Title: Paris Chick
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob ("real" life); m/f, f/f action (on their 
television screen)
Rating: Considering if I'm not plotting a sex scene, I'm describing a 
porn film. NC-17. Graphic language, graphic sexual description, 
homosexuality, heterosexuality, bisexuality, lesbianism. Drugs and 
alcohol to round everything out.
Status: New
Archive: The traditional places. If you don't know what the 
traditional places are, you might want to write and ask. And here's 
how:
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: Yes, this may be read as Kel trying to convince 
herself to sequel something, but please. I only wrote this out of 
utter baffled frustration; what am I going to do, rent *more* Andrew 
Blake disasters for the second one? Ick.
Disclaimers: Kevin Smith owns the world, or at least, most of the 
parts of it I slash. I own nothing but the febrile ideas that 
stagger drunkenly through my brain. I make nothing from this. Sad; 
I'd love a money-generating hobby right now.
Notes: This sprang from two strange and divergent impetus�impetii�
impetusses? First, the line that's been going through my head this 
evening: "Whoa, get your dick off my hand, dude." Had to write a 
story that had that line in it. And secondly, my landlady loaned me 
a porn film. She is a wonderful and intelligent woman, a joy in my 
life as well as her own, but she has odd and curious, occasional 
blind spots. F'rinstance, this film. Friend of hers gave it to her 
and she wasn't crazed on it. Normally, she's a big girl-on-girl 
girl, but this film..this languid, drifting, Vogue-shoot-that-got-out-
of-hand film featured barely any, and by that I nearly mean *NO*, 
below-the-waist action. Seriously. Okay, there is penetration. 
There are toys. There are fingers. But let's be blunt and honest: 
in the Andrew Blake film, "Paris Chic", there are, maybe, *three* 
instances of cunnilingus. In a girl-on-girl feature. And one of 
those is with a guy/girl pairing. What the fuck?
And she and I both tend to agree, if you're filming an even 
marginally lesbian piece, you GOTTA have SOMEONE go down, or what's 
the friggin' point?
That's another thing. For the couple days she's been talking about 
this, she's been calling this film "Paris Chick". That's the blind 
spot. She handed me the box tonight, and I immediately said, "Oh, 
it's Paris *Chic*," and she glared at me.
Summary: Jay gets frustrated with a porn film, and unexpected things 
happen.
Warnings: Don't see this film. In fact, for the most part, don't 
rent *any* Andrew Blake features. Really. They're all either 
extraordinarily boring, or kind of stupid. I can't recall if "Latex" 
is a Blake film or not, but if it is, it's the *one* exception. And 
then, the usual--homosexuality, bisexuality, heterosexuality, 
lesbianism, drugs, alcohol, stoner sex. Something to offend 
everyone. Bad bondage scenes and bad wigs and way too many pearl 
necklaces.
Dedication: For Joy, the Wise and Powerful. (I have to say these 
things. I'm now ribbing her in public about her pronunciation 
skills, and I'm masochistic enough to print out this story and hand 
it her to at some point, and she *is* after all, my landlady. She 
can kick me in the butt if I get out of hand, or threaten me with 
eviction, or shut off our water without warning, and that's if she's 
*not* thinking up devious ways to get me back. That's part of why I 
like her, after all--she's another merry rebel whose mind thinks 
around corners. Plus, she knows where I sleep. There's a certain 
amount of implied trust in that.)
This now concludes our intro, the longest in Kel recorded history. 
We now return you to our story, already in progress.

"Paris Chick"
by Kelandris

The whine of a VCR on fast-forward filled the smoky apartment air. 
Bob passed the joint to Jay and leaned back into the couch. Eyebrows 
raising, he watched the figures on the tv spank each other and roll 
around on satin sheets. It looked like normal speed to him; the 
action in the previews must *really* be slow. Finally, the opening 
credits rolled, and Jay sat back, sighing in satisfaction.

"Ah yeah," he muttered. "Bring it fucking on."

