Burn My Shadow

by Tyler Knight

  She says, “They told me you used to be a model.” She looks me up and down. “That had to be a very long time ago because you’re losing your hair and there are bags under your eyes and your face is kind of fucked up.”

  “Yeah, I get that sometimes.”

  “What happened to you?”

  I squeeze past her. “Porn.”

  • • •

  Standing by the ice chest and sipping a bottled water through a goose-necked straw to prevent smudging her lipstick is another mistress whom I recognize. TMZ plays a segment of her in heavy rotation. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  We both smile and introduce ourselves and the small talk is easy, and my eyes trace the angles of her well-cut cheekbones, and my fidgeting hands need something to do so I lean down and take in the view of her toned, flat belly, snagging a sugar-free Red Bull. Her pheromones sway me giddy and my penis presses against my pants. I adjust.

  Lawn chairs flank the patio table. I sit. A 270-degree view. The sun-bleached buildings in the Valley’s basin glint pink in the setting sun. The infinity pool’s water crackle and splash while I sip my drink. The car alarm stops.

  Shylock steps outside and sits next to me.

  “You have to be anywhere tonight?”

  “Not really.”

  “Cool, we’re going to shoot a girl/girl/girl scene first, then a boy/girl, then a boy/girl with you and your mistress.”

  I’m silent for a moment, then, “Dude! What the fuck?”

  “Yeah, I know, man. I’m just glad you’re here. Your girl is a serious flight risk, so we moved the scene up to today before she skips town. Nothing but drama all day.”

  “Figured as much. Is she on something?”

  “She’s just shy.” He stands up and pats me on the shoulder. “This is scoring you big points with VELVET, bro. Seriously, we appreciate it.” He disappears into the house.

  Everyone has gone inside the house. It’s quiet.

  The door slides open. The mistress I met in the kitchen stands there, naked except for a Negroid strap-on dildo that looks so much like my penis that I have to look twice.

  She yells, “Tyler, look!” and hops up and down, swinging her hips the way you would with a Hula Hoop so that the phallus swings round and round like a propeller. Giggling, she takes a step toward me!

  “Don’t do it!” Shylock snags her by the arm, drags her inside, and slams the door shut. From inside the home the music cuts off and I hear somebody yell, “Rolling, quiet on set!”

  • • •

  They finished the first scene. I’m in a back bedroom thumbing through a copy of Fahrenheit 451, distracted by the game I’m not really watching either. It’s the halftime break and the camera pans to Kobe’s wife, then pans to a fan holding a sign that says “THE MEDIUM IS THE MESSAGE” before it cuts to a commercial.

  Shylock enters.

  “The mistress in the scene before ours is cleaning out her pussy. As soon as she’s done we’ll rock out that scene. Then we get to yours.”

  “Sure.”

  • • •

  The Lakers file off the court in victory. Tom Tom pops his head in the bedroom to say it’s time to shoot the sex stills. I follow him to master bedroom.

  It was my call to shoot sex stills before we shoot video because:

  A) With this girl, it’s best to feel out what I’m dealing with first, and it gives me an opportunity to warm her up (if this is even possible).

  B) The girl is “new” and probably has no clue about how to fuck on camera, so I want to block out the positions to map out the scene before the videotape rolls. A game plan.

  C) Frankly, I’m not feeling this girl at all and I don’t have my “in case of emergency” Viagra. It’s best to get warmed up during the stills in the event of me struggling when we get to deep waters.

  I wash my balls in the master bathroom because I’ve been sitting around on set for hours and I’m not so fresh. Not for her benefit, for mine. I’m not giving this woman any excuses to stand between more money added to my fuck you stack.

  • • •

  The girl has mellowed since earlier in the afternoon. A lot. She’s quiet, but considering the alternative, it’s preferable. We start the still photographs clothed, and Tom Tom directs us as we undress each other as though we’re telling a story. Actually, I’m doing the undressing for both of us…it’s as though someone cast a hypnotic spell on her. Tom directs me to kiss her. I spy some black, curly, pube-like hairs sprouting from her chin. I don’t kiss her.

