My hand was on the shoulder of the camera guy. Move in because we had this beautiful diagonal scene of her, so powerfully intimate as she stared at him with her eyes wide and her mouth open, her legs parted and her pussy on display. He shoved the head of his cock into her, and we kept both of them in a wide two-shot, which meant we were still tastefully showing them as he was inside her, poised, but not ramming in. Brilliant. He remembered what I had asked him to do. Gently, softly, he dangled the ruler and let it slide over her breasts and her stomach just before he slid all the way into her. That’s it, that’s it…
“ Ahhhhh-ahhhh!’ Charlene whimpered. “Te…Te…!’
Me: flashbacking to Kim calling me that pet name.
Banish that image. This is different.
But Charlene was calling for me.
The script made things easy by calling Todd’s character, well, Todd, and everyone assumed Charlene was ad-libbing the start of his name, even though she had no line of dialogue here. I was the only one who understood. She felt stripped, intensely turned on and vulnerable, not calling out to the guy who began to pump his cock inside her. No, as her legs wrapped around the back of his thighs, the cry was a summons to me. I was the one who had dreamed up this scenario, I was the one orchestrating her pleasure. She felt a primitive urge to call out to the person responsible, and how was I doing this to her? How did I reach her core?
She kissed him hard, hands gripping his ass tight and her nails digging in so that they left tiny red marks, and when he steadied himself on his hands, I tapped the shoulder of the camera guy again, and he moved to get the two in a closer shot. It was beautiful. Todd was sweating hard now, and Charlene was flushed, her face bright pink right down to her tits as she abruptly came, and we got it all. You couldn’t see his cock too well, but you saw enough of this thick rope of scarlet flesh plunging into her, a trickle of sweat from his abs oozing down to the base of his shaft, her hands straying to cup her own breasts as sensations took her away, the flash of exertion in a curve of his buttocks. I don’t think they could have stopped if I’d yelled cut anyway.
Instead I made another motion to the first camera guy, and he took a wide angle on the two of them, making the eye of the audience a silent voyeur in a doorway. Charlene’s legs shaking, her dainty feet seeking purchase on his thighs, on his calves as she came once more—very loud—and bit into his shoulder. It looked real. It was real. He came inside her with a bull’s roar, and for a moment I thought the crew was going to blow it by relaxing and muttering, and I raised my hand to shut the hell up and—
Perfect. The two of them looking into each other’s eyes. Todd, with good actor’s instincts, reached for the glove again, and softly stroked her face. She closed her eyes and smiled up at him gratefully. One kiss, languorous, achingly slow, lips parting and coming together again. I made the camera hold on Todd still inside her, moving slowly, slowly, slowly…She lifted her head to bite his lip, let her head fall back, and moaned. I put them all out of their misery and yelled cut.
Porn stars, I’m told, can get off on working together. Many times the on-screen fucking is going through the motions, but the chemistry can be there just as it sparks with any random two people, and you can’t discount regular body arousal. Duncan opined that genuine sexual chemistry was a pain in the arse, because the two stars would get it on, and they wouldn’t have anything left when the time came for different shots to be taken. I thought this was rubbish. Instead of coming up with different positions—making them do it on their sides, making the guy take her from behind, now do it this way, now put a syrupy music track over it all—I felt a real moment would shine through. And after that sequence, I felt vindicated.
Charlene and Todd both looked a little embarrassed as they came back to earth. Hey, there’s acting out an emotion, and then there’s showing your real libido in front of strangers. They both rushed out to clean up and be ready for the next take.
A female production assistant made a quick fanning motion with her hand and whispered conspiratorially, “That was fucking hot! I feel like my knees are going to give out! Did you know they’d do it like that? Where did you come up with all this?’
I smiled, enjoying my small triumph. “Oh, I’ve had some interesting experiences,’ I laughed.