Dreamy pseudojazz filled the air, and tiny credits in little bars 
filled the screen, behind which was seen a black-and-white slow-
moving picture of a girl, a bed, and a room. It was just about that 
entertaining, too. She nearly played with herself once, then got 
distracted or something. And she rolled around a few times, exposing 
certainly shapely calves, nice tits, but nothing to go into spasm 
over. Once a glimpse of silver chain was seen pulling through her 
pussy lips, and that was nice to look at,. But not much more than 
that.

Jay sighed, hitting the fast forward button again. When he returned 
to play, a badly-accented Italian voice filled the air. It seemed to 
be attached to the woman who was struggling to keep her 17th century 
powdered wig on. Bob blinked rapidly, and Jay leaned forward, mouth 
dropping open.

"What the fuck is *this* shit?" he asked wonderingly. He bore it for 
a few moments, then, shaking his head, hit the fast forward. He 
looked over, saw the outstretched joint, and took it, puffing it down 
to ash.

"Roll another, Lunchbox. I'm hopin' this gets *good*..."

Bob turned his attention to rolling two more joints, fat ones, 
tucking one behind his ear as he lit the second one. He inhaled 
deeply, holding in the smoke, before looking up, coughing it all out 
as he saw what was on the screen.

Last he'd seen, the girl who seemed the focus of the film was on her 
back on a satin-draped bed. The wig hadn't been that much of a 
problem. Now it was--she'd gone down on her knees, licking the guy 
in the blindfold, the wig nearly bobbing off her head. He had to 
admit, she had some lovely tongue moves, but the wig thing�It just 
looked stupid.

"When we get to the good shit, man?" Jay wailed. Bob shrugged, 
staring at him, then pointed back at the screen. She now sat 
straddling the blindfolded man, facing away from him and bouncing up 
and down on his cock.

"Yeah, that's it, slide it in that puss�Oh, fuck man, don't *bounce* 
like that, shit..." He pointed in disgust at the screen. "Do these 
guys even know how fuckin' *stupid* that shit looks? She's leanin' 
too far over, and her tits are all bouncing to the left, not up and 
down�That's fuckin'...what the fuck?"

He hit the fast forward again, muttering about stupid fuckers making 
stupid porn films. He stopped when he saw cars moving over a bridge.

Jay blinked several times as the blonde woman, now out of the 
wobbling white wig, sat in a sportscar and opened a little box. A 
black collar rested on white silk. Jay's smile grew wide.

"Yeah, some bondage action! All right!"

But moments later he was leaning forward again, mouth gaping open.

"What, she wants to take her model for a walk? What *is* this shit? 
And do these sluts *ever* close their mouths when they kiss? Shit, 
that's so..."

Bob looked at him. Jay looked back, defensive and pouting, taking 
the joint from his outstretched hand.

"Well, what? Like that shit makes you hot. You fucking tell me 
that's hot, walkin' some slut on a sidewalk, *slowly*, then gettin' 
back in the fuckin' car! And divin' on someone's face with your jaws 
wide open! Shit, man, you gotta tease a little, suck on their lips, 
slide your tongue inside like it's found the back door by accident. 
Not like it's some half-a-fuckin'-cow hangin' from a fuckin' hook, 
man! Shit, I'd rather be slapped in the ass by a fish."

Bob blinked, eyebrows nearly lost in his hairline as he looked at Jay.

"What? Fuck you, man. It was on Stern!"

**Being beaten with fish was on Howard Stern,** Bob thought, 
incredulous.

"Fuck lot *you* know. Some chick on the show wanted to meet Manson, 
and Howard tol' her, okay, either you leave an' you don't getta meet 
him, or I slap your ass with this dead fish, and you meet him wearin' 
the thong and the fishy butt. It was fucked up."

Bob shook his head, grabbing his beer from the coffee table and 
taking a swallow.

"Manson looked hot, though."

Bob nearly spit the beer all over the carpet in shock. His head 
swiveled back to Jay, blinking rapidly at him.

Jay just scowled.

"Oh, what, I'm s'posed to read Morse fucking code now? Stop fuckin' 
blinkin' like that. I can say he looked hot."

