Rin

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A disillusioned divorcée is seduced by custom-made porn.
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As much as possible, I'd worked to forget the past. And so for the last several years I'd been trying to live my life in the now. Unfortunately, it was not much of a life. I'd become mostly an island. I'd become self-contained. I reached out to others as infrequently as I needed to. I viewed change as my enemy.

Ian Fleming wrote: "Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action."

For me, the enemy was anything that forced me to remember. Men made me remember and for a long time I'd tried to have little interaction with any.

But then a while back, I briefly overheard two young women about my daughter's age talking about blowjobs and the problem of gagging while giving them. That same week while sitting in a waiting room, I picked up a women's magazine and it just happened to open to an article about size and sex. Then, days later by an odd bit of chance, I came across an old Word document, a journal of sorts I had kept some ten or twenty years ago, and there were a few scattered places where I'd expressed my thoughts about men's erections.

And though I'd settled into an uneasy détente with memories of my past, the enemy, this confluence of events, caused me to reminisce, manifesting in my occasionally vague, but mostly precise memories about guys and their role in my life.

But, this time, it was guys and their sizes.

Not sure what that was about, but there it was.

I gave my first blowjob more years ago than I care to remember. I was so naïve that my boyfriend had to explain to me there was just a bit more to it than blowing on his dick. I thought I loved him and that I'd found Mr. Right. I wanted to please him. He taught me some more things to do with my hands, mouth and tongue. It made me feel more mature to learn how to give a better blowjob so I was a motivated student.

The next guy I blew seemed to me to be much bigger than that first guy (who, as it turned out, was not Mr. Right), but it was more than a year later and I might have misremembered the first guy. After him there were two other men who were briefly sexual partners, but we didn't have oral sex. OK, to be honest we didn't have much oral sex. I have no recollection of what sizes their cocks were. In fact, I have little recollection of almost anything about them.

Not long thereafter, I met my to-be-husband and in short order we were married. He seemed to be even bigger than that second guy. He told me that I was beautiful and that he loved making love with me. He looked to be the perfect man and if he was actually bigger than the others it didn't seem to be a problem for me. As far as I was concerned, if he was satisfied I was satisfied.

Fewer than five years into the marriage I don't think either of us was satisfied. The fun had gone, the sex had pretty much gone and I later learned in many ways my husband had gone too. And so it was, ten or fifteen years later, I was a divorcée. I was in therapy and considering whether I even wanted to start dating again - ever.

Juggling a job, a child, aging parents, a house and a philandering husband took its toll. I couldn't find time to exercise and I'd lost interest in it. (I sometimes wondered if there was a cause-and-effect relationship between the two, but I never did figure out in my situation which was which.) In any event, I gained a bit of weight - more than "a bit" to be honest. Wrinkles appeared where they'd never been and even more to my chagrin it seemed that gravity began to have an effect on some of my body parts.

Once my lawyer, in negotiations with my ex's lawyer, explained that the divorce was nearly a sure thing, I hit bottom. I couldn't get out of bed for almost a week. I internalized the whole thing. Even though my husband admitted to much of the womanizing he'd been doing for years, I bought into the feeling that the demise of the marriage had been my fault.

Anti-depressants helped after a while. So did counseling. And some months later as I found the counseling had begun to make me perceive what had happened more clearly, I began slowly to feel better. Eventually I actually saw the whole event as an opportunity. (Glass half-full...)

After a reasonable time for grieving, I began an assiduous modification of me: I worked out religiously and rigorously. I diligently watched what I ate. To lower my stress levels, I reduced my hours at work and even pampered myself occasionally.

It took some time, but I felt that I had begun to rejoin the human race. Maybe I could let go of the crap of the past and not let it control my present.

That was a good sign.

One evening recently I was at a local watering hole with two close friends. The alcohol seemed to loosen our lips. Somehow one thing led to another and the discussion moved into penis size in general. But more specifically, erection size. After some immature and inappropriate - but nevertheless occasionally hilarious - back and forth about men and their equipment (I know, it's au courant to say "their junk", but that seems so crude to me.) we had pretty much exhausted the pros and cons, the ins and outs and the ups and downs of dicks.

