The Neighborly Thing to Do

"Girls, we have ourselves a stud! Let's make some movies!! Hit it out of the fucking park you did buddy!"

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"Excuse me sir, your allotted time is up. Others are waiting for the work station."

Chris was brought back to reality by the librarian reminding him that you could only reserve the word processors at the library for an hour at a time. Chris looked at his paper and realized he wasn't anywhere near done. Fuck. Well, he'd have to try and work on it tomorrow. All this walking down memory lane was costing him time he did not have.

He gathered his things and saved his file, what little he had gotten done, and left the library. It was dark and getting cold, but at least it was dry. No rain or snow in the sky tonight. He slid his arms into his back pack and climbed on his bike to head back to that shitty apartment. He felt a tinge of anxiety at the thought.

What if the wife had experienced a rush of guilt and told her husband about their little rendezvous? Or if had figured it out on his own somehow? Fuck. Chris sure hoped his raven haired fuck buddy could keep a secret.

He pulled up to his duplex and saw the house next door looked empty and dark, and the truck was missing from the driveway. Chris wondered if the husband had maybe picked up an extra shift or something, but after a few minutes, it was evident they had gone somewhere and the house was empty.

Chris paced and could not concentrate. He tried to get some reading done, but his brain just would not focus on the words. He tried to distract himself but to no avail. He kept looking out the window towards the neighbors but it remained dark and silent. Chris had no TV and the radio was just annoying him tonight, with every song bringing back memories Chris didn't want. He pulled a coat on and just took off walking into the cold night, not really knowing where to go, just that he could not stay cooped up.

He walked along the sidewalks, walking past houses with light on and lots of life inside, house parties and cars driving by blaring music. He walked in a haze and could not keep from drifting, remembering.

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After the audition, Wade Calvin became Chris' best friend. He told Chris he'd make $400 a shoot, and he wanted to shoot at least 3 or 4 scenes a week. Chris did the math and had to pinch himself. That was more money than Chris had made most months and this slick fucker was telling him he'd be making that a week? No way.

But Wade Calvin assured him it was legit and sure enough, $400 in cash would land in Chris' hand after every fuck scene. He fucked Cindy, Tanya and Autumn (all present at his audition) that first week and the work kept coming. Chris spent the better part of the next 3 months fucking for cash, new girls kept coming in and Chris kept hitting it out of the park.

Chris fucked in about every grouping imaginable. Gang bangs. Chris and one or two other hired cocks teaming up on a one woman. Chris and 2, 3, hell even 4 women once. He played the delivery boy, the mechanic, the athlete, the pool boy, Chris couldn't keep it straight half the time. He came on tits, asses, faces, shoes. He fucked Asian women, Mexican women, black women, hairy pussies, shaved pussies. He fucked all cummers and truly enjoyed it. He finally felt like he was good at something.

He and Tanya became quite the tandem for Wade Calvin. They made better than a dozen scenes together, Tanya calling Chris 'White Chocolate' and Tanya being the 'Funky Fuck Queen.' Fred and Ginger they weren't, but they could fuck each other like a couple of daredevils and had some legitimate chemistry on screen. Chris loved the contrast of their skins against each other and actually really started to like Tanya. It came to an abrupt end when Tanya just quit showing up for shoots. Chris went by her place, but it was empty. Her landlord said she gave notice and moved out. Chris was pissed and felt betrayed, but he knew he and Tanya were just co-workers, nothing else, really. She always said she saved all her money. Chris guessed she had saved enough and had gotten the fuck out.

Chris did not save his money. He did pay off his back rent and even paid back some friends he had been mooching off for quite a while. Long enough that they barely considered Chris a friend anymore. Chris didn't tell anyone he was a porn star just that he was working as an 'assistant' for this banker. Driving him around, running errands and shit like that. All of Chris' old friends were sure he was dealing dope, but Chris assured them he wasn't breaking any laws. He bought some clothes, a couple guitars, but mostly just booze and crank.

