Captured!--On Film

by Reese Gabriel

  Their bodies would fuse perfectly. They never spoke and as the scents of the barn filled their nostrils, the hay and the dirt and the leather of the tack, they would move inevitably to a nostril flaring, completely mutual orgasm. It was very much like with Julie, except with the American woman there was a new feeling, a sense of depth, the potential for new connections he'd never dreamed of.

  It might have been his age, or something in her. Either way it was a page they would never turn. Just as Ambrosiano would abandon his movie, he would abandon this potential channel of his life. Forcing thoughts of her from his mind, he pressed on. Thinking only of the Great Director himself.

  Two things struck him. Number one, he wished he, too could direct films one day, and number two, he had a hard on, thinking of Giovanni's lean body, his hard uncompromising face. He'd thought the attraction to the man was a short lived thing, something that came from the energy of the movie. But now he caught himself wondering about deeper things. Like why he wanted to be in the man's embrace again and to kiss him and show him devotion and feel the touch of his hands all over his body, and the mark of his mind deep in his soul.

  What did that mean? he wondered. Where would it lead if they were together again?

  Suddenly Grigori's mind had changed. Now he really hoped he did find land, any land at all so that he could get to the bottom of this new and potentially very intriguing mystery. The mystery of Grigori and Giovanni. And the electric currents between them. Not to mention a pair of very stiff cocks.

  Julie had cried her last tear. For this or any other man. It was time to become a nun. Sitting on her suitcase, she tried in vain to squash it into submission. Finally she abandoned the whole thing, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Frederica offered her a driver, but she steadfastly refused.

  Looking the innocent young man up and down she said, “I'm sorry, Frederica, he has a cock, which means I would rather walk the whole way to the train station bare foot over hot coals than be in the same car with him."

  Frederica inclined her head, shooing him off. “I will take you myself,” she concluded. “Where is your luggage?"

  Julie explained the situation with the suitcase, not very coherently, she was afraid.

  "I'll take care of it,” she soothed. “Let's just get you to the car."

  Julie was sobbing by the time Frederica got her seated in the passenger seat of the Fiat. “He ... he swam off ... Grigori did ... and Giovanni ... he said..."

  "Take a deep breath, sweetie.” Frederica offered her a tissue. “And start from the beginning."

  The trunk opened and closed as the would be chauffer put her bag in. Following the young Italian woman's advice, she tried her best to relate all that had happened up to now with regard to the strange triangle of her and Grigori and Giovanni. Naturally she kept the more graphic parts to herself.

  "Well, the Maestro is bisexual,” Frederica pointed out.

  Julie thought of the man, thrusting in and out of Grigori's ass with such aplomb, that look of sheer ecstasy on his face. “I gathered that, yes."

  "But he has never truly been able to love another man. It is one of the great frustrations of his life, though he will not admit it to himself."

  This surprised her. “But all the emphasis is always placed on his affairs with women. Hasn't he spent most of his energy over the years on Sofia? Winning her time and again?"

  "That's just the trouble,” she turned from the dirt road onto a two lane black top lined with grape vineyards. “He was looking for something she could never give. He thought he saw it in that tortured, warring part of her soul, but what he really needs is the balance of the sexes. Someone with enough testosterone to meet him head on."

  Julie watched the workers in the fields, meticulously picking the succulent green fruit. They were old women mostly, kerchiefs on their heads, stooped low in the hot sun. Watching them, she was having this crazy notion of the three of them, she Grigori and Giovanni hammering out some sort of relationship. Each meeting the needs of the other two, pairing off and coming together in any number of ways. It seemed absurb. Two men, one woman. Three different birth decades, three languages and cultures. Still, who could argue with how good they'd been in bed together last night? It was the best sex she'd had in her life. Far from being chaotic or impersonal, having three of them had made it feel all the more intimate. And kinky, too. She could watch to her heart's content, and she could join in, too. She could surrender to her every desire, pleasing two cocks for the price of one, or simply lay back and allow herself to be pampered by the men. She felt incredibly special this way, and important. She could sense she was balancing them, making it possible for them to connect. She was so very glad of this. More than anything, she wanted both men happy. And if she could be a part of that, all the better.