My extremely limited intimate experience with men and that small, but occasional, nagging feeling that I'd missed something in my youth, combined to put a dampener temporarily on my evening. I mostly just listened to my girlfriends chatting. Eventually, when the topic returned to size though I perked up. I felt that, limited as my experience was, the few erections with which I had been intimately involved still seemed to be relatively broad ranging: They must have doubled in length from the shortest to the longest. As odd as it may have seemed at the time, it helped to boost my confidence and I reengaged with my friends.

The discussion topic moved to vaginal vs. clitoral orgasms, with a difference of opinion among our trio.

It was then that my friend Shelly revealed that she'd recently made a private porn video. Lucy and I were stunned, although it took me longer than Lucy to get over the shock.

"Porn? Shelly, really? Porn?" I almost cried, aghast.

Shelly nodded with a rather smug smile.

"You mean you had sex with some guy and you were recorded on video? Some guy you didn't know?" I followed up. "And someone was going to sell that video?"

Shelly nodded again.

"What do you mean by 'private'?" said Lucy.

Shelly explained that she had met a man who was in the adult entertainment industry and that he'd tapped a relatively large market of wealthy people who would pay for personalized porn made just for them. These folks, even with their money and the ability to purchase almost anything, still enjoyed watching porn. But given their resources they were more than willing to pay to get their porn their way. And, since most porn devotees tire of their porn regularly, his company had a great deal of lucrative repeat business.

"So what did you have to do?" said Lucy.

The thought of Shelly doing porn still had me flummoxed; I literally couldn't speak.

Shelly went on to tell us about her experience. It turned out she actually had done two videos for ElegantX. Apparently, the person who ordered the video liked her first one so much, he or she requested another. In the first one she basically had sex with one guy after another, five in all. There was a little oral but mostly it was screwing.

Lucy and I asked lots of questions, but Shelly was reluctant and remained vague. It seemed she felt we might think less of her.

Then she told us about the second video which was more "intense" as she put it. It included blowjobs and some pretty aggressive fucking. But she was informed about it all beforehand and still decided to do it. In addition, if things got too uncomfortable for her during the shoot she could always say "That's enough."

When we asked about how much she was paid, again she was vague. Still, it sounded like she was well-compensated; she also told us that she'd gladly do it again.

Apparently the "stars" have their pictures taken and they make a short video introducing themselves. After that the buyers view their information and it's up to them to request that person and what they want in the video. The star then has the option to do it or not. There is some room for negotiation, but it's limited.

Now, Shelly is pretty much regular looking. She's in her early forties and she's height-weight proportionate. She's not extremely pretty, but neither is she unattractive. When she gets ready to go out and puts herself together she attracts her share of eyeballs, at least from the over 35 crowd.

In the course of her elucidation, we learned some of the details. We prodded her for even more and she provided a few.

I must admit that I was horrified by the whole thing and what she did. Yet I was also turned on. In fact, I had a small urge to shove one of my hands between my legs, sure that I would have an immediate and probably embarrassing climax right there at our table. A part of me tried to force myself to stop feeling excited as another part pledged to analyze my confused reactions later with a clear, alcohol-free head.

It surprised me that Shelly was so casual about it. After she reiterated that she was looking forward to the next time ElegantX contacted her, Lucy admitted some appeal at making one herself, although there was a bit of hesitation because of her figure and its excess avoirdupois. She doubted anyone would want to pay for a video of her having sex. Shelly explained that many of the actresses and actors were not necessarily people with perfect bodies. Some were, but others could certainly do with at least some toning up.

Shelly then said to me, "Rin, to tell you the truth, I never thought you could lose that weight you'd been carrying since your separation. But now you've gotten incredibly fit. You're so slim and toned; you look just like your daughter."

I thanked her for the accolades. The confidence-boosting accolades.

"However..."

