THE WOLFPACK It started with a Reader's Digest article: Earn A Living Writing Romance Novels. I was just thirteen but, according to the article, publishers would pay anyone who could follow their format. I was so stoked I dumped my father's porn for my mom's romance novels. I spent hours writing paragraphs longhand and then rewriting them from memory. I was convinced I could do this. I was going to get paid! The Bet "I'm telling you man, she's a dyke!" Buck was emphatic, his voice filling the locker room like the voice of God. His pride was at stake. He was a high school all-american linebacker; girls were lining up to fuck him, but Debra McCormac wouldn't even acknowledge his exisistence. He had plenty of company; Debra hadn't dated anybody in three years of high school. Yet her apple bottom and prominent camel toe kept calling the faithful. Buck had vowed to bring us back tales from the Promised Land. "You're going about it all wrong," I said. It seemed to take me forever to get my shoulder pads off. I was aching all over. I was proud of the fact that I was the only sophomore to make varsity, but two games into the season I was beginning to think I was in way over my head. "What? Who said that?" Buck asked. "You've got to get up here first," I said pointing to my temple after stepping into his line of sight. "What the fuck do you know about it, Professor? You ain't had pussy since pussy had you." My nickname wasn't meant as a compliment; I had an opinion about everything. And now, once again, I'd opened by big yap and pissed someone off. Buck was right, though. I didn't know shit. I was still a virgin. But If I backed down, I was going to be his doormat for the rest of the season. "I'll show you what I know about it." She hasn't given you the time of day, right?" "Right." "If you do what I tell you, within a month she'll agree to have lunch with you. If she doesn't, I'll do the "Go! Go! Get 'em!" cheer in front of the whole locker room. If she does, you have to do it. Bet?" "Wait. First I gotta know what I gotta to do." "You gotta leave her alone. Don't go near her. I'll write her notes(if you don't know, ask your parents. This was in the olden times before text messaging.), you copy them in your own handwriting. I'll deliver the notes to her, and then bring her's back here for us all to verify." Then I turned and shouted, "And nobody breathes a fucking word said in here!" I stuck out my hand. "Bet?" "Bet." There was a buzz all over the locker room. My heart was in my throat. All I had going for me was what I had learned in my mom's romance novels. That shit had better work in real life or I was fucked. The Birth of Cyrano It didn't take a month. It took just over two weeks. Notes turned into letters and I was writing and rewriting shit late into the night. But It was all worth it. Buck not only did the cheer, he did it with enthusiasm, cracking us all up. A teammate started calling me Cyrano after that and it stuck. Then this guy asked me to write a note and passed my name on to that guy and so on. In less than ten years I had a built a vast "client" list ranging from plumbers to the rich and famous. And the perks have been great. I've been all over the world as the guest of millionaires; I get invited regularly to A list parties - even been to a couple of Oscar parties; a hedge fund manager put me into an i.p.o that paid off my first house; Not a week goes by that someone isn't offering me something. One such favor led to a night out with a wolfpack and a star studded orgy. The Favor "Hey, Cryano, you need some suits?" It was Bernie. Bernie's a tailor at NeimanMarcus - a damn good one. So good, in fact, that he gets paid thousands of dollars just to sit on his ass at award shows in case someone pops a stitch. "Yeah, Bernie. A mailman can never have enough suits." (Yep, that's my day job. Instead or writing novels I'm delivering them) Saying yes to Bernie would mean a trip downtown. It was Saturday. All I wanted to do was vegetate in front of the tv. "No, seriously, Cyrano. You can't pass this up." Anybody who tells you what you know is more important than who you know, doesn't know what the hell they're talking about. My two hours downtown with Bernie were eye opening. The markup on haute couture is insane! Rag men have their own little monopoly like diamond merchants. Even if you have an eye for material and know your way around the fashion district, you won't get the price breaks these guys get. They control supply, and pretty much determine who gets what when. The