Party Animal
By Gale Stanley
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Party Animal - Gale Stanley
Stanley
Party Animal (Roosters 6)
Gale Stanley
Casey Cox is a porn star legend. Life is a never-ending party and there’s always a hot guy or two willing to play. Then Casey meets the one man who isn’t interested and suddenly it’s a challenge he can’t resist.
Chapter One
I stared at my reflection in the mirror and gave myself an eight out of ten. All those late nights were finally taking a toll. Would I give them up? Hell no! Life was a never-ending party, and the guest list changed every day. I liked it that way. Variety is the spice of life, after all.
But right now, I needed to do damage control. I read somewhere that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. If that was true then my soul must be puffy, wrinkled, and bloodshot. It wasn’t a good look. Thank God for eye drops. A few in each eye made my whites pop. I practiced my sultry green stare in the mirror. Not bad, but the bags had to go. I reached for the Preparation H and applied it liberally. My sister swears by the stuff.
I’d showered and shaved at home, but my hair needed a redo. My trademark look is a messy bedhead, black locks flying every which way. I don’t like to disappoint the fans and it’s easy enough to get the look. It’s all about a good haircut and a few styling tricks, like gel.
I stepped back from the mirror to check out my body. No problems there. Six feet, two inches of lean muscle thanks to an exercise routine that keeps me camera ready. No matter how late I go to bed, I wake up early and use the small gym in my apartment building. A good workout always makes me feel better. Today we were shooting early, so I did a short routine, just long enough to break a sweat and get my blood pumping. Then it was SSME, and I’m not talking kinky sex. Shower, shave, moisturize, enema. I like to be clean for the close-up shots.
Yeah, I bare it all, but it’s all for the sake of art. I’m not kidding. One of my first jobs when I came to LA was as an artist’s model. At first, because of my strict upbringing, I was uncomfortable posing nude, but eventually I realized that the human body is a beautiful thing. It was a liberating experience.
Today, I’ve convinced myself that filming is an art form. There are thousands, maybe millions of guys out there staring at my naked body. What I do prompts an emotional response and gives them pleasure, just like other art forms. Art is in the eye of the beholder, after all. It’s one hell of an ego trip.
Three raps on the door, a reminder that the crew was waiting. I let them wait. I’m the star and every porn director in town was frothing at the mouth to film me. I took my time, and then I slung a towel around my hips and swaggered into the studio. The equipment was set up and the camera crew appeared ready to shoot my scene, the one that would make the video go viral. That thought kicked up my adrenaline.
What the fuck do you do in there besides stare at yourself in the mirror?
The director beckoned me with a crooked finger and a scowl. You’re keeping everybody waiting. Time is money.
I walked over to Max and dropped the towel. My ten-inch prick slapped up hard against my six-pack. You can’t put a time limit on perfection.
Max’s beady eyes bored into mine. Save it for your fan base, princess. I’m not interested.
Liar! I felt my anger rising but tamped it down. No sense ruining my shoot. But the asshole knew I hate being called princess. He started that shit the day he hit on me and I gave him the cold shoulder. The creep told me he had a high-profile movie on the horizon, but I’d have to audition -- a private audition at his house. Nobody loves to fuck more than me, but I’m discriminating. Fifty-something Max, with his beer belly and salt and pepper ponytail, doesn’t do it for me. Besides, I don’t need his