  It struck her then, as they approached the ancient terra cotta walls of the town, what if she loved them both? Was such a thing possible? Was it allowable in the moral scheme of things? Certainly not in Iowa. Then again she wasn't about to return to Iowa.

  Or to Hollywood, either.

  This last decision, made at this very moment surprised her. She hadn't realized she was through with all of that, the glitter, and the hype, the phoniness, bowing and scraping and back stabbing. As much as she loved her dreams, she wasn't going to whither away and die in pursuit of them. Yes, it was time to give up the ghost, she thought. Time to start somewhere fresh.

  "Frederica,” she asked. “If you were going to America, where would you go?"

  "New York,” she said without hesitation. “I would go to New York."

  "Yes,” Julie agreed. “That's a splendid idea. I will go there, too."

  "Careful,” Frederica teased. “There are lots of cocks there, from what they tell me."

  "And lots of pricks, too,” she agreed, playing off the American slang. “But don't worry, I intend to keep my nose clean."

  The question was, what would she do about her heart? It needed not only cleaning, but mending. Hope, she decided. That was what she needed. Just as her grandmother used to tell her. Take your deepest wish, tuck it in a box and forget it ... and when it is totally forgotten and only then can it come true.

  And so she would have to learn to forget Grigori and Giovanni both. In other that one day, against all odds, all reason, she might have them again. Both of them. Forever.

  Chapter Six

  "I would like the lights down,” said Grigori in English, his accent thicker as yet than he would prefer. “So the actors will not see us."

  "Certainly, sir,” bowed his assistant director, thrilled to be working with the man dubbed by Play Review magazine as the most brilliant up and coming playwright and director in decades.

  "Thank you,” Grigori took his seat in the middle of the theater, dead center. It was audition time for the New York staging of his play “Seasons of Lust.” Backers were lining up around the block to invest and every actor and would be actor in town was trying out for a part. Everyone was saying the play would steal the thunder next season on Broadway just as it had earlier in London and Moscow.

  And to think this new genius had come from nowhere. Just a year ago he'd been an unemployed bear wrestler, fresh off a disastrous attempt at acting with the Great Maestro Giovanni. Swimming away from all he knew, he had found his way stranded at sea. A fishing boat had rescued him and he'd found his way eventually to Greece. It was there, while walking to the ancient Acropolis that he had been struck by the muse. Less supernaturally minded folks might say it was sun poisoning, but when he'd awoken after passing out on the ground, the cold water splashing his cheeks and eyes, he was not the same man. A fire now burned within, a churning energy that could only be relieved by writing. For three days and nights he sat in a dingy Athens motel room, scribbling feverishly in notebook after notebook. It all came alive to him-people, places, scenes, characters born out of that raw fire.

  With each page he felt a little more peace, though he could feel it building again i
f he slowed down for any reason. The first two books were filled with incongruity, bits and pieces that did not fall together. But the third had clear voices, three parts. A female, two males, speaking and addressing the timeless questions of love, and of course the meaning of sex. He knew at once it could be revolutionary, calling into question the age old idea that a relationship must be between two persons only. He also knew that its time had come. Controversial it would be, but not ignored.

  His trouble was that he had written his masterpiece in a language spoken only by around ten million people in a world population of several billion. There was simply no way a play in Daskalovian could be produced for a larger audience. At the same time, Grigori knew he could never allow anyone else to translate it for him. Hence his immersal studies in the language.

  After six months, he was able to make a translation, to his satisfaction, in English. He was able to speak well enough to represent it. To his surprise, there were producers in England who took immediate interest, largely because of his role on Ambrosiano's last film. He had to put up with some unwanted celebrity from this, but finally, as the initial hoopla faded, Grigori was able to get the right people to listen.