upshot of it all was Bernie was able to tailor four, twenty-five hundred dollar suits for me for two-hundred and fifty dollars a piece - he was throwing in labor for free. Well, not free, there was this barista he wanted to fuck. But that's another story. I put the suits away and didn't even think about them until months later. The Wolfpack Burying a friend is never easy but I'd been on an emotional high for two days because the old gang was back together. It was like our high school days were just yesterday. We were going to send our buddy James out in style. Bitter sweet memories flooded me as I picked out a navy blue suit and red tie for the funeral, which turned out to be an emotionally draining affair. After the gravesite ceremony, we headed to the casino to hoist a few to our buddy James and say our goodbyes. It wasn't quite five and the casino was sparsely crowed so we had the bar to ourselves. We were telling jokes and ribbing one another when in walked four of the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen. I was thinking "girls" because they didn't look a day over twenty. Skirts were riding high up their thighs, tits bursting our of their blouses. They walked in like they owned the place. They were definitely turning heads, disrupting action at the tables. "Holy shit," came out of Buck's mouth. The rest of us seemed to nod in agreement. "They're looking our way, man," Jeffery said. I felt one of them staring at me. Did I know her? I didn't recognize her, and I'm good with faces. Maybe she's the daughter or niece of someone I know. "Man, I ain't here to chase pussy," I said. There were some mumblings of "yeah, your right," and we went back to our conversation. The girls moved on. Five minutes later they were back, ordered drinks at the bar, and then headed toward the tables. Again, I felt one of them was boring a hole in me. Maybe I had lipstick on my face; there was a lot of kissing and hugging at the funeral. I got up to check myself in the mirror hanging behind the bar, and then it hit me. It's the fucking suit! They think we're rich. Well, two of us were rich. Buck was ex-NFL and now a successful entrepreneur, and Gary is socking it away as a real-estate developer. My buddies still hadn't caught on to what was happening, but I sure had. We were being hunted. This was a wolfpack. "They're checking us out again," said Buck. By then I had identified the one staring at me as the Alpha Bitch. Anger started to well up in me. This bitch had me pegged as the weak one; the one to cull from the herd. "Wait a minute. I Think they're scoping Cyrano," Buck said before they all burst out into loud laughter - a little too loud for my ego to handle. Buck should have known better. I hopped off my stool and marched a straight line to Alpha Bitch. "Hi, I'm Cyrano," I said extending my hand. "Kristen." "Would you and your friends like to go to a party, Kristen? "That depends. A party were?" "Slash." Their mouths dropped open, and then came the squeals. "Are you serious!" "Dead serious. Let me have your number; I'll call you with the details." I walked back to the bar triumphant. "What the fuck just happened?" Buck blurted out. He and the boys were awestruck. And that's exactly the effect I was after. "Have you forgotten who I am?" I said smuggly."I'm Cyrano." Are we still laughing? I didn't think so. Slash Slash wasn't a night club. It was a rumor. Everybody seemed to have a story about Slash, but it was all second hand. Few were actually privileged enough to step foot into a Slash party. Slash was the brain child of Mr. Chen. It was a brilliant concept, perfectly tailored for the superficial, status conscious city of Los Angeles. He sent recruiters out for the youngest most beautiful bodies they could find. No one under twenty one or over twenty four qualified. Everyone's personal information was checked before they were put on a call list. Those on this list were known as "meat." Pitchmen were then dispatched to the hottest celebrities in Hollywood to sell Mr. Chen's meat. Those on this call list were known as "shoppers". What made Slash click was its straight forward and brutal honesty: the meat got to rub elbows with the stars, and the stars had their pick of the most beautiful bodies in Los Angeles. Slash had no location. An agreement was worked out with club owners all over the city. Slash parties rotated from club to club. Nobody but Slash's security detail and the club owners knew which club Slash was coming to. And club owners weren't told until hours