Wally oils his instrument. Same as every morning, his face grave, like a cop oiling his gun or a priest polishing the chalice. Yet his thoughts are not of the wages of sin, the laws of God or man. He's not thinking at all, just searching for any imperfection that might impede today's chase.
Wally's instrument is really a conglomerate: stout penis and fulsome testicles; perfect upper thighs and imperfect, protruding lower abdomen; tanned buttocks and puckered anus. Standing in his empty Jacuzzi, he bathes them all with Dove and water, and patiently removes every trace of hair, using a woman's disposable razor for abdomen and thighs, a depilatory for his scrotum. He winces as he sprays an alcohol-based anti-infective over everything; he rinses with warm water and caresses in petroleum jelly. Wipe with a damp cloth, pat dry with a towel. There was a time when his penis would respond to such ministrations, but now he may as well be handling his foot.
Same old good news: no pimples, no rash, no broken skin. Wally checks his kit, which contains another bar of Dove, another antibiotic spray, vials of Viagra and Valium, and some rolled joints of especially potent ganja from the Keys; sometimes the MILFs need a little help relaxing. Wally dresses in his West Palm uniform: faux Hawaiian shirt, knee-length Banana Republic shorts, New Balance sneakers with white socks that stop short of his ankle. Underneath, tight white Calvin Klein briefs that emphasize his endowments. Amex Black Card and phony driver's license, both courtesy of Lazlo, along with the keys to Lazlo's Playpen on North Flagler Drive.
Wally hears a horn but pauses to look in the mirror. It shows, and will always show, the good-natured but not overly bright Florida hick, with a receding hairline minimized by a trendy crew cut, and a spiky chin softened by a honey-colored goatee. A near-loser's face, but the moment he steps outside it becomes the irresistible face of the MILF Chaser.
Rog's Ford Expedition is rumbling beside the pavement in front of Wally's house. On this family block it blends well with other SUVs being loaded with little kids by their mothers. From the driver's seat Rog beams down at Wally as if trying to make up for the lack of sun today. "About time," he says.
"I am ready," Wally says. "I am...Wally."
"Whoa. Let's get that." Rog reaches behind him and from a tangle of equipment on the back seat extracts a gun-shaped camera which he points at Wally. "Go."
"I am ready. I am Wally. And it's a beautiful day for a MILF Chase!"
"Yeah. No it isn't. The light sucks." Rog restores the camera to the back as Wally climbs in; the door is hardly closed when the car jerks into motion. "What were you doing, anyway?"
"Making myself beautiful," Wally says.
"Oh. That explains it," and Rog beams at him again. Rog is three inches taller than Wally, even sitting, and frankly much better-looking, with immaculate teeth and jet black hair and eyes blue as a swimming pool. Yet his eyelids are perennially half-closed, giving every expression and statement a snarky edge. "Light still sucks."
"I thought you said cloudy was better for filming?"
"It doesn't match yesterday. We gotta move. It rains and we're screwed."
Wally has no idea if it will rain, because he never listens to the weather report or any kind of news. The sky does look stubbornly overcast, and as they cruise along Dixie Highway and Okeechobee Boulevard, the bright-colored cars and buildings, palm trees, and tanned pedestrians all seem weird in the grey light. But none of that matters; Wally sighs with awe at the day just ahead. How lucky they are! They live every man's wet dream. Wally is star and Rog director of The MILF Chaser. A weekly series of cinema verite encounters with Florida's endless supply of Mothers I'd Like to Fuck. A MILF can be any woman between 30 and 60; any race, hair color, or body shape; the only criteria is to have borne children and be willing to have sex with a man they met fifteen minutes before. Hardcore sex. On camera. For videos that will be posted on the Internet and viewed by thousands of people willing to pay for porn by credit card.
And while many of the MILFs they approach laugh at them or gasp with rage, a surprising number say Yes. For the most part, these women are neither prostitutes nor would-be porn stars. They live on family blocks like Wally's. Some are promiscuous but most live lives defined as normal by the strident pundits of American morality. Most have never been photographed bare-chested, or been unfaithful to their husbands, before they met Wally.
