Temporary Porn Star

Why is it that when life punches you in the stomach, it regularly decides to come in and punch you in the face as you are going down. For me, life decided to get a few kicks in as I hit the ground as well.

I'm speaking figuratively of course, but bloody hell I remember those months for the pile of faecal matter that fate threw in my general direction. By qualification I'm an engineer and was working on a quite significant project in the English Midlands maintaining the Canal system that litters that part of the world.

Thanks to Liz Truss and Kwasi Kwarteng destroying the economy, my mortgage had gone through the roof (one of Kwasi's former bosses had done very well out it mind you; who could possibly have seen that coming?) and diesel fuel for my truck, and food for me was getting stupidly expensive, and most of the nice things I would buy as a weekend treat was now once a month, sometimes in three months.

Thank God for overdrafts; what am I talking about, thank BANK MANAGERS for overdrafts.

I was managing, just about, working on my second two-year contract, and just under halfway through it. I had just returned from a site visit and was wet through from the crappy bloody weather and the rather poor-quality chest waders that the company had bought for me. I had a change of clothes in my car back at the yard of course, getting wet was a bit of an occupational hazard doing what I do, but decided to take all of the kit and our findings back to my desk before I got showered and changed.

My Boss Vince saw me and the young apprentice that was assigned to me walking, or more correctly 'squelching' back to our desk and called me over.

"Ah Jayne," he said with some embarrassment, "I... err..." he looked down and my light blue jeans darkened by the water and my light sweatshirt similarly marked, "I don't suppose you have five minutes do you?"

I looked down at my sopping wet clothes, the young apprentice almost as wet as me, and grimaced.

"Can it wait half an hour while me and Al get dried off and changed?"

Vince looked partway between apologetic and annoyed, "Well, we have someone from head office that wants a chat."

"Make him another cup of tea, it'll take me..."

"I have to head back to London almost straight away Miss Coniston," said the man in the suit, a very strange visage in our rough and tough portacabined empire full of hard hats, yellow jackets and boots, "It'll only take me a few moments to say what I need to," he said, with his nose in the air.

"OK," I said, "Are we doing this here?"

Vince looked at Al the apprentice and suggested that he left the gear on our desk and went and got himself sorted out while I had the chat with the head office fashionista.

"Miss Coniston," said the man, pulling an envelope from his pocket, "My name is Dan Spencer from corporate HR," he straightened, "I'm afraid we are going to have to let you go."

"What?" I spluttered, "Let me go?" I caught my breath, "but I still have 11 months of my contract to go."

"Yes and I think you'll find financial offer more than satisfactory."

"Is it eleven months' salary?"

"Err... Nooooooo," he dragged out, "but it is the going..."

"Pay me the money you're contractually obligated to pay me, that's what I'll consider satisfactory."

"Miss Coniston, as you've no doubt read in the papers, the company has suffered rather, and we have to reduce costs at very short notice."

"Yes but that's because head office salesman signed the firm up for contracts we can't possibly cover without even asking us, perhaps you should get rid of the sales people first," I said. I was starting to get a bit angry now.

The struggling firm that I worked for had been bought by venture capitalists and my colleagues and I had all watched the serious press and listened to the BBC news as they discussed the possible demise of another large public sector contractor that had overstretched their resources, signed us up for work they couldn't possibly complete and after eighteen months of missed deadlines, unstarted works and very flimsy excuses were now racing to reduce the outgoings so the entire rigmarole wouldn't get flushed down the toilet with the rest of the shit.

"Miss Coniston, we could just sack you and make you go through a tribunal to get your money..."

"Jayne please," said Vince, "at least have a look at the amount, you know what these fucking accountants are like, you could end up with nothing."

The man looked slightly upset by being referred to as a 'fucking accountant' but nowhere near as upset as my soon to be former colleagues starting to crowd around him.

"R... ring me..." he stuttered as the big lads I'd worked with over the last three years surrounded him, grunting and grumbling about me being sent on my way. He backed towards the door, tripping over a rigger-boot covered foot that had been extended behind him.

"Oopsie..." said the foot's anonymous owner.

"Now... Now then..." stuttered the fucking accountant.

