Justin Case: Finding Fortune

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Chapter 12

What was that I said about the strip search?

“Good, masculine appearance,” Gordon noted, “although you’re not the most fashionable thing I’ve seen. Now, off with the clothes so I can see what you’re packing. I haven’t got all day.”

I usually pick up on things pretty quickly. It’s a critical attribute when you’re a private investigator. So, the fact that a whole exchange passed between me, Colleen, and Saul Gordon, without me having even the slightest inkling where it was actually headed, made me feel pretty stupid. And I hate feeling stupid.

I came to Berkeley to get close enough to Saul Gordon to ask about Crystal Fortune. But in a true “what the fuck?” moment, it looked like I might have actually talked my way into a job interview. With a porn producer. I was about to put up my hands and talk my way out of my impromptu screen test when it occurred to me that this latest moment of serendipity might succeed in getting me closer to Crystal than simply asking a bunch of questions might.

So I did the smart thing. I stripped naked in front of a man I’d known for all of five minutes.

I’m glad I left my gun in the car.

“Turn around slowly in place until I tell you to stop.” I began my slow rotation while Gordon studied me and made vocal comments. “Decent build... no tats; unusual nowadays... nice skin... pretty toned, although you could use some time on a tanning bed.”

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting for tanning weather,” I said. “I hate Fake ’n Bake.”

“I’m just looking for a little color,” chuckled Gordon, “not another shade of Trump

“Thank God.”

“How’s the stamina?”

“I’ve had no complaints,” I replied. “Been a while since I’ve pulled an all-nighter, but I’ve been investing in quality over quantity in my personal love life.”

“How about your professional love life?”

“Let’s just say that I’m branching out at the moment,” I said. “A second career.”

Gordon laughed. “You’re different, Case. Not one of the usual stuck-up, narcissistic airheads who just drop in here claiming to be the next Ron Jeremy.”

“I try. Now can I stop turning around, or do you need me to continue boring a hole through your carpet?”

“Okay... okay. You can stop turning. You’re a little older than we tend to work with, but pretty impressive all the same.” Gordon pursed his lips and nodded approvingly once more. “And, you look hung enough. Circumcised. We’ll need to trim the pubes. Let’s see it hard.”

As if things hadn’t gotten weird enough as it was.

“We barely know each other,” I said teasingly. “Shouldn’t we at least have a fancy dinner? Some soft music? A little candlelight, perhaps?”

Gordon shook his head, chuckling.

“Do you have a favorite porn actress?” he asked. “A fetish, maybe?”

That was an easy answer.

“Redhead. Freckles. Big tits. Able to suck a golf ball through a twenty-foot garden hose.”

He nodded knowingly and turned in his chair to a cabinet behind him. “Lisa DeLeew,” he said. “Damn shame she died of AIDS. Which brings up my next question: when was the last time you were tested?”

“A little less than a year ago,” I replied truthfully: “No drugs, no bugs.”

“You’re a rarity,” replied Gordon over his shoulder. “Ah! Here we are!”

He popped a DVD into a player on the shelf, then grabbed a remote and turned on the large TV. Seconds later, I was being treated to a scene of my all-time favorite porn actress being drilled hard in her red-haired pussy, her massive melons rolling back and forth on her chest with each thrust of the actor’s dick, a look of bliss on her face. Acting or not, she was convincing.

My dick stirred immediately.

It wasn’t but a few moments later that, untouched, my fully erect prick was pointing away from my body, level with the floor.

“Fu-u-u-ck,” chuckled Gordon. “You’re a natural! What’s that, nine inches?”

“Eh,” I shrugged. “Eight. Eight and a half on a good day.”

“Must be a good day,” he said. “Jack it off.”


“Come on, rookie,” he said, rolling his hand in the air. “I’m not gay and apparently you’re not, either, but if you’re going to fuck in front of a camera, you’re fucking in front of more than one guy on the crew. If you can’t do that...”

“Uh, wouldn’t you rather see it in action? Maybe have your secretary out there give me an oral exam?”

“We pay her to take dictation, not dick. Jack or go home.”

