Story Notes:
First chapter is sexless. All following chapters will have sex.
Chapter 1
Hi! My name's SigmaWeapon. I've been a writer of fanfiction and original stories for a long time now. But this is my very first attempt at writing anything adult.
This story will have an unusual writing style. Although it's technically third person, almost half of the writing is commentary interjected by the main character. This commentary will be italicized.
My name is Brendan Hopkins, and I live in Skandia. I wasn't born in Skandia, I'm from the United States, pacific northwest. But then again most people who live in Skandia weren't born there. Given that I told you that much, I should probably tell you what Skandia is.
Skandia is an itty-bitty country in northern Europe bordering the ocean. It's barely bigger than the state of West Virginia, but it's more famous than many countries ten times its size. The reason for this is the... how shall I say... unique political and social atmosphere. Skandia has some of the lowest crime rates in the world, though this feat becomes far less impressive once you know that it has fewer laws than almost any other country in the world.
For instance, not many drugs that are illegal in Skandia. Among the drugs that are illegal here are the hardcore opiates and amphetamines-such as cocaine and heroin, anabolic steroids, and ecstasy. However, things like LSD, psilosybin, mescaline, ether, and about a hundred different types of pot are available by request at your local cafe, provided you have an ID proving you're seventeen or older. But problems with illegal drugs in Skandia are few since there are so many legal alternatives to choose from.
There's no such thing as victimless crime here in Skandia. Prostitution is legal and regulated by the government as a tax source. All kinds of marital absurdity takes place here since marriage itself is not legally recognized. All marriages in Skandia are purely symbolic.
The result of all this is that Skandia has low taxes even though the tax revenue is huge. The drugs and brothels pay all the taxes that aren't found in paychecks, land ownership, and most other goods and services.
Age of consent is also a funny thing here. The term 'Age of Consent' is used in Skandia for the legal adult age of seventeen, but consent for sexual relations between minors, or between an adult and a minor, can legally be given if-special emphasis on if-, and only if, the age difference between the partners is no greater than three years.
So you can see why Skandia is such a popular place. But none of that is why I'm here. The reason I'm here is Phibes University in Skandia's capitol city of Delther. It's one of the most acclaimed universities in the world. Their PHD program in electronic and optical engineering is the most prized of its kind, and that's what I'm aiming toward.
To be considered for this requires a perfect high school GPA, plus you already have to have an appropriate associates degree from another university, also with a perfect GPA there. This wasn't very difficult for me since I've got an IQ of a hundred and ninety and can read five thousand words a minute with a hundred percent comprehension. The real problem was... just how in the fuck was I going to pay for it?!
Phibes was the kind of place CEOs and foreign dignitaries sent their kids. The average term there costs sixty grand! That's sixty thousand US dollars, which comes out to about a ninety thousand Skandian Scribes. And that's just the tuition. It doesn't include the cost of about a dozen tutors, fees, and every conceptual engineering toy imaginable, which even someone like me would need to get through the kind of curriculum they're going to throw at me.
Right now is the first day of summer vacation, and classes won't start again for another three months. I've already burned out my credit cards for my very first term here, and now I'm desperate to find a way to earn enough in three months to pay for the next one. That's where my story begins.
Brendan lay on the floor of his apartment living room. Bamboo flooring gave way to white wash walls and ceilings. Desks and tables and shelves were oddly shaped, curvy, made of glass sheets and matte black something. Lights extended from poles and swingarms. Modernist décor to the extreme.
Brendan lay in his underwear. He was about five foot six, not too skinny. Actually it looked like he had thin layer of fat evenly covering his body. He didn't look like he worked out much. But that didn't seem to matter. He had a flat stomach and skin that clung tightly to his body, never flabbing anywhere. His skin was so porcelain and scarless it looked like it belonged to a child. He clearly had never seen harsh sun in his life. His floppy platinum blonde hair fell over his eyes.
Brendan waved one hand through the air as if catching wind from out the window of a moving car. His other hand held onto the tip of the flexible stem of a rather large artisan bong resting on the coffee table next to him.
Brendan's free hand wandered toward the coffee table. He grabbed a magazine and held the cover out in front of him. Jonny Osbourne February 2007 premier catalog it said. Brendan was on the front cover posed in tight fitting black boxerbriefs with red and gold trim, the logo of Jonny Osbourne proudly stamped onto it. He wore those same boxerbriefs now.
He let the catalog fall to the floor.
Underwear modeling was how I funded myself up until now. And yes, I was good looking enough to make it on the cover. Then again maybe that was because I was a seventeen year old who could reasonably pass for a fourteen year old.
So I know what you're thinking, "A supermodel and a supergenius? This guy's a putz!" Well, I'll tell you right now that I absolutely hate being what I am. I suppose it was because I was born to a lower middle class family. I wanted to be near other lower middle class kids growing up. But my looks just wouldn't allow it. They pushed me away while the rich kids wanted to be my friends. There is no one more superficial than the ten year old child of some stinking rich foreman or real estate agent. Most of them grow out of that shallowness eventually, but you don't ever realize this when your ten.
Growing up, I wished nothing more than to have some kind of fatal flaw in my appearance, a freckle, a scar, heterochromia. What the fuck?! Did I just say I wanted two differently colored eyes? Actually, that would be kind of cool.
I'm sorry what was I saying? ... Oh yeah, underwear modeling! That's how I was able to afford this apartment, with fiber optic TV and internet, induction stoves-not that I knew how to cook-, decentralized heating, bi-weekly housekeeping, and furnishings that looked like they were pulled right out of a cell phone commercial. That and I now own about sixty pairs of top shelf underwear, none of which I paid for. But then again, it's just not possible to own too many pairs of underwear.
But there's nothing I can do that I know of that can pay for Phibes. Which may be why I'm laying on the floor stoned off my ass in said underwear.
Brendan brought bong stem to his lips and took a deep inhale.
At that moment, something long and furry hopped up onto Brendan's chest. It looked like a cross between a striped sock and a fur rack, three and a half feet long if you don't count the tail, six if you do. It stuck its face in Brendan's and barked at him.
"Furrr!"
Brendan shook his head to get the creature out of his face. It stood up on its hind legs, sitting on his chest with its tail wrapped around its body.
"You want some?" Brendan asked.
"Furrr!" the creature squealed, nodding its head.
Brendan handed the bong stem to the creature, who clutched it in both paws and took a lengthy breath from it. The creature began to wobble and then fell like a noodle onto its back between Brendan's body and right arm. Brendan took the stem back from the creature's hands and took another breath from it.
That's my Furret. She doesn't have a name, but most people don't name their Pokemon unless they have two of the same species, so she never really minded. I don't fight her, god no, not that she could fight anyway. When I adopted her from the Pokemon center, the nurse there told me that she was left there, abandoned by her trainer after being KO'ed by a low level Rattata. Imagine that, a Furret beaten by a Rattata.
Brendan reached his free hand down and scratched his Furret's chest. She sighed in response and wriggled her body, forcing herself tighter between his arm and body. He reached his other hand over to his Furret's face and held the bong stem to her lips. She took a much smaller breath and held the smoke inside for a few seconds before blowing it back out.
"Furrr," she cooed.
Brendan brought his hand back to his side and scratched his Furret's chest a bit harder with his other. The Furret pushed her chest up and her head into his body. Brendand pressed his hand down and rubbed hard into her chest. She sighed and flapped her tail against the bamboo floor. He reached down from her chest and began raking his fingers across her belly.
"Furrr!" she squealed.