before- hand. Slash's own employees didn't even know. Security picked them up from a drop point and returned them after their shift. The short notice meant that the club chosen didn't even have time warn its regular patrons. If they showed up and that Slash logo was plastered over the the club name, they were shit out of luck. They just had to make other plans. Slash had no regulars. Security had a dossier on every celebrity. Their physical as well as sexual preferences were noted and filed. It was the responsibility of security to keep the right mix of meat at the party as shoppers came and went. The makeup of party participants was constantly fluid; which often required security walking up and down a block-long line of Calvin Klein models asking blunt questions: You suck dick? You eat pussy? You a bottom? You switch hit? This was the extent of my knowledge of Slash provided by Rick Mason, the head of security and a client. I was now about to see first hand what all the fuss was about. A Night Out With The Pack "Kristen?" "Yeah." "I just want to make sure you know about the dress code. It's just barely" "Come again?" "However you're dressed it better be just barely." "Oh, I get it," she said giggling. I picked them up a couple of hours later in a limo and they were definitely up to code. Sitting down without exposing your crotch in skirts that skimpy must require yoga training. "I can't believed it. I didn't sleep at all last night," Terri said breathlessly. Their excitement was palpable. They talked non-stop, pausing only for shrieks that rattled my senses. "Christine got in last year and she said... yak yak yak. "Do you think we'll see Madonna(Yeah, this was back in 2003)... yak yak yak. "You hear about the orgies. Ew! yak yak yak "Cyrano, lookit, we're not down with whole orgy thing," Kristen said. "Look girls, they are no orgies. Those are just rumors." "You've been to a party? What's it like! Who was there?" "Whoa. Calm down. I've never been to a party. The head of security is a friend of mine." Rick was getting us in but there were two conditions. One was that I had to bring meat - I had to at least look like a "baller." The other was that I had to occupy a V.I.P booth. This was going to be an expensive evening. But I looked on it as an investment. The Party Slash was being held downtown. We got there around eight-thirty. The whole area looked like some Mad Max dystopia. We got out of the limo near the entrance which led out into an alley. Across from Slash it was dark. The homeless were drinking, shooting up, and God knows what else. The stench of rotting garbage and urine was strong. Even the rats were fleeing that side of the alley. Calvin Klein models were lined up along a well-lighted wall on the other side. Their screams sent the rats scurrying back into dark. The Wolfpack strutted and preened in front of the "losers" on our way to the entrance. A mountain of a man was guarding the door. He wasn't very welcoming. I gave him my code phrase. "Popeye sent me." "Enjoy your evening, folks." The girls started giggling as he opened the door. Inside, it looked like a movie set had been constructed around a dimly lighted IKEA store. Gyrating bodies, flashing lights, and loud techo music assaulted my senses. The bass from the music was so heavy it was thumping through hard wood floors, massaging my feet. Then it went dark and lasers flashed and stobe lights seemed to float overhead. Then back to the dim lighting. This cycle repeated all night at different rates of speed, disorienting me at times. By the time we reached our booth, I was glad to have a comfortable place to sit and find my bearings. But before my butt could warm the cushions, a bottle of champagne was plopped down on the table. "One-fifty, sugar." The girls were off to the dance floor before the first pour. I sat there for three hours - and seven hundred and fifty dollars in bottle service - just watching the door, trying to follow the shoppers. I couldn't. I guess the light show was designed partly for this purpose. The stars would materialize and then just disappear. I thought I'd give the girls another hour and then we were out there. "AAAAAAHYEEEAAAH!" The yell was high pitched and clear, piercing the music. I stood up looked to my left and saw a blond male with shoulder length hair standing on a booth table. He had to be a least six-four. I recognized him from a rock poster but I couldn't remember the name of the group. Out came his dick. It was long and fat. It was impressive even from were I was standing. "The