One of Chris' old roommates handed him a stack of messages when Chris came by to give him some cash. It was the last known phone number for Chris and a few of the messages were from a couple of old debts Chris had but most were from Chris' Uncle Rick. Chris kept some of the ones from people he owed money, wanting to make them right but tossed all the ones from his family.

"He said to call him collect, he really wanted to talk to you, man. Sounded important." Brad, the most anal retentive of his old roomies said.

"Fuck them. The past is the past and I'm moving on." Chris said. No way did he wanted anything to do with his family. Uncle Rick had always been a decent guy, but talking to him meant talking to his dad and fuck that.

All was as good and golden in Chris' world as it had ever been for those 12 weeks. Chris' intake of crank increased, to help him shoot more than a couple scenes in a day a few times at first. Then, Chris started getting offered coke at the shoots and at the after parties. He kept telling himself it was no big deal, it was just for work and all fun and he wasn't a junkie or anything. He was making money, he was popular and he was a 'fucking stud' and 'king of throwin' a bone', as Wade Calvin referred to him almost every single time Chris walked into his office to get paid. With the coke and speed pumping through his veins, Chris was able to keep his cock hard and the cum flying and he remained the top cock in this little circle of low grade porn stars. Chris was sure he was on top of it and nothing was going to derail his gravy train.

Or so he thought.

Chris was walking up to the warehouse Wade Calvin had set up as a movie set and noticed 7 police cars and black sedans with tinted windows out front and chaos reigning. About 5 people were outside standing up against the wall being detained by two cops. Chris heard a crazy commotion coming from the inside and a moment later Eddie, the giant bodyguard Chris had first shown his cock to, was being dragged out by three men in black windbreakers. The men were not small by any means and it was taking all they had to get Eddie out of the building on slammed face down on the hood of a cop car. Chris could tell the corner of the adjacent building that Eddie had a huge gash on his head. "What the fuck is going on?" Chris wondered.

"Fucked up, isn't it?"

Chris leapt out of his skin and spun around to see one of the newer chicks in the group, Paula, standing behind him. She was a tattooed punk rock looking chick Chris had done a couple of scenes with. She was a hot blooded little thing and coked to the hilt most of the time.

"I was running late and the cops and FBI showed up just before I did. I took off and hid behind a dumpster. I was supposed to do a girl/girl with Autumn this morning. Fuck. I really needed the cash too." She said.

"Do you know why their raiding the place?" Chris asked.

"No. All I know is I was counting on the money from today's gig. I better go see if I can pick up a shift at the Lusty Lady. Don't hang around too long. You might get busted too."

With that Paula turned and walked away, her mind on her money and her money on her mind. Chris was due some cash from Wade Calvin too and was pissed, but also just wanted to know what the fuck? Was this shit mob related? Drugs were always around but not like Miami Vice drug lord type of amounts.

Chris took Paula's advice and got the fuck out of there too. He headed downtown and scoped out Wade Calvin's 'office' and it was being emptied by the guys in windbreakers with F and B and I on the back of them. Chris walked around the corner to a little coffee shop Wade Calvin used to hang out in and have 'business' meetings and luckily, one of Wade Calvin's producer buddies, a true pure bred scumbag looking fuck Chris only knew by Mr. Z was sitting at a booth with his cholo muscle.

Chris walked up to the table. "Do you know what the fuck is going on?" he asked.

"Shut the fuck up you dumbass!" Mr. Z said, eyes darting around the shop. Mr. Z glared at Chris and the buff vato sitting next to him tensed and seemed ready to leap out of the booth. Chris lowered his voice and leaned on the table.

"C'mon man, I went in to do some work and all hell had broken loose. Do you know what's up?" Chris asked without as much attitude this time.

Mr. Z relaxed, looked around and told Chris to sit down. Chris slid into the booth and Mr. Z leaned on the table and whispered to Chris. "I'll tell you what I know, but you did not hear it from me."

