Rhythm & Blues & Fluffies: The Grady Rollins Story (Part 3) - In Which Grady Meets the Big Fat Fluffy Mummahs, and An Unexpected Fan Emerges
by Strangeways Pigg Strangeways
Despite his encounter with the woman from the karaoke bar the night before, Grady awoke the next morning in a good mood. After some champagne, some cocaine, and some sausages (the breakfast of champions), he was ready to head to the studio to film the commercial.
It had been even longer since Grady had been in a television studio than it had been since heâd been in a recording studio. Or in one to perform, at least. Heâd been to the set of the Busta Nutz Show a few times for the occasional meet-and-greet. He got to see those nerdy puppeteers at work, like the squeaky-voiced motherfucker whose lines as Cousin Deez Grady would dub over, and we would pretend he cared about their process of making the show. They always gave him the VIP treatment, so Grady didnât dislike it outright, but being there meant seeing Otis Nutt, the offputting ginger comedian who created the show and voiced Busta. Grady avoided Otis Nutt as much as he possibly could.
But going to a TV studio to be in front of the camera? It had been decades. The Midnight Special, Soul Train, those had been the glory days. Grady even dabbled in music videos back when the medium was young, but in the days before hip-hop, good luck getting a video on MTV if you were a black man who wasnât named Michael Jackson or Prince, and those two barely counted as black, or men. After hip-hop? The only thing hip-hop ever did for Grady was a few royalty checks the rare times someone who sampled his beats actually paid him. Grady had ranted considerably about the genre on his early-â90âs album âŚWith a Hard R, one of his least critically-acclaimed efforts.
Grady was greeted by a production assistant who showed him to his dressing room. A male production assistant. The ladies all seemed to be in groups and always at the other end of some hallway. Well⌠the hair, makeup, and wardrobe girls were always the sluttiest ones anyway.
Hair, makeup, and wardrobe were handled by a couple of great big gaylords, one of whom was actually named Gaylord. At that point Grady was willing to bet bullets to bananas that the television studio was who the record producer was on the phone to the other day. Motherfucking backup singers.
Still, Grady felt good. If he was dressed to the nines at the recording studio, he was dressed to the tens now. They had him in a tuxedo â tails, bowtie, cummerbund, shoes he could see his reflection in, the works â looking like a slickest-of-slick soul man.
The director knocked on the door of his dressing room and entered to formally introduce herself. The one woman in the building Grady had no interest in fucking. Telly had gotten her on a Zoom call the other day as well, some tall gangly nerd named Yaz DeGarabedian. Grady did think she had an impressive afro for someone who was at most ambiguously brown, but it was no 1970âs ass-shaking hoochie mama afro. One of those half-ironic afros that millennial hipsters who wore complicated scarves and always smelled like coffee liked to grow. Must be some kind of lesbian.
âPleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Rollins,â a clearly nervous Yaz said, entering the room and shaking his hand.
âYou can call me Grady,â Grady replied. âIâm always Grady to the ladies.â
Yaz had gone out of her way to get the assignment when she heard they were working with Grady Rollins. She had loved old school soul and rhythm & blues music for as long as she could remember. A vintage vinyl copy of Grady Live had soundtracked many awakenings for her as a teenager. Some of them sexual.
That was the kind of music that eventually led to Yazâs early career as a choreographer. She was in hip-hop dance crews in her college years, though they were the decidedly âcollegeâ kind of hip-hop dance crews that were 90% Asian kids with moves that consisted of a lot of stomping and making downward double-fisted punching motions to contemporary dance-pop music. Choreography for them was an uphill battle, but after that experience, getting off-duty strippers to twerk in low-budget music videos for bad SoundCloud rappers was something Yaz could do in her sleep.
Choreography work on music videos eventually led her to directing them as well. That led to commercial work, which didnât exactly flex her creative muscles but helped pay the bills. When fluffies came along, Yaz found she had a particular knack for choreographing them to dance as decently as fluffies could dance. She soon earned a reputation as something of a âfluffy-whisperer,â choreographing and sometimes directing dancing fluffies for FluffTV, kidsâ shows, and advertisements. While busier than ever these days, she didnât exactly feel like her career was on an upward trajectory.