Her breathing sped up and her tail flapped harder against the bamboo floor from the stimulation of Brendan's fingers dragging across her belly, one of only a few places where she could have direct skin to skin contact between her body and his fingernails. His fingers dragged around her belly and the edges of her thighs. He pressed his hand harder into her flesh. She squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked from the deep massage along the edges of her thighs. Her body tensed up and she tightened her back until she was stiff. Her tail beat rapidly against the floor.
"Furrr!" she squealed again.
Brendan let go. He wriggled his fingers as he lifted his hand up and lay it on his chest. His Furret reacted immediately, relaxing her body and falling back tightly between his body and arm, back her previous limp noodle state.
I've often wondered why she lets me do that. Considering just how close my hand gets to that thing between her legs, and how hard I scratch her there, one accidental slip and she might just find a finger plunged all the way inside her. But she seems to have complete trust in me that I'll never actually touch her there.
Though if I did, what would happen? At the very least, she wouldn't trust me to scratch her belly for a few days. But what then? No one would be able to charge me with anything or revoke or confiscate anything from me. Not in a place like this. But what would she do?
Brendan looked down at his Furret with half closed, dilated eyes. She looked back at him with eyes half closed and glazed over, and her mouth open just slightly, as if wrapped around an invisible straw.
But the way she's looking at me right now makes me not so sure of my previous assumption. She seemed like she was in the afterglow of orgasm. Then again that might just be the fact that she's as stoned as I am right now. She gives me similar looks after every time I scratch her belly, as if pleading for more. But in all fairness, she's usually stoned when that happens.
But still, I'm just assuming she lets me do this because she knows I'll never touch her sex, but I don't claim to be able to read her thoughts. Would she really mind? That bite sized little twat. Would she mind if I rubbed my fingers against it, whether on accident or not? Would she want me to fingerfuck her until she's thoroughly oiled my pinky? If so, how much nastier would she want me to get with her?
Like I said, no one would be able to do anything to me about it here. I know that in most first world countries, getting caught having any kind of sexual relations with a Pokemon would get you banned from ever owning one or from working a job where you care for one. In most second world nations you'd get thrown in jail for that. And in most third world nations, it would get you executed. But in Skandia, nothing could be done to you. Skandia was one of the few nations where Pokephilia was not only legal, but a legitimate business! To be honest, I could probably eat out my Furret's pussy in public here in Skandia, and get away with little more than a fine, and even then only because kids might have seen it.
Holy shit! Was I really thinking those things?! That pot I was smoking was an all-new breed I never tried before. The shit must've been stronger than I thought if it's making me think of sex with my own Furret. Maybe it's making her think of sex with me.
Dammit Brendan, stop that!
Brendan and his Furret could both hear into the hallway. The doorknob twisted and the door opened. Footsteps, and then the door shut. Neither Brendan nor his Furret reacted to the sound.
I'm always very thankful for distractions.
There's only a few people I know who'd open the door to my apartment and walk in without calling ahead or even knocking. I went through the short list in my head over and over again.
The footsteps came out of the hallway and into the living room with Brendan and his Furret. Again, neither of them reacted. The footsteps approached them and stopped just before hitting them.
A small feminine hand with trimmed, unpainted nails reached down and grabbed the bong stem from Brendan's hand.
There's only one person I know who'll grab the stem of a bong right from my hand without asking.
Brendan let his head fall to the side, and he saw her. She was short, with bright red hair and green eyes, rather small breasts, and the slightest potbelly.
She wore faded blue-jeans beneath a black t-shirt embroidered with the logo and members of some alternative Canadian rock band, and a jean jacket with the sleeves cut off and frayed at the elbows. She wore oval glasses, and a green bandanna decorated with images of coffee cups tied back her auburn hair.
She brought the stem to her lips and took quite a lengthy breath before dropping it back down onto Brendan's chest. She walked over to the white leather couch and flopped down on it, only then exhaling the smoke.
No one moved for almost a minute after that, until the girl finally started giggling uncontrollably under her breath. She silenced a minute later. She swung her legs up onto the couch and laid down on it.
Brendan leaned his head the other way, looking back at her.
That's my girlfriend, Flora. She's from the Kanto province of... some country I can't remember the name of. It's an east pacific island nation, home to the Pokemon League headquarters. But for the life of me I can't remember what the hell it's called.
I met her at Phibes, business major and daughter of one of the many VPs of the Pokemon product enterprise Silph Co., also located in... that country.
No, I'm not blind. I do realize just how plain looking she is. You might ask me "Hey Brendan, why pick her if you can have your choice of any girl you want?" Well, you just answered your own damn question right there pal!
Sure, I might be able to make it with Miss Skandia Supermodel, and have to deal with all the shit that comes with it: Being paraded around like a trophy fish, being the butt of the jokes and resentment of normal people, being invited to cocktail parties at country clubs and being forced to wear Mankey suits that choke both my neck and my crotch. Fuck that! I'm not going through with it! I had enough of that shit growing up; I don't want any more of it now.
Besides, I always heard that the beautiful women were all lousy in bed, while the average looking ones were all fantastic fucks. Don't ask me why this is. I prefer not to know for fear of offending average looking women. But I know that in Flora's case, it was true.
That's why I asked Flora out on a whim. She was floored when that first happened, but has since come to understand my reasons. I stay with her on the condition that she not try to show me off.
If you ask me if her wealthy heritage was any factor in my asking her out, I had no clue at the time how much money she had. I mean she drove a freaking stock coupe! When I finally did find out, it was of no help to me, since her parents wire her only enough to pay for her degree and living expenses, and absolutely refuse to pay anything more.
By the way, did I mention she's twenty four? She likes younger men, not that I'm complaining.
Brendan kept looking at Flora as if expecting her to do something. He took another breath from the bong stem and then held it to his Furret's lips, who took her own breath.
"Furrr..." she sighed.
Brendan kept staring at Flora. He handed her the stem and she brought it up to her lips. She held the stem there, only occasionally breathing through it, mostly breathing through her nose. Flora seemed lost in some important, stressful thought. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. It was the kind of look that someone had when they were desperately trying to remember something or figure something out.
"You gonna say anything?" Brendan asked.
Flora kept still and silent. Her face never changed from that stern expression. Minutes went by.
"Hello Flora! What's so important?"
Flora blinked. "Consolidated water."
Brendan sat up and stared at Flora with the same disparately inquiring look she just had. The bolting movement threw Brendan's Furret into a somersault onto the floor. After righting herself, she grrred her disapproval to Brendan.
"Consolidated water?" Brendan asked. "And just what the hell's that?"
"Uhhhh..."
The bong stem fell out of Flora's mouth onto the floor as she droned. She began to wave her hands through the air as if trying to contemplate just what the hell the words that came out of her mouth meant. After a time, she forgot her contemplation and waved her hands around in a comedic imitation of Tai Chi.
Flora let her head fall to the side to see both Brendan and his Furret up close staring at her.
"Wha... what?"
"What's consolidated water?" Brendan asked.
"Oh that. You know how water evaporates, but without evaporating?"
Brendan shook his head. "No. I don't know. I was under the impression water always evaporated by doing just that."
"No, no, no!" Flora shouted, sitting up on the couch. "You know how like, when water evaporates but it doesn't boil?"
Brendan and his Furret stared dumbfounded at Flora. She stared back with her teeth clenched and brow pulled tight as if teetering on the edge of embarrassment.
Brendan then burst out laughing. He fell over on his back, failing to hold back the laughter and laughing through his nose. The Furret soon folowed. She too rolled onto her back in a laughing fit, wriggling as she did. It couldn't be told if she actually got what had been said, or if, in her pot induced state, she simply caught the laughing bug from Brendan.
Brendan calmed, as did his Furret. He sat back up with a pure deadpan expression.
"Oh that," Brendan said in just as deadpan a voice. "That is evaporation. Boiling's just called boiling. They're two different things so... I'm sorry what was I talking about?"