  My pants lie crumpled on the floor next to the sofa, and she’s naked, lying on her back with her legs closed. Tom Tom tells me to go down on her, and when I open her legs I see her cunt.

  Maneuvering her through the sex stills is a bit tricky because it’s as if she has no bones and I’m fucking a slug. Otherwise, we finish without incident, and we redress in silence for the video.

  • • •

  “Action!” says Shylock, and the girl snaps out of her trance as if someone has flipped a switch. She tears her clothes off, then mine, then she drops to her knees in front of my hard penis, opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue, leans in close…and licks my thigh. Up one leg—avoiding my genitals—then down the other leg.

  The camera man/director says, “Hold the roll! Honey, what are you doing?”

  Diva says, “What do you mean?”

  Shylock, holding the C-light says, “His dick. Put it in your mouth.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Nuh-uh. Nope. Oral sex is out of the question.”

  This is not funny, but I can’t stop myself from laughing.

  Shylock says to the director, “Cut camera.”

  The director says, “What do you mean, no blowjobs? This is porn.” He turns the camera off. “Porn!”

  She says, “I hate this! I told Mandy this morning in VELVET’s office I never give blowjobs because they’re super-duper scary, and she made me feel like I was stupid.”

  She cries.

  “Well, I’m not stupid!”

  This woman is fucking with my money! Time for some Jedi mind tricks.

  I say, “Nobody thinks you’re stupid, Sweetie. Right now you’re the most important woman in the whole wide world and we just want you to look sexy and beautiful.” I hug her. “Isn’t that right, guys?”

  They look at each other and nod.

  The girl says, “Oh-kaaaay.” Then she brightens up. “Hey, why don’t you guys have me dressed up like how Tiger likes it? He likes it when I dress like a little school girl with a rollerblade on one foot and a Gestapo boot on the other, and then I punch him in the dick, and then—”

  “Uh, no.” Shylock says, “This is just your word, and we can’t substantiate any of this. We try avoid lawsuits and cease and desist letters whenever possible.”

  “It’s okay, he’s really terrible in bed anyway. Did you know he likes to dress up like a woman and I spoon-feed him his own ejaculate?”

  Goddamn it! With that visual in my head, my erection is a balloon with a slow leak. “Let’s just get back to the scene, okay.”

  We resume the scene. Because VELVET needs footage for the softcore and since there’s no BJ involved the mistress and I spend ten minutes hugging each other in silence. Hugging. No kissing. I’m flaccid, bereft of Viagra, and I’ve got nothing from my scene partner to fall back on to get erect again. I step off camera to get a bottle of lube from the rape kit, then grab the girl with one hand cupping her ass, and my other hand stroking my dick. I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine her as someone else. Doesn’t matter who. My nana would be an improvement.

  “What are you doing?”

  “The pervert hug.”

  “What’s the pervert hug?”

  I squeeze her ass and continu
e stroking, eyes still squeezed shut. “This.”

  “I’m an escort, but I’ve only had sex with three men in my life. When you stick your thing in me, you’ll be the fourth.”

  Shut the fuck up!

  I recover my erection and we rock out a few positions, but I’m losing my ability to keep it up.

  I say to the director, “Do you want a transition into the last position, or just be there?”

  She says, “Transmission? Is that like, Ebonics or something?”

  The director, Shylock and I exchange looks.

  I say, “Sure. Ebonics.”

  Shylock says, “‘Transition,’ Honey. We’ve all been making porn for a long time. It’s shorthand for…never mind. Just follow Tyler’s lead, okay?”

  “Why is everyone talking black all of the sudden? That’s rude to speak a foreign language when not everyone can understand!”

  Shylock says, “Soooo, Tyler, did the Lakers win?”

  She says, “Who were the Lakers playing?”

  The director says, “The Cavs.”

  “Nuh-uh!”

  I say, “They mean Kobe tore his calf. It was a scary moment.”