fountain is open!" he screamed while jerking off. A group of girls - and a couple of boys - rushed the booth platform, arms extended, mouths open and tongues out. It was time to go. Stepping off our platform onto the dance floor was not easy. The light show was fucking with my depth perception. I tripped over someone's heel. It was an action movie star. He was on his knees, dentures in one hand, a dick in the other. He was sucking off some kid with a half shaved head swigging a bottle of champagne. My heart was pounding through my chest; I just knew the cops were going to come bursting into the place at any minute. I found Jackie and told her to round up the rest of the girls. If they weren't outside in ten minutes, they were walking home. I was making a b line for the exit sign when I bumped into a threesome. A pop diva, who my niece and I had just watched perform the week prior on The Disney Channel, was blowing a trannie. A guy standing behind the trannie had his tongue in the trannie's ear and both hands full of breasts. I thought about my favorite actress - the eptitome of grace and style to me. I spotted her earlier in the evening; I was shocked to see her. I was praying that on my way out I didn't bump into her doing something unseemly. I didn't, but I've never looked at her the same way since. I made it. I was outside gasping for fresh air, but my lungs were only pulling in the stench of garbage and piss. I was still on the look out for cops as I waited for our limo driver. I took him fifteen minutes. Where fuck did he park? Long Beach? My breathing was short and shallow until we reached the freeway. I took a deep breath and noticed my hands were shaking. The girls were right about the "orgy thing." I had just assumed the shoppers picked up their meat and went home - or least the parking lot. Thanks for the heads-up Rick. The girls were flush from the excitement too. They were yakking breathlessly as if they had just survived a wild roller coaster ride. "Can you believe the shit that was going on in there?" Jackie said. "You girls weren't participating were you?" I asked teasingly. "Hell no, man, that was nothing but a slutfest," Terri protested. They went back to gossiping; I barely heard a word. I kept replaying the whole scene in my head. And each time it ended with my ass being hauled off to jail. Why hadn't the cops ever raided Slash? They Eat Their Own "What you got planned for this weekend, Daddy?" It was Kristen. It was time for Kristen to go. The tab for Slash, including limo service, was over a thousand dollars. I hadn't spent all that money for a party experience; I intended to fuck one of Kristen's crew. Taking Kristen down was going to be my ticket. At least one of those girls had to be thinking she'd make a better Alpha Bitch than Kristen. I just needed to put Kristen in the right environment to make her look weak; the fangs were bound to come out. "I'm going to a party in Bel-Air." "Wow!" She just assumed I was taking them. "Look, Kristen, it's not that kind of party. It's a charity event. If you girls are going, you're going to have to be properly dressed." "You mean ball gowns?" "No. Look, I'll take care of it. I'll meet you guys at your place tommorrow. But you guys have to be ready to roll at six or it's a no go." "No, we'll be here." Unlike the Slash party, I didn't have to go in my pocket. The rental dresses and limo were all put on a Sheldon Rivera account. Sheldon, a client, was a couple of years removed from joining the one-hundred million dollar club. Folks who reach that rarefied air sometimes pick up weird and expensive hobbies. Sheldon's hobby was Oscar sniffing. He lived to fuck Oscar winnners. If a fuckable one wasn't available, he'd settle for a nominee. If an actress wasn't available he'd settle for a writer or a director, and so on. Charity events were his bait. If it was a cause important to the Hollywood community, Sheldon embraced it wholeheartedly. He used his parties to set up his targets. And I was his bird dog. The girls were oohing and aahing over the estate grounds and the tuxedoed car attendants. Kristen was trying to put up a brave front but I could tell she was intimidated. Once we were inside, though, it didn't take long for her to make herself at home. She was flirting with every dick in the room sporting the patina of money or power. It didn't seem to faze her that she was being brushed off like a bad smell. "Doesn't it bother you when Kristen flirts like that?" The fangs belonged to Terri. "You girls are young. You're