Flora sighed and slumped forward. She picked up the bong stem and took one more quick breath before handing it to Brendan, who took a breath of his own.
"So what'd you come here for?" Brendan asked.
Flora shook her head. "What did I come here... oh yeah! First off, you left your glasses at my place again."
Flora pulled a pair of rimless, rectangular glasses with thin lenses from her jacket pocket and tossed them to Brendan. After examining them at different angles, Brendan unfolded them and put them on.
"And second, I think I found out how you're gonna make enough money to pay for Phibes."
"Did you get your parents to loosen up their bank accounts?"
"No way in hell that's ever gonna happen," Flora sighed, shaking her head. "If they paid your tuition at Phibes, they'd have to pay that for all of my friends just to be fair. Then suddenly I'd get a hell of a lot more popular, which means they'll have to pay even more! And pretty soon they'll be paying for everyone. It's a slippery slope of slanted death Hop. No one in the world has that much money."
The slippery slope of slanted death! She counters with that argument every time I bring up her parents' money. It's become a lame joke that's run its course long, long ago. Though, you're probably wondering more why she calls me 'Hop'. It's shorthand for my last name, Hopkins.
"No," Flora said. "It's a summer job. But I guarantee you it'll pay for a whole year at Phibes and then some."
Brendan stood up straight, eyes wide. His Furret also bolted upright and leaped over to him, gazing wide eyed at her as well. It wasn't known if she could understand things like consolidated, but the words a summer job that can pay for a whole year of Phibes were ones she understood explicitly. And she was just as amazed as Brendan to hear them.
"What the fuck kind of summer job could ever pay that well?" Brendan asked.
"Furrr!" his Furret added.
Flora puled a folded section of a newspaper from her back pocket and threw it onto Brendan's lap. Brendan dropped his bong stem and looked down at it. Even his Furret sniffed it curiously. It was today's classifieds.
"You're gonna become a porn star," Flora said.
Brendan's and his Furret's heads jerked back up to look at Flora.
A porn star? She wants me to become a what? For a moment after the initial shock, my mind wandered as if searching for the definition of the word porn star.
Flora and I had an open relationship, and she took full advantage of it. But the one thing I never expected her to suggest was that I make money being videotaped having sex. I couldn't do that! Not that it would bother me, but what about my future? I looked down at the classified and, sure enough, she cut out the page for 'adult film actors'. Skandia was one of the few places in the world where such things would be advertised in the daily paper.
Brendan looked back at Flora. She had a smug grin and half closed eyes like people get when they know they'd just won a bet. Brendan shook his head. He stood u,p holding the adult ads, and paced back and forth for a short time.
"I can't do that!" he shouted.
"Why not?" Flora asked.
Brendan's Furret stood straight up, vigorously slapping her tail against the floor. Her head darted back and forth between Flora and Brendan as they went back and fourth talking. The words get a job as a porn star were also ones she understood explicitly.
Brendan briefly dropped his head into his hand and huffed. He looked back at Flora.
"Who the fuck would hire an engineer who used to be a porn star?" Brendan asked.
"Well, people are getting pretty desperate for engineers now a days," Flora answered, shaking her finger at Brendan. "And I don't think a lot of people have the nerve to turn down a Phibes engineer. And if they do... well... I'd always hire you. You could come work for me at Silph co.!"
"Who ever said you were going to make VP?"
"Are you forgetting that a Phibes MBA is actually more sought after than any of its PHDs? And my dad already guaranteed it. Soon as I got six years experience in upper management, he's retiring and the job's mine. And by that time you should be done with your degree."
Brendan walked over to the couch and flopped down on it, the classifieds on his lap. His Furret jumped on the couch and stared intently at them, scarcely able to read the ads, but wanting to see all of them nonetheless.
Silph co. was a prestigious company to work for, even more prestigious than Devon corp., also from... the same country as Silph co. Devon corp. was actually the company I was going to try for, but it's known for fantastic inventions that never get completed because the R&D costs too damn much. Sylph co.'s inventions aren't quite as impressive, but they're far more respected in the business world because they usually finish the things they start. That, and they're much bigger than Devon corp.
So eight years as a porn star promises me a job as a Sylph co. engineer? Why the hell not? I can do that.
"So exactly how much money do porn stars make?" Brendan asked.
Flora shrugged her shoulders. "Well, if you get the right position at the right company, you could make over a two hundred thousand scribes a year."
Brendan plunged forward and coughed. His Furret gasped and covered her mouth at the mention of two hundred thousand scribes.
Two hundred thousand scribes?! That's over a hundred and thirty three thousand US dollars, in one summer even! You got to be fucking with me. Alright, calm down Brendan. Two hundred grand is a lot, but it's still not enough. The tuition alone for a full year costs a hundred and eighty grand. There's still the matter of the gadgets and tutors, not to mention the living expenses.
No one ever gives student loans for Phibes. Even if the company repossessed everything the borrower owns after ten years, nine times out of ten it's not enough to cover the costs.
I could still do underwear modeling on the side. That always gave me a nice hundred grand-that's little more than sixty six US-to work with. Stinking rich for most, but dead broke when aiming for what I am. But three hundred grand all together can cover everything I need, barely. I'll need to get a far cheaper apartment, and even then I can't spend anything on luxury. But it can be done.
Alright then, I was going to become a porn star.
"Sure why not?" Brendan sighed, shrugging his shoulders, the polar opposite of his shock only a moment ago.
Brendan's Furret's ears stood on end, as did the hair on her back. He was actually going to do it! The Furret slunk into the shape of a curly fry and buried her head in her tail. The darkness made it easier for her to imagine exactly what kinds of acts her master would perform in front of the camera.
Brendan unfolded the classified paper in front of him and began searching it. His eyes wandered the boxes, and after just a few seconds he was almost finished with a column. Flora then whispered in his ear.
"Read them out loud."
Brendan sighed.
"Looking for an extra tall, extra long haired black male who loves taking it anally."
Brendan looked at Flora with one eyebrow raised, and then turned back.
"Okay," Brendan said. "I'm only reading the potentials this time around. Wanted, extra young white male with a talent for, contortionism? No thanks. The only time I ever tried Yoga I threw my back out. ... Looking for very young, white male in glasses for nerdy role, that sounds promising, and must be well muscled. Okay that's out. ... Wanted, looking for seventeen year old white male with a slight build. Must be master of the naive, innocent, Bunneary boy look. Must enjoy being submissive. No appointment necessary. First come, first served. PL Studios."
Flora pointed to the ad in question.
"That's it! That's the one!" she shouted. "I remember the time you dressed up like a Bunneary just to get me give you a blowjob."
"I worked didn't it?" Brendan mumbled. "Though that was right before you gagged me and tied me to the bed post."
"Then it's perfect!"
"There's a lot of things I'd enjoy but still would never want to try more than once. So when did this paper get on shelf?"
"Half an hour ago, you'd better get going."
"Right, I'm out," Brendan yawned.
Brendan stood up and walked toward his bedroom to dress himself.
Brendan's Furret shivered in her ball. Her master and his girlfriend often talked sexually in front of her, and she loved listening to it. But these things, and the thoughts they brought up, were just too much for her. She had to see the things he was going to do, the movies he would make. She had to see them!
I passed by country club after country club in that bus, waiting for what seemed to be hours to reach my destination. Back in my apartment, the idea of fucking strangers in front of the camera seemed normal. But now, half an hour later, as I'm watching golf courses and estate gardens and mansions and lodges buried behind dozens of acres of landscaped terrain, and now that the pot is finally starting to wear off, I'm getting cold feet.
