I Fucked Him Up the Ass (Part 3)

Mr.MusicBiz and I arrive at the seafood restaurant just after 6PM. The restaurant is nearly empty when we arrive and I wonder if it was really at all necessary to have made reservations?

Despite my request to be seated somewhere romantic, the waitress seats us in a corner halfway between the kitchen and the door. Since there was no one else there, I supposed it hardly mattered where we were sitting.

We skip ordering wine and opt for one bottle of still and one bottle of sparking water. For an appetizer we order a dozen oysters. Yum! Not that we need anything else to get us in the mood, but I wanted to make Round 2 even better than round one.

Our conversation ranged from light and superficial, to deep therapy-like moments. Mr.MusicBiz tells me he’s been listening to my podcasts and that he’s very concerned that I want to try cocaine. He warns me in a stark foreboding manner that indicates that perhaps at one time he was addicted to the stuff. I don’t push the question, however. Later in our conversation he does mention a stint in rehab; but even that nowadays seems de rigueur for anyone in the music industry.

He chats frankly and openly about his ex-wife, a star in her own right. I think back several years ago at having bumped elbows with her at an aftershow party in Kentish Town.

He chats about the girl he’s been living with in LA, an actress (of course!). He says they’re both busy and rarely have time for each other ergo rarely have time for sex. That she’s constantly working on a commercial or pilot or something. If it wasn’t for the writers strike they wouldn’t have had sex at all in 2007.

He mentions the kid he has with her. I observe that he talks about his kid with an eerie distance; as if it’s HER kid not his; as if this kid is an accessory to his life not his whole life. And even though being a dad gives him that warm feeling of being grounded and settled, it seems as if he could really give or take the parent thing. He probably wouldn’t even have pets if he could help it. All of that information is neither a surprise nor turn-off to me. What I see before me is a man at a cross roads. I am impressed by his honesty and kindness.

Despite the acclaim, fame and awards he is surprisingly a normal guy, who at his very core wants the following three things:
1. To feel needed.
2. To have a fulfilling sex life.
3. Passion & freedom

The conversation lightens up a bit and we chat about a few names in the music business: Simon Cowell, Amy Winehouse, Stephen Tyler, Lily Allen, etc. Feeling cheeky, I ask him why he’s never tried a strap-on before? He looks to his left, wondering if the guy at the table next to us has heard. He coyly says, “I don’t know.”

“We’ll have to try it out once we get home,” I say.

We finish our dinner. He kindly pays. We head outside and the doorman hails a cab for us.

In the cab ride home, I’m grabbing at his cock the whole way. He sighs in pleasure. He reaches up my skirt and tries to finger me, but my pantyhose are blocking the way. Damn!

I rub his cock even more. He tries not to let on to the cab driver that anything is happening but I think the driver knows. We get dropped in front of my flat. We race upstairs and are excited to get Round 2 started.

Thoughts about the Writers Strike

I’m a writer.

I’m not a member of the Writer’s Guild of America, although I have several scripts stored at the WGA East.

I like that the WGA is trying to put the writers’ best interest at heart.

Let met tell you a bit of my story. I’ve been trying to break into the business since 1996. I’ve been to film school. Some of the people I graduated with are now very successful writers and producers in Hollywood. I don’t begrudge them one bit. I’ve had some minor successes, but as it stands I’m not a Hollywood writer. Nor have I sold my screenplay.

I would give my right arm, my first born, my little doggie and I would go without sex for the foreseeable future all for a shot to write for a TV show. Yes, I want it that badly. So when I see the striking writers claim that they are not being treated fairly, keep in mind that I would take their job heartbeat. And I would not complain about it. In fact I would work twice as hard for even half the money.

The writers should realize that they are in an exclusive ‘club’ that is overwhelming male (and white). This is a club that is not exactly rolling out the red carpet for new members. Ask any would-be writer how easy it is to get your union card?

As I understand it, the chief complaint amongst the writers is that they are not being compensated for online downloads. To a certain degree I can sympathize, but listen, we’re not talking people in bad working conditions. We’re not talking about coal miners working their fingers to the bone. We’re not talking about sweatshops and seamstresses in horrid unclean, unkempt working conditions. We’re not even talking about individuals earning minimum wage. This strike is about wealthy people wanting more wealth. End of.

In that respect I find it extremely difficult to empathize with a group of people who are already extraordinarily privileged. Sure they’re not making as much as the show producers, but they’re all making more than I am!

For every union member, there are ten of us wannabes breathing down their necks. As it stands, I don’t think the writers have a bad deal. It’s just that the producers and networks have it so much better.

If these writers want to be as privileged as the producers, then maybe they should consider going into producing.

Now if you’d like me to write for your TV show, by all means contact my agent Isabel Atherton at Limelight Management.