"Why did I know that a 'however ' was coming," I said.

"Yes, well... However, I also think it's unfair that even though you lost all that weight and look like you could be in a swimsuit catalog, your boobs seemed to have stayed the same. You didn't have any surgery you didn't tell us about, did you? Or have you moved to push-up bras?"

And so the evening went. A bunch of self-proclaimed "young middle-aged" women talking about our sex lives - what there were of them anyway - and our careers - same thing as our sex lives - and sundry other personal and really quite boring (to anyone else) topics.

At home later that evening I went to the company's website and looked at the overview pages. They were classy and seemed to live up to its "elegant" moniker. I could see how a person of means might find the site intriguing.

When I was done reviewing their website, I remembered that I had made a pledge to myself to analyze my reaction to Shelly's new "gig economy" profession, but all I could think about was sex with a stranger.

A zipless fuck, as it were. (Thanks to Erica Jong for that infamous term.)

In fact, before going to sleep that night I took a hot bath during which I lost count of how many times I got myself off. Knowing the difficulty some of my friends had climaxing, I briefly considered how fortunate I was to have almost no difficulty - again and again!

The very next day I spoke to Shelly and got the name of her ElegantX contact. As soon as I hung up with Shelly, I called ElegantX, feeling just a little tingle of excitement. I spoke with a pleasant-sounding woman who asked me a lot of probing questions. The following week I went in to interview with a woman named Janice. We discussed vaginal sex, oral sex, anal sex, semen, women-on-women, multiple-men... The list went on. It was somewhat shocking to me, but I understood the reasons why she asked. She also asked if I watched much porn. When I told her I never really had, she recommended that I watch some and gave me a list of suggested sites.

As I was leaving the interview Janice gave me some materials to read over as well as a contract. There was no commitment on either side, but I admit that the whole thing was exciting.

In short order I sent the contract to my lawyer and asked him to review it. A few days later he told me it was a well-thought-out document. It lay a large burden for privacy on the company and especially its clients. If they were ever to distribute any of their purchases or even permit any sort of public showing, they'd be liable for damages in amounts that would considerably affect their presumably great wealth. This reassured me, as one of my many concerns was that this private chronicle of me involved in sexual activity with a complete stranger would become public.

Next, I met with my therapist who naturally focused on my motivation for this out-of-character behavior. Once she helped me to dismiss any concerns about self-worth I felt pretty good about doing a video.

My finances also played a role in my decision-making. The monetary aspect of doing this was not lost on me. If I chose to do it, the video would net me quite a bit more than I made in a month at my job - even if I went back to full-time.

Another night of drinks with Shelly provided the opportunity for me to learn more from her experience, now that I had a better idea of what questions to ask.

Deciding that at the very least it would be an adventure. After all those years of my loveless and sexless marriage I had no idea how much I might be attractive to the opposite sex. Most men, from my experience at least, tended to like younger women with smooth skin, vibrant hair, ridiculously large breasts and a smattering of youthful naiveté. Well, I was not that woman. On the other hand, I figured I must have something intangible to offer along with my newly fit figure. Men looked at me when I walked into a room.

But then again, men look at every woman.

All of this apparently went into the mix and essentially made up my mind for me: I was going to throw my hat in the ring and see if I had what it takes to be a (private) porn star!

A date was set.

While sitting at their offices, waiting for my appointment to go in for my profile shots, I felt a confused range of emotions from "Rin, what the hell are you doing?" all the way to "This is so fucking hot, if someone touched my skin right now I'd shoot off like a rocket."

A well-dressed mature gentleman showed me into a bright and clean dressing room with two lovely and fragrant bouquets in it. Clara, a make-up person/hairstylist began to work on me. She was friendly and just chatting with her helped to put me at ease.

"If you had told me I'd be doing this a month ago, I would have laughed out loud in your face," I told her.

She assured me that what I was feeling was common for all the women she'd worked with. I wanted to ask how many that was, but I kind of figured it was none of my business. After all, they had asked me to create a profile: they must have seen something in me, some way that I could make them - and me - money.