Mr. Z began to tell Chris the details as he knew them. As it turned out, Wade Calvin was not a rich porn producer. He was a trust fund embezzling douchebag who was using money that wasn't his to act like a big shot and get laid. He had been made the executor of his rich, dementia ridden Aunt's estate and was draining the cash to live the life of a high rolling porn king. He knew fuck all about the business and was faking his way through, and not too badly either. He had filmed all the fucking and even managed to get some footage edited into videos and he sold the masters off to a few distributors. But he had none of the many licenses or permits or other legal documents one needs to film people fucking for money and was being busted for fraud, embezzlement and a litany of other charges. He had sold some of his porn tapes to a distributor in California, making it a federal offense and that is why the FBI was involved.

"Calvin kept shit for records. He always paid you in cash, right?" Mr. Z asked Chris, who sat there stunned.

"Yeah, cash only." Chris replied.

"Lucky for you then. No ties to you, as far as a paper trail anyway. Your face and cock are all over the pictures and videos the feds have now though. You need to disappear. Don't show your face around any of that dumbasses hangouts or his porn girls or drug dealers and you should be ok. I'm working on covering my ties to that stupid cocksucker as we speak. So, I can't be seen with you. Get the fuck out of here and never come looking for me again."

Chris got the message loud and clear and got up before any more explanation was needed. He walked out of the coffee shop and headed back to his apartment. His head raced but he at least knew where he stood. So, the good news was Chris was not charged with anything. The bad news was Chris was left without a job again and short the money for the last week of work he had done, which would have been about $1,600 bucks.

Chris was walking down the hall towards his apartment when he noticed a man standing at his door and knocking. Chris jumped back around the corner and peeked down the hall. How the fuck did the feds find him? One of the girls probably dropped dime on him. Who was supposed to be there this morning? Did any of them know where he lived?

Chris peeked around the corner at the man at his door and was relieved and shocked at the same time when the man turned to leave and Chris saw his face. It wasn't a fed at all. It was his Uncle Rick.

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Chris found himself standing at the door of his duplex once again, but really had no recollection of how he got there. He had been walking for a couple hours and apparently just went on autopilot and brought himself back home eventually. The only thing Chris really remembered from his walk was stopping at a liquor store right before it closed and buying a pint of cheap ass Early Times whiskey. As Chris came back around, he noticed there was some light coming from his next door neighbor's house. He walked to the corner and look towards the front of the house and saw the husband's truck in the drive way. Chris was not surprised, the husband was always off on the weekends, but still felt disappointed. He hoped the husband would be gone, but knew in his heart it was a futile hope. He went back, unlocked the door and took the pint from his coat pocket.

He did not bother to turn on a light, he just peeled the seal off the cap and opened the bottle and took a long pull. The rot gut burned his throat but Chris loved the pain. He needed something, anything, to divert his thoughts. He walked in the dark towards his bed when he once again saw light coming from next door. He stopped and look out of his dark window and saw the wife once again.

This time she was across the room, at least 15 feet from the window in the entry way from looked like the hall to Chris. She was bent over, leaning against the door jam while her husband stood behind her fucking her. She was topless and had a skirt bunched up around her waist. The husband was dressed except for the pants around his ankles. She kept looking right towards the window as her husband thrust into her. Chris knew it was dark enough in his apartment and they were far enough away from the window that he could watch and not be seen. Chris unzipped and began stroking his cock as they fucked for him.

The wife next door looked towards her own window and Chris was sure she could not see him but knew she was hoping he was watching. He stroked as her tits swayed and her expression was one of lust as she looked directly at Chris without seeing him. Chris pumped his fist over his cock, wanting to be the one standing behind his neighbor once again. He could feel the desire of the woman next door, wishing it was Chris' cock and not her husband's inside her.

Chris watched and knew the husband was getting ready to come. The man next door tensed up and left his cock buried inside his wife while gripping her hips. The man stood there for a moment or two as his cock finished draining then stepped back. The wife stood up and turned and walked past the husband as he stood there breathless, his wet cock swinging in front of him.

Chris was still rock hard and pumping, but stopped in frustration. He let go of his cock and kicked his pants off and sat on the edge of his bed, draining the pint and then passing out.

Chris woke the next morning with a jackhammer in his head. Fucking shit. His head buzzed and ached and his tongue felt like it needed to be shaved.

