Ryan and Micki Make a Porno (smootch!)

"What do you think should be the proper punishment for eavesdropping on a lady conversation?" Micki asks me as I kiss my way down her calf.
I stop at her ankle and give her a grin, "Twenty-four hours of despair wasn't enough? You really are tough on a fella, aren't you?" I say before switching legs and beginning another oral journey back up the other calf. I do believe I've reached full blown addiction. "All lady talk aside, what made you give our little secret out in the first place?" I mouth my question into the skin of her knee. I've made no bones about attaching myself to her like a barnacle.
It's around mid-morning, and we haven't left the bed since we got back to the suite last night. Conrad graciously slipped me a Do Not Disturb sign, which has been put to proper and nonstop use. Call me old fashioned if you will, but the old off-camera style is definitely the way to go.
"You'll never understand because you're not a woman." she chuckles.
"What does *that* mean?" I question, moving my head to rest on her stomach and nipping at the area around her bellybutton "Enlighten me."
"It's just that most men will never experience the mind bending effects of multiple orgasm." she answers, twining her fingers into the strands on the top of my head, "That's woman's territory. At any rate, you can chalk it up to delirium. I was non compus mentus when Laura and Audrey started in with the questioning. Words were coming out, but I didn't know what I was saying."
I give her a gleeful look, "Really? I had you fucked stupid?"
"If that's what you want to call it." she answers me with a little pull to my 'do. Didn't hurt. "Hey, Don Juan, there would have been no twenty four hours at all if you hadn't heard my verbal slip in the first place." I am reminded.
I want to answer her, but I'm far too busy with my lips on her satiny soft abdomen to conjure up an immediate response. Told you I was addicted.
"Will you quit with that? I'm trying to have a conversation, here." Micki laughs as she gives my hair another tug.
"I can't help it." I answer in a mumble as I make my way up her left side, singing, "I wanna kiss you all o-ver, and o-ver and a-gain" in my best power ballad vocal and forcing a rumble of full blown giggles out of her. My mouth ends its travels when it lands on her neck, "What about if I stayed in this region while we talk?" I ask her, nuzzling her jawline as she catches her breath.
"That's fine, as long as you're paying attention." she answers, "You realize that our misunderstanding was all your fault, then?"
"Sure." I answer her, making a new trail around her collarbone, "My fault. I'll agree to that."
"So what should we decide upon as your punishment?" she asks, stroking my back lightly like you would a pet, "Maybe I should deny all touching for a good three hours. That'll fix your wagon."
"You tryin' to kill me?" I protest as I get face to face with her, "One half-hour alone would bring about convulsions of withdrawal. How about a punishment I can live with? You can tie me up and whip me." I offer, wagging my eyebrows.
She's attempting to hide her smile, but she's not very good at it, "That's no punishment." she argues, "I have a feeling you'd rather enjoy that."
"It was worth suggesting." I cave, "How about I give up all my turns driving the Goodsmobile for a month, or give up potato chips for a week or two? You know, something more reasonable."
"So you'd actually give up driving and potato chips than suffer the alternative?"
"*Or* potato chips. I distinctly said 'or'." My lips meet hers with a loud smack, "Micki, the fact that you clearly don't understand how hooked on you I am leads me to believe that I'm talking to a brick wall."
"Sorry, I didn't realize it was that bad." she laughs with jovial sarcasm, "Forget it. Twenty four hours of despair *was* punishment enough. I take it all back."
"So glad you're beginning to see things my way." I say encouragingly as she pulls me in with a smile and indulges the Micki Foster junkie with his fix. Lip to lip contact is still tingling, even after all this alone time. Let's just say that we've put the bed through a vigorous workout. It may need to be replaced after we leave.
She pulls back and gives a curious expression, "Are we talking give-up-the-Stratacaster-bad?" she asks me.
I have to think about that one for a second; a three hour denial of contact vs. the '67 Strat. Hard choice. "I hope that you love me enough to not make me do it, but yeah." I answer, "My affliction level is officially way past Stratacaster."
She leans in for another kiss of approval, letting this one be about as sweet and languid as we can allow, "Ryan, I would never make you give up the Stratacaster."
Well, if that isn't a declaration of love, I don't know what is.

