[STEELE] Started At The Bottom Now We Here pt.1 (EOD)
Oct 10, 2018 17:20:13 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz and The King like this
Post by Steele on Oct 10, 2018 17:20:13 GMT -5
June 9th, 2007.
The setting is a dingy office, smoke hangs in the air as a disinterested ceiling fan feebly wafts at the cloud, nudging it lazily to one side as it rotates interminably on.
The office is severely in need of a revamp. The walls are decorated with vast swathes of wood panelling, what little wallpaper there is has long-since yellowed and peeled at the corners. The worn-out carpet has likewise seen better days, a dull and muted patch underneath the desk bearing witness to the thousands of feet that have come and gone over countless years.
Behind the desk sits a balding middle-aged man, a cigarette clamped firmly between his lips. His gaze is fixed on a laptop computer on the desk before him, and there they stay as a knock comes from the door.
The Man: It's open.
Slowly the door opened, and a young man walked into the office, closing the door behind him.
The Man: Come in, take a seat, let's get you signed up.
The man behind the desk spoke with a disinterested tone, still unflinchingly glued to his screen. The young man's eyes darted around the room, taking in the ramshackle facility. He had expected this place to be a lot more modern.
The Man: Alright kid, what's your name?
The young man slowly strode across the threadbare carpet and pulled out the vacant seat at the desk. Still taken aback by the office's appearance, he almost neglected to answer the other man.
Richard: Uh... Richard. Richard Jackson.
The Man: Great, great. My name's Marty.
Marty held out his hand towards Richard, who took hold of it and shook it vigorously. For the first time since Richard had arrived, Marty's eyes left the laptop screen and slowly trailed across the table and to the handshake. He looked at Richard's hand holding onto his own like it was something from an alien planet, before looking up at the young man.
Marty: I need to see some ID, kid.
Richard: Oh. Right, yeah.
Richard pulled his hand away and immediately reached into the pocket of his jeans for his driver's license. He handed it over to Marty, who spent a good few moments eyeing the card.
Marty: Huh. Eighteen today? Listen kid, do you know how many guys I see signing up on their eighteenth birthday because they think they're gonna make bank fucking hot chicks?
Richard: Uh... a lot?
Marty nodded.
Marty: I see 'em every day. Now I'm gonna shoot straight with you kid... ninety-nine-point-nine per cent of those guys, well they got a kind of "either/or" situation going on, you dig? Male stars ain't as much in demand as the females - there's a million-and-one guys out there that can do the job, yeah?
Richard nodded with a slow uncertainty.
Marty: So don't get your hopes up of being a big star or nothing, right?
Marty looked up at Richard, this time taking the opportunity to get a good look at him. Richard stood a couple inches over six feet tall and looked to weight somewhere in the region of 210 pounds with a generously athletic build. Marty cocked an eye at him.
Marty: Although, you know what? I can see you going places, kid. You look pretty cut. You play football or something?
Richard shook his head.
Richard: No, I played hockey in High School but I mostly just work out. Wanted to... well, make a good impression, you know?
Marty: Yeah, I can see that. I can totally see that. You've got the sorta look that sells videos, you know what I'm saying?
Richard nodded. He couldn't accurately gauge Marty's truthfulness. He wondered if he truly was as special as Marty seemed to be making out, or whether this was some pre-rehearsed spiel that the producer fed every hopeful young man who came through the door. Marty leaned back in his chair and gave Richard a good look up and down. His face flickered through a slew of expressions, as he seemed to be sizing the young man up.
Marty: Alright. Let's see the goods.
Richard: Goods?
What, was this a drug deal now or something? Marty raised an eyebrow.
Marty: Uh... yeah? Your tools of the trade...
Richard: I...
Richard was lost for a moment, before he finally twigged.
Richard: Oh... you wanna see my...
He cast his eyes down towards his goods. Marty nodded.
Richard: You actually want me to...
Marty: Look kid, if you've got a baby dick then we can put you in some sort of fetish flick. But I can't cast no porn star who's embarrassed to take out his unit at all...
Richard: Uh, yeah. Good point.
Richard awkwardly began to get undressed for the producer. As soon as his boxers came off, Marty's eyes widened.