I'm sorry. I should probably have filled you in first on where I was and why. I was on a bus headed for that address on the ad Flora clipped from the paper while I was getting dressed. The address read 'PL Studios'. As for the change in scenery, well, the west-coastal-half of Skandia is virtually nothing but a huge urban expanse. The east-inland-half is nothing but a series country clubs and political estates. There isn't a single acre of farm or wilderness in the country. Anywho, somewhere among those country clubs is a porn studio, which was kind of strange to me, as I always thought of porn studios as being in warehouses.
But about my cold feet, yes, at that moment I was really questioning what I was doing. I was slowly getting more sober on that bus ride, and the straighter I got, the less sure I was that this was a good idea. To hell with three hundred grand and to hell with Silph co.! What would people think of me, knowing what I did? I'd have a job but, would I, could I, have respect as an engineer? Was I better off just going back to the US and finding a cheaper university?
The closer I got to my stop, the more nervous I became. The only reason I was still going at all was because I knew that I could walk out on any offer at any time.
The bus pulled off to the side of the road next to a covered rest stop in front of a country club. The passengers shuffled out and walked their separate ways. Very last among them was Brendan, who exited hesitantly.
Brendan stood at the edge of the sidewalk as the bus drove away. He wore a navy blazer over a black tee shirt and bluejeans. He looked around and sniffled. The rest stop was a tinted glass covered quad of concrete, separated into three columns of vending machines selling everything from hot burgers to prepaid phones, and those self cleaning bathrooms you had to pay a half-scribe piece just to use. Behind it were the acres of grass and bushes and cobblestone leading to the lodge of its country club. A Pokemon battle raged on in a circle of cobblestone. Brendan had no interest in that.
Brendan sniffled again and looked around some more. Half a dozen yellow bicycles were parked unlocked on the bike rack.
This was one of those yellow bike countries. The bikes are public property, and anyone could take them anywhere as long as it's not onto private property. This 'PL Studios' was just under a mile away.
Brendan hopped on a yellow bike and started peddling down the road.
I stared at what looked like a small resort hotel, and at first that's what I thought it was. This couldn't be right. No porn studio would ever be this big or this fancy. Well, actually there were a few. The billion dollar moguls owned those. For a moment, I was actually relieved. The stars made by the mega players in the porn business had better public images than those who worked for the smaller companies. How lucky could I have been to stumble across one of them in a newspaper ad?
Then my optimism left me. The moguls always hired their stars from within the industry. But only the moguls would have a place like this. What kind of a mega player in the porn business would possibly hire an outsider with no experience? I should've known it was someone with something to hide from their potential employees, but at that moment the answer escaped me. You see, I'm not a very observant person... more on that later.
Brendan laid his bike against the wrought iron fence that surrounded an estate that had to be at least a hundred acres. At its center stood a Victorian building with red roofs and caramel walls. It was a cube with a domes roof and three wings extending from it in a Y shape. Landscaped gardens of grasses, bushes, trees, ponds, pathways, boulder formations, and smaller Victorian buildings covered the entire acreage.
There was a video interlink next to the security gate. Brendan walked up to the gate. His hands were shaking and sweaty. He breathed deep several times and pressed the only button there.
The screen lit up, showing the face of a small, middle aged woman with bright red hair and coke bottle glasses. She chewed gum as she talked.
"Can I help you?" she said in a squeaky Boston accent.
"Yeah, is this PL studios?" Brendan asked.
"It is," The redhead answered.
"I saw the wanted ad in today's paper."
"We always have several ads, be more specific."
"The one about the Bunneary boy," Brendan said, irritated.
"Oh that one!" the redhead replied in a slightly cheerier tone. "Let me show your face to the boss, see if she likes it."
She? I never heard of a mega porn studio run by a woman. I thought that was just found in the smaller ones.
The screen went black for a little under thirty seconds. Brendan began to tap his foot. The screen lit up again. The redhead smiled at Brendan.
"She likes your face, come on in," she said.
The screen turned off and the sound of metal hinges unlatching signaled the slow opening of the security gate. Brendan backed up and clenched his fists. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He breathed hard and his heart raced.
Do I really want to go through with this? Why the hell am I so worried? The gate isn't the point of no return. I can go back any time I want.
Brendan lifted his head back up, opened his eyes, relaxed his hands, and walked through. The gate shut behind him.
Brendan walked, hands in his pockets, down the path to the Victorian mansion. As he did, he looked back and forth at the landscaping and noticed rather unusual things. A Grovyle lay asleep in a lounge chair on a concrete island in the center of a large pool. A Kadabra sat under a tree reading a large book, waving its finger through the air to cause the pages to turn. A Flygon stood upright at a cherry tree, eating the blossoms one by one. It glanced at Brendan, then returned its attention to the tree.
For a supposed porn studio, this place sure as hell has lot of Pokemon hanging around. If only I understood the connotations at the time, I'd have turned and ran. But like I said, I wasn't very observant. Give me anything on fluid dynamics or chaos theory and I'll solve them on the fly almost without even paying attention. But for the life of me I cannot put 2 and 2 together to make 'oh shit!'
Foresight was never a problem. I could always imagine the long term consequences of my actions. But imagining the short term future was something I was all but incapable of.
So you still think being a genius makes everything easy? Easy is the last thing your life is when you can't see what's right in front of your fucking face until it's too late! That's the price you pay for an orbital IQ. It's the price I was going to pay soon.
Brendan reached a white split staircase with a fountain between two sets of stairs. It led up to a ten foot double door of a dark stained wood. Brendan walked up the staircase and stopped in surprise when one door opened halfway as he approached. Brendan continued through the door, which shut behind him.
The inside had another split staircase leading to the second and third floors. It had cherry red carpets with gold embroideries and paneled walls made to look like wood and marble with gold molding and trimming. Houseplants were sparse.
This place looked like a caricature of a generic Vegas casino. But given that this is a porn studio, I supposed I shouldn't have expected anything less.
Except... I almost feel like I'm being watched.
Brendan turned to look down the left hall. The lights were off down there but he still clearly saw a Weavile leaning against the wall in the shade. Its arms were crossed and one foot was propped against the wall. But it wasn't a normal Weavile. Its fur was milk white and its band of feathers butter colored. Its eyes were light pink instead of the normal burgundy red.
An albino Weavile?
The Weavile smiled at Brendan and narrowed its eyes at him. It was offputting, but Brendan gave no indication. A short, pudgy black man with a full beard walked through the hallway up to the Weavile. He leaned over and whispered something into its ear. The Weavile nodded to the man with a grunt of satisfaction and walked the other way down the hall.
The man approached Brendan. He wore a buttoned black blazer and black dress slacks with black loafers, all over a white tee shirt.
This guy's obviously some sort of a quasi butler or valet or something.
The man approached Brendan and extended a hand. Brendan shook it. The man spoke in a quick-talking cockney accent.
"How's it? Name's Otis. What's yours?"
"Brendan," Brendan answered. "I'm here about-"
"I know what you're here about," Otis interrupted. "Come on, I'll take you to the boss."
Otis waved his hand for Brendan to follow and jogged to the stairs. He hopped up the stairs like a kid despite his stature and fatness.
Brendan looked back down the hall. The Weavile was gone. He sighed and looked back up the stairs. Otis was already at the second floor looking down at Brendan with his arms crossed and his foot tapping. Brendan followed him up the stairs.
I knew at that point that there was definitely something wrong here, that there was something about this place very much unlike your run of the mill porn mogul's mansion. I didn't know what it was. I figured it was empty of people because the ad said production took place over the summer, and today was only its first day. But I still couldn't understand why there were so many Pokemon, even though any normal person would've known instantly. Speaking of which, I didn't like the way that Weavile smiled at me. Once again, I couldn't understand it, but I knew something about all of this was off.