"Now then what?" said another rigger boot wearer, a huge guy called Glenn, "you got any other notices in your little briefcase."

"Lads please," said Vince the boss stepping in, "We really shouldn't shoot the messenger fellas."

"This isn't just 'the messenger,'," said Ryan, a shorter engineer but still looking just as angry, reading a comb-bound report, "Your name Dan Spencer, yeah?"

The suited accountant stood up, reaching out for the report that had been lifted straight out of the open designer briefcase my letter had come out of.

"G...give that back, it's none of your business." He reached out for it, but Ryan just stepped back and held the report higher so the diminutive head office axeman couldn't snatch it back. Retrieval was made impossible by the four big lads that crowded around Ryan to get a look.

"Here listen Lads!" Ryan shouted to the now fascinated office, "seems like while we are one of the few parts of the organisation making a profit..." he stepped back behind several taller mates as the accountant tried to snatch back his probably damning report, "it seems that we're worth money and the company that are interested in buying us will only do so if we lose a third of our staff, Dan there," he pointed at the now flushed-looking accountant, "suggest that various excuses, and management and HR ploys are used to dispose of staff members as quickly as possible to expedite matters so the transaction can take place as soon as possible."

He handed the report back over his shoulder for another reader to peruse, I understand it was never seen again, accept at the first few industrial tribunals.

Dan Spencer slammed his briefcase shut and hastily departed in some fear.

I looked into the envelope and there was the cheque; OK, it wasn't eleven months' salary and was just under half of that, but the review report made pretty poor reading and listed several people I was mates with who were due to be 'managed out' of the firm by postings away from where they lived, increased workloads and changes in terms and conditions.

The document was scanned and shared widely, along with a covering letter from the Venture Company Vice-Chair supporting Mr Spencer's inciteful and well-measured review, and he was confident that a sufficient profit would be viable.

As a workplace we weren't unionised and while the Chartered Institute was quite handy, I wasn't confident it would take on a fight with the new owners. Vince received a phone call from head office decrying his lack of control, his insulting language about a member of head office staff, demanding return of the report and the names of the staff members that stolen it and assaulted the accountant.

Vince replied that he had been consoling me and had witnessed no assault on anyone, nor had he bad mouthed the stroppy man from head office with a very bad attitude. Mr Spencer had fallen over walking backwards and there were at least twenty professional staff members, four with doctorates, who would swear to that.

He closed by saying he had no idea what had happened to the report that announced that a quarter of his staff faced termination of their employment, many of them by decidedly unfair, possibly even unlawful, means.

I showered, took the cheque and emptied my locker, taking all of the clothing the company had bought for me and some surveying bits and pieces still in my car into the bargain. On reflection that would almost cover my last few months of wages. Nice but nothing I could really 'sell'.

Not being one for exits I tried to sneak out but there were all my mates, and there were lots of hugs and kisses, business cards and mobile number swaps. I held back my tears until I made the motorway.

Mike was my long-term boyfriend, and he lived with me three or four days a week, the rest with his parents, with days away for his work and occasional weekend boys golfing trips.

I rang him hands-free and told him of my sorrows and he said he'd take me out to dinner as he had some news for me.

Much as I had other things on my mind that intrigued me; news?

I got home and booked 'our' restaurant, a really nice place we'd been to many times and was quite romantic. I made an extra effort, putting on my favourite little red dress with pantyhose and a string that matched my dress which was boned and didn't need a bra. I worked hard on my make-up and short light brown hair and looked pretty-bloody-good even though I say so myself.

"Wow!" he said as I stood from our table careful not to spill the glass of wine I'd already started. He on the other hand was wearing a pair of jeans and a polo-shirt, "you've dressed up..."

"Yes," I said, "and you haven't - didn't you think when I said that I'd booked us a table at 'Carmine's on the Pier' that perhaps putting on a pair of trousers might have been appropriate?" The four other couples in the nicely quiet restaurant all looked smartly attired.

He went very quiet and sat down, picking up the glass of wine I poured for him; he put it to his lips then as if the glass was burning him, he put it down again.

