{This is the third chapter in a series of erotic shorts. For a full list of the chapters, and other original Reddit posts, check out the pinned post on my profile u/rvaanonguy1}
March 20, 2022
Dear Diary,
My life has been… complicated and confusing of late. I am having the time of my life, and expressing myself and self-love in ways I’ve never been able to before…
And I feel horrified and guilty about it. I can’t look my husband in the eye. It’s been a whirlwind of a few months, and I’ve been comfortable with the pace Manny and I agreed to, but it just feels so dirty…
But I refuse to believe it’s wrong. Something that feels this fucking good, that makes me feel so empowered and sexy, cannot be wrong.
It has been a while since I’ve written here, but this is the right time. I have to get this down for myself. Someday, I’ll really open up to Brynn. I don’t know what she’ll think, but I doubt she’ll keep her mouth shut. I’ll tell Andy after that, I hope; but I don’t know what he’s thinking right now. He probably thinks I’m having an affair or something. I’m not. Well…
…not really? Kinda? Part of me feels like I am?
Just put it on the page, Tamara.
I think I’m changing careers… Or maybe taking on a second career…
In porn.
Fuck, that was a weight off my chest.
How it started:
I met Manny at work. He came in looking for all sorts of industrial materials: metal piping, lumber and plywood, silicone plastics, electrical and hydraulic equipment, literal nuts and bolts. He didn’t have a contractor’s license, which should have been the end of it right there, but he was persistent. He said he ran an arts and entertainment studio and would be a consistent customer, so my boss approved and I set him up with a membership (after we looked over his licenses and whatnot).
There was nothing extraordinary about him. If anything, he doesn’t seem like the type. He’s bald on top with an olive complexion, and he wears a thin gold chain. The only thing sleazy about him is that he always has an extra button undone with his chest hair showing through. He is so polite, courteous. He calls me “ma’am” in a way that doesn’t make me feel old. Oddly, he never once complimented me on my looks, but he’d notice when I wore a new piece of jewelry or when I cut my hair a few months ago.
He’d be in the sales and supply room once or twice a month, and he’d place an order for a variety of odds and ends. We’d always chat around the office about what he might be building. The running joke was the world’s largest sex dungeon. Or that he’s a serial killer. They’re supposedly so nice before they get caught, you know?
One day, curiosity got the better of me. I asked the delivery team to let me tag along. We used the company card to get him a gift for his business: a fancy branded cooler. I was going to deliver it personally, and see if I could get a tour of the studio. I ended up following them in my car with the cooler.
Man-oh-man was he stressed when we arrived. I mean, he was calm, but he was absolutely worried about something. He was collected, sure, but he was sweaty and constantly looking up the block like a drug dealer trying to get everything flushed before the cops arrived.
The delivery team backed into the short drive and left everything in the garage like they normally do. It was a three-car garage, and the house was a huge, three-story classical looking thing. There were tall privacy hedges on both sides and the fence in front of the drive was gated.
I parked outside the gate along the brick fence so the delivery truck could pull out and I could stay and chat. However, getting that cooler out of my car was an absolute motherfucker. Thankfully, one of the delivery guys saw me struggling and ran over to help.
I don’t think Manny really saw me until we carried that cooler up the driveway towards the open garage door. His smile made my day when he asked what I was doing there. I gave him the cooler and the delivery guys hopped in the truck and pulled away. The gate stayed open and he kept looking back to the open gate while we chatted.
Then a black Mercedes pulled in. It was a few years old, it had a couple scratches on it, and it was blaring dance music. The driver shut off the car and stepped out and walked over to Manny. She was not what I was expecting.
She was young, and the dude she was with seemed… Dumb. Like he didn’t finish high school even though he played varsity football or something. She was pretty, maybe too pretty for the guy. And she looked kinda familiar, like I’d seen her somewhere before. She was dressed normally for someone in her early twenties, but the dude looked like he wanted to look cooler than he was. She apologized profusely for being late. The dude didn’t care. Manny played it off like it was no big deal. He mentioned that she was a prospective performer and was there to tour the sets. When I told him I was hoping for a tour too, but could come back, she interrupted and said that I should tag along. Manny nervously agreed.
The dude looked at me like I was meat or something. He said something about “Attracting more talent is how studios grow.” He then asked me what my name was, I told him it was Tamara. “Interesting choice,” was his response. “Is that Arabic or… Italian? Or…”
“It’s just my name,” I said.
“Bold.” He seemed impressed. The woman clearly understood that I wasn’t what he thought I was. Evidently she could read the company logo on my shirt, whereas, I guess, he could not.
Manny stopped and turned to me before he agreed to let me tag along. “I’m somewhat nervous,” he told me. “I try to keep something of a low profile here.”
“We don’t even know what you buy all this stuff for,” I told him with a laugh.
He looked at me skeptically. “And this won’t have an affect on our business relationship?” he asked. “Knowing the kind of work I do?”
The young woman interrupted. “I’ve worked with Manny before,” she said. “Both of us have,” she pointed to her attendant? Boyfriend? Bodyguard? I didn’t know at the time. “He’s got a great reputation in…” she paused, confirming her suspicions about my milk-toast day-job as a materials saleswoman, “…our industry.” She stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “Sierra Breeze. Or as the real world knows me, Jenny.”
