STORYTELLER

1. The End is the Beginning is the End

Gamble sat on the edge of the bed, cock in one hand and a wilted picture of a dead starlet in the other. He did his best to avoid staring directly into those horrible black eyes of hers and instead traced the wrinkled fold of her paper breasts with his thumb.

Soft white porcelain skin. Whore’s skin.

He half smiled at no one in particular and let his hand slide from his stiff dick to the cold heavy pistol at his side. His sticky finger, the one not wrapped around a trigger, made small circles across the photo.

“It’s redemption,” her blurry mouth whispered.

It’s bullshit, he replied and punched the butt of the gun to his temple.

That’s going to leave a mark, he snickered to himself.

He looked down at the photo once last time, gave her a half-hearted wink and pulled the trigger.

The muzzle flashes. The lights dim.

Everything fades to black.

2. And All That Came Before…

“Hit me again.”

Gamble looked down at the mess of a woman laying beneath him. Big beautiful blue eyes slowly drowning in a pool of swelling pink flesh. Pouty lips smeared with blood and cheap lipstick.

“Hit me again you fucking pussy,” she spat at him.

He cocked his arm back and let his open hand fly. Stinging flesh. A whimpergasp then a purr.

Priscilla flashed a toothy grin at him and continued grinding her soaked cunt on his bare thigh. “You’ve done this before,” came her cooing voice.

“No.”

His eyes drifted from her trainwreck face, past her large floppy tits and down to the furry tangle of her pubic hair. A retro 70s sex kitten reincarnated as Hollywood trash. Jungle pussy, he’d later tell his friends.

“Most guys, y’know, they talk the talk. All ‘oh baby, yeah, i’m gonna rape you so bad. You’re gonna be screamin’ mah name.’ Pfft!”

This last bit sounded like a wet fart.

“Buncha tossers, you ask me. Pull my hair, choke me. Two seconds later they’re blowing their load on my tits.”

“Guess I’m lucky like that,” he lied.

“Oh baby, you got no idea.”

His fingers started to slide towards her snatch but she was already rolling over onto her doughy belly. Ass up and cheeks spread wide. She looked back at him over her shoulder.

That goddamned smile again.

“Now I want you to put both your fists up my ass.”

3. In Hollywood, Everyone Can Hear You Scream

The city spread out beneath him like a sea of Christmas lights. Hollywood. Babylonia.

Gamble couldn’t believe almost a year had passed since he’d stepped off that shitty Greyhound bus from that shitty little nowhere town and checked himself into that shitty hotel on Hollywood Blvd. His arrival didn’t improve his life but holy fuck, it was Hollywood. That had to count for something, he kept telling himself.

“It’s the view you’re paying for.” That came from David, who was stepping onto the back porch with two Jack and cokes in his hands. “At least that’s what the realtor insisted when I bought this place.”

David Michael James.

Aka Dick Johnson, the visionary director behind such recent classics as the CUM FARTING GUTTER SLUTS series and the 35mm epic GRETCHEN GETS A GANGBANG.

He and David had met, at some party or another, over a few lines of blow when the man offered him $100 to take him in the bathroom and suck him off.

“I’m not gay,” Gamble had told him.

“Neither am I,” the older man winked.

David doubled, then tripled his offer. Gamble, in desperate need of cash, relented.

6 and one half minutes later, as he washed the act from his mouth, David scratched his number on a piece of toilet paper and told him to call sometime.

So he did.

“Truth be told, the daytime view is nothing but haze and the smell of shit. But the nights, man. The nights up here in the hills are like overlooking your own kingdom.” David slid one of the tumblers towards Gamble, who chugged the drink down in one long gulp.

“Strong enough?”

“Skip the soda next time,” Gamble said, eyes still transfixed on the twinkling lights below.

4. Whores of Babylon

“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.

5. Sometimes it’s better to lie…

Gamble lay on his back, staring at his blurry reflection in the dark mirror above him. Her body spread out south of his waist, her head doing that familiar bobbing motion in time with the beat with the music that filtered out of the ancient tape deck next to the bed.

Gamble looked down at her, sliding his fingers through the tangle of her hair.

“I love you, Amanda.”

Her head stopped and she looked up at him.

“What?” Misty asked.

“Nevermind,” he told her.

His hand pushed her head back down and he went back to staring at his reflection.

