The Truth about Porn Star Boyfriends

by Sunniva Dee

  “You liked it?”

  Out of nowhere a lump starts to grow in my throat. I think I’m just frustrated. I’ve never felt this way about a man. He’s too good to be true. Too far away. I have this hole in my chest filled with emptiness and longing because he’s not here. If only I had those words after he logged off.

  This is PMS. That’s what it is. God. “Yeah, I like it.”

  “And now you’re sad?”

  “No. It’s just. Gah, I gotta go.”

  “Savannah!”

  I pause and press a finger to my eye so I don’t tear up. “Yes?”

  “I’m back late tomorrow night. Okay? It might tip over midnight, but I’ll be back. Thirty-six hours. Can you do that for me?”

  I let out a choked laugh. “Do what?”

  “Hang in there for thirty-six hours? I miss you too.”

  Shit. He’s so perceptive. And kind. And wanting everything good for me. I should look into medication that can temper my reactions so that I act like a normal person.

  “Of course, no problem,” I manage.

  “I’ll come straight to your house. No, even better: go to my house. Wait for me there. Two-four-four-six-eight-one.”

  “What?” I sniffle.

  “The code to the gate. The same code works on the alarm system to the house. I’ll give Mrs. Brandt a heads up you’ll be coming.”

  “Oh god.” The tears come anyway now. I wobble-smile, and his responding smile blows into a grin.

  “Damn, you’re adorable. Is that a yes? Will you and Princess, both of my girls, be there when I come home tomorrow night?”

  “Probably,” I half-snicker. “You might have two girls in your bed when you arrive.

  “No, no,” he mock-chides. “No dogs in my bed.”

  “Sorry, I can’t make that kind of promise.” I tilt the lid of my laptop backward so I show only the underside of my chin. “You’re not the boss of us.”

  “Savannah?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I have to go, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But check your messenger in a few.”

  I do. And what I find is a recording of his voice. Deep, melodious, and unhurried, he recites,

  Gold-hearted heart-fillers

  Conquer detached worlds and morale-killers

  Frail but strong

  Beautiful but real

  She chases my truth and devours my love.

  I have red lingerie stuffed into the overnight bag waiting in the back of my beetle. It makes me giddy and impulsive at Mintrer’s. Frieda and Charlotte both know of my plans, and for once, they have the same reaction: eye-rolling.

  Usually, I’m not in charge of much after-work cleanup, but of course tonight was the exception. Relieved, I finally leave work at eleven forty-five, and my pulse rises with my ascent on Hillside. I’m glad nighttime in the Valley doesn’t involve traffic. If it did, I wouldn’t have been keying in the code to the funkis bunker only fifteen minutes later.

  Lights shine from the living room, and the porch lamps are on. Maybe he asked his housekeeper to leave it like that for me? Or maybe he always leaves a few lights on for Princess. My heart lurches as I think that’s probably it.

  A single, deep bark greets me from upstairs. I call out Princess’ name, and she replies with a happy whine. I take the stairs in a few strides, and she greets me with sloppy kisses and loud complaints. Then she flops to her back to show her pink belly.

  She’s nothing like Mr. Dakapoulos’ little yappy dogs. This here is pure love and generous chubby muscle. I nudge her stomach with my nose, sweet-nothing-talking her, and she lets out happy-sounds of her own.

  “We need to hurry, sweetie. Let’s go.”

  She scrambles along with me, nails sliding across the bamboo floor. We make our way to the master, where the bed is beautifully made, fresh red linens stretched with that fluffy down comforter on top. I smile a little, drawing them to the side.

  My watch shows twelve fifteen. He can be here at any moment. I want us both to be in bed when he comes. I stalk into his bathroom, peel off my work clothes, and stuff them into my bag. Then, I take out the red lingerie, the color of passion, and leave it on the sink while I dive into his rainforest shower.