supposed to flirt. But Kristen is showing no discretion. These people are friends of mine. I realize now that I can't take her anywhere." "Yeah, I've had enough of her too. She's trailer trash. You want to hang out after this." "Okay. After I drop them off, we can go back to my place." Sealed With a Kiss I watched the confusion spread across Terri's face as we pulled into "my place." I'm sure she pictured an estate, not middle class suburbia. "You live here?" "Yeah, Terri. I'm not rich. I just know how to live well." I didn't have put up any pretense. Terri didn't need me to be rich to get what she wanted; she just needed me to be connected. Her dream was to launch her own fashion line. But she had a childishly naive plan for getting there; no doubt fed to her by television shows with ridiculously simple depictions of the real world. "Terri, it takes a lot capital to break into the fashion industry. Do you even have any experience in fashion?" "I have a good eye. I always have. I just need to be seen in the right places. Once girls see me in the pop mags they'll want to dress like me. I just need to be seen. You can help with that can't you, Daddy?" I'm pretty sure my mouth was hanging open. "After I have a fan base, I'll be able to raise the money to hire the experts I need." That, in a nutshell, was Terri's "business plan." It was educational, but it was time for me to take her home. "Can't I go home in the morning?" she whined. "I really don't want to deal with my mom riding my ass this late at night," she added as I put the takeout leftovers in the refrigerator. "No, I gotta take you home." "You sure?" She unzipped my pants, backed me up against the refrigerator, smiling at me. She then dropped to her knees and proceeded to give me the sloppiest blow job I ever had. This girl knew her way around a dick. Just as I was about to ejaculate she pulled me out and smiled as I gave her a facial. These girls have got to stop watching so much porn. "Are you sure?" she asked again giggling and kissing the head of my penis. "Yeah, Terri. I gotta take you home." She jumped to her feet and stormed off to the bathroom. Alpha Bitch Terri quickly put together a crew of her own. She didn't have to tell me the rules: no public displays of affection, and no pet names. She had to keep her crews' respect. An Alpha Bitch's currency is hope. She's hot and out of your league. She dangles the possibility of a sexual relationship to get what she wants. If Terri's crew thought she was actually trading pussy for their fun, she wouldn't be an Apha Bitch; she'd just be a ho. So, I couldn't show any signs of possessiveness. She had to be able to flirt openly with her crew when we went out. But at the end of the day she never wanted to go home. She was even dropping by on weekdays. I never gave in, but she gave it her best effort: The Shower Fuck She walked in on me while I was in the shower and just hopped on me straddling my hips, grinding herself on me. I felt a warm jet of liquid hit me just above my left hip. That wasn't shower water. That was pee! She kept on grinding and squirting all over my pelvic area while biting and licking my neck. For some reason this made me horny as hell. I ended up her fucking her like there was no tommorrow. "Are you sure?" "Yeah, Terri. I gotta take you home." The Bedroom Massage I'd been in a car accident and I was sore as hell. Terri came over and gave me a massage. She was really good. A sponge bath followed with her paying extra attention to my ass. That made me a little nervous. I kept twisting and looking back. "Relax," she purred. I couldn't. I didn't want any misunderstanding back there. Then she wrapped her arm around my waist and gently pulled me to my knees. Her warm breath and wet tongue hit me in the cleft of my ass giving me jolt. I felt her forearm lightly graze my balls as her hand traveled up to my dick. She then proceeded to stroke and lick me slowly, very softly, giving me the most incredible sexual experience of my life. These girls have really got to stop watching so much porn. "Are you -" "Gimme a minute, goddammit! Let me think..." "Yeah, Terri. I gotta take you home." No Goodbyes One day I realized I hadn't seen or heard from Terri in a couple of days. That stretched into weeks before I assumed she'd moved on. I didn't check up on her; I wanted to believe that's the way she wanted to end it. A couple of months later one of her crew came by "looking" for her. Within minutes I was fucking her in my foyer. And the cycle started all over again.