  “You guys think I’m stupid but I know sports! Who was that quarterback that got drafted but he was traded because he sucks? You know, the big guy!”

  The director says, “Hmmm. A big football player? Who could that be?”

  During the banter I was able to stroke my erection back up, so I grab her and push her onto the sofa, doggy. “Place your outside knee where my hand is. Do not move it.”

  “Action.”

  I position myself behind her and angle myself as to offer the most open angle to view the forthcoming penetration. I’m about to insert when the smell hits me. Her ass smells like ass. Her asshole, winking at me as though something is pressing on its other side, is five shades darker than the rest of her. There is a purple, blood-filled bubble on her asshole.

  Fuck you stack, Erik…the fuck you stack.

  I insert in her pussy and fuck.

  She says, “Wow, you’re good.”

  “I’m a professional, now please be quiet!”

  “You’re suck a nice guy, Tyler.”

  “Hold still!”

  “Say ‘spray’ to me. I love that word.”

  “Spray-spray-spray-spray-spray-spray-spray!”

  “Oh my God, I’m coming!”

  The director says, “Okay, cut…fuck it, we got enough footage.”

  Shylock says, “Fuck to pop, Tyler?”

  I look at the juicy sphincter zit. “Christ, no! Setup.”

  They explain what a setup is to her. It’s a cheat: I fuck, pretending I’m getting off, then I hop off of her and she drops to her knees in front of me. I make noises like I’m getting off. The camera cuts. She stays on her knees while I do whatever I have to do to ejaculate. In this case, because I’ll get no help from her via blowjob, this means jerking off in a corner while I flip images through my head. When I’m ready, I’m to step back in place, the camera will roll, and I’ll shoot my load. Editing makes it look like we never cut the camera.

  She says, “Well, how will I know he’s ready?”

  “I’ll say something clever like, ‘I’m coming.’ Don’t move and it won’t be a problem.”

  Stroking, and stroking, and stroking. My body does not want to give up the seed anywhere in the vicinity of this woman… How long have I been standing here? Jerking to pop isn’t working so I push her onto the sofa, face-down-ass-up because it’s the lesser of evils, and I try fucking her to pop.

  Damn it, this isn’t working either… I wish she never gossiped about Tiger’s alleged perversions. Jesus, if they’re true, what kind of shit goes on in that guy’s head? Focus, Erik… Flush those images of out of your mind.

  My eyes close, the sounds of her moaning beneath me fade to nothing, and memories of successful scenes begin to play in my mind.

  A girl in pink shorts struggles under me as my hands wrap the headphone cord of her iPod taught against her throat… A tinny, far away drone of Blink-182 coming out of the ear buds. She wants to scream but the sound is choked off by a violent yank of the cord… I watch her tits jiggle as she kicks out and lashes side-to-side, and I feel myself growing in my pants. I look up and catch a glimpse of myself in the act in the reflection of the sliding-glass door that I snuck in through.

  I roll off of her.

  Shylock says, “Can’t come?”

  “Negative.”

  “No worries, dude. We’ll fake it.”

  She squeezes her nipples. She says to no one in particular, “I’m pregnant.”

  Tom Tom takes a bottle of Cetaphil from the rape kit. His job is to squeeze the bottle, coordinating the spray of the white hand soap over the girl’s ass while I pretend I’m ejaculating, all while the director and Shylock work the camera and the lights.

  The camera rolls, I howl in fake orgasm, Tom Tom pumps the soap. We get it clean in one take. Somebody yells, “Cut!”

  The mistress says, “I’m having Tiger’s baby!”

  • • •

  The crew packs up. The director already escaped the set and is long gone. Shylock’s sits the kitchen packing the forms and documents. I stand there watching him.

  “Shylock…”

  He says, “No need to say anything, dude. We’re surprised you got as far as you did. We got the scene and my boss will be happy. Seriously. Good job.”

  He leaves.