  I cover my hair so it doesn’t get wet; it still looks nice. Then, I turn on five shower heads at once, leaving myself in a three-minute heaven of steam and rushing water. Coconut shower gel. I know he likes it. I wash myself down there too, though he loves my flavor. I purse my lips, embarrassed at the thought.

  Next, I’m out of the shower, drying off with Princess whining at me from the open door. “Shh, he’ll be home soon, okay?”

  Princess wiggles her tail in agreement, hips following suit.

  Coconut oil. I’m getting fancy lately. Is that how everyone becomes when they have a boyfriend they can’t stop thinking about? This oil is for the body. If you put on just the right amount, it disappears into your skin, leaving it smooth and supple and mouthwatering. I lick my arm after applying it, and nod. “Yep, it tastes sweet,” I tell Princess, who jerks her head back playfully.

  Car. Outside. Oh no! Too soon. I laugh out loud, brush my teeth so quickly I can’t possibly have gotten rid of anything. As I switch off the master light and stumble-run to the bed, Princess bounds for the window. She does her single bark, then wiggles her entire butt like she knows it’s her daddy.

  As the front door opens quietly downstairs, I tiptoe to the bedroom door, shut it, and grab Princess by the collar. “Shhh.” I even lift a finger for emphasis, crossing my mouth with it in case she prefers sign language. Next, we’re both in bed, under the covers. She whimpers, objecting to this wild plan. I suppress a laugh.

  The door opens silently. Then it closes again, but I hear no footsteps moving toward me. I open my eyes and realize he never came in. He must have forgotten something. I hear my heart in my ears. I bite my lip, more nervous by the second. What’s he up to out there?

  The shower runs in the guest bathroom by the stairs, and I puff an exhale. Adrenaline kicks in, working me up. A thought at the back of my mind suggests that maybe he saw me and decided to sleep in the guestroom. A bigger, more reasonable thought tells me he’s cleaning up after the flight and he doesn’t want to wake me up.

  The room is so dark with all the lights off that I barely see his silhouette sneaking toward me minutes later. I get the flight instinct, the one reminding me how I’m crushing Status Quo. Next thing I know he’s assaulted by Princess, who does not have an inside voice with her daddy.

  “Princess,” he chuckles, his voice a whisper. “Shhh. Calm down, girl. We don’t want to wake Savannah.”

  Princess doesn’t give a shit, and neither do I.

  I reach out, finding smooth skin and a waft of fresh pine. As soon as he feels my fingers on his back, he falls over me, crushing me into the mattress with his hips against mine. I laugh breathlessly, and he kisses me without words.

  His body jerks while he kisses me. It takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing until I hear the telltale thump of a pitbull girl hitting the floor.

  “God you’re delicious,” he murmurs. “I’ve missed you. Lovely, lovely Savannah.”

  “I’ve missed you,” I purr, and then he’s under the sheets, and there’s only one reality that matters in the whole world.

  We’re here. Ciro’s arms are laced around me, watching the ocean over my shoulder. I hunch it upward so light stubble tickles my skin and makes me smile.

  “You’re so perfect.”

  “I’m going to end up conceited if you don’t stop.”

  “What’s the problem? You’d be the hottest conceited bitch out there,” he says, and I break out laughing. He squeezes me close. I don’t think life could be any better than the two of us standing on this romantic balcony of the Santa Barbara
Castello.

  Palms wave on both corners of our terracotta-tiled, stucco-white sphere. It’s complete with stuffed recliners and a wrought-iron glass table, and behind us, our room exudes understated luxury, a self-assured style in earthy, creamy colors.

  “All I want,” Ciro says, “is to spoil you. I want your eyes to cross with happiness.”

  “Ha!” Because what do you say when aqua-greens are steady on you and flecks of golden excitement materialize in them?

  “I don’t do cross-eyed.” I’m the comeback queen. “It is not in my nature,” I add to really dig my grave.

  “No? Tell me about your nature then. I want more. And more and more.” His lips trail up my throat until he finds my earlobe, and I shiver.

  “I love this place,” he says when I don’t answer.