Andy would say that I had a “blonde moment” because it should have dawned on me what kind of “industry” given that I was talking to a “performer” stage-named “Sierra Breeze” showing up to tour an “entertainment studio.” I do wonder how I would have reacted differently if I’d figured it out, but I’m glad I didn’t; I was just excited to make a new friend and see what one of my favorite clients does for a living.
Fun fact: The dude’s stage-name was “Sailor Seman.” HAHAHAHA! That will never not be funny.
I was just so eager to see inside at that point that I know Manny said something to me about what I would see being even more different that I already expected, but I completely glossed over it. Rose assured him I would be fine. “Besides, she’ll be able to get a woman’s perspective on everything too.” At least they didn’t think I was some sort of prude or anything, but I do love how they all thought I knew exactly what was going on.
Future me is going to read this letter to my diary back and think about how innocent I was.
That said, even if I had known it was a porn set, I still wouldn’t have expected what Manny showed Sierra and Sailor… and me.
The three-car garage was the workshop where the “Gadgets” were created. Sailor fiddled with them, seemingly fascinated by the hinges, hydraulics, and springs. Clearly, there were mounts for attachments, but I still hadn’t put two-and-two together. Sierra would ask questions about the power, speed, easy of use, and noise the Gadgets made. I was more interested in Manny’s story.
As we progressed from the garage into the house proper, and Sierra and Sailor chatted behind me, Manny told me a little about his past and how he got into the “entertainment industry.” He’d been a talented robotics engineer who was fired after getting a DUI leaving a work-party. It gave him a shitty reputation in the field he’d spent years studying and working in, and he ended up leaving New England and coming down here. He took the “only job he was offered” building and modifying frames and camera rigs for “the industry.”
“He’s also a complete sweetheart who goes out of his way to make sure that everyone is comfortable with any setups on set,” Sierra added as we walked inside the entryway and then into the living room.
I remember finding it odd that the furniture seemed somewhat small for the space. The living room could have easily fit an eight or ten-person couch, but it was decorated with just one four seater and an arm chair. The furniture was also positioned in a way that felt odd until I saw lights hanging on frames.
I also remember thinking that it was odd that there were cameras. They were set up like security cameras, but they were much fancier than the eagle-eyes keeping watch over your local convenience store. Manny explained their resolutions and frame rates and zooming capabilities. Sierra would inspect the camera and lighting, both natural and artificial, and Manny would explain how it all came together to make the shots perfect. It was all still over my head…
…until Sailor sat down in the armchair, spread his legs, and looked up at the camera. He made a juvenile face and a jacking off motion above his crotch.
Sierra remarked on the cleanliness. “I have an associate clean thoroughly after every scene, and I never shoot more than one per day,” Manny explained.
I WAS ON A PORN SET.
Manny must have seen my eyes grow wide. Sierra looked at me too. Sailor chuckled.
“And we use natural cleaners. No harsh chemicals. Ever,” Manny reassured, but it was directed at me. “We inspect every surface and they are always completely clean and sanitary.”
I didn’t know what to say. Sierra looked at me, gave a sweet looking smile – but not a belittling one, and looked back at Manny. “She didn’t realize you film porn here.” She looked back at me. “I don’t think she’s grossed out… or freaked out. Just surprised?”
I nodded. “More than.” I looked around the living room again, taking it all in. THIS HOUSE WAS A PORN SET. THE WHOLE DAMN THING WAS. The kitchen. The living room. My mind raced. People fucked on that couch, and the camera mounted were the TV could be able to see everything. EVERYTHING. IN DETAIL.
“I hope it’s not in a bad way,” Manny said. “Do you need water? Or to sit down?” He rushed for a director’s chair I hadn’t noticed.
I reassured him that I was completely fine. But now, I was fascinated. My first thought was about work and wondering how everyone would react to this story. I needed to see more. I told him that I would love to continue the tour if they were willing to let me keep tagging along.
Manny checked his watch. “We can do that, sure.” He directed his gaze back to Sierra, and then back to me. “We do exclusively have a closed set for performer comfort,” he said.
Sierra laughed a little and play-slapped Manny’s shoulder. “I fuck on camera for a living, Manny. An audience excites me.”
When she looked at me, it made me more than a little wet. And she fucking knew it. I already knew I wanted to meet her again.
The front door opened and a stoner looking guy walked in, clearly carrying his hangover with him and hiding it behind his huge sunglasses. He waived at Manny and walked to the kitchen with a fancy photography bag.
“I do appreciate that,” Manny said to Sierra, “but I am generally strict on my only-significant-others-on-set rule.” He checked his watch again, “I mention that because the crew is arriving for your shoot and we should probably have you in make-up in 30 minutes. We should keep the tour going.”
Sierra looked back at me agin, “Wanna keep going?” She was absolutely flirting with me.
“Absolutely!” I said. I was probably over-eager, but I was already determined that I would be back to hang out with Manny again.
I’ll write more in my next entry.
Tamara, a.k.a. the soon-to-be-starlet: Rose Wilder
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/12778ve/a_series_of_letters_tamara_1_30f_31m_29f_33m_23f