*************************************************************

Two Months Later

You know, even though Conrad has the big mansion and his servants and all that, I feel equally rich being back in our creepy and kooky, now financially stable little shop. We spent a few more days helping out with the editing process before leaving Chicago to return to our happy home. Conrad did try to convince myself and Micki to stick around and become big porn stars one last time; but we respectfully declined. We can't very well sell the store and give up our quest, so it's safe to say the world has seen the last of Ed Wood and Betty Able. Besides, it's nice to be able to copulate with your lady fair without six people standing around and musing about what's going to happen on the next episode of "Moonlighting". Just sayin'.
Speaking of "Slutbusters", it has just reached number one in pornography sales in Yugoslavia, Russia, Japan, Turkey, Holland, and the Ukraine, according to Conrad. He called the other day and gave me the rundown after telling me he's about to send another check along with a package in the mail. He, Andy, Laura, and Audrey are preparing to do another picture, a little ditty from a talented writer that Conrad had met at an industry party titled "Whore's the Boss?" Elliot met a girl and they're already pregnant. They're planning on a quickie marriage next month after he finishes at the police academy. Crazy Days. You don't have to be a physicist to understand that El Stabilizer's days as a freelance cinemaphotagrapher are clearly over. Conrad also told me he contacted Hank and Dana to participate in "Boss"; they also had to decline due to school scheduling. He says they seem to be doing alright, they got an apartment by the University together last month, and Hank told him he was working on a novel inspired by certain events. Glad that they're all doing well. He wants us to come out there next month for the wrap party and Elliot's wedding. I told him that we'd see how it all worked out.
As for the homefront, we've gotten right back into the swing of object recovery. It's nice to have the ability to relax and not have to worry about shelling out thousands ever again; I have a third of the rights to "Slutbusters", and it's selling very well. Funny, but the new turn in our relationship barely registered a zero on Jack's surprise scale. He had merely given us a raspy chuckle when he picked us up from the airport and caught us in what some would call a hideous display, telling us it was about time that we'd figured things out. He has tried to ask about the 'work' we did in Chicago, but we've remained cryptic on that issue. I believe we said something about creating artwork for an old friend's movie and have tried to leave it at that.
I remain remarkably addicted, by the way. Each morning I have the pleasure of waking up next to her, yet I still get that light-headed sensation when we kiss. We even practiced a litmus test on a slow day, laying in bed together and just kissing for hours. That feeling isn't retreating. It's still as new as the first time. I can say that I do maintain some decorum while we're out and about, despite the cravings.
I had taken the train to go see a guy about a horse (actually, a saddle) earlier and I'm just now arriving back home. It's a little later in the day, so the shop is closed, and the only sign of intelligent life I see belongs to Micki descending the staircase as I walk in the door.
"How was the saddle?" she asks me as she makes her way over.
"We can pick it up tomorrow." I inform her as I meet her halfway and greet her the way man intended, with a great big wet one smack on the mouth.
"Burnsbury Stables?" Micki further queries when she comes up for air.
"That's the one." I answer, "Hello, you."
"Hi yourself, handsome. Got you a present." she adds, "Take a look behind the cash register."
"But it's not my birthday!" I smile widely, hauling her by the waist with me as I make way to investigate. Oh, wow. Behind the counter, leaning against the bookshelf is a '67 Strat in Woodgrain finish. "Congratulations. You did it. You just won the Best Girlfriend in the Universe award." I am beyond impressed. Her thoughtful nature is astounding.
"See, now this way, you'll never run out of Strat." she begins, but I cut her off when I clamp my mouth on hers once more and push her back into the counter.
"Where's Jack?" I have to force myself to stop and ask, giving a look around
"He just left to investigate at the Library. Something about a cursed videotape, seven days, and it being lethal when you view it." she answers as she works at my belt buckle.
"Ooh, so we have time then." I say in a pleased voice as she pulls me in for another liplock and shoves my jeans down my hips, "Time to take my 'lil honeybunny ladyfriend upstairs and thank her properly."
"Would you?" she cracks back.
I'm leaning in for another assault on her neck when we hear the door chime and look up to see Jack coming in through the entry carrying a medium sized box of some sort. I let go of Micki and quickly duck behind the counter to pull my jeans back up and rebuckle. Just when you think it's safe.
Micki gives him a wave and a guilty grin, "Hi, Jack. Back from the Library already?" she greets him.
"I haven't made it that far." Jack replies, "I bumped into a UPS delivery driver around the corner, who happened to be an old acquaintance of mine. We were caught up for a few minutes in conversation. Has Ryan arrived back?"
Good, he didn't just see that, "Right here." I answer as I pop up from behind the counter with my brand new guitar, "Did Micki show you what she got for me?"
"Yes, yes. Very nice indeed." Jack acknowledges, "It seems that it's your day for recieving, my boy. My friend was delivering this package; it's addressed to you, from a Funky Dungeonmaster Productions?"
"Oh, that must be from Conrad." I say, gingerly setting down my new Strat and rushing over to relieve him of the box.
"Did I read that right? Funky Dungeonmaster Productions?" Jack asks as he rolls the words over his tongue, "Your friend Conrad must be some character." he notes.
"He's the essence of cool." I reply, moving the package to the desk and obtaining a box-cutter, "There's most likely another check in here; you think you could swing by the bank on your way to the Library, Jack?" I continue to ask him as I work on my task. What did Conrad send us? This box is definitely heavier than just a check.
"*Another* creative art director check for this mysterious movie?" Jack laughs, "The international movie market is more lucrative than I thought."
Micki rests her chin on my shoulder as I pry it open, revealing an envelope (with the check), a folded up slip of paper, a videocassette, the pink floral kimono Micki wore in our first scene and Peter Shankman's Slutbusters uniform. This is not a box for Jack's eyes, truth be told.
I'm handing Jack the check when Micki procures the slip of paper and begins reading aloud, "To Ry-D and Mi-chelle my Belle: Thanks for all your help in making my motherfucking movie. Enclosed is the final cut and a couple of souveniers. Couldn't have been a success without you; Conrad. P.S. Fawnsworth says hi."
"Ah, your movie." Jack comments, "I can't say I'm not a little curious as to what it is and how it turned out." he tries to reach for the tape, but I'm just a little bit quicker than he.
"Oh, I don't think you'd like it very much." I try to deflect, passing the tape to Micki.
"I agree with Ryan. I have a feeling that we'd be highly embarrassed if you watched this."
"Yeah, it's one of those slice and dicers." I lie, "You'd be bored to tears."
He gives each of us a long suspicious look, and I can tell he's trying to read us to see if we give anything away, "You two are keeping something from me...and I have a feeling that I'd rather not know." he tells us, "You don't have to indulge an old man."
"It's best this way." Micki agrees with him, patting his shoulder.
He leaves shortly thereafter, on a journey by way of the bank to peruse the wonderful world of microfische.
"Hey lady," I begin after Jack's exit, looking over at Micki, who is currently perched on the edge of the desk and toying with the videotape, "Should we pop some corn and wheel the 'ol TV and VCR into the bedroom? Because it seems to me like it's a great night for watching a movie."

