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  They were practically on top of each other as they got to the bathroom. Jane felt the girl’s little hand pressing the card into her back, and she shivered. They squeezed into the little cubicle, not caring if anyone saw, not knowing what anyone’s name was, and they all started sliding out of their clothes. Jane put the card with Nicholson and the chesty, bent-over lady against the mirror. The girl hopped up onto the sink, her skirt hiked up and her panties on the floor. Jane saw the tall guy starting to lean towards the girl, but she slid in, feeling his hot cock against her ass and the wetness of the girl. Jane sighed. She’d never had a three-way, but this felt so comfortable, so perfect that Jane wasn’t nervous at all. She leaned into the girl and whispered, “Something’s gotta give.” The girl giggled and wrapped her arms around Jane. Jane licked her ear lobe and fingered her. The tall guy rubbed his head against Jane’s increasingly wet pussy. He slid into her and reached around to play with the dark-haired girl’s nipples. The girl let go of Jane’s back and slid one hand around to the guy and one down to Jane’s ass. In those next few minutes Jane could’ve sworn she felt everything, the soft give of the girl’s breasts and the hot trail of her own tongue sliding across them, the weight in the tall guy’s groin as he pounded her and the bounce of her flesh as she pushed back to collide against him. As they fucked, she remembered that the word “thrust” has something to do with physics and planes and probably feeling breathless. This was where she needed to go.

  Jane closed her eyes and felt warm, eager hands all over her. She smiled and imagined the whole plane in the bathroom, fucking and licking and squeezing. Cocks stiffening and legs parting as they all watched Jack Nicholson look down this cartoon girl’s shirt. The flight attendants laying down for body shots and the pop of the overhead compartments as people pulled out anything they could to help fuck each other. Neckties for hands and feet, camera phones catching positions that people would never again hold. She imagined all this as her breath came out in little bursts between thrusts from this tall guy with his rock hard cock. Jane felt like singing. She felt like they were even sweating together. The three of them would press against each other and the bathroom walls, but even the tight little bathroom didn’t seem so bad. It kept the heat and the smells and the sounds in as they all moved back and forth together, the guy’s cock occasionally slipping out, only to get thrust back in deeper, harder.

  She felt the thighs of the girl wrap around her and the girl’s calves wrap around the guy and she felt like the guy’s cock slid right through her and deep into the girl, right between Jane’s fingers, pressing them deeper. Jane moaned out her climax and then bit her lip, hoping to not attract the attention of any flight attendants. She leaned in for a deep kiss with the girl, and as she did so, she felt the warm explosion from the guy. They all froze for a second, then slid into breathy laughter. They gave quick glances back and forth as they slid their clothes back on. The guy was built pretty well, and the girl was the kind of cute that you wished you could hold every day of your life. “Wasn’t he great as the Joker?” the tall guy asked.

  Jane looked at the dark-haired girl, and they both laughed. The tall guy was the first to leave, and while Jane and the girl were in the bathroom together, the girl took Jane’s hand, still wet from the girl’s pussy, and she licked Jane’s fingers, then kissed her. Jane felt dizzy. She leaned into the kiss and grabbed the girl’s sweet, full ass. When they stopped, the girl smiled and left. Jane took a moment to catch her breath. She pulled her skirt up and picked the card off the mirror. That cartoon woman’s breasts really were worth the peek. Jane slid the card back down her skirt. It felt warm this time. When she opened the door, there was a flight attendant. A thin blonde who was good-looking, although maybe a little past her prime. Jane felt herself turning red, but the flight attendant just smiled. “There’s an on-flight movie,” she said. “Terms of Endearment.”

  Jane nodded. She eyed up the flight attendant, but thought better of it. Maybe later in the flight, like an intermission. She smiled and went back to her seat. That guy next to her seemed a little more tolerable now. Jane sat down and said, “Sorry.”

  He gave a little chuckle. “It happens. Feel better now?”

  Jane shrugged. “As good as it gets.”

  She slowly slid the card back out, making sure the guy had gone back to his book. Jane traced the edges of the card with her middle finger. Maybe it didn’t look so much like Nicholson after all. Maybe that didn’t matter. She looked back at the girl and the guy. They were leaning on each other. She looked towards the flight attendant who was pushing the drink cart. The flight attendant leaned over one of the other passengers to pass their seatmate a drink and Jane could’ve sworn the flight attendant pressed her breasts on the passenger’s shoulders. It looked like it couldn’t have been a mistake. Maybe the flight attendant wasn’t so past her prime. Her body looked tight, but maybe flexible. Jane closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. Between her takeoff point and final destination there was a nice, long layover.

  Burden in Hand

  Jake Barnes

  I’ve nabbed some quality items off Craigslist, from workout equipment to a pool cover. I even sold a few goods after I got laid off. My bike went, as did some of the kids’ toys. But they were minor patches, not enough to stop the hemorrhaging. I needed a job. I’d scanned Craigslist’s employment section before, but nothing fit. Or I wasn’t open to the options. That is until I was desperate enough and clicked the Adult Gigs tab.