Bob watched for a moment, then turned back towards the film. The 
boring grey sameness captured him again, and he goggled at it some 
more. He really had no idea what was going on. He had this vague 
notion it might not be a porn film at all, but some auteur's European 
art film.

Jay hit the fast-forward again, and they passed the joint back and 
forth companionably for a bit, then Jay perked up once more. He 
pressed play and smiled.

"Okay, girl on girl shit, yeah..." He unzipped his pants, flipping 
his cock out and rapidly curling his fingers on it. With a 
complicated move, Bob unzipped his pants as well, uncoiling the 
python and watching Jay's hands more than the film. Thus, he was 
prepared when Jay's hands stopped and he turned to face Bob.

"What the fuck *is* this? No one's goin' down! No one! Shit, these 
sluts are alone now, and check out the dark-haired one, she's just 
cranin' her ass over, humpin' that chick's leg, and...and..." He 
looked back at the film, waving his hands in stupefaction.

"And what the fuck're they doin' on the fuckin' *couch*? Shit, just 
flip her over and dive on that muff, babe! Or fuck, keep on bendin' 
her over, get a fine strap-on and give her some serious rubber bone, 
yeah?" He shook his head in disgust. "But no, fuck no, she gotta 
bend the girl halfway over, *then* slide her fuckin' hands around, 
and that shit's *gotta* be givin' `em both cramps, man!"

His hands returned to his dick when the photo shoot segment came up, 
and Bob returned his hands to happy work, but both men slowed, and 
eventually stopped, blinking their eyes in disbelief.

Added to the arthouse pseudojazz was a neotribal blend of animal 
sounds and women moaning. It was somewhat akin to watching a tiger 
drown in sugar syrup, but somehow less entertaining. And now, the 
four characters in the scene were occupying three separate chairs.

"Man, I do not *get* this shit," Jay whispered. "I mean, that Nazi 
couple's kinda creepy, but fuck, three girls and a guy, that could be 
fun. Hells, they could all pounce on `im, mouth on `im, hands 
everywhere, nearly everybody's got tits to suck on...But no, chick's 
in the chair watchin' her girl across the room, that other chick's 
making out with a fuckin' *vibe*--a *gold* vibe, no less, check that 
shit--and she still looks like they ain't lowered the Thorazine 
dosage yet. An' them other two are the only ones gettin' in on, and 
fuck, Bob, I'd rather they had their fuckin' clothes back on. Shit."

Bob looked over, shaking his head. It was true. The man was nothing 
special, but the woman...her belly was so flat, it was nearly 
*concave*. And the tendons on her thighs as she sat astride her 
mate, legs spread, were as thick as ship's cable. Real fucking 
attractive.

Then Bob's mouth gaped open.

**What the fuck...?**

The man onscreen had grabbed his dick, and was pulling it out of the 
woman. Then he thrust back in. Then he pulled himself out. Each 
time the camera would focus longer on her barely lubricated, barely 
attractive, wide-open channel, and for the life of him, Bob couldn't 
figure out why. The whole scene was fucked up, but this now moved 
the film into the realm of literal *anti-porn*.

Jay groaned and hit the fast forward again.

"Shit, Bob, I blew it, I listened to that fuckin' clerk at the Stop, 
and now we're fucked, we're totally fucked, I bet he's laughin' his 
ass off right now. Oh, man.."

He held the button down, still groaning, until he saw the blonde 
woman again, dressed in a zebra-stripe dress. He hit play and she 
said something in her incredibly bad accent about going to a party.

"Sex party, yeah!" cried Jay. Then he watched in horror as the two 
women walked into an empty house.

"What the *fuck*, man?" Jay watched as the pair went from large 
empty room to large empty room. Along the way they encountered maybe 
six other people, total--what looked like four other girls, a guy in 
a business suit, and a post-op with red hair and a muscled back.