6. A Tale of Two Richards

Gamble stepped onto the balcony to light up a cig when he noticed two partygoers humping like drug-fueled rabbits in the dark of the midnight sky.

Her bent over the railing. Face down, skirt up.

Him standing behind. Pants around ankles, hips doing a dance.

Gamble stood and watched them for several minutes before she on the bottom looked up and noticed him standing there.

“Oh shit—” she started to push Mr. Rabbit back and slide her skirt down

“Don’t worry about it baby,” he whispered. “He works in porn, he sees this shit all the time.”

Not quite, Gamble thought to himself, but the reassurance seemed to work. She nodded at Gamble then let her head drop back down. Mr. Rabbit pounded on.

“Gamble?” A woman’s voice interrupted his cigarette and gaze.

“Gam—oh there you are!” Gina stepped onto the balcony.

She threw a disdainful glance towards the impromptu lovers. “Hey asshole, if you get any jizz on my fucking deck, I’m going to make you clean it up with your tongue. “

“He. Might. Like. That.” Came Miss Rabbit’s voice between thrusts.

Gina turned her attention back to Gamble.

“What are you doing out here my naughty boy?” She placed her arm around him. “Get yer cute lil butt back in there, I want you to meet someone.”

He had been in Hollywood for almost a month now. He met Gina the first week in town while hustling outside a diner in WeHo. She had taken pity on “her little cowboy” and invited him in from the rain to buy him a cup of coffee. Later, in the wee hours of the morning, he found himself crashing out on a futon in her modest North Hollywood apartment.

“I want you to meet someone,” she repeated, dragging him through the throng of party-goers.

She stopped in the kitchen and pointed out the man bent over her counter, snorting a long rail of coke through a little pink bendy straw. Several well-endowed party bunnies stood around him cooing and clucking, waiting for their turn to bat.

“Gamble, I’d like you to meet Dick Johnson,” she paused then practically whispered, “he’s in the biz.”

The man stopped mid-snort and looked up at Gamble. A brief, awkward silence then, “Call me David, please! All my friends do.”

His thin, creepy lips curled back into a smile. He shrugged off the pouting whores and extended the straw to Gamble.

“Join me?”

Gamble turned to look for some sort of approval from Gina, but she had already disappeared back into crowded living room.

Later, after leaving David in the bathroom, he found Gina drunkenly making out with four or five frat bros on the couch. Her shirt had been yanked down around her waist, leaving her expensive tit-job on display for the onlookers.

He sat down in front of her and put his hand on her knee.

“How long you going to tease these poor boys,” he grinned.

“Go away Gamble,” she growled between kisses.

“C’mon, you gotta do it. You know you do.”

Gina sighed, then shoved her boy toys aside.

“You always have to ruin it, don’t you?”

“That’s half the fun,” he winked at her.

Gina glared at him for a moment, then flashed a wicked smile.

“You’re always right, dear,” she admitted.

She stood up and slowly spun in a half circle to face the boys on the couch. All eyes in the room turned to her as she began an impromptu striptease.

“You want this?” she asked them.

No words, just a cascade of nods and drunken smiles.

“Of course you do puppies,” she smirked and jerked her pink frilly top up and over her head.

Her body shook and shimmied as she slowly drew the zipper of her jeans downwards towards an awaiting prize. The couch boys leaned ever closer, their teeth grinding and their glassy eyes locked on her grinding swaying hips.

The zipper continued it’s downward trajectory, revealing a jungle of dark hair that betrayed her dye job.

And then the punchline.

The jeans fell down around her knees and a giant cock, one that would surely make John Holmes himself stop and take notice, flopped flacidly between her well toned thighs.

There was a combined gasp from the couch boys. One of them may have even lost the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor. Gamble didn’t notice, he was too busy smirking at Gina.

“Touchdown!” He hollered at her.

The couch boys quickly scampered off the couch in search of somewhere to hide. One of them might have claimed he “knew all along”.

Gina jerked her jeanss back up and threw an arm around Gamble’s shoulder.

“Oh well,” she sighed. “One day I’ll find my prince.”

”Of course you will,” he told her.

“What about you, cowboy? How come we’ve never hooked up?”

Gamble just smirked and kissed her.


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JUNKFOOD NOIR is a serialized online experiment in fiction and is copyright 2008-2009 Chad Michael Ward. No contents of this blog may be reproduced in any format without prior consent from Chad Michael Ward.