The End

Cue Young MC's "Bust a Move"

Elliot Stabler now resides in New York City with his wife and five children. He works full time as a detective for the Manhattan Special Victims Unit and works tirelessly at ridding the streets of pedophiles. He hasn't touched a camera in a very long time.

Audrey Horne did a few more films for Conrad before going to school to train as a veterinarian. She now resides in Niagara Falls with two cats and is still famous for having the most unique name in the history of porn: Roscoe 128th.

Conrad Shepard reached great heights as a producer, eventually working his way up from porn to major Hollywood productions until the mid-'90's when he sunk all of his fortune into a movie titled "Waterworld". He now lives with his aunt in Los Angeles and works as some sort of farmer.

Laura Palmer teamed up with Conrad and continued doing porn with great success after he went legitimate. She now goes by the name Jenna Jameson. She resides in Las Vegas.

Andy Botwin gave up porn upon Conrad's entrance into legitimacy and engaged in a brief stint as a member of his entourage before returning to culinary school. He now lives off of his sister-in-law and two nephews in Agrestic, California.

Fawnsworth had to look for work elsewhere after Conrad lost his millions. He is currently a manservant to a well known rap producer.

Deelicious went missing in 1992. She is still missing.

Dana Scully dated Hank Moody for another year before deciding mutually split up due to her transfer of schools to Arizona and his offer from publishers to move to New York City.

