Author: Nimby
Title: Diary of a Porn Pro
Part: 2 The Singer, Not the Song
Keywords: MFFF, exhib

      
DIARY OF A PORN PRO
      
by
      
NIMBY
      
Copyright (C) 2011 by KGV All rights reserved.
      
All characters and events depicted in this novel are purely 
fictitious

     
THE SINGER, NOT THE SONG

The $100 was a godsend. I'd eat for another week. Actually, I could probably stretch it out to two weeks if I stayed away from the fast food places. I still had to face the fact that the rent was due in another week, but if they actually ended up throwing me out, there were a few places I could crash for a few days. I wasn't entirely friendless. Yet.

So, now all I had to do was strip buck-naked in front of a woman older than my mother who I've never even met before and sing "happy birthday" to her. Piece of cake.

Wrong! There are some people who say I'd do anything for money, but that's not exactly true. I do have my principles. And nudity in front of strangers is one of them. I've never mooned anyone, or dropped my pants in a barroom bet, or anything like that. I'm not an exhibitionist. Exposing myself before three women, only one of whom I've barely met, was pretty close to pushing my limit. But there was that hundred dollars...which was already tucked comfortablely away in my pocket.

What the hell? The old lady had certainly seen it before. And if her daughters hadn't, it was time they had. If this little stint worked, maybe they would recommend me to their friends and neighbors. A whole new career loomed before me, delivering strip-o-grams to old ladies who needed an occasional battery recharge. Yeah, right.

Still, if I was going to do this, I ought to do it right. Contrary to my former girlfriend's assessment that fucking was by only ability, I'd always given 100% plus a little more to any job I'd ever had. My employers sincerely hated to let me go--it was the economy, not my effort that was the problem.  So, after Googling a route to get me where I was going, I stopped by a supermarket and picked up a couple of those helium-filled "happy birthday" balloons. Something a little extra to thrill the old gal in case my cock only brought back faded memories. And if I ever did go into the business--why I'd be able to write off the balloons as a business expense. Can't beat a deal like that.

With the balloons bouncing around in the car, I felt like I ought to have a couple of kids bouncing along with me, just like those soccer moms with the Avon and Mary Kaye stickers on the back window of their SUV's along with stick-figure depictions of their happy brood.

The residential area Google directed me through was definitely upscale for me. Houses with actual space between them...sweeping expanses of green lawn that had to be professionally groomed and manicured...homes that were individually designed--not cookie-cutter copies of their neighbors three doors down on each side... The one I turned into actually had a U-shape drive. Three cars were already parked in front of it. A Volvo, a Lexus, and a Mercedes. Shit! And I was wearing sneakers, blue jeans, and a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt. I should be wearing a tuxedo!

It wasn't easy, walking up that flagstone path to the front door. My mind kept going over the words of the Happy Birthday song. Hell, I wasn't sure I remembered all the words correctly. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, then punched the doorbell. The tune played by the chimes was catchy. It would make a great cellphone ringtone.

The woman who answered the door was older than me, shorter than me--even in heels--and dressed in a purple pantsuit with a square neckline that framed a necklace of big round purple beads.  Stylish. Sexy. "I'm here to deliver a birthday greeting to, ah, Mom--"

Big smile. "I'm Mom."

I looked surprised--mainly because I was. "I must have the wrong house. This woman is turning 50 today."

"Bless you!" She laughed. "You've got the right place. Come in."

I swear, I'd seen this living room before in my old girlfriend's Ethan Allen catalog. It looked warm and cozy, and there were two other women standing there in the room besides the one who had greeted me at the door. One of them  was the personnel director who had booked me for this little song-and-dance routine, so I was in the right place. But Mom looked more like she was turning 40, rather than 50.

"Welcome! I don't believe we know you. I'm Beatrice, people call me Bebe, and this is Sara--"

"Yes, Sara and I have already met."

"And Belen, my youngest. She's just finishing up a nasty divorce and looking for someone tall like you for a new husband."

"Mother!"

I laughed sociably and introduced myself. "I'm John."

"You have something for me?" Bebe's eyes beamed at me expectantly. The woman was obviously enjoying her day...so far. Would my little performance blow the whole thing? Or would it be the cherry on top? She looked like a nice lady; I hoped it would be the latter.

"Ah, ma'am, you might want to take a seat for this."

She backed up and sat down in the middle of a sofa. As I moved in front of her, I saw Belen raise a video camera to eye level. Shit! They were going to record the whole thing!

I don't know whether it was stage fright or what, but my heart started thumping. My first attempt at singing was not successful, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Happy birthday to you." I whipped my sweatshirt over my head and tossed it aside. Bebe's eyes widened. "Happy birthday to you." I flicked open my belt buckle and unzipped my fly. Bebe's jaw dropped. "Happy birthday dear Ma-om..." I pushed by briefs down to my knees and they fell to my feet. "Happy birthday to you!" My cock stood at attention in a final salute to the birthday lady.

"Oh my God! That thing is beautiful! Belen, can you get a good shot of that? Am I in your way?"

"No, Mom, you're fine." The young woman moved in for a really close shot of her mom's birthday surprise. I wished I could see what she was viewing on her little screen. I doubted that a picture of my cock would get anybody going, but a screen-filling image might be rather awesome.

The older woman looked up at me, a big smile on her face. "My! What a lovely birthday present!"

I was happy that she was happy. And, if it was just her and I, I would have been sorely tempted to make her even more happy. But I was acutely aware of the fact that I was the lone male in the room with three women. And I was the only one naked. Somehow, there was something wrong with that equation.


To follow this story, visit my blog at http://www.bedtimeanthology.com/blog where all my stories are archived.

Your comments are appreciated. nimby@usa.com


   
   
   