  His one and only request was for his name to be changed. This was to keep either Giovanni or Julie from knowing what he was up to. The name he chose was Dmitri Vrastor, the surname being the Dasklovian word for a conqueror or overcomer.

  Indeed, what had he not overcome to reach this point? To be able to sit in a fine hall like this and choose actors for his own production. Really, it had seemed as if he had it all, coming to New York like this. But then he had a look at the list of names. The female ones.

  Julie had signed up to audition for his play.

  He felt an instant tightening in his groin. Did she know who he was? It was doubtful. He allowed no pictures. The name would have meant nothing to her. As far as she was concerned, it was just another audition. He could have her stricken, but that hardly seemed fair. Besides he was curious. What would she look like a year later? He was surprised she'd be here in New York and not in Los Angeles. Had something changed in her life?

  Of course he could never give her the part. That would be a conflict of interest. But he could listen to her, view her with his face hidden, just for old time's sake. This was the point he was at when his assistant called out her name. He smiled thinking how he used to call her “Julya” because he could not say Julie. He smiled over many other things, too. Like how she had touched him and brightened his life. And how hollow things were now, even with all his success.

  Maybe seeing her was not going to be such a good idea at all.

  Merciful heaven, she was more beautiful than ever. She'd cut her hair short, bringing out the youth of her face. She was wearing jeans and a t shirt, looking totally comfortable. And sexy, too. That ass under the faded denim-how could he forget the feel of it? And the weight of her breasts in his hands. The shirt might disguise them, hiding them somewhat, but he knew their reality, how they responded to touch, to kisses and caresses. He longed to have them now, to have her.

  Fists clenched, he squirmed in the seat. Let it be done, he thought, let this audition be through so he could reject her and move on. There was only one problem. As the small blonde opened her mouth speaking the words that he had written, it became immediately apparent that she was perfect for the part. No-that was an understatement. In truth, the part of Summer Lust had been written precisely and exactly for her. And if he did not choose her it would be a crime, against the play and against whatever audiences were destined to see it.

  "Enough,” he called out.

  "What is it, sir?” The assistant wanted to know. “Do you wish to move immediately on to the next auditioner?"

  "No, I wish to go to my office and not be disturbed. For the rest of the afternoon."

  "What about the actors?"

  "Send them all home,” he pronounced. “I have a headache."

  * * * *

  Julie was sure she knew the voice from somewhere. But where would she have met the man? She wished now she'd done her homework, as to who he was and where he came from. Truth be told, she'd done so many of these auditions lately in between her double shifts waitressing at the Golden Triangle Deli that she wasn't really sure which end was up much less what the difference was between “Seasons of Lust” the play and Four Seasons, the hotel.

  Admittedly, this was the easiest script she'd ever read in her life. One read through had been enough to memorize it. She was even confident enough to change one or two of the stage directions, adding little things she thought the character would do as she was talking. In some ways it was a little spooky-curious, at least. In the same way it was curious that the director was dismissing himself instead of her. Okay, she'd blown it. He didn't like her improves, whatever, there were a dozen more waiting in the wings to take their best shots, all of whom were at least as well qualified as her.

  Yes, there was something fishy here. Something oddly familiar. In the voice, as in the script. But there was nothing she could link it to in her memory. That is until the assistant director responded to his boss injunction to shut down the audtions for the day.

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Vrastor,” said the skinny, effeminate man. “Can we bring you some aspirin? Some cold compresses?"

  Vrastor. Now that was a connection she could not ignore. Did this director have anything to do with Grigori? Their voices were similar, she'd thought of that earlier only to dismiss it. The man spoke almost no English, after all, and he was hardly in the market to be producing a hit play.

  On the off chance, she called out his name. He made no reply as he stormed from the theater. He was large, though, as large as her bear wrestler and the hair was right, too.