Seeing Grady in person brought back flashbacks to Yazâs youth. She remembered the images from Gradyâs classic albums like they were photographs in front of her. The tall, broad-shouldered black man with a deceptively classy beard in sharp suits and his trademark cowboy boots, shirt unbuttoned halfway down in that 1970âs way, all chest hair and gold chains. Not every ladyâs cup of tea, but Yaz wasnât every lady. His hair and beard were graying now and he wasnât quite in playing-250-shows-a-year shape, but she thought heâd held up pretty well, all things considered. He was as tall and imposing in person as in the pictures, and Yaz mentally noted with approval that the cowboy boots against the wall were a size 14. Not that Yaz was naively starstruck, she knew that if you could photograph his soul it would probably look like Samuel L. Jackson in Black Snake Moan.
Grady thought Yaz seemed even taller in person, and smelled like coffee. He took notice of her skinny ass.
âPleasure to meet you, Ms. Degrabedius.â
Yaz scarcely noticed. Someone getting her name right would have been the more surprising thing.
âOh, you can call me Yaz. How do you like the suit?â
âA little Cab Calloway, but Iâm not complaining.â
Yaz held a clipboard and fidgeted with a pen as she talked.
âFunny you should say that, I thought the same thing during the tone meeting. I showed them YouTube clips of you performing, Iâve seen them all a million times. I thought the look was a little overdressed for your style, but I got the whole âweâre selling a product not making a music videoâ spiel â Iâve done a lot of music videos, I probably mentioned that on the Zoom call. But they said they wanted a âclassyâ image for Happy Mare.â
Grady didnât recall the mention of music videos on the call, but he had been tuning most of it out and letting Telly do the talking. He had also been high.
âYou know, Iâve been meaning to ask,â Grady said, âI donât know a lot about these fluffies, whatâs the deal with Happy Mare? Do they always feed the boys and the girls different kibble? Is it just when theyâre pregnant, or is it like what they do with menâs and womenâs multi-vitamins or something?â
âOh, Happy Mare gives pregnant mares the proper nutrients for developing foals, and also provides extra fat to help keep them safe at a time when theyâre particularly vulnerable to accidents.â
âI guess it really does make them a big fat fluffy mama!â
Yaz laughed a little too loudly at the joke. Her explanation had jogged Gradyâs memory slightly, he vaguely remembered the ad exec describing the product, but he had been too busy thinking about putting his boot up the guyâs ass to pay much attention.
âWell, I just wanted to greet in person, Mr. Roll- I mean Grady,â Yaz said. âWeâll have a PA come and bring you to the green room when the fluffies arrive. Iâve found that itâs good to introduce them to the humans theyâll be working with in a quieter environment before theyâre on set with all the distractions.â
Yaz paused before going out the door.
âAre you settling in okay? Is there anything I can get you?â
âWell, I do have one questionâŚâ Grady started. He could hear Telly in his head begging him not to say what he was about to say. He knew the starstruck lezzy wasnât going to make a fuss about it though.
âDo you know where a man can find some good ass in this town?â
Yaz was a little startled. Not startled that he was asking, she had an encyclopedic knowledge of Grady Rollins. Just startled that he was asking her.
âThatâs a question that it would be better to ask me again when weâre not on the clock, Grady,â she said, trying to give a knowing reply without overdoing it.
âIâll make a note of it,â Grady said with an approving nod as Yaz quickly exited.
Yaz DeGarabedian wanted to bang her head against the wall the moment she was in the hallway. Had she really just said that? Did she wink, or was that just her imagination? She had reminded herself again and again to be professional, and now she felt like she might as well have just told Grady Rollins âYou can bring me back to your hotel room and fuck me after the shoot if youâd like.â
Grady pondered the awkward tone that had been in the directorâs voice before she left the room. She sounded strangely conspiratorial, like someone who could tell you where to get weed back before weed was legal. Probably knew some call girls who had gone gay-for-pay for her, he figured. Definitely one of those bulldykes.
An impressive gesture all the same. More chill than the rest of her generation heâd been interacting with since the recording studio. After the last few days in the city Grady was starting to think that they didnât make LA women like they used to, though.
A few minutes later, one of the production assistants he had scarcely taken notice of knocked on the door to his dressing room.
âIf youâre ready, Mr. Rollins, I can take you to the green room to meet the fluffies.â
The assistant led Grady down the hall to the green room. The large room was nothing fancy, but it still brought excitement to Grady. Just like in the old days, the green room meant it was nearly showtime.