Marty: Sweet Jesus! Christ kid, I'm gonna have to buy wider-angle lenses just to get it all in!
Richard: It's alright?
Marty: Is the Pope a catholic? I can definitely sell this, and you can make a lot of money at the same time!
Richard beamed. This time around, he could sense that Marty meant it.
Marty: Alright, so here's the deal. I got a shoot coming up in two days and I need someone to step in, kinda last-minute like.
Richard: Wow, really? Shit, sign me up!
Marty slapped the surface of his desk and pointed a finger at Richard.
Marty: Great enthusiasm, kid, I love you already! You just saved me a ton of money! Alright, lemme get the paperwork printed out real quick and we'll have you signed up and ready to go in no time.
TWO DAYS LATER
Richard: So... where are the girls?
Richard stood on the set of his first-ever porn film as he watched the cast and crew milling about, some polo-shirted techs were making final adjustments to the lighting and cameras, muscular men were lathering themselves up with baby oil.
Richard felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned, coming face-to-face with the man who had greeted him at the gate and escorted him on to the set, a tall thirty-something blond man named Johnny.
Johnny: Dude, there are no girls.
Richard's eyes narrowed.
Richard: What do you mean, "There are no girls?"
Johnny: Well... I mean... there aren't any. This is it. Just us guys.
Richard: The f- no, no, no, there's gotta be some mistake! I didn't sign up for this!
Johnny: Well sure you did, otherwise... why are you even here?
Richard: I signed up to fuck girls!
Johnny: Well shit man, we all did!
Richard: Then why are there no girls!?
Johnny looked around uncomfortably, before turning back towards Richard.
Johnny: I don't know what to tell you, man. You read the contract for the shoot, right?
Richard: No! Shit! No I didn't read it!
Johnny: Wow man, that sucks.
Richard: Fuck! That rat-bastard Marty lied to me!
Johnny: Oh, him? Yeah, he lies to everybody. That's how he got me. Told me that he'd make me the biggest star in the business, all that crap.
Richard: Jesus... then why are you still working for him?
Johnny chuckled and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
Johnny: Money, bro. Marty may have been lying through his teeth when he said I'd be a household name but he wasn't kidding when he said I could make some serious money doing this shit.
Richard: How... how much money?
Johnny: You really didn't read that contract of yours, did you?
Richard shook his head.
Johnny: This gig pays a lot better than the straight stuff ever would, or at least it does for me. Nobody's paying to see you when they buy a regular movie so the studio pays guys peanuts. If you aren't one of the handful of guys who do have a name, if you wanna make some real green then you gotta do gay-for-pay.
Richard: Fuck that.
Johnny: Quit if you want. But I guarantee you, you won't find a straight job that pays you anywhere near as good as this does.
Richard: I'm not that desperate, man. I'm out.
Johnny: Just hear me out. Take a look at your contract.
Richard stood his ground, but eventually relented. Throwing his bag down to the floor, he unzipped it and pulled out the crumpled up copy of his contract that he'd signed two days previously. He flipped the first page over and scanned down the second for his pay. When he spotted it, his eyes grew wide.
Richard: What the-
Johnny: Not bad, huh? And knowing Marty, you're still getting stiffed. You can earn way more than that once you've got a couple of movies under your belt.
Richard looked up at Johnny with a look of disbelief.
Richard: You're full of it.
Johnny: Truth, man. Where else are you gonna earn that much for a few hours work without getting yourself a college degree?
Richard: Maybe I could use that money, but... it's gay porn...
Johnny shrugged his shoulders.
Johnny: Don't look at it as sex, just look at it like you would any other job. I'd rather get fucked by Trent over there and make bank over getting fucked by some suit in a boardroom and make nothing.
Richard felt the gears in his mind turning as he considered his options, trying to calculate how long it would take him to make his name.
Richard: So... let's say I do make a name for myself. Does anyone ever make the jump across to straight stuff and, you know, succeed?
Johnny thought for a moment.
Johnny: Sure, it happens, but... it's pretty unlikely you'll ever make more money over there than you do here. you build a name here and you're set, man. Don't forget, nobody's buying straight porn to see your dick. Unless you're Ron Jeremy or something, you'll always be second, third, fourth on the bill behind all the girls.
