Kinky Wazoo

Argus Marks

Description

Cory Sweeney is a young man with a family connection to an ancient secret practice known as the Taboo Act-- which leads him to an interesting new job, ceremonial performances, and revelations about his past, including a special reunion and an unlikely inheritance.

Sujets

• Erotic literature
• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 25 février 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783332991
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
KINKY WAZOO

By
Argus Marks



Publisher Information
Kinky Wazoo Published in 2014 by
House of Erotica
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
An imprint of Andrews UK Limited
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Copyright © Argus Marks 2014
The right of Argus Marks to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
New authors welcome



Book 1
The Damsel’s Due
Chapter 1
Rinse Do.
Cory found that brief message amusing, once he figured out what it meant. Maxine wasn’t reminding herself to wash her hair, obviously, since she surely wouldn’t be emailing him about it. It was a pun instead, he believed; three days earlier, she’d used the phrase Rent’s Due to express her intended meaning, so he understood exactly what she was presently referring to.
It’ll take 2 days, he responded, as a dare. Sat and Sun?
Time & ½? she wrote back.
He considered it. Sure , he replied. Donde?
? she wrote back.
Where?
YP , she replied. ODD?
He had to assume that YP meant Your Place . After a moment, he decided that ODD (since it was capitalized) was an abbreviation for Okey-Dokey, Dominokey , based on the list of unusual phrases he’d heard her use. Either that or Okay, Done Deal .
Fine , he wrote back, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.
He’d never paid for it before he met her, but that was a special occasion because of a specific circumstance. If all went as intended, she would receive more than money, and she would have to work very hard for whatever she did earn.
He’d been introduced to Maxine by a mutual acquaintance named GiGi Adams, surprisingly, at a premiere party where he was the last one to arrive. That was often the case, since he was usually responsible for shutting off the lights and locking up the playhouse when a show was over. He had copies of keys to at least three different such venues, after working on productions all over town, which meant he was the one who got called if a cast was locked out of their performing space. Luckily, he lived not far away.
In fact, he considered just going home and skipping that party altogether. According to the playbill, he was the stage manager for that show, but that was merely a title; they had their own show runner who was handling the cues, props, and other details, while he was employed by the playhouse itself to assist with any last-minute requirements or changes. He probably wouldn’t attend every performance of the run for that reason, and he had a stack of scripts for upcoming productions on his coffee table to be reviewed for staging ideas and technical challenges. But that spectacle was being put on by GiGi Adams, the grande dame of the local theater scene, and he always enjoyed seeing her.
He arrived alone, fortunate not to be acting as escort for one of those actresses who dared not show up stag to such an affair or serving as beard for the flighty young girl in the cast who was foolish enough to have gotten involved with the very married director. She’d wound up on the arm of the male lead, who was desperate to convince everyone that he was not gay, though the rest of his fellow performers had already decided the opposite. (As one crew member was overheard to say, when asked for evidence of the actor’s preference: “On the last day of Christmas, when my true love brought me twelve lords a-leaping, he was one of ’em.”)
The great GiGi Adams - Mrs. Adams, to most - was the center of attention, as usual. She was a lady in the truest sense of the word - a figure of great respect in that realm over which she reigned. She’d been an actress in her youth, who’d even appeared in walk-on parts in a few old B-movies, though her first love was the stage. She’d been on Broadway for a dozen shows, mostly in the chorus, before marrying well (several times) and returning home to settle down. She’d become critic, advisor, producer, and director of numerous regional projects and touring companies, drawn out of semi-retirement to offer her name and counsel to the next generation of performers. That was where Cory had developed an ongoing friendship with her, since he also had multiple connections to that scene, which included stage management, technical direction, and criticism.
