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Date Posted: 21:59:42 10/20/99 Wed
Author: "Smutman" Jack Leer
Subject: The Smell of Female
(Pale skin, sharp hip bones, and the easy curves of femininity fill the scene, lightly fuzzy zebra-striped string bikini bottoms in sharp contrast to the smooth perfection that is woman. Camera close enough to catch the strobe light reflected in the tiny beads of sweat on her stomach as she gyrates and thrusts her pelvis forward in time to the heavy throb of bass in Ozzy Osbourne's "Flying High Again." Close enough to smell the perspiration and the scent of female. Close enough to touch the tiny peach fuzz blonde hairs, slick with sweat, on her thighs. Close enough to taste.)
(A hand runs over her stomach, pink fingernail polish looking almost purple under the backlight, playing with the simple silver ring through the top of her belly button, gliding sensually over her hip. Lifting the fabric with a thumb, pulling the bikini down over her smooth skin and away from her body in a single relaxed, graceful movement.)
(A crisp hundred dollar bill comes into view, folded lengthwise down it's center, guided by rough, masculine fingertips, dirt under the nails. The bill lightly grazes the woman's thigh as it works it's way carefully up to the hip, no hint of eagerness in it's lethargic deliberance. Moving her thumb ever so slightly in an assured and much practiced manner, the downy bikini snaps back against her hip, trapping the paper against the soft skin with a quiet snap.)
(Jack Leer sits with his a boot heel hooked on the side of the low stage, dressed in his bluejeans and a Betty Page shirt, the queen of pin-up girls spanking a blonde over her knee. A gauze bandage taped to his forehead, dried blood staining it. His arm outstretched, fingertips mere inches from the dancer's soft flesh.)
Jack Leer (Leaning back and singing along with the music): Momma's gonna worry, I've been a bad, bad boy. No use sayin' sorry, it's something that I en-joy.
(Sitting on the other side of the table, a cigarette clenched between his index and middle fingers a little tighter than intended, is Leer Publishing's in-house lawyer and Jack Leer's friend of many years, Sid Kemp. Wearing a Jose Cuervo t-shirt and a pair of stained jeans, his greasy hair slicked back on his head in an unkept manner, he holds a bottle of Budwieser in his other hand, knuckles white.)
Sid Kemp (Reaching over and slapping Jack Leer on the shoulder with the back of his hand, not taking his eyes off the gyrating woman and she slides her body on the stage in front of their table, kicking her heels in the air): Jack, give me some money.
Jack Leer (Laughing): You make plenty of money, Sid. Use your own.
Sid Kemp (Holding his hand out): I'm broke, I spent it on those jailbait girls at the Cooper concert last night.
Jack Leer (Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket with a laugh): Sid you're priceless, you know that?
Sid Kemp (Smiling): Well I thought since you were spending Ric Anderson's money, I should spend yours.
Jack Leer (Laying a small stack of bills on the table): Anderson. What a dumb ass.
Sid Kemp (Laughing and folding a twenty down the middle): You said it, apparently the guy is too stupid to figure out that a guy who owns a billion dollar publishing company isn't in need of charity.
Jack Leer (Laughing): Not that I don't appreciate his contribution!
Sid Kemp: Maybe he'll stop by my house too, if Anderson can't think of any way to spend his money himself, Sid Kemp sure can!
Jack Leer: He should put some of that money into a 401 K, I don't see "Team Corporate" having much staying power. The way he throws his money around begging for anyone to pay attention to him he's going to end up broker than MC Hammer, and then we'll see who's cleaning toilets at the Greyhound Station. That dumb kid's probably going have to end up hooking that girlfriend of his.
Sid Kemp (Rubbing his chin thoughtfully): She looks a little too much like a man for my liking, but she'd probably be pretty good in the sack. Worth at least fifty bucks, but if I was drunk I'd probably end up paying more.
Jack Leer (With a laugh): You always do, Sid.
Sid Kemp: So what are you planning on doing to Toreador for busting into your locker room like that?
Jack Leer (Taking a drink of his Blatz): Cortez learned his lesson last night. He's probably going to have to get a few ribs set, and maybe check to see if he doesn't have a concussion. Least ways he won't be doing any Flamenco dancing for a while.
Sid Kemp (Grinning as the dancer steps with her zebra-striped go-go boot with a stiletto heel on the seat of his chair, in between his legs): Uh....huh...
Jack Leer: He did leave that flag in my locker room though, I'm betting he'll probably want that back. As far as the rest of Vengeance's little brown nosers are concerned, they at least have it right that if I get a fair fight against them, they're going to lose. I expect to see more of their sneak attacks in the future, that's how their kind operate. Friday I'm going up against some Darwin Thirsty guy, shouldn't be too much of a problem unless he ends up in bed with Vengeance's boy scouts between now and then. I tell you, if that freak tries to put anything in my mouth, you can bet I'm going to put my foot up his ass, weather his pals are there or not.
Sid Kemp (With a laugh): Yeah there are alot of dipshits in the TTSWF, who's this new guy, Devon Ace, is he Anderson's brother or something?
Jack Leer: Christ, who knows. Those types all kind of blend together. There sure are alot of them though. I think they've got a factory somewhere down south where they're just churning those guys out one after another.
Sid Kemp: Maybe they're all the same guy.
Jack Leer (Nodding): Could be. I wouldn't put it past Vengeance to pretend he was a bunch of different guys just to get more tv time. You'd think if it was a bunch of different guys one of them would have sued another for trademark infringement or something.
Sid Kemp (Getting out of his chair and picking a few bills off the table): I gotta take a leak, you want me to pick you up another beer on my way back?
Jack Leer: Sounds good, but don't screw around talking to strippers, you know how much I hate warm beer.
Sid Kemp (Smiling): Come on Jack, would your good buddy Sid do that to you?
Jack Leer (With a smile): Wouldn't be the first time.
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