What the hell. I’d come this far; continuing with the masquerade still appeared to be my best means of finding Holly... or Crystal. Besides, I had a raging hard-on and Lisa DeLeew was on the TV, now on her hands and knees and being fucked from behind, her sweet tits swaying with the action. Taking my prick in hand and stroking it seemed to be the most natural thing to do under the circumstances. So, I did.

“I need an idea what the money shot is gonna look like. Don’t worry about blowing your load on the carpet,” Gordon said, answering my next as-yet unasked question. “That’s why we have a carpet cleaner.”

That was good to hear, both that it was common and that I wasn’t necessarily standing barefoot in dried gobs of some other guy’s jizz squirtings. And I appreciated it, in no small part, due to the fact that the scene on the TV shifted to that of my favorite redhead going for the “money shot.” Lisa was working her neck muscles hard, ramming her mouth onto the actor’s thick dick. By the sounds of his off-camera voice she had him at the crest of his climax. And me, too.

As I watched, fixated, Lisa withdrew her mouth from the guy’s cock just in time for him to blow his load on her lovely freckled face, and I let loose with my own orgasm, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me as I grunted and fired my first burst of cum no less than four feet across the carpet.

“Wow!” sounded another male voice.

I continued to work my meat, jacking the rest of my load onto the floor. My balls finally spent, I let go of my dick and let it dangle, the last few drips falling on their own.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Gordon said, clapping softly. “You’re gonna be a star.”

“Thanks,” I replied, feeling weirdly flattered... and just plain weird.

“I’ll say!” added the second voice from behind me. It quickly registered as the same voice that had said ‘Wow’ moments before. I turned to find another man, maybe a little younger than Gordon and wire-thin, grinning at me as he looked me from head to toe, his hips cocked to one side and his arms crossed over his chest. Studying his face closer, he wasn’t just grinning; he was unquestionably drinking me up as he checked me out from head to toe.

“I’m not sorry for walking in on you,” he said, his eyes flashing. “If you’re interested in doing gay porn, you’re hired!

“Uh, no thanks,” I replied, suddenly feeling like a piece of meat in a butcher shop.

“Don’t be so closed-minded. A lot of straight porn guys start out in gay porn. I could get you a gig tomorrow if you were... up for it.”

“It’s called ‘gay-for-pay,’ Case,” added Gordon. “It’s actually pretty uncommon for most wannabe porn star hopefuls to get to jump right into the high-dollar straight stuff. Oh, and that’s Barry Dare. He’s our gay porn producer.”

“If it’s a problem with keeping it up when going at it with another buff guy,” said Dare, “we have a lot of little blue pills to make up for any... shortcomings.”

“Thanks all the same,” I replied. “I prefer all of the soft, squishy parts that make up women.”

“Damn,” sighed Dare. “I was really hoping to give you a romp on my casting couch.”

“Let’s get you under contract, Case,” said Gordon, rescuing me from the clutches of the literally drooling Barry Dare. “By the way, what’s your last name?”

“Case. Justin Case.”

“Oh!” Gordon smirked. “Is that your stage name?”

“No, that’s my real name,” I replied. “Blame my mom. She named my sister ‘Basket’.”

“You wanna use your real name?”

I was still trying to come to grips with the idea that I was actually applying to be a porn performer, no matter what name I was hiring myself out to fuck under.

Gordon shook his head. “No, it doesn’t sound like a porn name. How about... Case... Hardin?

“Huh?” was the best I could respond with.

“Yes. Case Hardin,” Gordon said with a nod, obviously closing that little subject. “Since you’re obviously not interested in working for Barry, what other fetishes do you prefer? Big tits, obviously...”

“What are the chances of working with Crystal Fortune?” I asked.

Dare whistled from behind me before chuckling in an ominous tone. Gordon sat back in his chair and eyed me curiously.

“The ink isn’t anywhere near dry on the contract I’m offering, and you think you can go right to the top?”

“What can I say?” I replied. “I have goals.”

“Yeah, well, stand in line,” Gordon snorted.

Dare offered no humor in his voice when he added, “And don’t hold your breath waiting for that opportunity.”

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