But I was still comfortable in the knowledge that I could walk away at any time.
This story will have an unusual writing style. Although it's technically third person, almost half of the writing is commentary interjected by the main character. This commentary will be italicized.
My name is Brendan Hopkins, and I live in Skandia. I wasn't born in Skandia, I'm from the United States, pacific northwest. But then again most people who live in Skandia weren't born there. Given that I told you that much, I should probably tell you what Skandia is.
Skandia is an itty-bitty country in northern Europe bordering the ocean. It's barely bigger than the state of West Virginia, but it's more famous than many countries ten times its size. The reason for this is the... how shall I say... unique political and social atmosphere. Skandia has some of the lowest crime rates in the world, though this feat becomes far less impressive once you know that it has fewer laws than almost any other country in the world.
For instance, not many drugs that are illegal in Skandia. Among the drugs that are illegal here are the hardcore opiates and amphetamines-such as cocaine and heroin, anabolic steroids, and ecstasy. However, things like LSD, psilosybin, mescaline, ether, and about a hundred different types of pot are available by request at your local cafe, provided you have an ID proving you're seventeen or older. But problems with illegal drugs in Skandia are few since there are so many legal alternatives to choose from.
There's no such thing as victimless crime here in Skandia. Prostitution is legal and regulated by the government as a tax source. All kinds of marital absurdity takes place here since marriage itself is not legally recognized. All marriages in Skandia are purely symbolic.
The result of all this is that Skandia has low taxes even though the tax revenue is huge. The drugs and brothels pay all the taxes that aren't found in paychecks, land ownership, and most other goods and services.
Age of consent is also a funny thing here. The term 'Age of Consent' is used in Skandia for the legal adult age of seventeen, but consent for sexual relations between minors, or between an adult and a minor, can legally be given if-special emphasis on if-, and only if, the age difference between the partners is no greater than three years.
So you can see why Skandia is such a popular place. But none of that is why I'm here. The reason I'm here is Phibes University in Skandia's capitol city of Delther. It's one of the most acclaimed universities in the world. Their PHD program in electronic and optical engineering is the most prized of its kind, and that's what I'm aiming toward.
To be considered for this requires a perfect high school GPA, plus you already have to have an appropriate associates degree from another university, also with a perfect GPA there. This wasn't very difficult for me since I've got an IQ of a hundred and ninety and can read five thousand words a minute with a hundred percent comprehension. The real problem was... just how in the fuck was I going to pay for it?!
Phibes was the kind of place CEOs and foreign dignitaries sent their kids. The average term there costs sixty grand! That's sixty thousand US dollars, which comes out to about a ninety thousand Skandian Scribes. And that's just the tuition. It doesn't include the cost of about a dozen tutors, fees, and every conceptual engineering toy imaginable, which even someone like me would need to get through the kind of curriculum they're going to throw at me.
Right now is the first day of summer vacation, and classes won't start again for another three months. I've already burned out my credit cards for my very first term here, and now I'm desperate to find a way to earn enough in three months to pay for the next one. That's where my story begins.
Brendan lay on the floor of his apartment living room. Bamboo flooring gave way to white wash walls and ceilings. Desks and tables and shelves were oddly shaped, curvy, made of glass sheets and matte black something. Lights extended from poles and swingarms. Modernist décor to the extreme.
Brendan lay in his underwear. He was about five foot six, not too skinny. Actually it looked like he had thin layer of fat evenly covering his body. He didn't look like he worked out much. But that didn't seem to matter. He had a flat stomach and skin that clung tightly to his body, never flabbing anywhere. His skin was so porcelain and scarless it looked like it belonged to a child. He clearly had never seen harsh sun in his life. His floppy platinum blonde hair fell over his eyes.
Brendan waved one hand through the air as if catching wind from out the window of a moving car. His other hand held onto the tip of the flexible stem of a rather large artisan bong resting on the coffee table next to him.
Brendan's free hand wandered toward the coffee table. He grabbed a magazine and held the cover out in front of him. Jonny Osbourne February 2007 premier catalog it said. Brendan was on the front cover posed in tight fitting black boxerbriefs with red and gold trim, the logo of Jonny Osbourne proudly stamped onto it. He wore those same boxerbriefs now.
He let the catalog fall to the floor.
Underwear modeling was how I funded myself up until now. And yes, I was good looking enough to make it on the cover. Then again maybe that was because I was a seventeen year old who could reasonably pass for a fourteen year old.
So I know what you're thinking, "A supermodel and a supergenius? This guy's a putz!" Well, I'll tell you right now that I absolutely hate being what I am. I suppose it was because I was born to a lower middle class family. I wanted to be near other lower middle class kids growing up. But my looks just wouldn't allow it. They pushed me away while the rich kids wanted to be my friends. There is no one more superficial than the ten year old child of some stinking rich foreman or real estate agent. Most of them grow out of that shallowness eventually, but you don't ever realize this when your ten.
Growing up, I wished nothing more than to have some kind of fatal flaw in my appearance, a freckle, a scar, heterochromia. What the fuck?! Did I just say I wanted two differently colored eyes? Actually, that would be kind of cool.
I'm sorry what was I saying? ... Oh yeah, underwear modeling! That's how I was able to afford this apartment, with fiber optic TV and internet, induction stoves-not that I knew how to cook-, decentralized heating, bi-weekly housekeeping, and furnishings that looked like they were pulled right out of a cell phone commercial. That and I now own about sixty pairs of top shelf underwear, none of which I paid for. But then again, it's just not possible to own too many pairs of underwear.
But there's nothing I can do that I know of that can pay for Phibes. Which may be why I'm laying on the floor stoned off my ass in said underwear.
Brendan brought bong stem to his lips and took a deep inhale.
At that moment, something long and furry hopped up onto Brendan's chest. It looked like a cross between a striped sock and a fur rack, three and a half feet long if you don't count the tail, six if you do. It stuck its face in Brendan's and barked at him.
"Furrr!"
Brendan shook his head to get the creature out of his face. It stood up on its hind legs, sitting on his chest with its tail wrapped around its body.
"You want some?" Brendan asked.
"Furrr!" the creature squealed, nodding its head.
Brendan handed the bong stem to the creature, who clutched it in both paws and took a lengthy breath from it. The creature began to wobble and then fell like a noodle onto its back between Brendan's body and right arm. Brendan took the stem back from the creature's hands and took another breath from it.
That's my Furret. She doesn't have a name, but most people don't name their Pokemon unless they have two of the same species, so she never really minded. I don't fight her, god no, not that she could fight anyway. When I adopted her from the Pokemon center, the nurse there told me that she was left there, abandoned by her trainer after being KO'ed by a low level Rattata. Imagine that, a Furret beaten by a Rattata.
Brendan reached his free hand down and scratched his Furret's chest. She sighed in response and wriggled her body, forcing herself tighter between his arm and body. He reached his other hand over to his Furret's face and held the bong stem to her lips. She took a much smaller breath and held the smoke inside for a few seconds before blowing it back out.
"Furrr," she cooed.
Brendan brought his hand back to his side and scratched his Furret's chest a bit harder with his other. The Furret pushed her chest up and her head into his body. Brendand pressed his hand down and rubbed hard into her chest. She sighed and flapped her tail against the bamboo floor. He reached down from her chest and began raking his fingers across her belly.
"Furrr!" she squealed.
Her breathing sped up and her tail flapped harder against the bamboo floor from the stimulation of Brendan's fingers dragging across her belly, one of only a few places where she could have direct skin to skin contact between her body and his fingernails. His fingers dragged around her belly and the edges of her thighs. He pressed his hand harder into her flesh. She squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked from the deep massage along the edges of her thighs. Her body tensed up and she tightened her back until she was stiff. Her tail beat rapidly against the floor.
