eric did the same.

After a moment, when she heard his breathing relaxed, Bix opened her eyes and saw he'd made a mess of her. A flurry of coquettish giggles raced out of her as cum dripped down her cheeks and chin. Some even made it in her eye, and Bix had to wipe her sight clear. That's when she saw dark stains on her John Carpenter shirt.

While he was fetching a towel, she pulled off her shirt and flung it off-camera. He returned a moment later and gently wiped Bix's face and body clean. He moved slowly, almost methodically, as if taking in her body for the first time and admiring what he saw.

When she was clean, they both sat on the couch, tired, sore, and satisfied. Eric cradled her in his arms, and Bix brought her knees to her chest, feeling small and lovely in his embrace.

"Oh my god. That was a lot of cum," she finally confessed.

"Yeah? Sorry."

"No," she said and stroked his chest. "Don't be. It was amazing."

Eric beamed for a moment before turning his attention back to the movie. "What can I say?" He mimicked Kurt Douglass. "It's all in the reflexes." They both laughed at that, even though it was cheesy.