Journalist Visits Swingers Club
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The Journalist, Part 1 free porn video
At the beginning of my career I worked on beauty pages and I learned about make-up. When I was shifted to fashion I learned to dress. Then it was the sports pages and I learned to surf, bungee jumped and joined a woman's soccer team. Rick, the editor, joked the Police Department would be unable to cope with the increased workload if he put me on the crime pages. When he moved me to homemaking I suspected the joke might also be an excuse and began looking for a new employer.
Every journalist wants to do investigative writing --- the Woodward and Bernstein Syndrome. That was my downfall at the second round interview with Jan and his faux Gallic lisp. Sure, he said, the magazine was presently just one more glossy adolescent wank pictorial but he was newly on board. He had great plans for serious journalism and writing between the tits and arses, just like Playboy at it's height. All he needed was to bring the right team on with him and here I should have felt the hook bite as he started to reel in I was to be part of that time.
Perhaps I looked leery.
He rushed on to tell me I'd be working largely on my own and need have nothing to do with the pictorial staff or layout people if I didn't want to. He did, though --- he almost extend his hands from under his desk to balance the options --- hope we'd be a happy family working together to produce a "quality cultural artifact". He actually used that phrase. I should have sensed the landing net sliding under me, instead he landed me without even a flicker of resistance.
Little fish watch bigger fish who watch bigger fish still. Jan was my boss and his boss was the owner-publisher. His idea of in-depth journalism was discovering yet another photo spread model liked nothing more than skinny dipping or laying around the house in the buff.
I was the entire features department. Monday mornings Jan came into my cubicle, hooked his butt over the corner of my desk after jumbling the stack of papers I had there with the stack next to it, and told me the latest football club gossip he was sure would make a great story. Then he stood, brushed off his trousers and announced 'lets have two thousand words by lunch Friday' as if we'd actually discussed something.
My first story was on vibrators. I read a lot, poached a bit and even road tested a few samples I 'forgot' to return. Next I wrote about gentlemen's clubs. I spoke to the girls about their work and learnt to both strip and lap dance. I researched Tantric sex. My boyfriend complained that repeatedly counting to seven disrupted his concentration and personal pleasure. I sulked; he sulked; then he became my ex-boyfriend.
It was the Monday after we made our split formal that Jan wanted to tell me about this thing, 'bukkake'.
'Yeah, right,' I said.
He claimed it was the latest thing. Everyone's doing it, he said (I don't think he included his wife). Certainly I wasn't.
Before he stood he gave me a sheet of paper with a name and phone number as well as a few web sites he'd found over the weekend. I wondered if his wife was away again.
After morning tea I wanted to call my ex-boyfriend. Perhaps we could come to an un-exing agreement. Instead, I made myself log into the first site on Jan's list. The image took some moments to form on my screen. Either it was a data heavy site or the network was working hard.
I was idly thinking the site wouldn't work for people with dial-up accounts when I recognized the images before me. Heat rose across my throat and cheeks. A group of naked masturbating men were crowded about a bespeckled redheaded woman. The camera was behind the head of a balding fellow. Because of it's angle I couldn't gauge well his height but had the impression he was short. The hair that should have been on his pate covered his back and he had substantial love handles.
Past his shoulder I could see the woman's breasts like a pair of bright pink nosed puppies. She must have rouged her nipples. Her spectacles might have been borrowed from Elvis Costello before Diana Krall made him over. I was jealous of her mouth. It was wide and full lipped made for grinning and, I guessed, sucking cock.
The motion of the men's hands on their erections was blurred. The camera was handheld and video really wasn't good enough for fast action. Suddenly the reason for the woman's glasses became clear. A jet of white jolted across them and onto her freckly cheekbone. It was so fast I gasped aloud and had to lift my eyes from the screen.
Years before, when I was still at University, a friend had turned on her video machine unaware her boyfriend had changed the cassette. The image firmed before her and me. I was asking what sort of flower, an orchard of some type I had thought, we were looking at when we both realized we were watching him penetrating her wide open sex from beneath.
My friend was still holding the remote control. She fumbled. The image went to grainy pause and hung before us for a seeming age before she manage to turn the screen to black. We were both blushing. We didn't mention what we'd seen but couldn't talk of anything else either. That night I dreamed of her and him and their video. I woke and couldn't get to sleep again until I masturbated. All night I drifted into sleep, dreamed, woke and frigged myself.
I had the same feeling in my cubicle with the redhead on my computer screen. I made my hands stay at the keyboard and mouse as I looked back to the screen. More of the men ejaculated. Their come streaked her face and hair. Her mouth was open wide. She had the sort of teeth you want to run your tongue across. Over her lips, lower teeth and own tongue sagged strings of ejaculate.
I guessed the film was coming to an end --- what else could they do? I resized the window into the top of my screen and entered the other site Jan had given me. It starred a skinny blonde. In the first few seconds I decided she was the simpering type I would have avoided at a party. The men, though, were more interesting than in the first movie. I told myself I'd watch for a couple of minutes for the sake of research.
The first window looped to the start of the film. The redhead was walking into an anonymous apartment wearing dated slacks and a striped top. She really did have a beautiful mouth. I glanced to the blonde's movie. There was a skinny guy. He seemed uncertain of how to hold himself, his dick and his whole body. He may have been someone's friend on a lark. I wanted him to come well.
My stomach growled. My hand was deep in my lap and I couldn't remember putting it there. I looked at the clock corner. It was well past lunch. I was embarrassed with myself for getting so lost in the stuff before me. I told myself it was just research for the story. I pulled my hand from my bunched skirt and smoothed out the sheet of paper beside my mouse pad.