The only thing that Jay seemed even mildly interested in was when the 
dark-haired chick pulled the man in the business suit over to the 
couch, and spread the blonde chick's legs, pulling the zebra dress 
aside. And they both dove on her, as far as this film had anyone 
dive on anything. They both slapped her tits for a while, then his 
fingers moved to her pussy, pistoning in and out like she'd run away 
at any moment.

Jay stared for a moment, caught up in the onscreen action, then shook 
his head vigorously, looking away.

"An' what's with all the fuckin' tit-spankin', *shit*!" Jay cried 
out. "Man, I been knocked *out* before for grabbin' tit, but this 
bitch is bangin' on `em like that's what you're s'pos'ta do an' 
shit! Fuck that, man, chicks kill you for that shit. I know."

Grumbling, he shook his head.

"An', shit, this is getting' depressing. Man, I could put out the 
call I'm fuckin' you in our livin' room and I'd pull in more of a 
crowd. Shit, these people must not have *any* fuckin' friends."


Bob's hand clenched almost painfully on his cock when that image 
flashed through his brain--Bob bending the blond over, parting his 
ass cheeks, lubing him up until he dripped and shoving himself 
inside, impaling him on his meat, waiting until Jay begged him to 
take him, take him *hard*, *harder*, *HARDER*--

He blinked, shaking his head, seeing that Jay was fast forwarding 
again.

Or maybe it would be Jay behind him, feeling all that long, glorious 
blond hair sweeping up his sides, up his spine, maybe grazing the 
back of his neck--ooh, fine shivery sensations, even thinking about 
it--and then waiting as Jay slid finger after finger inside him, 
opening him up, finally sliding his long, narrow inside him--

His hand clenched again, and he slowly unclenched it, breathing 
hard. He flicked his eyes to Jay's crotch. He was stroking his cock 
again, breath speeding up. His eyes flicked to the screen.

Ooh. Nice corset. But she wasn't doing anything else other than sit 
in that nice corset. The blonde woman was licking her nylons--Bob's 
lip curled back as he shook his head, but hey, he wanted his 
homophobic stoner roommate, so it did take *all* fucking kinds--and 
another girl stood next to them. While the dark-haired woman, 
looking bored, slapped her tits. What was with the tit-slapping?

He must have said something aloud, because Jay nodded his head 
fiercely, agreeing.

"Yeah, and when's she gonna get fed up and throw that bitch's legs 
open, and fuckin' eat her out, man? I been waitin' this entire 
fucking film for...man, this is so fuckin' lame."

He hit the fast forward again, at the same time inching a little 
closer to Bob.

"Need more pot, Bob," he said soberly. Bob reached for the second 
joint, lighting it and handing it over. Jay watched between the bars 
of signal static, and stopped when he saw cock.

"Oh, shit. The Nazi couple's back. Why the fuck we wanna see them 
again, Lunchbox?"

Jay just shook his head, fast forwarding again. And then he pointed 
the joint at the screen, gesturing wildly.

"Fuck! We finally see some rug bein' munched an' it's the fuckin' 
Nazi chick! Man, this film *bites*!"

Fast forward. Fast forward. Fast forward. Flash of something in 
latex--Jay stopped.

"Okay, may I say, *day-amn*? She got killer fuckin' legs in that 
black shit, yeah. An' now her boss is liftin' that cute little 
skirt. Wait. What's she fuckin...*Shit*!" Jay screamed. "What the 
fuck is she *feedin'* her for!?!"

Jay slumped on the couch, scowling.

"Man, trust your fucking asshole friends to recommend some good 
fucking porn, somethin' with some tits and some good ass an' maybe 
some nice solid anal and this is the shit you get. Like I am *ever* 
fucking trusting Randal again. *Shit*."

Still scowling, he looked up and screamed again.

"Shit, her mistress only fucks guys? *Fuck* that shit, that is 
motherfuckin' *cold!* Shit, no wonder the bitch's cryin. Fuck, sat 
on her while she watched alla them weird-ass home movies an' shit, 
and now first dick who comes in the room, she gotta suck him off, 
gotta get fucked by him! Man, oh man, that bitch is fucked up."