  I read the warnings and disclaimer and then proceeded to the next page. Blue hyperlink descriptions enticed. I clicked a few. The link Traveling Businessman? offered discreet services and the pitch, “Let your wife do the laundry, I’d rather do you.” The Dirty Secretary was a call for a woman to role-play for a late-night workaholic in need of some relief. Then I read Men: Actors needed for solo shots. I followed the link:

  Actors needed for male jerk-off scenes. No head shots. Looking for athletic builds. Will fly you to location. $1,000 for your service.

  “A thousand bucks for jerking off?” I covered my mouth after blurting it out and my ears reddened. I re-read the ad. No head shots. I had multiple scenarios for what that meant, but I was solid on the $1,000. I hadn’t worked in three months.

  I highlighted the response link and pasted it into an email. I closed my eyes and thought for a moment, am I this desperate? I did a mental inventory of my bills and our savings. The argument from the night before cast its shadow. My wife was right. “We need to do something.” I fired off a paragraph resumé of my willingness and my build. I then ran from my home office and refused to look at the computer for the rest of the day. I picked up my daughters from school, made dinner and waited for my wife to come home from work.

  “You seem upbeat. Something happen?” She set down her bag and kicked off her shoes.

  “I, uh, may have a lead on something.”

  “That’s awesome! With who?” Her eyes sparkled. I hadn’t seen that in three months. It had been twelve weeks of nothing but late night conversations and calculations that amounted to the same frustration. Nothing but excuses for why we couldn’t get together with friends. Nothing but unemployment and a dangerously high mortgage.

  I turned to the stove, feigning to check on the food. “I’m not sure, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It may only be a one shot deal.”

  The sparkle faded and she frowned, but then her eyebrows perked. “Hey, one job at a time can add up.”

  I was itching for the inbox before they left the house the next morning, but I kept my composure and read the newspaper’s classifieds. No ads for “wild fantasies cumming true.”

  “Good luck.” My wife kissed me. “Let me know, all right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “See you, daddy. Good lu-uck.” The girls giggled and all three went out the door. Dirty doesn’t penetrate the surface of how I felt.

  My inbox had a new message:

  Thank you for your interest in our male act
or position. At this point, we require a body shot in order to assure your interest, and to assess ours. Please send a fully nude jpeg or gif. Head/face not required. Also note that we reserve the right upon face-to-face meeting to challenge the authenticity of the image sent. If the image and the individual are not deemed to be the same, then the individual incurs all expenses. Once you have submitted your image you will be contacted shortly. Thank you for your interest in Hot Line Entertainment.

  I backed away and re-read the line about incurring expenses. That simply wasn’t an option. I almost deleted the email. Almost. It sounded professional, not like some scam. Hell, if I was honest, then there was no issue. If they didn’t like what they saw then this would go no further. And I didn’t have to include my face.

  I was naked with the camera in hand a minute later. I didn’t stop to think. I just snapped three shots and then uploaded. I chose the best, attached it to my reply and clicked send. I quickly deleted the images from the camera and computer.

  Then the realization hit. What had I done? What if they used the pictures on some web site and I never heard from them again? Could someone still recognize me? I paced and watched the news—more of the same tragedy, more ending up in my shoes. How had we gone from prosperity to poverty so fast? I turned off the television and hopped back online. I searched for careers with a future, for jobs like the one I had. The ads were all stale and unpromising, but my inbox had a new message:

  Your image and willingness match our need. However, we want to be transparent about the nature of the work. Please view the following clips of our content via the links below. If you are still interested please respond within twenty-four hours. We look forward to working with you.

  I clicked one of the links provided and a porn site popped up. A black box swirled while the content loaded and then the footage began, a guy on a couch pounding away. He was thin with ropy muscles, but his face was not visible. He moaned and finished and the screen cut to another—this one with plate-like abs who projected his batch in an arc over the bedspread.

  I was repulsed but not offended. I had not been lied to. This was exactly the offer detailed. It was more on the up-and-up than my former sales history. I didn’t watch any more of the footage. Instead, I responded to the email.

  I am interested. Please send me the full details.

  They did, complete with a contact number. It was mid-afternoon, just before I had to retrieve the girls from school. I sat at my desk and dialed the number.

  “Hot Line Entertainment. Derek speaking.”

  My mind whistled it went so empty.

  “Hello? Hello? Anyone there?”

  “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh, I’m calling about an acting position.”

  “Excellent!” Derek’s voice was authentic charm, no veneer. “I take it we’ve corresponded. With whom am I speaking?”

  He reminded me of my former self. The one who called on clients and inflated their egos. “This is, uh, this is Todd Whitman.”

  A mouse clicked in the background. “Whitman, Whitman…ah, yes, Mr. Whitman. Very nice picture, indeed.”

  A flush settled over me and I smiled like some girl being told she was cute for the first time. “Really? Thanks.”

  “No. Thank you. Were you interested in setting up an appointment for this week?”

  “Uh, well, I guess there’s no time like the present.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Derek clicked and typed. “I could have you out here for Thursday.”