Grady felt that being prepared for the shoot in his tuxedo drew a certain respect from those around him, even if it was subconscious. He looked and felt important. Taking a seat in the largest, most luxurious chair at the far side of the room, he felt appropriately regal.
Yaz joined the production assistant in the room, still holding her clipboard and fidgeting with her pen. She was relieved that Grady didnât give her any kind of odd glances. The look on his face seemed to be one of excitement for the shoot.
The PA exited and a few women entered, lurking in the corner of the room.
âThese are our fluffy-wranglers. Theyâll be assisting Rod and Chester, the fluffy managers from the Robertson Reynolds Ranch. Theyâve been unloading in back. You might have heard of the ranch, theyâve shot a lot of movies out there.â
âIsnât that where they filmed Boss Nigger?â
âI donât think Iâm familiar with that one,â Yaz lied. Her love of soul music from the era led her to a fascination with the blaxploitation films so closely tied to it. What was Shaft without the music of Isaac Hayes, Superfly without Curtis Mayfield, Black Caesar without James Brown? Sheâd seen the blaxploitation western Boss Nigger on a vintage VHS, the version retitled to just Boss, but she didnât want the fluffy wranglers knowing that. Also, Mr. Reynolds had in fact named one of his fluffies after the film. At his best, Mr. Reynolds was not what could be called a politically correct man.
âI never got too far in the pictures,â Grady said to no one in particular, âDid a couple of the cheapo blaxploitation flicks back in the â70âs. Had a supporting part in Boss Nigger, but they cut my scenes after I got in a fistfight with Fred Williamson. I always thought Iâd be good in the black westerns, but Fred, that clown-ass football player, he had a monopoly on those.â
Yaz had seen all of Gradyâs films, though he rarely had more than a bit part in anything. She had even seen Gradyâs deleted scenes from Boss Nigger on YouTube in the grainy, barely-watchable quality of salvaged 1970âs film negatives.
âThey did shoot a lot of westerns out there. Mr. Reynolds, thatâs Burt Robertson Reynolds â no relation to the Burt Reynolds â he originally raised racehorses on the ranch, but it was always a movie ranch as well. He still has a few horses, but heâs taken to fluffies in more recent years. He has more acting fluffies on the ranch than anywhere else in Hollywood.â
Grady heard a commotion in the hallway.
âHawwey gonâ be on da teebee âgain! Hawwey su âcited!â
âStewwa nebba done dancies on teebee befowe! Stewwa gonâ be bestest dancie-fwuffee ebbah!â
âNUUU! Hawwey am bestest dancie-fwuffy ebbah, but Stewwa can be seconâ-bestest!â
âNU, Angew am seconâ-bestest dancie-fwuffy!â
âIt sounds like the fluffies are arriving,â Yaz said. âRod and Chester will bring them in for their formal introductions.â
The door opened and a short, balding, middle-aged man entered, followed by a tall younger man with glasses. The older man had a certain style of impatient look about him, as though he were just barely holding in a suppressed rage of unknown origin. A look common among high school gym teachers going through divorces, bartenders who drank on the job, racist stepdads, and others who were one wrong comment away from an explosion.
âHello Mr. Rollins,â the older man said, âIâm Rod, from the Robertson Reynolds Ranch, and this is Chester. Weâre the fluffy managers for the shoot, we can make the introductions if youâre ready.â
Grady nodded. He couldnât help but be intrigued by the idea of acting fluffies. They seemed like they must be a long way from the filthy shit rats on the streets of Atlanta.
Chester led a fat white alicorn with a red mane tied into pigtails flowing on either side into the room. She paraded and posed like a beauty queen.
âHewwo Mista Wollins, am Hawwey!â
âThis is Birds of Prey: And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn,â Rod said. âMr. Robertson Reynolds has always been a fan of the florid names of race horses, and working in the film business as well, he traditionally names his fluffies after movies.â
Rod sighed a bit.
âAlways the whole title.â
âWe call her Harley,â said the previously silent Chester.
âIâll see one of Margotâs clown flicks when she gets her titties out in one!â Grady said with a chuckle.
Yaz let out a quiet, inadvertent giggle, while Rod and Chester ignored the remark.
âIf Mr. Reynolds spent more time around the fluffies, he might pick shorter names,â Chester said with a chuckle.
Rod shot him a glance.