It had been ages since Chris had drank anything more than a couple of beers and drinking that entire pint of cheap whiskey had taken a heavy toll. Chris knew he had to get up and get moving and get that paper done and some more reading but fucking hell he could not drag his ass out of bed.

He got up long enough to piss and drink about a gallon of water straight from the tap then headed right back and crashed. He lie in bed for hours, drifting off now and then and mostly just feeling like shit. He kept recalling/half dreaming about his last day in Seattle.

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His Uncle Rick had tracked him down. His old roommate Brad had given him Chris' address.

"What are you doing here? I don't want or need anything from any of you. Go back to Montana Uncle Rick. There's nothing for you here." Chris said indignantly, still pissed about the shit show that transpired that morning and his sudden lack of employment. He was going to show his Uncle that he was tough and didn't give a fuck why he may have come looking for him.

"Chris, your dad is dead. You need to come home. He left you a few things." Uncle Rick said, holding back anger. "I don't give a fuck about your life here. I'm not here to preach. I don't expect you to be sad. I know you and Nick had not spoken in a long time. You were both being stubborn shitheads and that is the way shit ended for you. There is some legal shit you need to take care of. So I'm taking you back to get that done and then you can come right back to this shithole and live out your days being bitter or carefree or whatever the fuck it is you want. But do me the courtesy of not giving me any attitude after driving all night to get here and track your dumb ass down!"

The words sunk into to Chris slowly. Dead. His dad was...dead. Chris never thought about his dad actually dying. He had said many times he did not give a fuck whether his dad lived or died, but the words, the reality. It hit Chris hard. He felt his legs go numb. His stomach dropped.

Chris had spent most of his life not giving a fuck. He had fostered and cared for that attitude and very much preferred it to getting hurt or fucked over. Now, standing in the hallway, looking at his Uncle and hearing the words, the truth of it all and the last 13 years since his mother died landed on Chris with full force. He started to cry and leaned up against the wall in the hallway and lost it. He sobbed like a child and could not stop. His uncle put an arm around his shoulder and guided him to the apartment and helped him unlock the door. They went in and Chris packed a small bag while he cried.

The first half of the drive back was almost completely silent. The sound of the engine of the old Ford and the wheels on the asphalt were the only sounds as they drove out of the city and began to pass through the rolling hills and farmland of eastern Washington. They stopped for gas in Chelan and got some food and finally Chris felt like he could speak.

His dad had been drinking himself to death pretty much ever since Chris left. His uncle had tried to get him to rehab but Chris' dad Nick would have none of it. Eventually, Nick lost his job on the county road maintenance crew and had lost the house. He was living in a with his sister, Chris' Aunt Wanda, and selling off most of his possessions. He was driving back to Wanda's from the storage shed he rented and kept the little he had not sold when he ran off the road. He was going about 95 mph when he did and went straight through the windshield, no seat belt being worn at the time.

It was ruled a dui, but Chris' uncle Rick was sure it was suicide. Nick was a drunk and drove drunk often despite being admonished by Wanda and Rick constantly for doing so, but he always wore his seat belt. Rick knew in his heart his brother had killed himself.

There was not much left for Nick to leave for Chris as an inheritance, just the contents of the storage shed. There was no insurance money, since the accident was ruled a dui and that voided the coverage Nick had kept up. Chris needed to empty out the shed, sell the stuff or whatever he desired. Rick would have done it but the will Nick had left was specific and Rick could not legally do it. They had been trying to get ahold of Chris for two months.

"He's been dead for two months?" Chris asked.

"I've been calling and leaving messages ever since it happened. You sure don't like returning calls, do ya? I had to wait for a break in the weather so I could make the drive to Seattle to find you." His uncle replied.

They spent last couple of hours in silence again as they pulled into Aunt Wanda's house. Chris walked up the steps and was met with a back breaking hug from his aunt and the flood gates opened once again.

Chris went with his uncle the next day to his dad's storage unit and opened it up. It was only about half full, once dresser of clothes against a wall, a few boxes stacked on the floor, and in the back the old dilapidated Honda Nighthawk his dad used to ride him around on when he was a kid.