When Clara was through I studied myself in the mirror. Damn, I thought to myself, I looked fine. Not bad for a woman my age. In fact, not bad even for one quite a bit younger!

It's amazing what a professional make-up person can do for one's appearance - and ego.

Ten minutes later I was sitting at an ornate table on an elegant set, a lavalier microphone clipped to my jacket and two camera people focusing on me. An interviewer sat facing me, but with no camera on her. I was asked questions about nearly everything especially personal sexual topics. Some things were funny. Other things showed some of my vulnerabilities. But I also had the opportunity to come across as a strong, kind, sexy and intelligent woman.

At least I hoped so.

The second part had me in my bra and panties holding a six- or seven-inch dildo. I put a condom on the dildo and then licked it for a while, emulating a bit of a blowjob. Next, I put the dildo inside me and played with myself for a brief time. It was exciting, but I didn't climax. I think it was mostly a matter of the lights and the crew.

Then I was on my way back to my place. They had told me that they'd call "when someone was interested." I appreciated the phrasing: It was much better than "if someone was interested."

When I reflected on the day before going to bed I was surprised at how good I felt and how hot I was feeling. Another round of self-gratification ensued. Damn! How horny had I become.

A week later I'd mostly pushed the whole thing out of my mind. I was busy at work and I had to meet with a contractor to have some work done on my bathroom cabinets and floor.

Life went on.

Three weeks later I was surprised to get a call from another woman at ElegantX. Her name was Nanette and she told me that they had a client who had seen my promotional materials and was interested enough to want me to do a video. She wouldn't discuss any of the details over the phone, but just the thought of actually doing it suddenly made it all very exciting again. And very real.

When I went in I met with Nanette. She explained that the client wanted to see me in a two-scene video and that generally a scene was fifteen to twenty minutes when edited. She ran through the scenario. It was a little surprising, but just talking about it still made me wet. I agreed on the spot.

The next week I was at their studio early in the morning for my one-day shoot. Clara carefully did my make-up and hair. And even though I'd just had a wax, she checked me all over just to be sure.

They generally liked to do scenes with more than two people early in the day I was told. They require more logistical resources and it was easier on everyone if they were completed by early afternoon. Unfortunately, there had been some coordination problems and the man-woman scene was to be shot first.

After putting my hair up in a fancy do, they dressed me in some lovely lingerie, a garter belt and stockings and quite high heels, plus a gorgeous multi-strand pearl and gold choker and matching earrings. Before I had a chance to think about it, I was on a set with a leather sofa, an actual (gas) fireplace and the tastefully arrayed remnants of what appeared to be a seduction meal. The dress I'd supposedly been wearing was draped over an arm of the sofa.

As I waited for my "co-star" to appear the whole thing suddenly became even more real to me: I was going to have sex with an absolute stranger. I hadn't had sex with anyone in years. What the hell was I thinking?

Clearly, this was no time to have doubts. Instead, I started to worry. I began thinking about how I smelled, what my hair really looked like, what my breath was like, if my eyes were puffy and dozens of other things large and small. Then it occurred to me: What if I'm really bad in bed? Or even worse: What if I look stupid while making love?

Fortunately I didn't have time to dwell on my faults, real or imagined. The next thing I knew, I was introduced to a nice-looking man named Jack dressed in a formal evening wear. He was going to have sex with me in front of a crew of what I thought was five or six people plus the director.

For the next few moments I found myself in an out-of-the-body experience. My psyche was floating above the scene, just watching things being done to and around me, like one of those paintings by Chagall. By the time I returned to being present, Jack had removed my bra four times. The director wanted it to be right. Jack started kissing my breasts. Although my nipples tended often to be somewhat erect, Jack's ministrations had them standing for inspection. The erotic feelings helped to relax me and stimulate me simultaneously. After being told, he then moved down to my pussy.

I was a little surprised at how businesslike everything and everyone was. The director reigned supreme. Whatever he said happened. The crew jumped when he said jump.