Dana Scully completed her doctorate in forensics pathology and now works as a Special Agent on the X-Files division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She lives in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington D.C. Her partner bears an uncanny resemblance to Hank Moody.

Hank Moody became a world class philanderer upon the dissolution of his relationship with Dana, along with the success of his writing career. He is likened to authors in the realm of Bukowski and Tom Robbins, and he now resides in Venice, California with his daughter and the mother of his child. He is working on the screenplay for his last successful novel.

Micki Foster, Ryan Dallion, and Jack Marshak are still collecting the last remaining cursed items and ridding the world of evil. There was a year in there that Ryan was transformed into a 12 year old boy, but he got better.

Ryan Dallion still gets dizzy when they kiss.

Micki Foster maintains the title of the Last Dragon of makin' love.

Jack Marshak is still a Wiccan Pimp who knows everybody.

*Now*, it's The End.

*A few closing notes from the Author*

I originally got the idea for this story around halfway through writing "House Play (or you Can't Stop Stepford)", and had to practically fight off the ideas for this missive so that I could properly complete the prior tale. If you read it, you know I was successful. I'm very proud of how that one turned out, but the fact remains that the idea for this story needled at me and I was really anxious to start putting pen to paper. What's more madcap and crazy than our heroes starring in a porno? What really hit me that this could work was the question of what lengths they would go to if they were faced by the real world notion of losing real estate property (not to mention all the cursed items) to the IRS. It started out pretty fluidly; I began writing within' days of finishing "House Play" due to the idea already having been present in my brain, and wrote the first third of it as the ideas began to pour forth. Then something funny happened. I had recently joined Facebook due to a friend of mine posting a video of my band's performance at a local bar, and it was right around the release of Season Three of F13:TS, so naturally I was representing the fan holiday with a picture of our fave female shopkeeper as my profile picture, over a caption that reads "Hairpalace...jealous?" Long story short, I get a message from Louise Robey herself asking me why I was using it and now we are virtual FB acquaintances. Immediately thereafter I came down with a pretty bad case of writer's block and every time I would try to continue the story, I would draw nothing but blanks. You can't help but be a little paranoid when the person that's played the main character of your dirty stories is suddenly aware of you, and accessable to boot. I think my brain got a little gun shy. This story sat untouched for a good couple of months, and I was beginning to think it's destiny was to end up with the rest of the half-written tales I started but gave up when the creative main line runs out on your idea. I have a good half-dozen X-Files fics from back in the day that has happened to. At least with the X-Files, when it was huge to write in that genre, there were no social networking sites for Gillian Anderson to come finding me out and possibly getting pissed that I indulge my creativity in such a manner. Not to say that's happened *here*, luckily, the lovely Louise is most likely far too busy to read this story, but I really, *really* hope that she never does. I would be mortified, just like I would be if Sherilyn Fenn or Romany Malco or Chris Meloni or even that wonderful perv David Duchovny gave this tale the once over. This is entertainment for me; I happen to like making up my own turn of events for my fave characters. I've been doing it for so long that it's force of habit. As you can already tell, my temporary brain fart has left the building after a couple of hits of inspiration and the story prevailed in being told. I would like to acknowledge a few things: Fawnsworth is more or less directly based and ripped off a certain real life manservant and is no way aware of this story. The cursed item that Jack is looking for at the end is the video from the movie "The Ring". Since it was an unrelated to this universe but still a cursed object, I thought that it would be funny. I also took some extreme liberty with the "Twin Peaks" girls Laura and Audrey; they both end up dying on the show they were written for (Laura by Bob, Audrey in a bank explosion in the series finale) so I gave them the opposite and let them have their happy ending. Jenna Jameson is also unaware of this story. I also decided that instead of Mulder, that a young collegiate Dana Scully should go there with a young Hank Moody, although I did originally have Mulder in mind when I first started writing. In the end, however, Hank Moody made more sense to me, and I still got to keep it Anderson/Duchovny, which is nice if you're still an X-shipper like I am.
So now that this is all over, how am I going to jog my brain's creativity, huh? I've been working on this story decidedly longer than most, and it seems surreal that it's now all said and done. All She Wrote. Finito. Kaput.
At any rate, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the tale.
And I really hope that she doesn't read this. Seriously.