"Aah," he said, "Jayne... there's this chat I've been wanting to have with you..."

To narrow it all down, he had been meaning to relocate for a long time now and this was the perfect time - according to him. You see, he had felt that we were moving apart, going in different directions, losing our alignment; he'd noticed that we weren't as 'joined' as we had been.

I asked him what the fuck he was talking about. We slept together two nights before and had pretty much spent the previous weekend in bed screwing each other silly, if that wasn't 'joined' I wasn't sure what would be.

He skirted over that point and came back with his desire to 'move on in an entirely new direction', as a fully trained accounts executive he was seriously thinking of moving to New Zealand or Australia and making the most of his career and the opportunities there.

"And what about me?" I said.

"What about you?" he said, "I said I want to go to New Zealand or Australia..."

"Australia?" I said, "I'm an engineer, I know two old Uni friends that went to work there, we went to one of their leaving parties."

"Y...yes," he said slowly, "Buuut..."

"You want to go to Australia but I can't come with you?"

"Well... like I said, we're losing our..."

"It's that woman from your office isn't it, the Australian girl you've got such a massive crush on? Lily, the girl I couldn't drag you away from at the Christmas party?"

His bottom lip flapped in the guiltiest look I had ever seen from him. Things became rather clear now and I took his lack of response to be some indication that I was right, and this might just be a chance for him to be a bigger man and actually come clean with me.

"Lily is..." he stopped and coughed.

My outburst had been picked up by couples on tables adjacent to ours, he made no eye contact with me and stared at the centre of the table.

"Be honest with me Mike," I said so they could hear better, "You're getting a bit bored with me now and worse still I'm going to be unemployed - you want to bin me by pretending you've been meaning to fly off to the other side of the world all of this time, when in reality you just want to try your luck with the Antipodean blonde with big tits?"

"No... No..." he said with an embarrassed flutter in his voice, then adding some anger as if that might make it all better, "Noooo that's not true at all Jayne!" he snapped.

"Oh fuck off Mike," I said, "You know as well as I do that you're an insurance salesman mate, the Aussies and Kiwi's aren't screaming out for more of those, but you think that might get you into Lily's knickers if you tell her you're newly single and can blame me because we aren't aligned astrologically anymore and I'm losing my job!" I snapped, "You haven't got a chance of getting a work permit for Australia or New Zealand, you know it and I know it!"

I knew that because one of my mates from University had graduated with a 1st in Engineering then a Masters, and the Australian Consulate and immigration department had only given her a visa for a couple of years rather than a full Australian passport to enable her to prove that she had something to give rather than just a job offer and only two years' experience.

The woman on the next table looked at my face, then to the stuttering idiot next to me and her look was thunderous, but Mike took full opportunity to grab my 'fuck off' and turn that into righteous indignation,

"Well!" he stood up quickly almost throwing the seat onto the floor, "if that's how you feel, if you're just going to abuse me then I'm just going to go!" He stuck his nose in the air and stalked off, breaking into a slow trot the closer he got to the door.

I snarled after him and sipped more of my wine.

"Well shot of that twat love," said the older lady at the next table laying a firm hand on mine.

The waiter was very good, and stepped across to me,

"Guessing you probably won't want to eat now miss?" he said.

"Yeah, really not that hungry now."

He handed me a small card and whispered to me,

"Hand this to Pete the barman and he'll sort you something special from the bar menu."

And so I sat in the bar made up to the nines, my sparkly red dress and high heels completely wasted and felt a tiny bit inappropriate for a Wednesday. What the fuck was going to go wrong now?

"Jayne?" said a voice. I put down my glass and looked behind me, "It is you, I'd recognise that face anywhere!"

I stared at the really hot, muscular man stood next to me. He turned to the barman and asked for a Diet Coke, and when he smiled it came to me.

"Doug!" I called out happy to recognise an old friend.

Doug had been a neighbour until his family moved to his grandmother's old house after her death when we were at secondary school. He was in same school year as me (a month or so older than me) and a one-time boyfriend of my younger sister, even though I always thought he had a bit of a crush on me.

At school he was a tiny bit nerdy and had a games console and was 'into computers' and was just 'Doug'.