  Out where? danced on my tongue, but I was overwhelmed by the blood draining from my head. I rested the phone in my palm as the room listed. This was moving too fast. Couldn’t I just find something regular? A normal job? But even as I waffled I knew. I’d sent hundreds of emails, had called on dozens of leads, and what did I have to show for my effort? A dwindling savings account and mounting tension. “All right.”

  “Excellent!” Another few keystrokes, punctuated at the end by a hard return. “Could you fly out at noon?”

  My head whirred. “Where am I flying to?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How did I forget that? Vegas. We’re just off the strip. If you can leave Denver at noon that will put you here around one, our time, no problem. We’ll have you on set by two, and you’ll be heading home after dinner.”

  What happens in Vegas… “Sounds fine with me.”

  I spent the rest of the afternoon straightening up the house and replaying the conversation in my head. Had I missed anything? Was this really as honest as it seemed? I could find no faults, so I drove to the girls’ school and surprised them with a treat. “You two want Debbie’s Kitchen for dinner?”

  They looked at each other for a moment, I think waiting for the punch line. We hadn’t had take out in two months.

  “Really? Debbie’s?” My eldest buckled her seatbelt. My youngest did the same.

  “Yeah. Is that okay?”

  Their eyes bugged and they looked at one another. “Uh huh.”

  The car reeked of the homemade garlic mayonnaise that is Debbie’s signature. I looked in the rearview mirror. Gentle grins had spread over their faces. I felt good. I felt like I’d regained some control.

  Dinner was an impromptu celebration with a quick explanation tacked on. “I’ll tell you more later. The girls will be bored to tears.” I opened the gourmet turkey sandwiches. “Can you smell that?” My wife’s eyes matched the girls’.

  She had me on the bed as soon as they were asleep, and it took me a moment to understand where this was headed. “I can’t. Not tonight.” I sat up. Her arm fell from my shoulder. “Dinner didn’t sit well,” I lied.

  “But Debbie’s is your favorite.” She turned her bare back to me.

  “I know.” I reached out and stroked her skin. “I don’t get it. Maybe I’m just anxious about Thursday.”

  She turned and her face was again animated. “So tell me. What is it? Where are you going? What are they offering?”

  I looked down for a moment and the contours of the bedspread caught my attention. I envisioned the video from earlier. “It’s a delivery position. I, uh, I have to go and do a trial run, which they’ll pay me for.”

  “They’re paying to fly you out so that you can deliver something? That makes no sense.” Her lips curled. “Why don’t they just send it in the mail?”

  I kept my head down. “That’s the thing. They can’t. They need a special courier to deliver it. That’s the only way it will be accepted.”

  “It’s still odd. Can’t you see that?”

  I looked up. Her face was splotched red. Her eyes were knitted close. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just some marketing stunt.”

  “All right. But for what? What’s the product? What’s the name of the company?” She waited for me to answer, but I just couldn’t spin any more deceit. “Jesus, Todd! You don’t even know, do you?”

  I shook my head and looked away.

  “This is so like you, just plunging in headfirst without thinking. Just like with this house. You’re going to take off to…to Vegas and leave me to handle everything. I still have to work. I have a conference call I can’t miss, and a meeting…” she sputtered out. “Damn it! It’s just so hard.”

  “I know.” I touched the back of her hand. She pulled it away.

  “Don’t. Don’t try to smooth it over. Look at me.” The skin stretched to breaking across her jaw, as it had when she delivered our girls. “You had better not waste our time with this. We have maybe enough for another month. Then…” She dropped her head and shook it. “I don’t know what then.”

  “They’re paying me regardless. Remember? If it’s right I’ll make it work. If not, at least we’ll have a thousand bucks.”

  She looked up and parted her lips to speak. I placed a finger to them.

  “Trust me?”

  She held my gaze for a moment and then sighed. She pulled away from my finger. “Just be careful.”

  I was careful. I cleared out my online history and
deleted every email from Derek, especially the last one with directions to the studio and for my grooming. I had to shave my testicles with a straight razor and the rest with an electric trimmer. Fortunately, my wife left for the office early, which left me enough time to complete the deed and clean up. Then I carted the girls off to school and from there, went directly to the airport.

  The terminal was dead and I breezed through, checking in with an e-ticket and my carry-on bag. I sat at the gate and tried to read the novel I’d brought with me—some trashy King rip-off—but my head was too full of anxiety to concentrate. The plot became incoherent as the pieces of my own kept pressing in. How many trips had I made last year? Thirty-five? Forty? How many dinners and drinks with clients? How many thousands of dollars spent? And now? I was prepared to sacrifice so much for a morsel.

  We boarded and I settled into a window seat. My stomach clenched and unclenched incessantly. I’d always wanted to see Vegas at night. That strip rising out of the desert like a gaudy oasis. At 1:00 PM, however, Vegas looked like a toy collection left to bake in a child’s sandbox.

  I grabbed a cab and directed the driver to the set, per Derek’s email. The driver did not speak and I caught only glimpses of the historic landmarks. We passed some of the ancient casinos and then turned onto a shabby side-street. The set building was nondescript, boxy and brown. It possessed only a handful of small windows and the bulk of the structure was a sheet of unbroken stucco.