"Furrr!" she squealed again.
Brendan let go. He wriggled his fingers as he lifted his hand up and lay it on his chest. His Furret reacted immediately, relaxing her body and falling back tightly between his body and arm, back her previous limp noodle state.
I've often wondered why she lets me do that. Considering just how close my hand gets to that thing between her legs, and how hard I scratch her there, one accidental slip and she might just find a finger plunged all the way inside her. But she seems to have complete trust in me that I'll never actually touch her there.
Though if I did, what would happen? At the very least, she wouldn't trust me to scratch her belly for a few days. But what then? No one would be able to charge me with anything or revoke or confiscate anything from me. Not in a place like this. But what would she do?
Brendan looked down at his Furret with half closed, dilated eyes. She looked back at him with eyes half closed and glazed over, and her mouth open just slightly, as if wrapped around an invisible straw.
But the way she's looking at me right now makes me not so sure of my previous assumption. She seemed like she was in the afterglow of orgasm. Then again that might just be the fact that she's as stoned as I am right now. She gives me similar looks after every time I scratch her belly, as if pleading for more. But in all fairness, she's usually stoned when that happens.
But still, I'm just assuming she lets me do this because she knows I'll never touch her sex, but I don't claim to be able to read her thoughts. Would she really mind? That bite sized little twat. Would she mind if I rubbed my fingers against it, whether on accident or not? Would she want me to fingerfuck her until she's thoroughly oiled my pinky? If so, how much nastier would she want me to get with her?
Like I said, no one would be able to do anything to me about it here. I know that in most first world countries, getting caught having any kind of sexual relations with a Pokemon would get you banned from ever owning one or from working a job where you care for one. In most second world nations you'd get thrown in jail for that. And in most third world nations, it would get you executed. But in Skandia, nothing could be done to you. Skandia was one of the few nations where Pokephilia was not only legal, but a legitimate business! To be honest, I could probably eat out my Furret's pussy in public here in Skandia, and get away with little more than a fine, and even then only because kids might have seen it.
Holy shit! Was I really thinking those things?! That pot I was smoking was an all-new breed I never tried before. The shit must've been stronger than I thought if it's making me think of sex with my own Furret. Maybe it's making her think of sex with me.
Dammit Brendan, stop that!
Brendan and his Furret could both hear into the hallway. The doorknob twisted and the door opened. Footsteps, and then the door shut. Neither Brendan nor his Furret reacted to the sound.
I'm always very thankful for distractions.
There's only a few people I know who'd open the door to my apartment and walk in without calling ahead or even knocking. I went through the short list in my head over and over again.
The footsteps came out of the hallway and into the living room with Brendan and his Furret. Again, neither of them reacted. The footsteps approached them and stopped just before hitting them.
A small feminine hand with trimmed, unpainted nails reached down and grabbed the bong stem from Brendan's hand.
There's only one person I know who'll grab the stem of a bong right from my hand without asking.
Brendan let his head fall to the side, and he saw her. She was short, with bright red hair and green eyes, rather small breasts, and the slightest potbelly.
She wore faded blue-jeans beneath a black t-shirt embroidered with the logo and members of some alternative Canadian rock band, and a jean jacket with the sleeves cut off and frayed at the elbows. She wore oval glasses, and a green bandanna decorated with images of coffee cups tied back her auburn hair.
She brought the stem to her lips and took quite a lengthy breath before dropping it back down onto Brendan's chest. She walked over to the white leather couch and flopped down on it, only then exhaling the smoke.
No one moved for almost a minute after that, until the girl finally started giggling uncontrollably under her breath. She silenced a minute later. She swung her legs up onto the couch and laid down on it.
Brendan leaned his head the other way, looking back at her.
That's my girlfriend, Flora. She's from the Kanto province of... some country I can't remember the name of. It's an east pacific island nation, home to the Pokemon League headquarters. But for the life of me I can't remember what the hell it's called.
I met her at Phibes, business major and daughter of one of the many VPs of the Pokemon product enterprise Silph Co., also located in... that country.
No, I'm not blind. I do realize just how plain looking she is. You might ask me "Hey Brendan, why pick her if you can have your choice of any girl you want?" Well, you just answered your own damn question right there pal!
Sure, I might be able to make it with Miss Skandia Supermodel, and have to deal with all the shit that comes with it: Being paraded around like a trophy fish, being the butt of the jokes and resentment of normal people, being invited to cocktail parties at country clubs and being forced to wear Mankey suits that choke both my neck and my crotch. Fuck that! I'm not going through with it! I had enough of that shit growing up; I don't want any more of it now.
Besides, I always heard that the beautiful women were all lousy in bed, while the average looking ones were all fantastic fucks. Don't ask me why this is. I prefer not to know for fear of offending average looking women. But I know that in Flora's case, it was true.
That's why I asked Flora out on a whim. She was floored when that first happened, but has since come to understand my reasons. I stay with her on the condition that she not try to show me off.
If you ask me if her wealthy heritage was any factor in my asking her out, I had no clue at the time how much money she had. I mean she drove a freaking stock coupe! When I finally did find out, it was of no help to me, since her parents wire her only enough to pay for her degree and living expenses, and absolutely refuse to pay anything more.
By the way, did I mention she's twenty four? She likes younger men, not that I'm complaining.
Brendan kept looking at Flora as if expecting her to do something. He took another breath from the bong stem and then held it to his Furret's lips, who took her own breath.
"Furrr..." she sighed.
Brendan kept staring at Flora. He handed her the stem and she brought it up to her lips. She held the stem there, only occasionally breathing through it, mostly breathing through her nose. Flora seemed lost in some important, stressful thought. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. It was the kind of look that someone had when they were desperately trying to remember something or figure something out.
"You gonna say anything?" Brendan asked.
Flora kept still and silent. Her face never changed from that stern expression. Minutes went by.
"Hello Flora! What's so important?"
Flora blinked. "Consolidated water."
Brendan sat up and stared at Flora with the same disparately inquiring look she just had. The bolting movement threw Brendan's Furret into a somersault onto the floor. After righting herself, she grrred her disapproval to Brendan.
"Consolidated water?" Brendan asked. "And just what the hell's that?"
"Uhhhh..."
The bong stem fell out of Flora's mouth onto the floor as she droned. She began to wave her hands through the air as if trying to contemplate just what the hell the words that came out of her mouth meant. After a time, she forgot her contemplation and waved her hands around in a comedic imitation of Tai Chi.
Flora let her head fall to the side to see both Brendan and his Furret up close staring at her.
"Wha... what?"
"What's consolidated water?" Brendan asked.
"Oh that. You know how water evaporates, but without evaporating?"
Brendan shook his head. "No. I don't know. I was under the impression water always evaporated by doing just that."
"No, no, no!" Flora shouted, sitting up on the couch. "You know how like, when water evaporates but it doesn't boil?"
Brendan and his Furret stared dumbfounded at Flora. She stared back with her teeth clenched and brow pulled tight as if teetering on the edge of embarrassment.
Brendan then burst out laughing. He fell over on his back, failing to hold back the laughter and laughing through his nose. The Furret soon folowed. She too rolled onto her back in a laughing fit, wriggling as she did. It couldn't be told if she actually got what had been said, or if, in her pot induced state, she simply caught the laughing bug from Brendan.
Brendan calmed, as did his Furret. He sat back up with a pure deadpan expression.
"Oh that," Brendan said in just as deadpan a voice. "That is evaporation. Boiling's just called boiling. They're two different things so... I'm sorry what was I talking about?"
Flora sighed and slumped forward. She picked up the bong stem and took one more quick breath before handing it to Brendan, who took a breath of his own.