He had improved over the years and was tall, extremely handsome and fantastically built looking like he worked out, not something that young Dougie would ever have done. Through our school Facebook page we were 'friends' but I hadn't seen him to talk to in many years, since I went off yo university in fact.

"Wow Jayne," he said walking across to me, "you look AMAZING!" he grinned and touched his cheek to mine with one of those kissy moves, "What's the big occasion?"

I couldn't hide my misery anymore,

"Nothing!" I said feeling big tears slip down my made-up cheeks, "I always get this dressed up when I'm getting dumped."

"Dumped?" he looked a bit shocked.

I nodded quickly and just managed to hold back my tears, changing my despair to anger.

"Yeah," I said, "apparently my boyf... my ex-boyfriend only needed me to be made redundant to work out that he really wasn't as in love with me as he thought."

Doug just stared in shocked surprise.

"Dumped?" he said in a higher pitched squeak, "Looking like this!?"

I nodded again,

"Yeah," I said feeling that anger again, just as Doug leaned forward and gave me just the nicest hug.

He smelled and felt divine and I confess that I thought about this amazingly hot guy I was with and how nice it might be to have some revenge sex with him, even though I'd known him since we were both in primary school.

"Well at least let me buy you dinner so all of this gorgeousness doesn't go to waste." Perhaps he had seen and interpreted my rather lustful look.

"...and that's the end of my perfect week Doug," I said sipping my wine as our main course plates were removed, "if I want to keep my house and my leased car I need to get back into employment a bit quick." My Nissan truck was perfect for the work I did and hardly the cheapest drive around.

We were back in the restaurant and I now didn't feel overdressed; he looked like he was going to speak, took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"How much?" I told him what three months billing would cost - the amount of time it had taken me to get my last job. He smiled, "I know a way that you can make that in a shade over a day and a half especially looking like that."

"What?" I was shocked, it couldn't be that easy.

"Day and a half, one if you're what they are looking for."

"Doing what?"

"Acting..." he said exhaling slowly.

"Acting?" I said, then in struck me. "You're talking about porn, aren't you?"

"Yep," he said. He took a deep breath, smiled and looked across at me, "When I'm not modelling for catalogues or magazines, or personal training people I act in the occasional porn film."

I had been doing quite well with the two bottles of wine we'd both shared, but my mouth fell open and I sobered up a bit.

"I'm... I can't do that..." I had an image of my Dad seeing it, or the look I knew that I'd get from my Mum or my sister as soon as I hit the top shelves or went on-line.

"Jayne, we aren't talking Spielberg here. It's just a case of dying your hair, getting so cleverly made up that even your own Mum wouldn't recognise you and shagging some good-looking bloke or two with a couple of people filming you." He raised his eyebrows, "It's the easiest money you'll ever earn."

"But the rest of the world will see me shagging, I'll be strewn across the internet thighs wide open with... with all sorts of things happening to me, I'll never be taken seriously again."

"You have a fake tan, a fake name, fake hair colour, false eyelashes, coloured contact lenses and a couple of temporary tattoos and NO ONE will know it's you I promise you." He grinned, "come back to my place and I'll prove it to you."

After a sweet course, a cocktail and some more banter, I was in a taxi back in his tiny flat where he made coffee and while the machine coughed and spluttered out his favourite dark roast, he played around with his DVD player.

"Here," he said playing with a remote control and flipping through a DVD menu. It went straight to a scene with two men and a woman, she was laid between both on her hands and knees being shafted by one and with the penis of the other in her mouth.

OK, I'll admit I'd seen porn before. The internet is full of it, and I'd watched various bits of pieces of it on my laptop in the privacy of my bedroom at home, at Uni and since at my house - I'd even rubbed a few out when I found particular scenes that interested me; OK, scenes that had turned me on outrageously.

"That's Martina Desire," he said as I watched the drama unfold on the screen, "Or to use her real name Daisy Maguire. She's a nurse at the Critical Care Unit at the Princess Royal Hospital in town. Works out at my gym. That's a wig she's wearing, a well applied fake tan and long nails. I promise you, from watching this movie you'd struggle to pick her out of a line up."