“It still sounds kind of funny,” she said. “Maybe I can have Adam, the guy who does my taxes, take a look at your paperwork? Just to confirm you’re not playing with fire here?”
“Fuck that shit,” he said. “I don’t want those fucking kikes getting their eyeballs on my financial business. It might give them ideas.”
She sighed, knowing better than to push the issue beyond this point. “All right,” she said. “But I would be wary if I were you.”
“I’m always wary around that asshole Hopple,” he assured her. “Don’t worry. Things are well in hand.”
“You say so,” she said. “What time is that music guy coming over?”
The music guy she was referring to was Jerry Stillson, who used to be head of tour management at National Records. Matt and Jake and the others had banged heads with him a few times back in the early Intemperance days, though only on the telephone, never in person. Stillson was now the head of something called Music Alive and had asked to meet with Matt to discuss “a very lucrative proposition”. After determining that this proposition did not involve Matt performing any Intemperance material or reuniting in any way with any Intemperance member, he agreed to the meeting, but only if it would take place at his home so he did not have to travel.
“He’s supposed to be here at three o’clock,” Matt told her.
“Any idea what he’s after?”
“Not really,” he said. “I know he’s separate from the record companies now and in the business of booking live music for tours. Most of the shit he’s involved with is getting these old broke-dick bands that used to be popular in the seventies and eighties back together so they can tour for money.”
“Cashing in on baby boomer nostalgia, huh?”
“That’s right,” he said. “He’ll sign these guys up and then send them out touring in small venues in small cities across the country, charging sixty or seventy dollars a ticket.”
“I guess that’ll pay the bills,” she said approvingly. “What does he want with you though? You’re not a broke-dick. You’re one of the hottest of commodities right now.”
“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I guess I’ll hear the man out at least. The moment he starts saying shit I don’t want to hear though, he’s out on his ass.” He sat down next to her and put his hand on her upper thigh. “Want to fuck?”
“I do,” she said. “I’m very horny right now.”
“All right then,” he said, running his hand up a little higher.
“But...” she said, pushing it back down, “I want a real fuck, not a quickie. I want to grind out at least two comes from your mouth and two from your cock.”
“No problem, baby,” he said. “I haven’t eaten pussy in a while now. You know I don’t do that shit with groupies.”
“I know you don’t,” she said. “But there’s not enough time for such a fuck before your meeting.”
“Sure, there is,” he assured her. “We got fifty minutes. I’ll just skip the shower afterward.”
“You want to have a meeting with your breath and skin smelling of my pussy?”
“Why not?” he asked. “I’ve done it before.”
She shook her head. “No way, Jose,” she told him. “Just keep it in your pants until the man leaves. We’ll fuck our brains out and then heat up the dinner Louisa made for us.”
“All right,” he said sourly, “but if we’re gonna do it that way, I’ll need a couple of drinks and a few lines of blow before we get started.”
“Understood,” she said. She then reached over and picked up a magazine from the end table. “Here. Check this out.”
He saw it was the latest issue of Smooth Operator. Kim had a permanent, gratis subscription to the publication, as well as to Hustler, Penthouse, and Barely Legal, because she paid for a significant amount of advertising for her company’s videos in these magazines each month. This was the May edition, which, per normal practice, always came out at the beginning of the previous month. The cover showed a very buxom bleach-blonde who looked pretty damn close to that ‘barely legal’ demographic sitting in a bath towel with her legs spread, the towel just covering her nipples and her crotch at either end, an expression that just dripped with ‘I want to fuck’ on her face. Ginny Jacobs was her name, according to the print below her, and she was the ‘Operator of the Month’.
“She’s pretty hot,” Matt opined. “And I’ll probably whack-off to her at some point, but right now I’m saving my load for you.”
“I don’t want you to whack-off with it,” Kim said, continuing to hold the magazine out to him. “Read the part next to the slut on the cover.”
He took the magazine from her and took a closer look at the cover. Sure enough, what he saw there piqued his interest a bit. Under the bold listing of INSIDE THIS EDITION, was a teaser.
THE SEARCH BEARS FRUIT! INTERVIEWS WITH MINDY SNOW’S CONQUESTS!
IT TURNS OUT MINDY IS A STRONG SUPPORTER OF THE WORKING CLASS!
“Ohhhh,” Matt said, smiling a little. “Jerry Claw found some people willing to talk, huh?”
“Several,” she confirmed. “It’s a very interesting read.”
Matt had followed the whole Mindy Snow and Greg Oldfellow saga with lukewarm interest when it first broke, mostly because he couldn’t stand that bitch Celia Valdez. He still held a grudge against her dating back to the Intemperance days and he was also jealous of her recent runaway success. When Condom-Gate began, however, his interest perked up, mostly because he enjoyed watching bitches like Mindy Snow (who he had never fucked, and who had rejected him the one time he had hit on her) get taken down a few notches. And he did feel a certain kinship with Greg Oldfellow. According to the stories, Oldfellow was a man who liked to score his share of gash (nothing wrong with that, it was natural) and who had apparently been roped into knocking the bitch up through conniving and deceit—the exact scenario that was one of Matt’s greatest fears in life.
He opened the magazine to the table of contents and saw that the Mindy Snow story started on page 23. He flipped to that page, pausing only once to admire a few shots in the “Amateurs Show Their Smooth” section (a buxom brunette housewife with huge, floppy tits and a C-section scar—though she was indeed ‘smooth’, per submission requirements—drew most of his attention). On the opening page of the article was a picture of a young, physically fit man in his early twenties. He was not showing his smooth but was instead dressed in a pair of jeans and a work shirt with the name of the company he worked for blurred out.
Stan Colder was the man’s name, according to the article, and he worked for the company that delivered propane to Mindy Snow’s ‘mountainside retreat outside of Hollywood’. His claim was that on his last delivery to her house, which took place on February 6, 1996, just one day before the American Watcher broke the story of Mindy’s pregnancy, Mindy had invited him into her house and flat out asked him to fuck her.
“Had you ever met Mindy Snow before that day?” he was asked.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t even know that was her house. I was very surprised when she came out and started talking to me.”
“Did she mention why she chose that particular moment to introduce herself to you?”
“She said she was horny as hell and needed a good fuck and wanted to know if I could provide her with one.”
“And you did?”
“Hell yes, I did,” Colder said. “This was Mindy Snow. Who is going to turn something like that down?”
What followed was a clarification that Smooth Operator investigative reporters were able to verify that Colder worked for the company he claimed, that his route did indeed service Mindy Snow’s publicly recorded address, that he had been on duty on the day in question, and that Mindy’s domicile did receive a propane delivery on that day. There was then a disclaimer that they could not actually verify Colder’s story was true, but they had enough corroborating information to print it. That being said, the rest of this section of the article was a fairly graphic description of the sex itself—graphic enough that Matt sprung a respectable semi just reading it. Colder alleged that Mindy took him immediately to the bedroom, stripped off her clothing, and ordered him to start squeezing her tits. He did so with pleasure, finding them the most squeezable tits he had ever had the pleasure of handling. After a few minutes of that, she pulled him down onto his knees in front of her bed, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled his face into her crotch, demanding he eat her pussy out. She gave him very explicit directions about how to perform this act, dictating every move he made, how long he made it, and what amount of pressure he made it with.