"So what'd you come here for?" Brendan asked.
Flora shook her head. "What did I come here... oh yeah! First off, you left your glasses at my place again."
Flora pulled a pair of rimless, rectangular glasses with thin lenses from her jacket pocket and tossed them to Brendan. After examining them at different angles, Brendan unfolded them and put them on.
"And second, I think I found out how you're gonna make enough money to pay for Phibes."
"Did you get your parents to loosen up their bank accounts?"
"No way in hell that's ever gonna happen," Flora sighed, shaking her head. "If they paid your tuition at Phibes, they'd have to pay that for all of my friends just to be fair. Then suddenly I'd get a hell of a lot more popular, which means they'll have to pay even more! And pretty soon they'll be paying for everyone. It's a slippery slope of slanted death Hop. No one in the world has that much money."
The slippery slope of slanted death! She counters with that argument every time I bring up her parents' money. It's become a lame joke that's run its course long, long ago. Though, you're probably wondering more why she calls me 'Hop'. It's shorthand for my last name, Hopkins.
"No," Flora said. "It's a summer job. But I guarantee you it'll pay for a whole year at Phibes and then some."
Brendan stood up straight, eyes wide. His Furret also bolted upright and leaped over to him, gazing wide eyed at her as well. It wasn't known if she could understand things like consolidated, but the words a summer job that can pay for a whole year of Phibes were ones she understood explicitly. And she was just as amazed as Brendan to hear them.
"What the fuck kind of summer job could ever pay that well?" Brendan asked.
"Furrr!" his Furret added.
Flora puled a folded section of a newspaper from her back pocket and threw it onto Brendan's lap. Brendan dropped his bong stem and looked down at it. Even his Furret sniffed it curiously. It was today's classifieds.
"You're gonna become a porn star," Flora said.
Brendan's and his Furret's heads jerked back up to look at Flora.
A porn star? She wants me to become a what? For a moment after the initial shock, my mind wandered as if searching for the definition of the word porn star.
Flora and I had an open relationship, and she took full advantage of it. But the one thing I never expected her to suggest was that I make money being videotaped having sex. I couldn't do that! Not that it would bother me, but what about my future? I looked down at the classified and, sure enough, she cut out the page for 'adult film actors'. Skandia was one of the few places in the world where such things would be advertised in the daily paper.
Brendan looked back at Flora. She had a smug grin and half closed eyes like people get when they know they'd just won a bet. Brendan shook his head. He stood u,p holding the adult ads, and paced back and forth for a short time.
"I can't do that!" he shouted.
"Why not?" Flora asked.
Brendan's Furret stood straight up, vigorously slapping her tail against the floor. Her head darted back and forth between Flora and Brendan as they went back and fourth talking. The words get a job as a porn star were also ones she understood explicitly.
Brendan briefly dropped his head into his hand and huffed. He looked back at Flora.
"Who the fuck would hire an engineer who used to be a porn star?" Brendan asked.
"Well, people are getting pretty desperate for engineers now a days," Flora answered, shaking her finger at Brendan. "And I don't think a lot of people have the nerve to turn down a Phibes engineer. And if they do... well... I'd always hire you. You could come work for me at Silph co.!"
"Who ever said you were going to make VP?"
"Are you forgetting that a Phibes MBA is actually more sought after than any of its PHDs? And my dad already guaranteed it. Soon as I got six years experience in upper management, he's retiring and the job's mine. And by that time you should be done with your degree."
Brendan walked over to the couch and flopped down on it, the classifieds on his lap. His Furret jumped on the couch and stared intently at them, scarcely able to read the ads, but wanting to see all of them nonetheless.
Silph co. was a prestigious company to work for, even more prestigious than Devon corp., also from... the same country as Silph co. Devon corp. was actually the company I was going to try for, but it's known for fantastic inventions that never get completed because the R&D costs too damn much. Sylph co.'s inventions aren't quite as impressive, but they're far more respected in the business world because they usually finish the things they start. That, and they're much bigger than Devon corp.
So eight years as a porn star promises me a job as a Sylph co. engineer? Why the hell not? I can do that.
"So exactly how much money do porn stars make?" Brendan asked.
Flora shrugged her shoulders. "Well, if you get the right position at the right company, you could make over a two hundred thousand scribes a year."
Brendan plunged forward and coughed. His Furret gasped and covered her mouth at the mention of two hundred thousand scribes.
Two hundred thousand scribes?! That's over a hundred and thirty three thousand US dollars, in one summer even! You got to be fucking with me. Alright, calm down Brendan. Two hundred grand is a lot, but it's still not enough. The tuition alone for a full year costs a hundred and eighty grand. There's still the matter of the gadgets and tutors, not to mention the living expenses.
No one ever gives student loans for Phibes. Even if the company repossessed everything the borrower owns after ten years, nine times out of ten it's not enough to cover the costs.
I could still do underwear modeling on the side. That always gave me a nice hundred grand-that's little more than sixty six US-to work with. Stinking rich for most, but dead broke when aiming for what I am. But three hundred grand all together can cover everything I need, barely. I'll need to get a far cheaper apartment, and even then I can't spend anything on luxury. But it can be done.
Alright then, I was going to become a porn star.
"Sure why not?" Brendan sighed, shrugging his shoulders, the polar opposite of his shock only a moment ago.
Brendan's Furret's ears stood on end, as did the hair on her back. He was actually going to do it! The Furret slunk into the shape of a curly fry and buried her head in her tail. The darkness made it easier for her to imagine exactly what kinds of acts her master would perform in front of the camera.
Brendan unfolded the classified paper in front of him and began searching it. His eyes wandered the boxes, and after just a few seconds he was almost finished with a column. Flora then whispered in his ear.
"Read them out loud."
Brendan sighed.
"Looking for an extra tall, extra long haired black male who loves taking it anally."
Brendan looked at Flora with one eyebrow raised, and then turned back.
"Okay," Brendan said. "I'm only reading the potentials this time around. Wanted, extra young white male with a talent for, contortionism? No thanks. The only time I ever tried Yoga I threw my back out. ... Looking for very young, white male in glasses for nerdy role, that sounds promising, and must be well muscled. Okay that's out. ... Wanted, looking for seventeen year old white male with a slight build. Must be master of the naive, innocent, Bunneary boy look. Must enjoy being submissive. No appointment necessary. First come, first served. PL Studios."
Flora pointed to the ad in question.
"That's it! That's the one!" she shouted. "I remember the time you dressed up like a Bunneary just to get me give you a blowjob."
"I worked didn't it?" Brendan mumbled. "Though that was right before you gagged me and tied me to the bed post."
"Then it's perfect!"
"There's a lot of things I'd enjoy but still would never want to try more than once. So when did this paper get on shelf?"
"Half an hour ago, you'd better get going."
"Right, I'm out," Brendan yawned.
Brendan stood up and walked toward his bedroom to dress himself.
Brendan's Furret shivered in her ball. Her master and his girlfriend often talked sexually in front of her, and she loved listening to it. But these things, and the thoughts they brought up, were just too much for her. She had to see the things he was going to do, the movies he would make. She had to see them!
I passed by country club after country club in that bus, waiting for what seemed to be hours to reach my destination. Back in my apartment, the idea of fucking strangers in front of the camera seemed normal. But now, half an hour later, as I'm watching golf courses and estate gardens and mansions and lodges buried behind dozens of acres of landscaped terrain, and now that the pot is finally starting to wear off, I'm getting cold feet.
