The Birth of Gina Rey

The car they were in, a brand-new Corolla, hit the first speed bump at twenty miles an hour. The three of them, passengers and driver, shuddered with the impact. The girl in the backseat shot the not much older woman in the front seat a look that went unnoticed, and the male driver grumbled to himself with the only audible words being "my fucking suspension," slowing down as they drove slower with more grace over the next one.

"Tony, are we almost there yet?" the girl asked from the back, sliding forward.

Tony Martinson mumbled some monosyllabic that sounded like a yes, and so she slipped back again, looking out the window while the car snaked across a dusty, dirt road. There were only cactuses and houses, which were of a very suburban contrast to the Wild West-vibe coming off the rest of the surroundings.

A coyote howled in the distance loud enough to cut through the din of the local Rock radio station. They were getting further and further out of range to pick up a decent signal to the point that intermittent static had become so commonplace that it was almost part of the instrumentation of every song.

The girl in the back was Ginger Castillo, who had just graduated from high school a few weeks earlier with the gloom of June still hanging with a heaviness in the air. She had turned 18 back in February, but she had decided that this night was going to be just as a momentous--a rebirth of sorts as one of the the first steps in becoming someone new. Someone who hadn't spent most of their life growing up in Orange County, California, or the last two years waiting tables at Marie Callender's. She had lived five miles away from Disneyland her whole life until then but always wondered if there was something more out there.

She could've gone to the state university around the corner from the eatery she used to work at. She had the grades and the smarts, but she knew that if she stayed in the OC, then she might die there. Some of her classmates had already married their high school sweethearts and were having babies. Ginger didn't want that. At least, not yet and not with any of the boys that she had grown up with.

With that thought in her mind, she packed up only clothes, toiletries, and any other essentials and moved out of her parents' house. Heading north of LA-proper to the virtual wasteland that is the San Fernando Valley. There she rented a small studio apartment, where she was living out of boxes: the only amenities were a futon, a microwave, and a mini-fridge. Her diet was mostly salads and Top Ramen. She was living the undergraduate lifestyle minus going to school.

"See that house up there?" Adela Banks, the woman in the front seat asked before continuing, "That's it. That's where we are going. They have the best parties. It's the best way to network and make contacts in the Industry. You'll love it."

Ginger had met Adela online, and she had been the one who had convinced her to move to The Valley. In a way, she had become a de facto mentor figure, showing Ginger the ropes of not just her new homestead but also this career path she was embarking on as Adela had been working for months now.

Tony lit a very thin joint, taking a hit before passing it to Adela, who also took a toke. Ginger had been smoking pot since she was in her pre-teens. There was a familiarity there as the smoke entered her lungs that soothed any nervousness that may have existed in her. In reality, she knew what she wanted and any doubts in her mind were couched behind the drive that would've earned her a Bachelor's if she had taken another route.

They parked near the corner as the driveway and surrounding street parking was packed. As they started to walk up, the muted bass thumped ad thrummed from the house. Laughter and the clinking of glasses became apparent as they got closer. Ginger looked down at her outfit (hot pants, a white and blue tank top, and slip-on Vans). She was going for the So Cal-girl-next-door-look, which she hoped was intriguing. Although rail thin, she had curves. A booty and thick legs she had earned playing soccer from a young age. She had been told by the older men she had dated that it made up for her A cups. She was young enough to take that as a compliment, but it chided her in some way that she didn't quite understand yet.

Adela rang the bell, and a man with a shaved head and braided goatee opened the door.

"Hey, I'm Jeff. This is my place, so come in and enjoy yourselves."

There was something raucous going on behind Jeff, but Ginger couldn't tell right away as to what was happening exactly. It seemed like a majority of the partygoers were standing around watching. The trio inched closer and broke in through a gap to see what was going on. Ginger assumed people were playing Twister or something of that nature. She was shocked to see four women, nude and engaged in eating each other out. Their undulating flesh forming a writhing square. Ginger traded glances with Adela who just smiled and said,

"It's called a daisy chain...what they're doing."

One of the chicks on the floor looked up at them and waved, "Hey, Maxine," and then went back to munching. Maxine was Adela's name on-screen.

Ginger looked and saw a keg in the corner of the living room which was catty-corner to the dining room. Jeff, the helpful host, was pouring people drinks. She walked over and grabbed a red, plastic cup.

"Fill'er up, milady?" Jeff asked.

Ginger nodded and thought to herself,

"So this is my first porn party? Cool. Happy First Birthday, Gina Rey!"