I was only supposed to direct this one sequence, scheduled for the end of the day’s shoot (in case I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, and we went over). So that was it. Duncan, driving back to the set with all his indignation and his jealousy, walked in as the crew gave me a standing ovation. As it died, he shouted, “Okay, playtime’s over, kiddies! Tomorrow we do the dining room scene, and we get some real work done.’ Way to alienate everyone.
The most interesting feedback I got that day was when shooting was over, and Charlene was fully dressed again in a red long-sleeved top under her leather jacket and in her short leather mini. She was once more clasping my hands, thanking me. Then she moved in for a deep kiss that caught me completely off guard, her soft warm tongue coiling with mine, and as we finished, she said, “I’d really like you to teach me what else you know.’
Oh. Umm. Well. I gave her an affectionate peck and said I was busy tonight, but I’d think about it. Wasn’t trying to be a tease, she just threw me completely. As I helped the camera guys load up the van to go back to Canary Wharf, Todd was also looking fine in clothes, jeans and a polo shirt, telling me: “Teresa, you’re a natural… Hey, fancy a drink?’
Oh. Umm. Well. Sorry, busy tonight, but I’d think about it.
I felt giddy as I headed for the Tube, wondering idly if the two of them would have liked to share me for the night.
Stupid. Stupid, because I felt the frantic desperation again. I could have had either Charlene or Todd, both of whom were safe, regularly tested, and God knows reliably capable and enthusiastic, but I would have to face them the next day for the shoot. Be involved with one or both of them, even if only for a brief tryst. Chicken. Here, chick-chick-chicken. Just not ready, even for casual fun.
And so I was back again, finding another Soft Swinging couple to watch.
As ever, the Internet had leads. I showed up outside one large picture window in Notting Hill, but the view wasn’t as good as promised, the couple doing straight dull missionary, which meant they lay flat below the windowsill and were out of sight too often and for too long, and besides it was cold out there. Others shrugged and quickly abandoned the scene as well. I headed for a better prospect at a house in St. John’s Wood, and photos of the host couple promised a mixed-race girl with café-au-lait skin and short hair, the guy slim and not a great physique on him but with a nice, cute face, South Asian.
Cut to half an hour later, sitting on another floor in a stranger’s home, like watching an amateur theater group’s script reading, and the two cast off their robes, and just as in the porn studio, I felt the corners of my mouth twitch in a nervous smile over the sudden brazen nudity two feet away. There was a space heater in the room, the radiator not doing its job properly, and the onlookers had to pile their coats in a corner, some reluctantly, as if they could hide their lust with them. Another small group of the desperately lonely and horny and merely curious, and I realized I was like a new worshipper of a depraved little church, looking forward to the dynamics of the group’s response as much as the ritual of sex.
Porn has been always a bit sad to me (fun to make, I had to admit). If I picked up an erotica novel, I could lose myself in the story or identify with the heroine getting it on. But porn was functional for the faceless, and if you watched, you saw something filmed some time ago for everybody and nobody. Maybe that was why Luis and the others liked my directed scenes, because I did what got me hot. There was a clear personality in the direction, a presence. And here, in another soft-swinging scene, the actors knew we were there, they felt our presence, whether they acknowledged us or not. There was always suspense in this understanding.
The South Asian guy and mixed-race girl were ready to get down t
o business—lubes, a dildo and a couple of other toys on the bed—but the guy pulled up a chair and sat down, the girl reverse mounting him so he could reach around to fondle her breasts and clit. Interesting mix of skin tones, her lighter than him. I decided he was cuter than his photograph, his cock not terribly impressive, but he made up for it with a sensual style, kissing her like someone who wanted to love, wanted to worship. He kissed her long and slow as his brown dick impaled her inch by inch, disappearing into her shaved pussy, the girl making grateful small grunts: “Uh, uh, uh.’