Richard shook his head again. This time, he had a self-assured half-smile on his face.
Richard: Nuh-uh. Not me. I'm not gonna be playing second fiddle to anybody.
Fixing Johnny in the eye, he continued;
Richard: Johnny... I'm gonna prove you wrong. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's sticking to my guns and I promise you right now that within three years I'll be the one calling the shots! I can't say I'm looking forward to this but if this is what I've gotta do to get my foot in the door then by God, I'm gonna make it work or die trying!
ELEVEN YEARS LATER
Jackson Steele stood alone in the recreation room of his opulent home in Ontario, Canada, hands clasped behind his back as he silently cast an eye over the culmination of a previous life's work.
Stretching the entire height and breadth of one of the huge walls were rows and rows of shelves, each one groaning under the weight of thousands of DVD cases, each DVD bearing his image front and center on the cover.
Jackson's repose was broken by the soft creaking of a door opening behind him, and he turned towards the sound. Danny Boy Davis, one of his two private bodyguards, leaned his head round the door.
Danny: You alright Boss? You've been in here for ages.
Jackson turned back to face his DVD collection.
Jackson: I've just been thinking Danny, that's all.
"Did it hurt?" Danny thought to himself. He wisely chose not to voice his question.
Danny: 'Bout what? Something bothering you?
Jackson: Nothing's bothering me Danny, no. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Jackson raised a hand, indicating the huge array of DVDs on the shelves.
Jackson: All of this... it might never have happened if I'd gone with my gut and walked out of the studio on my first day. It's crazy, isn't it, how different things could have been because of some seemingly-minor choice way back when. If I'd packed up and gone home there and then I might just be some faceless worker ant scurrying about an office or a grocery store working for the man right now...
Danny: Yeah... sounds about right...
Jackson: ...but here I am. Rich, famous, successful. I made a promise to somebody on my first day in the business that within three years I'd be a mega star and I lived up to that promise, in record time too. I made a promise to Felix Ziko that I'd put AWF on the map and just over a year later here I am, a two-time world champion and End Of Days tournament winner.
Jackson paused and Danny nodded in agreement.
Jackson: You know, when I made the jump to professional wrestling, people thought I was crazy. Hell, I thought I was crazy. But I'd already dominated the porn business, what else was there to do? Just like that first fateful day when I had to swallow my pride and get stuck in and do whatever it took to make it work, I had to reset, go back to the bottom of the pile and do it all over again. I could have stayed in my comfortable little niche forever, instead, I rolled the dice and it payed off handsomely for me.
I learned pretty quickly that I get the best results when my back's up against the wall, when I'm out of my comfort zone. You ever wonder why I never cashed in my X-Crown Title shot in a one-on-one match?
As it happened, Danny had wondered this before. Why did Jackson seem so content to hang onto his Title Shot, waiting until the last possible moment to cash it in? In a multi-man match, to boot?
Jackson: Because of these simple life lessons that I learned the hard way, that the hard way is the best way. You don't know how many times I wanted to cash my shot in on an episode of Prestige or Anonymous TV, to call the champ out and go one-on-one with them, just the two of us with nobody else to get involved. But just like that first day in the studio I learned to suppress my gut instinct and tell myself that the payoff would be all the sweeter if I waited.
Danny: So you reckon you've got a better chance of winning this Annihilation Complex match than you would a regular match? Sounds crazy if you ask me, Boss.
Jackson: Well luckily Danny, I didn't ask you. I don't pay you to answer questions.
Danny just shrugged. Jackson took a deep breath and exhaled. He could feel the adrenaline rush through him as he thought about the possibility - no, the certainty, in his mind - of his life's work being completed by winning the X-Crown Championship.
Jackson: No, Danny. This is it. When I went out into the big wide world, I did so with one goal in mind and that was to make it. It wasn't pretty, and I had to bite and claw and scratch my way to the top but I made it. And since I'd already done it once I knew that I could do it again. I came into this business as a nobody, ridiculed, written off. Now I stand on the brink of greatness, just one victory away from immortality.
I started at the bottom, now I'm here.
And I'm ready.