pantyhose was rough, chaffing, but he liked the way her soles felt on his skin.
“You know how to touch a woman,” she said between grunts.
“Practice.”
“It shows.”
“Jesus, this feels good, what you’re doing.”
“First time.”
“No way.”
“It’s not hard. That . Keep doing that .”
He had stuck his middle finger knuckle-deep inside her. She clutched his hand and moved it for him, coming hard with all her muscles straining. When she was done, she worked his cock harder until his come spurt across her hose and the console and the dashboard.
After they sat several minutes, breathing deeply and letting their blood cool, Ivana wiped her foot on Hopper’s pants leg and swung herself forward, buttoned her jacket and lifted her blouse off the floorboard.
Hopper said, “Was that what you thought private eye sex would be like?”
She did So-so with her hand and said, “I was hoping you’d force me.”
“Sorry.” Hopper pulled his pants up, bumped his head on the car’s ceiling, and imagined that someone must’ve seen. How could they have not? “So where is it?”
Ivana licked her lips. She reached under the driver’s seat and came out with a DVD case. It was white paper with black words: Hottie Mommy #4 Rough Cut . Underneath the title was “Copyright 2005, DPA Productions.” The people Depp worked for. Ivana had lured him to her car with the promise of handing over the DVD, and that’s where she got acrobatic with her feet after a long awkward kiss that tasted like seafood.
“She left it at the house. Probably accidentally.”
“You don’t know these guys she was with? No one familiar?”
Ivana checked her make-up in the rearview. “All new to me. I never get far into it without losing my concentration anyway. Are we done here? Any other questions for me?”
Hopper tried to think of something. Plenty of questions, none turning into words, except for Are my legs asleep? He pounded his thighs. “I’ll call you again if I need more.”
“More answers or more me?”
The car smelled like shit. “Either.”
“I’ve got to go. You can get out now.”
Hopper opened the door and stepped one leg onto the pavement. Ivana cranked up and revved. He barely had his other foot on the pavement when she bolted forward, only stopping to reach over and slam the door. Hopper watched her go, then looked down at his stained khakis, the second pair that needed changing today. He turned towards his car and took a step—pinpricks all over. Down. Hard. Knees.
Yeah, his legs were asleep all right.
Hopper stood under scalding water in his shower and knew he’d stand here again before sunrise. It had become ritual to him, the opposite of proving worthiness. He examined the skin of his penis—somewhat raw but not broken, hard to tell without his glasses. However exhausted he felt, sleep would have to wait. He needed caffeine and pills, a boost to make night vivid as day.
Before the shower he added the new names to his list— Georgia, beautiful bartender, ass; Ivana, footjob (frowny face) —and watched the credits of Yasmin’s Hottie Mommy disc, wondering if Figg would use his real name, or if any of the actors would. Turned out they didn’t. Yasmin was “Eve Cummings”, while her partners-in-sex were “Force Major,” “Gordon Long,” and “Roger Stone.” Hopper thought they must run out of names like that. There had to be fifty Roger Stones and Gordon Longs in the biz. Eve Cummings was cute—Eve being the mother of all and Cummings being gratuitous.
She wore a long red wig in the first scene, standing the way pregnant women did with her hands high on her back, stomach bulging forward, although it was obvious she was exaggerating, not showing enough yet. The set was Kristen’s apartment, the living room for this scene. Yasmin flipping through a baby magazine and reciting exposition into a phone: “Sure, Susan, I know I should be thinking of other things, but with Walter
“You know how to touch a woman,” she said between grunts.
“Practice.”
“It shows.”
“Jesus, this feels good, what you’re doing.”
“First time.”
“No way.”
“It’s not hard. That . Keep doing that .”
He had stuck his middle finger knuckle-deep inside her. She clutched his hand and moved it for him, coming hard with all her muscles straining. When she was done, she worked his cock harder until his come spurt across her hose and the console and the dashboard.
After they sat several minutes, breathing deeply and letting their blood cool, Ivana wiped her foot on Hopper’s pants leg and swung herself forward, buttoned her jacket and lifted her blouse off the floorboard.
Hopper said, “Was that what you thought private eye sex would be like?”
She did So-so with her hand and said, “I was hoping you’d force me.”
“Sorry.” Hopper pulled his pants up, bumped his head on the car’s ceiling, and imagined that someone must’ve seen. How could they have not? “So where is it?”
Ivana licked her lips. She reached under the driver’s seat and came out with a DVD case. It was white paper with black words: Hottie Mommy #4 Rough Cut . Underneath the title was “Copyright 2005, DPA Productions.” The people Depp worked for. Ivana had lured him to her car with the promise of handing over the DVD, and that’s where she got acrobatic with her feet after a long awkward kiss that tasted like seafood.
“She left it at the house. Probably accidentally.”
“You don’t know these guys she was with? No one familiar?”
Ivana checked her make-up in the rearview. “All new to me. I never get far into it without losing my concentration anyway. Are we done here? Any other questions for me?”
Hopper tried to think of something. Plenty of questions, none turning into words, except for Are my legs asleep? He pounded his thighs. “I’ll call you again if I need more.”
“More answers or more me?”
The car smelled like shit. “Either.”
“I’ve got to go. You can get out now.”
Hopper opened the door and stepped one leg onto the pavement. Ivana cranked up and revved. He barely had his other foot on the pavement when she bolted forward, only stopping to reach over and slam the door. Hopper watched her go, then looked down at his stained khakis, the second pair that needed changing today. He turned towards his car and took a step—pinpricks all over. Down. Hard. Knees.
Yeah, his legs were asleep all right.
Hopper stood under scalding water in his shower and knew he’d stand here again before sunrise. It had become ritual to him, the opposite of proving worthiness. He examined the skin of his penis—somewhat raw but not broken, hard to tell without his glasses. However exhausted he felt, sleep would have to wait. He needed caffeine and pills, a boost to make night vivid as day.
Before the shower he added the new names to his list— Georgia, beautiful bartender, ass; Ivana, footjob (frowny face) —and watched the credits of Yasmin’s Hottie Mommy disc, wondering if Figg would use his real name, or if any of the actors would. Turned out they didn’t. Yasmin was “Eve Cummings”, while her partners-in-sex were “Force Major,” “Gordon Long,” and “Roger Stone.” Hopper thought they must run out of names like that. There had to be fifty Roger Stones and Gordon Longs in the biz. Eve Cummings was cute—Eve being the mother of all and Cummings being gratuitous.
She wore a long red wig in the first scene, standing the way pregnant women did with her hands high on her back, stomach bulging forward, although it was obvious she was exaggerating, not showing enough yet. The set was Kristen’s apartment, the living room for this scene. Yasmin flipping through a baby magazine and reciting exposition into a phone: “Sure, Susan, I know I should be thinking of other things, but with Walter
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