On the floor in the audience, there was the familiar stir from the aroused, a shifting of legs, one man leaning forward, a girl starting to rock in place. Strange to get the scent, the musk, of those you don’t know, thick in this small room with the space heater. One woman watching stripped off her sweater just because of the heat, revealing a half-T, and even this casual motion was charged with eroticism. She muttered fuck it, and let out an embarrassed laugh, stripping off the half-T as well, topless now. Pasty white skin, moles, breasts that curved up, pale wide areolae. The guy next to her looked a little too long at her and then shyly away. This seemed to win her over, and she boldly unzipped his Levi’s and pulled him out, small white fingertips stroking his cock, thin and veiny. She kissed the guy’s cheek in a quick smack, a signal he should let things move naturally, turn his attention back to the couple. But she held on and petted his dick like a tiny creature. So we all watched the hungry kisses and fondling, the rapid slaps of flesh, but while I loved the mixed-race girl’s body, this wasn’t doing anything for me, not until the two got more acrobatic.
Despite having a luscious, curvy shape, she was quite the little gymnast, flattening her palms on the floor as her man almost stood up to ram her hard, but this only prompted more fevered panting from her. She wasn’t even close to coming, though she seemed to enjoy the rude pose, her full breasts dangling, sweat now on her arms with her exertion. She looked up once at those of us on the floor and smiled mischievously. We all laughed, men and women alike taken with her. I once loved someone like this, innocent and yet powerfully sensual. I felt myself lifting my knees, exposing my white cotton knickers, at last starting to feel wet…
I sat next to a blond girl of twenty, cute but somewhat plain, and contact. I have no idea whether she was a lesbian or bi, but all at once, her two small fingers darted between my legs and pressed against my pussy through the cotton. I looked at her, frozen for an instant whether to allow her to keep touching me, but she took her hand away, mouthing the words I’m sorry, and confused, I tasted salt. I was barely aware a tear had rolled down my cheek—it must have prompted her apology. And when I looked back to see the couple, the mixed-race girl had popped loose from her man and had come to kneel directly in front of me. Her hand stroked my face. I pressed my head against her hand as her eyes said you look lonely, you are in pain. I let her, I let this girl touch me because I felt transparent, and because her body was so perfect and familiar, and while her hairstyle was different, the face and that exquisite hourglass, the big brown eyes, resurrected a ghost.
The girl gave me a look with a silent question, asking for permission, for trust. Tantalized, I offered the faintest nod, and she pulled off my panties. I watched her snap on a latex glove and thought she was merely going to finger me, but I watched her slather her hand in lube, this nude goddess with ripe breasts and one glove on, while her boyfriend caressed her back with his cock still half at attention. My eyes widened with almost delighted shock, knowing what she intended to do, and I opened my legs. I opened my legs for everyone to see. I heard the rude slurp of my own juices, but she would need that lube. I told myself you came here just to watch, not get involved, maybe masturbate but not to get involved. Fingers penetrating me, two, very slick, three, four, testing with a slow rhythm and sliding out to make a duckbill of her hand, pushing, pushing with tender, gentle pressure as the South Asian guy kept stroking her back and urged her to lift her round ass, granting him a shallow entry of his own.
The girl’s other hand fondled me through my top, roaming, and another request and silent permission, then strangers’ hands were stripping my top, undoing my bra, and I was leaned naked against a couple of pillows and the wall as the girl’s hand slipped farther … in. It felt like an incredible passage of time for the progress of her hand, the girl leaning in and sucking one of my nipples, small teeth playfully nipping, tongue moving in circles. She released the slightest moan with her guy filling her slowly, intuitively knowing he should match the rhythm of her hand in me. The others were no longer watching only the couple, but the girl fisting me as she slowly got fucked. I was so turned on by my exhibitionism, by the pattern of bodies, my own hand idly cupping one of her breasts. The sensations from her hand were overwhelming, and I gave up and gave in.