Jay looked down, shaking his head, pressing the fast forward button 
again. His other hand dropped to Bob's cock, stroking the contours, 
running his fingers down the length of it and back up again. He 
seemed totally unaware that he wasn't jerking himself off, and Bob 
didn't have breath right now to tell him. Then Jay looked up, 
squinting.

"What the fuck? *Now* where the hell are we? Who's that other 
bitch? What'd she do with the dark-haired chick? What, she kill her 
or some shit? This movie fuckin' *blows*, so fuckin' *hard*--"

And Jay looked down, realizing for the first time that his hand was 
no longer wrapped around his dick.

"Whoa, get your dick off my hand, dude." He didn't sound pissed off, 
or even affronted; he actually sounded pretty calm. Bob had 
absolutely no idea what to say to that, however.

He looked over, eyes wide while Jay stared at him. Finally Jay 
shrugged..

"Hey. Fuckin' suit yourself," he said, and turned his attention back 
to the film. His hand started stroking again, and he dropped the 
remote, wrapping his other hand around his own cock.

"So now we got two fuckin' blondes. Okay, I think I can keep up. 
Leastways she got a nice dress. Fallin' out of the top an' 
everything."

The pace of Jay's hands picked up, and Bob had a hard time not 
panting audibly. Shit, Jay was good with his hands. What the hell 
was this? He had a random thought and suddenly it's his night to get 
Jay?

Oh, if only.

"Well, finally we get some tongue to muff action! Man, took this 
fuckin' thing long enough!" Jay settled into the couch cushions, 
fisting his hands tightly over himself and Bob. Then the scene faded 
to black and he shrieked again. When it returned he stared, 
blinking, then turned to Bob. Bob shook his head. He had no idea.

The new blond was kneeling on all fours, between the legs of the 
former slave. She was leaning against a table, her legs spread, and 
the girl was fucking her with this fairly realistic black dildo. The 
only problem was, the dildo was strapped to her face.

"Man, that gives a whole new dimension to face fuckin', don't it?" 
Jay said. He tilted his head to the right, then blinked some more.

"Man, that shit is fucked up."

He hit fast forward, and both women speeded up, their movements too 
boring to be comical. Jay and Bob watched for a bit, until the scene 
faded to the two women driving through Paris in a car, and Jay 
switched the tv off, throwing the remote across the room.

"Okay, I had about all the shit I can take," Jay said, then looked 
over at Bob. Streetlights through the blinds dappled them both in 
shadow-on-shadow-off stripe patterns. Bob's mouth twitched, knowing 
he was going to regret this, and then he leaned forward, kissing Jay.

For a single moment, Jay was board-stiff with startlement, and his 
hand stopped moving on Bob's cock. Then a breathy thread of laughter 
emerged from his mouth.

"Well, fuck," he said softly. He dove for Bob, pinning him under a 
sudden squirming mass of activity, eight fondling arms, eight 
gripping legs, and one thrusting cock, fencing with his as Jay fought 
to kiss everywhere on his face and neck he could reach. When Bob had 
regained a little breath from the assault, he pushed Jay away just 
enough to see his face.

"Jay, I--" he began. Jay cut him off.

"How long?" he asked.

**How long?**

Jay nodded. 

"How long you wanted my ass?"

The bluntness of the question surprised him into speech.

"About a year after I met you," he whispered. "How long for--"

"Since I first fuckin' saw you. How's that for stupid shit? 
Motherfuckin' love at first sight."

"Preordained," Bob said solemnly.

"What?"

"Nothing." Bob blinking, inhaling, then looked up at Jay, who 
shivered when their eyes met.

"Kiss me again?" he asked plaintively.

"Naw, I got somethin' better in mind," Jay said, and slithered down 
his body like an eel. And for the rest of that night, and several 
more to follow, Bob learned exactly what Jay meant by something 
better.

And they never rented any Andrew Blake films again. The...

END
*****
Kelandris the Mad
kiss me hard, `cause this will be the last time I let you (dashboard 
confessional)