Let Me Make You a *Porn* Star part 2

Let Me Make You a *Porn* Star — Part 2

And so George Wall became a movie star, of sorts.

George and Koko finished the night with champagne, blow jobs, cunnilingus, and blow jobs … in about that order, as best as his hangover would let him remember. Once she’d licked and swallowed the last of his jizz from her lips, Koko Latte turned to him and was abruptly all business – like turning off a light switch, she’d transformed herself from a raging nymphomaniac to a ball-busting business woman.

“Be at the studio at eight, sharp,” she said, an order not a statement. She had wrapped her body in a long, heavy robe by now. George felt some of the fire leave his muscles as she looked at him. A kind of sternness had taken hold of her features. The lines of her face grew harder, her chin firmer, and through the calculating look of her eyes he could see just that her brain was formulating the details of next day’s work schedule.

“The crew will be waiting for you. They won’t know you, but they are used to my finding strays and dragging them in for a shoot. Be ready to work … and by that I mean, that monster meat stick of yours had better be standing at attention when I get there,” she said.

So, rather obediently, he left her office around ten in the evening, still reeling a little from the booze, found a cab to take him home to his apartment, and promptly crashed on his sofa.

The next morning, George Wall woke right at six … as he always did, without the use of an alarm clock. His head hurt, of course. (So did is cock and nuts. The night before, Koko had been like an out of control vacuum cleaner the way she latched onto his meat and kept him erect and gushing ever surprising waves of sperm.)

At eight a.m. on the dot, he delivered himself at her movie studio, which oddly enough was called Koko’s Circus. The name was slashed across the door in bold colorful paints.

The building was in fact an abandoned furniture store right smack in the middle of the old downtown. It was a half a city block long, with an entire wall of windows soaped and screened from the bottom up to about ten inches from the ceiling. So that’s what happens behind those whited out windows, he thought.
Next door to Koko’s Circus was a pharmacy where dozens of wrinkled, white haired ladies wearing thick orthopedic shoes with walkers hobbled in and out for their meds. Across the street was a hair salon in a rundown building … and very few customers as best as George could tell … and an Indian deli takeout.

“I wonder if they have any idea what kind of crazy shit is going on next door?” he thought.

He walked in. His head ached, but the coffee in his hands would soon cure that.

Lots of natural light filled the interior, which was partitioned into numerous cube-like “sets” that appeared to feature nothing more than a couch, chair, tables or desks, and a fake plant or two.

In a sort of glassed in conference room George found a tall beanpole of a kid of maybe eighteen or nineteen, still a little pimply with peach fuzz whiskers, tinkering with a large digital video camera mounted on a tripod.