âCandidly speaking of course,â Chester added.
âHarley is our most experienced dancing fluffy," Rod continued, "Yaz has worked with her before. Harleyâs a regular on The Silly Dance and The Dancie Show on Fluff TV.â
âSo are all these fluffies actually pregnant?â Grady asked.
âNo,â Rod said. âWe just cast fat ones for the pregnant mares these days. Weâve found that actual pregnant mares, even well-trained dancers, are more prone to accidents with their rapidly-changing body weight and shifting center of gravity. And of course thereâs the risk of miscarriagesâŚâ
Rod sounded like he was speaking from experience. He let out a sigh and trailed off as he led Harley, still smiling proudly, to the side of the room where she stood grinning as if posing for a picture.
Grady noticed a glint as Harley turned. Though it was largely obscured due to her fat rump, he caught a glimpse of a ruby-tipped butt plug in Harleyâs ass.
âIt looks like youâve got them⌠whatâs the word, corked?â
âYes, we cork them all when theyâre on the job,â Rod explained. âTheyâre impeccably trained, but even the best-trained fluffies can still occasionally be prone to,â he paused and sighed, ââŚaccidents.â
âWell, itâs been a long time since Iâve seen a butt plug that fancy in a lady!â Grady said with excitement, âAnd mind you, Iâve seen some fancy butt-plugs in my day! Do you know if thatâs a real ruby?â
Grady heard the women in the corner muttering among themselves in what seemed like disapproval. Was it suddenly a crime to talk about butt plugs in mixed company?
âMr. Reynolds wants only the best for his performing fluffies,â Rod said.
Grady noticed Yazâs curious smile and avoidance of the chatter. She probably liked to look at ladiesâ butt plugs too, he figured. The thought of diving into a ladyâs muff and noticing that jeweled glint from her butthole, that brought back some memories, and he guessed that Yaz was reminiscing of doing just about the same.
Yaz always had a certain admiration for the elegant butt plugs of the Robertson Reynolds fluffies. One of those probably cost more than all of her butt plugs combined. And she had a lot of butt plugs.
Chester began to lead the next fluffy into the room.
They really are putting on the whole beauty pageant treatment, Grady thought, as he realized the one-by-one introduction routine they were doing. He didnât mind. It was a little silly, but it made him feel appropriately important.
Chester led in a red pegasus with a black mane as Rod began his introduction.
âThis is Angel Guts: Red PornoâŚâ
âOh, I think Iâve seen that one! Mexican snuff film, right?â Grady interrupted.
âNo, I believe sheâs named after a Japanese exploitation film from the 1980âs.â
âNever got into JapsloitationâŚâ Grady muttered.
Rod was increasingly trying to ignore Gradyâs interjections, but between that and the simple fact that he was working with fluffies, his already reddish face grew redder and his sighs were becoming louder and more frequent.
âWe call her Angel, sheâs also one of our most experienced dancers.â
Angel proudly joined Harley, again freezing into a beauty queen pose.
As Chester led a dark green unicorn with a black mane into the room, Yaz leaned to Rod with concern and spoke quietly.
âI thought you were bringing Martha.â
âMartha Marcy May Marlene has diarrhea. This is her replacement. Donât worry, we got her up to speed with the dance moves. We picked her because sheâs a quick learner.â
Grady was alarmed at overhearing the comment.
âFour of them have diarrhea? Ainât something contagious, is it?â
Grady had a momentary flashback to the time he got dysentery when a hooker in a Tijuana whorehouse had an oopsie.
âNo, just one, Martha Marcy May Marlene.â Rod had turned to open exasperation when having to say the full names based on what seemed to be the longest film titles Mr. Reynolds could think of. âItâs the name of some movie about some lady who leaves a cult. Or joins a cult⌠or starts a cult. I donât know, I havenât fucking seen it.â
âOh, the one where the third Olson twin shows her beaver!â Grady said excitedly snapping his fingers as the memory clicked.
âI havenât seen it,â Rod said flatly. âI barely watch any fucking movies anymore, having to work with these fucking film people,â he added with a mutter, more to himself than to anyone else.
Grady overheard one of the fluffy wranglers whispering with another.
ââŚyeah, you can see it but the scene is dark. But if you freeze frame it and turn up the brightnessâŚâ
Grady made a mental note to try to talk to that one later about Elizabeth Olsonâs pussy. She was probably dyking it up with the director, but at least it would be a shared interest.