  "Grigori,” she cried, her sneakers bounding down the wooden stairs. There was no way to catch up with him. His booted feet and denim-clad legs were managing one step to her two. He did have to stop to close his office door behind him, however, and that's where she had him.

  "Please, Grigori. I only want to talk."

  Actually, she wanted more than that. The man looked lean and delicious, his cock nicely filling the Levis, his chest smoothly covered in a turtleneck. It had been so long for her-since the last time with him and Giovanni, actually.

  "There is not anything to talk of,” he replied, though he let her in before closing the door.

  She stood there, moist eyed. “Your English is so good, Grigori."

  His frown deepened. “It is passable, that is all."

  Julie licked her lips. How did she break ice like this? It was fate, them coming back together. She couldn't let the opportunity slip by. “I missed you,” she whispered.

  Grigori was silent.

  She moved to touch his cheek. He held her wrist in mid air. “I do not want this, Julie."

  Julie felt a tugging at her heart. “You can say my name now.” It was a bittersweet thing; she was proud of him and yet there had been something so special about being his Julya.

  He looked at the hand he help captive. “You are not married?"

  "No,” she breathed. “There is no one...” She was going to say ‘no one else,’ but she stopped short.

  Grigori nodded. “Your hair, it is good like this."

  "You like it? I was afraid ... well, I thought maybe the short hair wouldn't be pleasing.” Julie flushed red at the sound of her own babbling. She'd had no idea she'd see the man today or ever. How could she be standing here like a schoolgirl in the company of her first crush?

  He released her wrist. “Your performance,” he said. “It was excellent ... very pleasing."

  She lowered her eyes. “Thank you, Grigori."

  A moment later her hands were at the bottom of her t-shirt ... oh, god, what was she doing?

  "And these?” She asked softly, pulling the garment over her head to reveal her bra-clad breasts. “Are they pleasing also?"

  Grigori's features tightened. She noticed some action in the groin area, too. “
This is not a road to go down, Julie. It would be different now. I am different."

  Her heart was beating like a rabbit's. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked the pink lace bra. “Different how?” She pulled it forward over her shoulders.

  "When you knew me before, there was guilt inside me, a frozen wasteland. I burn now. There is no telling what that would do to a woman. I have not dared try, Julie, not since I was with you."

  Her heart melted. “You ... you saved yourself?"

  "I saw no opportunities,” he corrected as the bra fell to the floor.

  Julie stood bare breasted before the man, her mouth parched, her nipples twinged with heat. “Vrastoya,” she said.

  He smiled wryly. “Vrastoya, for the vrastor."

  She took a step closer, holding up her aching tits with both hands. “No other man has seen or touched these, Grigori. They were held in safe keeping for you."

  "It will be different,” he warned once more. “I may not let you go so easily."

  Boldly, she took his hands now and put them on her, gripping tight. “And maybe I do not want to be let go of."

  He narrowed his hold to her nipples, applying just enough sweet pressure to make her exclaim, half a wince, half a moan. “Vrastroya."

  The man did not relent, not till she was on her knees. “Grigori,” she sighed, burying her cheek against his clothed erection. “Please fuck my mouth."

  "No,” he denied her. “I want you on the desk. You will take off all your clothes and lie on your back."

  "Yes, Grigori.” She tore eagerly at the opening to her jeans. She was going to be fucked. The long dry spell was over and best of all it was one of the two men she cared about most in the world taking her. Her panties were sopping wet as she slid them down. Her fingers trembled as she rushed to get naked and put herself into position. Without even touching her, this man could drive her out of her mind. Far from fading, the fires of last year only burnt hotter now.

  The desk was made of metal and it was cold on her flushed skin. She felt dirty and wicked crawling onto it, especially the way she was dripping between her legs. She spread her thighs wide as she glued her ass solidly to the surface. Planting both feet flat, she gave him an unencumbered view of her pussy.