  “You come here often?”

  “I used to. It’s been a while though, and the Castello deserved another chance. You like it so far?”

  A bubble of happiness quivers at the top of my chest. I need to stop it from taking over. It feels dangerous, like I’m losing my connection with the ground. It doesn’t stop me from confessing that I adore this place too.

  “I mean, look at the view.” I raise a hand ominously and draw the horizon while the sun makes a spectacle of itself by lowering slowly into the water.

  “I know.” His voice vibrates against my spine. For a second, I allow myself to consider everything the world could possibly present to me, and how, of all things, it made someone so amazing fall into my lap.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  “I’ll be right back,” he whispers.

  In seconds, the sun drowns, and the moon conquers the night. It shines now, from the embers left behind by the sun, and his groupies—the stars—twinkle to make him look his best.

  Ciro returns, panther-silent and barefoot. His hand goes out in front of me, a beverage in an elegant glass extended.

  “I wanted to celebrate tonight. The four days without you felt like weeks to me. Hopefully, it wasn’t as bad for you.” He lets out a chuckle. “Okay, if I’m to be honest, a part of me wants you to have suffered a little too.”

  “Oh no worry. I missed you like crazy.” I lean the back of my head into his chest. “What is this? Champagne?”

  “It is. You like champagne, right?”

  “Sure do.” I’m glad we’re still facing the ocean. I can’t imagine my overly enthusiastic grin looking better from the front.

  “Baby girl,” he coaxes like he’s heard my thoughts. “Turn to me.”

  Slowly, I swing, feeling his arm lower to my waist. I link around his neck, but I can’t meet his gaze. I hold my drink high instead, until we clink glasses.

  “Real crystal?” I say.

  “Is it? Sure got music in it. Pi-n-n-g,” he mimics. Then he kisses me. Languid strokes of his tongue against mine, lips and moisture until my breath tightens and his exhales work with mine. When he pulls away, he’s winded.

  “Cheers, boyfriend.”

  He glides his nose up mine and finds my forehead with his lips. “Ah. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all month.”

  Ciro angles our heads back, side by side, chin to chin, mouth to mouth. Through semi-open eyes, I watch him lift his glass above us. The fizz of champagne meets both of our lips, and he seals us around it all. I smile, sputter, gulp. It comes out of my mouth, dripping down my chin and onto his white shirt. He laughs.

  “You’re not exactly a pro at this,” he tells me.

  “I’m not a pro at anything.”

  “At love you are.”

  “Whatever you mean by that.”

  “You’re intoxicating.” He kisses droplets of champagne off my chin, my throat, and moves down my neckline.

  “Let’s try again.” Suddenly he has us leaning against the front wall of the porch, my head back against his chest and my mouth meeting his in some Cirque-de-Soleil knockoff. His glass is empty and on the ledge. He appropriates mine and extends it above us, ready to let go into our joined mouths. My stomach quivers with humor.

  “Ciro! That you up there?”

  The shout is out of place between the stars and the moon and the champagne. I’ve got a small river snaking down between my boobs. Ciro lets go of my mouth to stare out over the parking lot below us.

  “Hey. Yeah.” His hands tighten around me. He swings me toward him so that I lean against his body while his attention remains on the convertible below us. Five people. Three women, two men, all in party mode.

  “It’s me, Marko!” one of the guys screams like we’re on the tenth floor instead of the third. “Is that Silk with you?”

  “No.”

  “I had some serious flashbacks there for a second,” the other guy shouts equally loud, causing the girls to titter. “Same hair and figure. How long has it been?”

  “Not long enough,” Ciro says with me tensing in his arms. “Guys, we gotta go. Have fun, all right?” I twist my head for a glimpse of his face. In the moonlight, its planes are smooth, but his eyes have gone freezer-still.

  “Yeah, dude! The lady you’ve got up there, she’s not just work, right?”

  One of the girls guffaws drunkenly. “Ciro would never bring work to the Castello. Have fun, guy-guy. May love destroy the shit out of youuuuu!” she screams, and everyone hollers and waves before they round the corner to the parking garage.