  I text my driver to get me the fuck out of here and go out to the end of driveway to wait. This far away from the rest of the city, the sky is full of stars and the insects make their music. I know the porn critics will skewer me over this scene… It will look choppy because of all the stopping and starting, even with good editing… They won’t buy the faked pop shot for a second, and the entire fucked up scene will be blamed on me because fucked-up scenes are always the male talent’s fault.

  Tom Tom pulls up next to me and leans out his window. He says, “In five years this will be funny.” We laugh. He drives off.

  Oneironaut at Wrest

  The van loops lazy figure eights in the parking lot, tossing me side-to-side in its backseat while the Swap-and-Spit Girls spit and swap my cock. My mind relives this morning’s fight with Amanda. The van flies into a curve too fast and teeth scrape my shaft, ripping me back into the present, and I remember to moan the way you’re expected to when a redhead and a blonde are throwing a rainbow party in your lap. I’m not convincing.

  The director says, “Cut.”

  Thank Christ. Me, shooting smut in the back of a speeding van with two white girls—bald cunts, panties around their ankles—is a game of “Pin the Felony on the Negro” waiting to happen.

  While the girls wipe their mouths and reapply their lip gloss, Dana Divine, the director, explains the rest of the scene will conclude in her compound.

  A typical pickup scene will have a pervert cruise the streets for a young lady whom he convinces to get into his van for sex. Today’s scene is a reverse pickup. For the part we just filmed, I’m an Armani-clad executive out for a stroll when some girlies in a van skid to a stop next to me and fling open the door. Instead of baiting with a puppy, it’s hiked-up skirts and glistening pussies. I drop my briefcase, dive in, and the car screeches off.

  Tracy, the redhead, sops up the puddle of day-glo drool in my lap with a paper towel while the blonde, whose name I forgot, tucks me back into my suit pants, but I stop her before a zipper mishap occurs.

  Perfume—Amanda’s—coats the inside of my nose. Probably from this morning. When I’m together, I call her. It rings and rings. No answer. I regret this morning… What I’d give for another chance to do it all over again…

  • • •

  I sit on the sofa. Dana sets up the lights and goes off somewhere.
I hear Tracy and the blonde in the bathroom freshening their makeup, and then their pussies with douche. Right now is when I wash up and take a pre-scene piss, but I decide to wait until the girls finish. While I’m alone I call Amanda’s cell again… Busy signal. I close my eyes…

  …I open my eyes to a stiff dick and the extreme urge to pee, so I run to Dana’s bathroom. Dreamlike smoke fades as I laser-pee a hole through the back of the toilet. I’m rock hard, so this takes some gymnastics.

  I return to the set with the girls lay on a sofa rubbing their pussies.

  Dana says, “Action.”

  • • •

  I feel my bones sink into a sofa after the blonde gets up from riding me cowgirl and my eyes follow Blondie’s ass as she walks away toward the edge of visibility.

  Fading…fading, as Tracy lowers herself onto my rod and drapes her arms around my neck.

  Tracy’s mouth shapes the words “I’m next” then blossoms into a smile. Hands from behind me pull my shoulders down…it’s Blondie. She straddles my face…

  Blondie sits. Darkness.

  • • •

  It’s after the scene and Tracy and I sit on a bed. I rub her shoulders. She turns and kisses me.

  Would things be any easier with a girl who’s also in the business… I mean, seriously, could I handle it if Amanda went off to suck some mope’s cock… Coming home with dick on her breath every day to pay the bills? And kissing me? That flake of dried come on her ass that she missed in the shower? Shit, how much better would my life look if I weren’t in the business?

  Tracy bends over. I insert in her pussy.

  What would your life look like if you never met Amanda…There wouldn’t be one… She saved you too many times to count… Jesus, what are you doing? You’re such a piece of shit. Your entire life is a failure and you’re not smart enough to break the cycle. Not man enough. Put your forty-five in your mouth and be done with it. Amanda’s life would look better, that’s for sure… But don’t do it at home…can’t let her find you. But if you just disappear she’ll think you left her and that would only hurt her further… It’s never too late to be a better man…