Wave after wave, the slightest movement like an earthquake inside my pussy, and we locked eyes as I came, back arching, her inside me up to her wrist, and her own arousal must have climbed, her vaginal muscles tightening on her guy’s dick inside her, him groaning and pulling out a little, not ready to come, trying to hang on. But with her free hand, she reached back and urged him back in. I watched her areolae puff out more, nipples hard, and she came silently with my fingertips stroking her ribs. Impulsively she kissed me, and her man started to pump faster. I rode another wave of rising pleasure and squirted over her hand. A guy watching us on his knees fell back and came all over himself…
When it was over and the “guests’ were drifting back out to the street, the girl embraced her guy, flashing me a brilliant smile. I felt gravity pull me back down, the realization that I was something brief in their lives. Well, of course, I was. It had been powerful, yes, but time for the ship in the night to pull out of the bay. You wanted no involvement, right? Intimate touch didn’t change that. Intimate touch wasn’t involvement at all, certainly not without names. I left thinking I had a great scene to re-create for Silky Pictures, maybe with Charlene and Todd again, who knows. At least I got creatively inspired.
Can’t keep doing this, though, I thought.
When this job is done, then I can afford to find somebody to date. Yeah. I’ll catch my breath and assess why things went wrong with Kim, how I got to this point where I’m walking alone in the cold night, leaving someone I don’t know instead of coming home to be warmed up by someone who cares.
♦
At Silky Pictures, “Teresa Lane’ was accepted. I was in. I tagged along with the cast and crew on the Friday night trip to the pub, and Luis, playing the reserved but good-humored boss, included me in his turn to buy the round of drinks and introduced me to his wife. This was the young mixed-race girl with the Shakira hairstyle, who I learned wasn’t from Portugal, but Brazil. She plonked herself down next to me in the booth with a shy smile but tremendous curiosity in her eyes, declaring, “Hi, I’m Helê.’
“Teresa.’
“Yes, I know, I know! I am told you are like a breath of fresh air! Where did you come from? Why aren’t you still modeling? How did you think up that sequence? I saw it, and it was amazing. Luis is delighted to find someone of your natural talent. But if you ask me, I think you should supervise the editing of your directed movies, too. How did you think up such angles? You must tell me everything! Everything, come on—’
The others within earshot started to laugh, because this was apparently typical Helê, so many thoughts offered in a rush, a dozen questions fired off but barely a wait for the answers.
“You make me almost wish I was still in the movies.’
“You’re an actress?’ I asked politely.
“No, no, no, no! I would hardly call what I ever did acting, and it was for others a long time ago. Disgusting things.’
Her large brown eyes sought out Luis, and I sensed they always did in moments of vulnerability—more often than the usual appeal of a wife to a husband. She traded a look with him that hinted at the shared intimacy of some past disaster.
Well, maybe I was readin
g too much into a glance of brief seconds. I was so much on guard for anything useful I could learn. But it was odd that she used the word disgusting for her past work. At the table were girls who casually rattled off a résumé of double penetration, three-ways, blow jobs. The people around the table treated her with both the deference due to the boss’s wife and the protective affection you gave a kid sister.
She talked about how she was going back to school next year, that she perfectly understood my switching careers to editing, and that she wanted to learn something that would always be in demand, maybe get a job as a pharmacist. Luis looked on, here and there suggesting how if she wanted to aim higher she could—she was smart and could learn anything.
“No, you think I’m smart because you love me,’ she laughed. And he insisted she was, and back and forth it went. “I’m not that smart…’
Interesting girl. Even though she lived in their big house out in Twickenham, she wanted a secure job, one that lasted, and I recognized that neuroticism. It’s the desire to feel secure because once upon a time you were penniless, desperate, and you never want to feel that way again.
Helê seemed genuinely interested in me. When I mentioned to Charlene how nice she was, the actress laughed and said: “Of course, she likes you, Teresa! You stood up to Duncan. You know how rare that is? I think you really impressed her.’
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