Justin Case: Finding Fortune

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Chapter 13

Five minutes after signing my name on a dotted line, I was dressed and stepping out of the office of my new employer. As I closed Gordon’s office door behind me, Colleen the Receptionist eyed me with even more interest than she had displayed upon my entrance.

“Nice little show you put on there,” she said, staring at the level of my crotch.

“You saw that, huh?”

“Mr. Dare didn’t quite close the door for a while there, so I got far more than an eyeful,” she replied. “Mr. Gordon is right; you’re a natural. I think once a couple of our actresses get a look at your goods, you won’t have any problem finding work.”

“Thank you,” I said, almost blushing as I reveled in her compliment. Almost.

“I, uh, don’t come on to any of the self-absorbed actors that wander through here,” she said a little shyly, “but, if my bosses didn’t have such a problem with it, I’d definitely make an exception in your case.”

I had no idea if she knew I’d tried to enlist her help for my audition.

“Well, if you could make an exception without getting in trouble with the boss,” I replied, “I’d certainly take you up on it.”

Apparently she hadn’t at all expected my response because she suddenly sat up straight, a smile immediately blossoming on her face.

I took a longer look at the receptionist this time. She was a little on the heavy side, with buoyant breasts that surely would sag from their heft and age once they were released from her bra. Her face was full and oval, with the kind of lips that made me immediately think of Lisa DeLeew. Her eyes were wider now, her demeanor a little more animated. Oh, and, as always, the reddish hair was a plus.

“Saul mentioned trimming the pubes,” I said. “So, everyone gets their stuff shaved nowadays?”

“It’s kind of the industry standard,” she replied. “You know; erections look longer when a man’s pubic hair is trimmed back or shaved completely. And the lack of a bush on the woman allows for a better view of the fucking action. Besides, in the few instances where the scene is of a man going down on a woman – or another woman going down on her, for that matter – the likelihood of the talent choking on a loose pussy hair is reduced dramatically.”

“Okay, okay. I get that,” I said, chuckling. “But, there was a time when the fur around the prize was kind of an important part of the intrigue, you know?”

“They still do some fetish stuff with hairy pussies. Sometimes to the extreme, though.”

“You mean like something that resembles smuggling Sasquatch in a pair of French-cut panties?”

“Some men pay good money for that,” she said. “Just like they pay good money for a barely-legal cunt shaved baby smooth that it allows them to fantasize they’re peeking at some prepubescent thing.”

“Pseudo kiddie porn?”

“You could call it that. Of course, child porn is illegal, and we have to maintain tons of documentation that our models are of legal age.”

“Yeah, the Traci Lords thing,” I said, referring to the little porn star of the 80s who had managed to rake in more than a few bucks in the industry until it was discovered that she had plied the majority of her trade before the age of eighteen.

“Exactly. But this business thrives on feeding the fantasies. We can’t give them anything illegal, but we can give them just enough of a tease and let their twisted little minds take care of the rest.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I said in mock defense. “Twisted is one of my favorite qualities in my lady friends.”

“I dread to think what other qualities you find redeeming in your little harem.”

“Being a contortionist has its merits,” I replied, shrugging. “The ability to suck the chrome off a trailer hitch also ranks up there among my faves...”

“You and just about any man with a heartbeat,” she laughed. “So, do you have a particular fantasy you haven’t yet realized?”

“Well,” I started, clearing my throat, “I do kind of have this secret desire to have a three-foot tall girlfriend -”

“Ooh,” she cooed. “I’d have never tagged you as one for dwarf sex.”

“No, that’s for Snow White,” I replied with a wave of my hand. “I mean an actual three-foot tall girlfriend who’s just graduated from high school, one who could wear her graduation mortar on her head while she gave me a blow job. You know, so I had a flat place to set my beer.”

A large spurt of brown liquid suddenly splashed across Colleen’s desk. Call it intuition, or just good-old private detective experience, but my guess is that she should have avoided taking a sip of her coffee until our conversation had taken a break.

“Jesus!” she groaned out. “Now look at what you made me do!”

“Technically, I didn’t make you do anything,” I replied. “But, I should warn you that I tend to have this effect on some folks.”

“Well, you’re certainly having an effect on me,” Colleen said as she dabbed at the splatters of coffee peppering the papers on her desk.

“So, what is the chance that you’d be the one sent out to trim my manscape?”

“I wish,” she sighed. “No, since you’re avowedly straight we’ll have to send out a guy to do the job. Just to avoid the potential fraternization.”

“Bummer. Well, I think that I’d best give you my contact info,” I said, shifting the subject back to my new-found, unexpected second career. “I might be going back, uh, out of town for a day, but Mr. Gordon thinks he might have something for me on Thursday morning.”

“Thursday?” she replied. “My, that’s fast!”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Good thing I recover pretty quickly.”

I left one of my non-business business cards with just my name and my cell phone number – one without any address or references to my job as a private investigator – and walked out of the office of The Fantasy Factory as a new hired dick.

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