âThis one is How Stella Got Her Groove Back,â Rod said, introducing the green unicorn to both Yaz and Grady. We call her Stella, as you can probably guess. Sheâs fairly new to dancing, but she has a lot of acting experience.â
âOh, Angie Bassett in her prime! Not as good as the Turner flick, but better than that sci-fi crap she was doing then. Never could understand what was going on in that shit. Not that the Turner one⌠I mean, she was on fire as Tina, donât get me wrong, but Larry Fishburne did Ike dirty. I knew Ike, he was a good manâŚâ
Rod was beginning to think he didnât get paid enough to hear Grady Rollinsâ running commentary on movies and people he supposedly knew in a room increasingly filled with prima donna fluffies.
The last of the four fluffies was led into the room. The first three had all been fat. Fat with big asses. Big Fat fluffy mummahs, ready to shake their tushy-tushes. But the enormous brown earthie mare with a black mane that entered was in a whole different category.
âLook at the shitter on that critter!â Grady blurted out, seeing the fluffyâs truly enormous ass. Yaz stifled a snort of laughter while the fluffy handlers reacted with a combination of disgust and amusement.
The other fluffies had entered looking like they were in a beauty pageant, but the enormous brown mare entered like a queen into her throne room. Her gigantic ass swayed with a certain sassiness, and she seemed to walk in a way that accentuated the jiggling of her enormous, pendulous crotch-tits. Rod rotely began to recite his introduction, any feigned enthusiasm gone from his voice.
âLast, but not least, we have Precious: Based on the Novel Push, by Sapphire. Precious has-â
The mare turned and looked at Rod with a look of disdain on her face. âPWESHUS, BASED ON DA NOBBLE PUSS, BY SAFFIWE!!!â
Rod let out a long sigh of barely-contained rage.
âRight⌠Precious⌠Based on the Novel Push, by Saphire⌠who is very insistent on her full name being used at all times⌠has mostly appeared in more niche content than some of the others, but she is also one of our most experienced dancers.â
Grady was intrigued. âWhat kind of niche content?â
As Rod mouthed the words âpervert shit,â Chester cut in. âMostly smaller, independent productions.â
âPrecious is-â Yaz began to say.
âPWESHUS, BASED ON DA NOBBLE PUSS, BY SAFFIWE!!!â
â-she is one of the only fluffies to pull off some of my most advanced choreography. Not that theyâre doing anything too challenging for this one, bit sheâs one of the best dancing fluffies Iâve worked with⌠always very enthusiastic.â
âI imagine theyâre just doing the basic hoochie mama dancing?â Grady asked, using his favored term for the type of movements a backup singer might do for a song like Big Fat Fluffy Mama.
âPweshus, Based on Da Nobble Puss by Saffiwe gonâ be coochie mummah?â Precious blurted out, her eyes widening with excitement.
Grady chuckled, and found himself addressing a fluffy in conversation for the first time in his life as he leaned forward to make eye contact with Precious. âWell, Precious: Based on the Novel Push, by Sapphire, I wouldnât say youâre gonna be a coochie mama. But you get to be a hoochie mama. Do you know what a hoochie mama is?â
âWhaâ hoochie mummah?â Precious asked with intense interest. âPweshus, Based on Da Nobble Puss by Saffiwe onwy been COOCHIE MUMMAH befowe!!!â
âWell, a hoochie mama is someone who dances really good in the way youâre going to be dancing out thereâŚâ Grady said, still talking to the fluffy with an enthusiastic curiosity and pondering how to further rhapsodize on what fully construed the full concept of a hoochie mama.
âI think weâre ready to get them to the stage, Mr. Rollins,â Rod cut in.
âWeâll get them warmed up and then send someone for you in maybe ten minutes, if that works?â Yaz said.
âFine and dandy,â Grady replied, relaxing back into the chair. He somehow felt even more invigorated about the shoot, though he wouldnât have been able to say precisely why.
Rod, Chester, and the fluffy wranglers led the fluffies from the room. Yaz nearly asked Grady out of habit if he needed anything, but decided against it, just closing the door with a nod and a smile.
When the room was empty, Grady stood and took one last look in the mirror. His suit was impeccable, his shoes were shined, and he didnât have a hair out of place.
It was showtime.