Welcome to E. Mayberry

“Stormy Winters,” he said. “Holy shit. You’re Stormy Winters.”

“You’ve seen my work,” I said.

I’ve always felt weird calling it my work. Like I’d painted a Picasso or something. My work. You’ve seen my pussy is what I should have said.

Tension blushed and set his hand over his eyes, rubbing at his temples. I looked at the crotch of his pants and saw that the length of his cock had grown and was now very present along his inner thigh, pressing against his slacks.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve…I’ve seen your work. Who hasn’t?”

I opened my legs more, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see into the dark shadows of my dress but that he wanted to. Sure enough, his eyes drifted to the opening and stayed there.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

His eyes were glossy. I figured it must’ve been a mix between exhaustion and arousal. He was very into what he was seeing in front of him and I knew, without a doubt, that he was replaying some of my videos in his head, wondering if he had a chance to make one of them a reality.

My heart thudded in my chest as I waited for his answer. If he said yes, I would offer him a tuna sandwich. If he said no, I’d open my legs wider and toy with him some more.

“I’m…I’m fine,” he said.

“Oh I know you’re fine,” I replied as I spread my legs wider and slid forward in my seat, letting my pussy lips grind against the cushion.

He focused on me and I loved the lost expression on his face. I was breaking him. He wasn’t the hardened cop he’d been when he came into my house. Now he was just hardened.

“Why did you change your name?” he asked. “To Sunshine?”

“I’m going to tell you all about that. Sunshine was a name given to me by someone special. But I was, as you said, Stormy Winters.”

“I was very good on screen. As you might already know. But I wasn’t happy. Not really. I loved the sex. I mean who wouldn’t love going to work every day to do what you love to do most? When it came to sex, I got to try it all. Girl on girl, double penetration, anal…you name it. I came every single day, I squirted sometimes, and I t

ook the money shot like a pro.

I dated some porn stars, I was friends with many, and I even mentored some. It was my life and through all the shit that I liked, there was this growing sadness inside, like a dark cloud…a Stormy Winter. I hit bottom when I started falling for one of my co-stars, Alex Thump. Well, that’s how you’d know him. He was Eric to me. I loved him. We did a lot of films together and even through all the shots that looked uncomfortable or aggressive, Eric was a gentleman with me. Once when one of the sound guys was rude to me, Eric punched him.

We went out to dinner, we watched movies together, and we made love. Most people don’t realize that even with all the fucking that goes on on-screen, we are still capable of making love. With Eric, that time spent alone with him was gentle when I needed it to be and it was rough when I wanted it to be. For fuck’s sake he was perfect. Except for one thing. He had a drug problem.”

“I haven’t heard about him in a long time,” Tension said.

“Cause he’s dead,” I informed him.

Saying it hurt more than I thought it would. It wasn’t the first time I’d said it but it was the first time I’d had to tell someone the whole story and then top it off with that. I’d only told my sister about Eric. But even with her, I’d never told her how in love I was with a porn star.

“It hurt a lot.” I said. “We’d had breakfast that morning and then both drove off in our own cars to our own sets for the day and apparently, after one scene where he fucked Angelina Reigns, they both went into the bathroom to do some blow and he had a heart attack. Died right there in front of her. She was pretty devastated, but the way I see it, that’s what she gets for doing coke with my man. Her job was to fuck him not to do dope with him. And now he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Tension said.

I believed him. The sad sag in his eyes told me he’d suffered loss himself and hearing my experience was making him relive his.

“So after that I went through another deep, dark spell. Once again, I considered killing myself but like the last time I was a coward. So I kept fucking for the camera, smiling for the viewers, and crying when the filming stopped.

Instead of feeling like an entertainer of any kind, I simply felt like a whore.

I was a whore. I’d always been one.

“Do you know what makes you a whore, Detective Tension?”

“Getting paid for sex?” Tension said, but more like he was guessing.

“No,” I said. “Getting paid for sex makes you a sex worker. It’s an honorable job and is one of the oldest professions. What makes you a whore, is when you stop feeling anything and fuck to fill a void. That makes you a whore.”