The films were still running on my screen as I dialed the number Jan had written on the paper.
Every journalist wants to do investigative writing --- the Woodward and Bernstein Syndrome. That was my downfall at the second round interview with Jan and his faux Gallic lisp. Sure, he said, the magazine was presently just one more glossy adolescent wank pictorial but he was newly on board. He had great plans for serious journalism and writing between the tits and arses, just like Playboy at it's height. All he needed was to bring the right team on with him and here I should have felt the hook bite as he started to reel in I was to be part of that time.
Perhaps I looked leery.
He rushed on to tell me I'd be working largely on my own and need have nothing to do with the pictorial staff or layout people if I didn't want to. He did, though --- he almost extend his hands from under his desk to balance the options --- hope we'd be a happy family working together to produce a "quality cultural artifact". He actually used that phrase. I should have sensed the landing net sliding under me, instead he landed me without even a flicker of resistance.
Little fish watch bigger fish who watch bigger fish still. Jan was my boss and his boss was the owner-publisher. His idea of in-depth journalism was discovering yet another photo spread model liked nothing more than skinny dipping or laying around the house in the buff.
I was the entire features department. Monday mornings Jan came into my cubicle, hooked his butt over the corner of my desk after jumbling the stack of papers I had there with the stack next to it, and told me the latest football club gossip he was sure would make a great story. Then he stood, brushed off his trousers and announced 'lets have two thousand words by lunch Friday' as if we'd actually discussed something.
My first story was on vibrators. I read a lot, poached a bit and even road tested a few samples I 'forgot' to return. Next I wrote about gentlemen's clubs. I spoke to the girls about their work and learnt to both strip and lap dance. I researched Tantric sex. My boyfriend complained that repeatedly counting to seven disrupted his concentration and personal pleasure. I sulked; he sulked; then he became my ex-boyfriend.
It was the Monday after we made our split formal that Jan wanted to tell me about this thing, 'bukkake'.
'Yeah, right,' I said.
He claimed it was the latest thing. Everyone's doing it, he said (I don't think he included his wife). Certainly I wasn't.
Before he stood he gave me a sheet of paper with a name and phone number as well as a few web sites he'd found over the weekend. I wondered if his wife was away again.
After morning tea I wanted to call my ex-boyfriend. Perhaps we could come to an un-exing agreement. Instead, I made myself log into the first site on Jan's list. The image took some moments to form on my screen. Either it was a data heavy site or the network was working hard.
I was idly thinking the site wouldn't work for people with dial-up accounts when I recognized the images before me. Heat rose across my throat and cheeks. A group of naked masturbating men were crowded about a bespeckled redheaded woman. The camera was behind the head of a balding fellow. Because of it's angle I couldn't gauge well his height but had the impression he was short. The hair that should have been on his pate covered his back and he had substantial love handles.
Past his shoulder I could see the woman's breasts like a pair of bright pink nosed puppies. She must have rouged her nipples. Her spectacles might have been borrowed from Elvis Costello before Diana Krall made him over. I was jealous of her mouth. It was wide and full lipped made for grinning and, I guessed, sucking cock.
The motion of the men's hands on their erections was blurred. The camera was handheld and video really wasn't good enough for fast action. Suddenly the reason for the woman's glasses became clear. A jet of white jolted across them and onto her freckly cheekbone. It was so fast I gasped aloud and had to lift my eyes from the screen.
Years before, when I was still at University, a friend had turned on her video machine unaware her boyfriend had changed the cassette. The image firmed before her and me. I was asking what sort of flower, an orchard of some type I had thought, we were looking at when we both realized we were watching him penetrating her wide open sex from beneath.
My friend was still holding the remote control. She fumbled. The image went to grainy pause and hung before us for a seeming age before she manage to turn the screen to black. We were both blushing. We didn't mention what we'd seen but couldn't talk of anything else either. That night I dreamed of her and him and their video. I woke and couldn't get to sleep again until I masturbated. All night I drifted into sleep, dreamed, woke and frigged myself.
I had the same feeling in my cubicle with the redhead on my computer screen. I made my hands stay at the keyboard and mouse as I looked back to the screen. More of the men ejaculated. Their come streaked her face and hair. Her mouth was open wide. She had the sort of teeth you want to run your tongue across. Over her lips, lower teeth and own tongue sagged strings of ejaculate.
I guessed the film was coming to an end --- what else could they do? I resized the window into the top of my screen and entered the other site Jan had given me. It starred a skinny blonde. In the first few seconds I decided she was the simpering type I would have avoided at a party. The men, though, were more interesting than in the first movie. I told myself I'd watch for a couple of minutes for the sake of research.
The first window looped to the start of the film. The redhead was walking into an anonymous apartment wearing dated slacks and a striped top. She really did have a beautiful mouth. I glanced to the blonde's movie. There was a skinny guy. He seemed uncertain of how to hold himself, his dick and his whole body. He may have been someone's friend on a lark. I wanted him to come well.
My stomach growled. My hand was deep in my lap and I couldn't remember putting it there. I looked at the clock corner. It was well past lunch. I was embarrassed with myself for getting so lost in the stuff before me. I told myself it was just research for the story. I pulled my hand from my bunched skirt and smoothed out the sheet of paper beside my mouse pad.
The films were still running on my screen as I dialed the number Jan had written on the paper.
Nova
- 07.12.2021
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