I'm sorry. I should probably have filled you in first on where I was and why. I was on a bus headed for that address on the ad Flora clipped from the paper while I was getting dressed. The address read 'PL Studios'. As for the change in scenery, well, the west-coastal-half of Skandia is virtually nothing but a huge urban expanse. The east-inland-half is nothing but a series country clubs and political estates. There isn't a single acre of farm or wilderness in the country. Anywho, somewhere among those country clubs is a porn studio, which was kind of strange to me, as I always thought of porn studios as being in warehouses.
But about my cold feet, yes, at that moment I was really questioning what I was doing. I was slowly getting more sober on that bus ride, and the straighter I got, the less sure I was that this was a good idea. To hell with three hundred grand and to hell with Silph co.! What would people think of me, knowing what I did? I'd have a job but, would I, could I, have respect as an engineer? Was I better off just going back to the US and finding a cheaper university?
The closer I got to my stop, the more nervous I became. The only reason I was still going at all was because I knew that I could walk out on any offer at any time.
The bus pulled off to the side of the road next to a covered rest stop in front of a country club. The passengers shuffled out and walked their separate ways. Very last among them was Brendan, who exited hesitantly.
Brendan stood at the edge of the sidewalk as the bus drove away. He wore a navy blazer over a black tee shirt and bluejeans. He looked around and sniffled. The rest stop was a tinted glass covered quad of concrete, separated into three columns of vending machines selling everything from hot burgers to prepaid phones, and those self cleaning bathrooms you had to pay a half-scribe piece just to use. Behind it were the acres of grass and bushes and cobblestone leading to the lodge of its country club. A Pokemon battle raged on in a circle of cobblestone. Brendan had no interest in that.
Brendan sniffled again and looked around some more. Half a dozen yellow bicycles were parked unlocked on the bike rack.
This was one of those yellow bike countries. The bikes are public property, and anyone could take them anywhere as long as it's not onto private property. This 'PL Studios' was just under a mile away.
Brendan hopped on a yellow bike and started peddling down the road.
I stared at what looked like a small resort hotel, and at first that's what I thought it was. This couldn't be right. No porn studio would ever be this big or this fancy. Well, actually there were a few. The billion dollar moguls owned those. For a moment, I was actually relieved. The stars made by the mega players in the porn business had better public images than those who worked for the smaller companies. How lucky could I have been to stumble across one of them in a newspaper ad?
Then my optimism left me. The moguls always hired their stars from within the industry. But only the moguls would have a place like this. What kind of a mega player in the porn business would possibly hire an outsider with no experience? I should've known it was someone with something to hide from their potential employees, but at that moment the answer escaped me. You see, I'm not a very observant person... more on that later.
Brendan laid his bike against the wrought iron fence that surrounded an estate that had to be at least a hundred acres. At its center stood a Victorian building with red roofs and caramel walls. It was a cube with a domes roof and three wings extending from it in a Y shape. Landscaped gardens of grasses, bushes, trees, ponds, pathways, boulder formations, and smaller Victorian buildings covered the entire acreage.
There was a video interlink next to the security gate. Brendan walked up to the gate. His hands were shaking and sweaty. He breathed deep several times and pressed the only button there.
The screen lit up, showing the face of a small, middle aged woman with bright red hair and coke bottle glasses. She chewed gum as she talked.
"Can I help you?" she said in a squeaky Boston accent.
"Yeah, is this PL studios?" Brendan asked.
"It is," The redhead answered.
"I saw the wanted ad in today's paper."
"We always have several ads, be more specific."
"The one about the Bunneary boy," Brendan said, irritated.
"Oh that one!" the redhead replied in a slightly cheerier tone. "Let me show your face to the boss, see if she likes it."
She? I never heard of a mega porn studio run by a woman. I thought that was just found in the smaller ones.
The screen went black for a little under thirty seconds. Brendan began to tap his foot. The screen lit up again. The redhead smiled at Brendan.
"She likes your face, come on in," she said.
The screen turned off and the sound of metal hinges unlatching signaled the slow opening of the security gate. Brendan backed up and clenched his fists. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He breathed hard and his heart raced.
Do I really want to go through with this? Why the hell am I so worried? The gate isn't the point of no return. I can go back any time I want.
Brendan lifted his head back up, opened his eyes, relaxed his hands, and walked through. The gate shut behind him.
Brendan walked, hands in his pockets, down the path to the Victorian mansion. As he did, he looked back and forth at the landscaping and noticed rather unusual things. A Grovyle lay asleep in a lounge chair on a concrete island in the center of a large pool. A Kadabra sat under a tree reading a large book, waving its finger through the air to cause the pages to turn. A Flygon stood upright at a cherry tree, eating the blossoms one by one. It glanced at Brendan, then returned its attention to the tree.
For a supposed porn studio, this place sure as hell has lot of Pokemon hanging around. If only I understood the connotations at the time, I'd have turned and ran. But like I said, I wasn't very observant. Give me anything on fluid dynamics or chaos theory and I'll solve them on the fly almost without even paying attention. But for the life of me I cannot put 2 and 2 together to make 'oh shit!'
Foresight was never a problem. I could always imagine the long term consequences of my actions. But imagining the short term future was something I was all but incapable of.
So you still think being a genius makes everything easy? Easy is the last thing your life is when you can't see what's right in front of your fucking face until it's too late! That's the price you pay for an orbital IQ. It's the price I was going to pay soon.
Brendan reached a white split staircase with a fountain between two sets of stairs. It led up to a ten foot double door of a dark stained wood. Brendan walked up the staircase and stopped in surprise when one door opened halfway as he approached. Brendan continued through the door, which shut behind him.
The inside had another split staircase leading to the second and third floors. It had cherry red carpets with gold embroideries and paneled walls made to look like wood and marble with gold molding and trimming. Houseplants were sparse.
This place looked like a caricature of a generic Vegas casino. But given that this is a porn studio, I supposed I shouldn't have expected anything less.
Except... I almost feel like I'm being watched.
Brendan turned to look down the left hall. The lights were off down there but he still clearly saw a Weavile leaning against the wall in the shade. Its arms were crossed and one foot was propped against the wall. But it wasn't a normal Weavile. Its fur was milk white and its band of feathers butter colored. Its eyes were light pink instead of the normal burgundy red.
An albino Weavile?
The Weavile smiled at Brendan and narrowed its eyes at him. It was offputting, but Brendan gave no indication. A short, pudgy black man with a full beard walked through the hallway up to the Weavile. He leaned over and whispered something into its ear. The Weavile nodded to the man with a grunt of satisfaction and walked the other way down the hall.
The man approached Brendan. He wore a buttoned black blazer and black dress slacks with black loafers, all over a white tee shirt.
This guy's obviously some sort of a quasi butler or valet or something.
The man approached Brendan and extended a hand. Brendan shook it. The man spoke in a quick-talking cockney accent.
"How's it? Name's Otis. What's yours?"
"Brendan," Brendan answered. "I'm here about-"
"I know what you're here about," Otis interrupted. "Come on, I'll take you to the boss."
Otis waved his hand for Brendan to follow and jogged to the stairs. He hopped up the stairs like a kid despite his stature and fatness.
Brendan looked back down the hall. The Weavile was gone. He sighed and looked back up the stairs. Otis was already at the second floor looking down at Brendan with his arms crossed and his foot tapping. Brendan followed him up the stairs.
I knew at that point that there was definitely something wrong here, that there was something about this place very much unlike your run of the mill porn mogul's mansion. I didn't know what it was. I figured it was empty of people because the ad said production took place over the summer, and today was only its first day. But I still couldn't understand why there were so many Pokemon, even though any normal person would've known instantly. Speaking of which, I didn't like the way that Weavile smiled at me. Once again, I couldn't understand it, but I knew something about all of this was off.
But I was still comfortable in the knowledge that I could walk away at any time.
Chapter End Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, and is applicable for all consecutive chapters that follow.