  We’re quiet afterward. Ciro’s arm is warm around me as he leads me back into our room. The moon still shines out there, but there’s something tempered about it now. He lowers me to the bed. His eyes know where my mind is, with a girl named Silk.

  My stockings were bought for this getaway. I let him roll them off, his fingertips blunt and heated. I need him on me. My thighs open when he sinks down and buries his face into my neck. Strong arms burrow under my body and lift me. We entwine. We revel in our yin-yang.

  “I’m sorry.” His apology puffs against my skin, soft and warm and sad.

  “Who was she?”

  “My ex-wife.”

  I could get up. Sit by the window with some distance between us. Instead I crush him closer. She was before me. We’re good as long as her memory isn’t in his veins.

  “Are you over her?”

  He moves my knees back and makes them touch my boobs. He watches me in the quasi-gleam of the moon. He’s blue. I’m blue. We look like magic, and when he lowers over me, we become magic.

  “Hey, boyfriend?” I ask sweetly, eyes as big as I can make them, which is pretty wide. I personify the Pacific. Here’s to hoping nine-o-clock breakfast light does me justice.

  “Yes?” His head slumps low over my hand, kissing every knuckle. Eggs and bacon rest on a seashell-adorned plate on the nightstand. A caffelatte, same pattern as the breakfast plate, teases next to it. Ciro only sees my hand.

  “So, you know how I’ve told you about Matthew in high school?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve told me not-very-much about your exes. Like Silk, for instance. Feel like sharing?”

  Ciro’s exhale is long. It reaches the bottom of his stomach, and like everything else about him, it causes my hormones to riot.

  “Silk was a fellow performer. She came into the biz about five years after me. I was established, but she, she was this new fresh blast of air rushing through my genre. People wanted to work with her. She won the debut actress of the year award.” He waves his hand in the air quickly, fending off my questions. “Not an award you’ve heard of. No SAG or Oscar. But it’s a big one at our level.”

  He shifts the breakfast tray to the night table. Our bodies roll, and I’m on my side with him next to me. His mouth finds the crook of my neck, and a hand strays down my hip. Kneads, massages, and finds the inside of my thigh.

  “Silk and I got to know each other at a release party. We started hanging out
and found that we had things in common. Troubled pasts, for instance.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Five years or so?” He thinks before he says it, and I find that I’m happy he doesn’t give me a full-on, down-to-the-hour countdown.

  He toys with me, sliding himself against my opening. I let out a moan. It’s the strangest thing to be made love to while your boyfriend recounts a past relationship. It’s hard to concentrate when—

  “Ahhh.”

  He brings me an icepack afterward. It’s wrapped in a hotel wash cloth, which he uses to soothe my private parts. This man hurls me into pleasure that lasts and lasts, but they still think he’s a lot to take in.

  The sun vibrates in the window, trying to press its rays past the shadows of the palm trees. We’re sated, just here, with the heat and scents of each other filling the moment.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say. “Without sidetracking me.”

  “Happened with what?”

  “Silk.”

  “Ah.” He doesn’t sound happy. He scoots down on the bed, far enough to find the soft middle between my ribs and my hip. He kisses me there, letting out a puff of air. “It was the usual thing. Falling in love. Dating. Getting married. We were married for two years, but then our careers took us in different directions.”

  He’s talking against my belly button. I see the straight length of his nose, his forehead, a sole lock of hair ducking downward, but I can’t see his eyes.

  “Ciro. Love?”

  He glances up at my endearment.

  “Can you come up here to me?”

  Silent, he pulls himself high on the mattress again. The vibe in the room tells me he’d rather not have this conversation. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m pretty sure it’s good for us that I know.

  I grab onto fragments. “You said your careers took you in different directions. Where did Silk’s take her, and where did you go?”

  I don’t expect his grieved sigh.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you, baby. But only because I don’t want this to happen to us.”