But Wally turns normal mothers into MILFs. Malls, restaurants, supermarkets, gas stations, even churches — like a dowser Wally makes any place start raining MILFs ten minutes after he shows up. All he has to say is Hey good lookin' or How's it goin' and they stop, smile, sit, accept drinks, and allow him (Rog actually) to point a camera at them. With a mixture of compliments, suggestive jokes, and sympathy, he gets them to talk about themselves, complain about their husbands, and admit that it's been a while since they've had any fun. He offers them fun, sometimes in the form of champagne and the killer view from Lazlo's Playpen; or beauty shots that may lead to modeling jobs; or a role in the feature story on Florida mothers he and Rog are supposedly shooting; or most often, a blunt proposition of sex. He gets them to have sex with him, to loudly and visually enjoy it, and his instrument, like his charm, never fails him. In the end he convinces them to sign a release, take money, and go away smiling. "He's got the gift," Lazlo says, in his ominous Eastern European accent. (In fact, Lazlo first approached him two years ago after seeing Wally's gift result in two pickups in the same bar during one Happy Hour.) "He's got the grift," Rog says. He knows Wally is The Franchise. He resents that Wally gets a percentage of all episode sales while he gets a flat fee, but also knows that without Wally he'd get nothing at all.
"Simone again?"
"Yeah."
Simone is the MILF starring in their latest episode. They found her yesterday at CityPlace, the big outdoor mall in West Palm, working as a waitress at The Cheesecake Factory. She isn't the most winsome of MILFs — saggy tube boobs, spotty complexion, and drawn-on eyebrows — but otherwise typical. Three kids. Dimpled tattoo on one buttock. Emotionally and sexually absent husband. Angry at all men and eager to debase herself with Wally. She let them get so much footage that Wally can't understand why Rog called him last night and said they needed more.
"So you need more long shots, is that it?"
"Well. Not exactly." Rog stares ahead. Wally waits patiently. He can get Rog to talk as easily as any woman. "We need to reshoot the pickup."
"What part?"
"All of it. Remember she asked me to turn the camera off? You always make me do it, and I did it. I just forgot to turn it back on."
"So okay. Anything else?"
"The facial. The sun flared and bleached the whole thing."
"So it's a Viagra day. No big deal, Roger Dodger, we'll get it done."
"Let's just draw the curtains for once? I tell you and you never listen."
"Rog, relax. I'm not blaming you, so you don't have to blame me, OK? We'll get it done." And he strokes Rog's arm, much as he would the arm of a MILF when she gets too wound up over the injustices in her life. "No big deal. Not for Wally."
Actually he can think of several reasons why it should be a big deal. Lazlo, for one, expects a finished episode by Saturday night, so that he can get it up on the Web by Sunday and attract more subscribers by Monday. The MILF Chaser already has thousands of subscribers, and Lazlo owns three other subscription porn sites (Hot for Teacher, Her First Girl, and Mac in Brazil) not to mention the massage parlors and the dry cleaning chain, but he won't take kindly to episodes being posted late. Legend has it he once castrated an actor and director for missing deadline...
But this doesn't trouble Wally — nothing troubles him, because he knows that trouble can never touch him. Nor is he bothered about needing Viagra to get through the reshoot. After hundreds of MILFs, Wally has lost interest in sex. The things that never, ever get old are the pickup and the facial. The pickup is for his ego, his oddly-shaped optimism about every human encounter. The facial is for them. They all agree to it without realizing its significance. Some press their mouths and eyes shut; some open wide; some gasp or laugh; and some, like Simone yesterday, look blank, as if stunned, as Wally spurts and drips over their faces. But the moment his seed meets their skin it gives birth to a new being, a woman outwardly identical to the woman he picked up but fundamentally transformed. And while some retreat into remorse, and some embrace the fantasy of being a whore, none will ever be the same again. It's Wally's gift to them, and it can only be given once. Replaying it is always false.