GiGi presented Maxine as an “aspiring actress”, but (based on the girl’s appearance and demeanor) he had his doubts, since she didn’t seem the type. She was pale-skinned and solidly-built, with a blonde boyish haircut and the look and accent of a country bumpkin. She probably could’ve played Frankie in Member of the Wedding quite convincingly, in fact, if she hadn’t been so buxom. The two of them didn’t exactly hit it off; she was a woman of few words, and he had no gift for small talk. It was after the second round of champagne (to celebrate a show that’d been much better in the rehearsals he’d caught) that she felt comfortable enough to utter more than two words, and what she did say wasn’t what he’d been expecting.
“I don’t know if Miz A told ya or not, but I’m a starvin’ actress with bills to pay,” she said, “so I accept donations to cover my rent.”
He was intrigued, unless it was just the one drink he’d enjoyed that enhanced his curiosity. “How much is your rent?” he asked.
She actually batted her eyes. “Six hundred,” she replied.
It was too much for a girl who was no drop-dead beauty queen, he thought, unless she had some special skills that made her worth every penny. What she said then surprised him even more than her original less-than-subtle offer.
“I’m s’posed to ask ya about somethin’ called the Kinky Wazoo,” she added.
He was glad they were off in a corner where no one could overhear, since that particular subject was highly confidential.
“Who told you to ask that ?” he replied. “And do you even know what it is?”
She shrugged. “It’s a secret,” she said. “And it don’t matter, ‘cause there’s almost nothin’ I won’t do for the price.”
That remained to be seen. He still wasn’t satisfied by her answer, no matter how provocative, though. The term she’d misidentified was actually Kinkiwaza , allegedly from the Japanese for “Taboo Act”, after all. From what he knew, he might’ve been one of only a handful of people in the world who knew anything about its correct components and proper technique. He’d learned about it during college, though not as part of any approved curriculum, of course. The means and method of his education in that artform had been quite memorable, needless to say. But like other more traditional subjects he’d studied, he hadn’t seen fit to put it to use in his daily life as yet. He could only imagine a few people who knew about his familiarity with it, one of whom had died not long ago. Maxine wouldn’t say anything more, though.
He made no commitments but gave her his email address, assuming she wouldn’t have the nerve to contact him. But three days later, he received her first such brief message.
Rent’s due. Give me a holler. Maxine.
He couldn’t deny that she had a certain undefined appeal, and he had the money to spare. The idea of performing that sacred rite again was also very tempting, but he chose not to respond at first. Then he received that next message with the alternate spelling of her clever tag line. He’d asked for two days for the price of one, and she’d coaxed a bit more from him - with the added benefit of home-field advantage, he supposed. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, though, and he was still suspicious of her motives. It wasn’t the end of the month, when rents were usually due, for one thing. Which made him wonder what she might’ve needed the money for, beyond regular expenses.
She sent another email on Friday, as a kind of confirmation.
Crib? she asked, which he assumed was a request for his address. He provided it, despite his nagging doubts about that arrangement.
Make a list of what ya like , she wrote back, as her version of a tease.
She was amusing, at least, he thought.
***
Cory Sweeney had been born with the heart (if not the natural talent) of an artist - but delivered to the wrong doorstep, he believed.
He’d met a few others like him in his chosen field. Theater people, for the most part, either came from creative clans where they carried on the tradition or they were rebels from families of squares or jocks who performed to get the attention denied them. The rest were either untethered chameleons or borderline schizophrenics, but they were generally the exceptions. He fit the second category, since his father was an actuary - a job Cory had never even understood - and his mother a tax accountant. They lived to fill in little boxes with the correct figures, and their idea of art was in following straight lines or finding ingenious ways to get around the written rules on rare occasions. His older sister had married young to an insurance man and started having babies, and Cory was convinced she would stop at precisely 2.3 offspring, to fit the latest national average. They were the definition of normal, in other words.
Cory took after his father’s brother, his Uncle Neil, who’d been the (so-called) black sheep of the previous generation. Neil had been a carefree jack-of-all-trades and speculator, in a family where nobody would flip a coin without calculating the odds first. He’d turned a thin bankroll i