Junkfood Noir

Chapter 4, “Whores of Bablyon”

“I was almost a contract girl, y’know.”

The first words off the collagen-infused lips of one Misty Morning, reigning anal sex queen and David’s current flavor of the month. Words that would be repeated as a mantra many times throughout the night.

Misty flashed her impossibly white teeth like a shark’s smile and flipped a lock of soft red hair out of her eyes. Her huge lips sucked on a Marlboro Red like she was performing on set.

“It’s all bullshit politics. Everyone knows I’m prettier than any of those old plastic hags they’re cramming down everyone’s throats right now.”

Gamble sucked down some of the whiskey soaked ice in his glass and let his eyes wander from her babbling lips to the 36DDs struggling to burst free from their flimsy white linen prison.

“Truth be told,” she leaned in and placed a hand on Gamble’s thigh, “I think it’s because I won’t fuck the niggers anymore.”

Gamble choked on the ice cube in his mouth.

“It’s true,” she proclaimed, “the only time I’ve ever gotten the junk in my cooch is after doing a scene with one of those motherfuckers.”

Gamble half nodded, as though it all made perfect sense.

“Anyone want another drink before I put in the movie?” David interrupted.

Once a week, David invited a dozen of his friends up to his home in the Hollywood Hills for a themed movie night. Tonight’s Tarantino lovefest had brought out the usual menagerie of porn girls, musicians and fetish photographers including Misty and her gal pal Priscilla.

“Grab me another beer, babe?”

Priscilla.

Whereas Misty’s youthful beauty, midwestern charm and the ability to take multiple woodsmith’s tools up her poop shoot gained her notoriety and kept her booked with all the major adult companies, Priscilla’s career in porn had taken her down a different path.

She looked like she might have been as pretty as, if not prettier than, Misty at some point in her doomed life. A decade of hard drinking, drug abuse and too many midnight trips to King Taco had taken her once beautiful body and turned it into a living Francis Bacon painting. Unable to compete with girls of Misty’s caliber, she instead turned to internet work, doing scenes for sites like WhiteTrashMoms.com and FuckMySkankWife.com.

Listening to Misty prattle on about her views on the do’s and dont’s of life in the porn lane Gamble realized that Priscilla, even with her failing looks, was very obviously the brains of the pair.

Gamble stood up and teetered, his booze-soaked brain protesting the sudden change in altitude.

“I gotta piss.”

In the bathroom, Gamble was having a drunken battle with his belt buckle when the door opened up behind him.

“Need some help with that, cowboy?” Priscilla asked before dropping to her knees and undoing his belt with a deft flick of her wrist.

She dug his cock out of his pants and looked up at him.

“I REALLY gotta piss.”

“So pee in my mouth,” she said, opening up.

“I—”

“C’mon cowboy. When’s the last time a beautiful young girl let you piss in her face?”

Gamble closed his eyes, leaned his head back.

And pissed directly into Priscilla’s eye.