Measuring up: part 1 of four - Sex Stories

Measuring up: part 1 of four

... spent a packet on iMacs, a Smartboard, video recording and playback equipment. The list was endless. Initially, money had seemed no object. Now it was gone. All four weary eyes were on me. I was cornered, though bared my teeth and prepared to leap for the jugular. 'Come on, guys! Can't we find someone to do it, yer know? An escort? A call girl? A... a... prostitute?' They were both shaking their heads before the first question mark. It was Geoff who voiced the objections, his glistening bald head making his apprehension tangible. The poor guy had five kids, a huge mortgage, and an expensive wife, and needed this project to be a success more than any of us. 'The budget's gone, Sal. The fucking rents around here! Christ! And after the set-up costs and our wages, there's nothing left. We're going to have to improvise.' Suddenly incandescent, I leapt to my feet. My chair careered into the wall behind me and overturned, its gleaming, maintenance-free castors spinning silently. 'You mean one of us has to whore! And looking round this room, this sorry fucking room, besides myself, there are not too many candidates.' But for my heavy breathing, there was silence. Geoff stared at his oversized brogues, Pam at her stubby twiddling thumbs. The three of us remained in almost motionless silence till all unlikely possibilities evaporated and only solid certainty remained: the certainty that I needed the money almost as much as Geoff. What with student loans outstanding and the ...

... wardrobe-full of business suits I had recently loaded onto my already over-burdened credit card, without a job - and that meant this job, for no other offers had been forthcoming - I'd be totally fucked. Defeat squirted its bitter jism into my mouth. I spat it out. 'Okay, I'll fucking do it. But the resulting film does not get beyond these walls. You hear me? Not beyond these fucking walls!' Pam rested her sweaty hand on my forearm, her relief palpable. 'Thanks, Sal. You're a life saver.' I bellowed. 'Do you fucking hear me?' Geoff raised his head and pushed his glasses back up his bulbous nose. 'Something about the walls?' While pulling the face of a demented moron, I nodded. 'Yes. Obviously.' He nodded back. I gazed at the obese matronly blob slumped next to him. 'Pam?' The blob shook its head; nodded; did both at once. 'Course, Sal. What sort of monster do you think I am?' After reaching out and retrieving my chair, I slumped back into its sumptuous seat, rested my elbows on its black leather arms, and swivelled on its friction-free swivel. Regret ploughed my forehead into perfect furrows: for the price of this chair alone we could have hired Jenna Jameson for the afternoon. Though still livid, I was suddenly surprised to find a warm glow between my thighs and realised my panties were wet. Was it the decadent chair? The looped writhing images of Jenna Jameson? Or was it the thought that I was actually going to blow some guy off on cam? A pertinent thought found my vocal cords ...