“A film.”
“Nudity?” Katherine asks.
“Yeah, of course. But if you ask, they won’t show your face. There are lotsa other girls involved, so they won’t mind.”
Vicky runs to the bathroom where she is promptly sick. She returns, awfully pale and tense. She nervously insists. “Please, I just can’t face it today. Be a pal. Please.”
Katherine acquiesces. She’s stripped before. Never before a camera, though. And she likes Vicky in a quiet, affectionate way.
Vicky books a cab for the afternoon. It’s a villa in the Hollywood Hills. She bargains with the producers.
“It’s all fixed. He even said that if you’re real glamorous, you could get a bonus. I told him you’re incredibly tall and have wild hair. He was very excited. You’ll have to doll yourself up a bit. Here,” she extracts a note from her handbag. “Fifty bucks, buy yourself something special at the mall, something nice. You English gals have so much taste.”
Katherine spends it all, and more, at Victoria’s Secret, where the lingerie is supposed to be English but comes from somewhere in Ohio or thereabouts, she read in a magazine. The underwear is slinky, the silk glistens, she knows how easily she could become a serious silk fetishist with stuff like this. She could spend a fortune on underwear alone. A black slip that adheres to her body through the sheer force of gravity, a pair of knickers, more like a thong, the sheer fabric dissecting her bum cheeks and enhancing the drop of her wide hips. A brassiere that hooks up at the back like a corset. Stockings as soft as flesh. In the cubicle, she looks at her body in the mirror. She feels the onset of wetness between her thighs. God, I’m such a slut.
The villa has white walls, most of the furniture has been moved out the main room, and its windows open up on a large pool outside. They’re already filming there when she arrives. A brassy, artificial blonde stands inside, the water lapping around her waist, her breasts are large and unnatural. A silicone job, no doubt. A tubby guy sits on the edge and she is sucking his cock with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, while the camera peers into the action in close-up. The cameraman is incredibly hairy and wears only Bermuda shorts. Out of camera range, two other couples lounge around, some nude, others with towels around their waist. She recognizes one of the men. It’s Steve; Esteban, from Miami.
He sees and waves.
“Hey, if it isn’t English Eddie?”
She acknowledges his presence with a silent gesture.
The peroxide blonde in the pool changes position with the man and he starts sucking on her genitals, once the cameraman has changed his film. Her pubes are also peroxide blonde. The straw yellow patch seems so damn wrong. A young guy, who looks more like a student, but is actually the director, shouts out:
“Come on, give it some more life. You’re supposed to be enjoying it.”
The porno actor ignores him and chews away impassively.
Finally, “Cut. Let’s move on to another scene. Everybody’s here. The whole cast. Orgy time, kids.”
She’s asked to strip. They won’t even let her wear the new lingerie. A female assistant powders her thigh to hide a small bruise, then moves on to another one of the women who spreads her thighs open and instructs the gofer to powder over the pimples spreading like a rash around her cunt.
The director orders them to spread out in a daisy chain by the pool side. She’s asked to fellate the guy in front of her as he lies on his back and Steve rams her from behind and the peroxide blonde from the previous sequence licks out his arsehole and fingers his balls while he moves in and out of Katherine.
One fleeting moment, she imagines her husband out on the town with a group of other journalists and friends, maybe tomorrow his brother the architect is getting married; they have a meal in Chinatown, cruise the pubs getting increasingly drunker and land in some Soho film club to watch dirty movies. He recognizes her cunt, and is sick as he is forced to watch the alien penis invade her private sanctum in larger than life dimensions. Which is how he must have felt when he had learned of her cheating. The hurt.
Steve pumps away, whispers:
“Fancy meeting like this again, lady. Destiny, I’m sure.”
The director has them change positions.
Now a small redhead is asked to eat her out while Steve’s long, thin member invests her mouth and forces its way almost down her throat. Another’s hand roughly manipulates her nipples, twisting, pulling, squeezing between sharp nails. She can’t see anything. The strong lights blind her and all she can hear is the monotonous whirr of the nearby camera’s motor as it captures the scene and her infamy forever. The redhead isn’t very good. She has a small bald patch and a birthmark on her back, like a map of Italy. Her aroma is distinctive. Do all redheads smell this way?
Behind her, she hears one of the guys cry out that he’s coming, and the cameraman rushes off to catch the moment; the man’s momentary partner fakes aural orgasm. Katherine tastes the pre-ejaculate filtering from the tip of the Cuban’s cock shortly before he withdraws. The sparky assistant brings them all cool drinks and they move inside the villa.
The women don’t speak to each other as they troop in. The men follow. The tubby one has lost his erection. As the next camera setup is prepared, he strokes himself to regain his rigidity. It doesn’t work. The director asks the girls to help him out.
“I don’t do that,” the redhead says.
The peroxide blonde says:
“He smells. At the pool was enough.”
Katherine lowers her eyes when the young director looks in her direction.
“Okay, okay already,” he calls the young assistant over. “Hey, Markie, this is what they taught you at film school, no? Help the poor guy out.”
“You bastard,” the all-purpose assistant answers, but moves over to the temporarily impotent actor and takes hold of his cock as she lowers her mouth toward it. “Better not film any of this.”
Soon, the actor is functional again.
He’s instructed to mount Katherine in the missionary position while the others adopt a variety of lovemaking positions around them. He squeezes himself inside her and quickly loses his hardness. They’re filming the others. He moves ever so slightly inside her so as not to slip out. He winks at her. She’s quite happy to keep on pretending. This goes on forever, and no one notices their lack of ardour as the other couples make up in noise and movement for the faking couple.
“Cut. You can all rest a bit now. Steve,” the director calls over to him. “You seem fresh. In better shape than the other guys. Okay, you and curly hair here, let’s do the anal.”
The others walk away to the pool.
Katherine suddenly realizes what comes next.
“No, no, I can’t do that,” she says, pleadingly, to the men, the young whey-faced director, the aggressively erect Steve and the sweating cameraman.
“Love,” the director says. “It’s part of the deal. Every hardcore movie has anals now. That’s what the guys want. Don’t tell me you’ve never done one. Everyone in the business has to. It’s the money shot.”
“I won’t come inside you,” Steve adds. “When the time comes, I’ll pull out and do a facial, okay?”
The cameraman signifies his assent.
“No,” Katherine timidly pleads one last time.
Steve takes hold of her wrist and twists it hard.
“Eddie,” he says, “you’re a bit of a tease, aren’t you. I remember the last time, you like to play hard to get, hey; you always have cold feet, don’t you?”
Markie the assistant comes over as they set Katherine down on her stomach and help her raise her rump so that the camera can catch it all. They adjust the lights. Shine the warm spots on her utterly exposed rear. Markie carefully sponges Katherine’s genitals and between her cheeks, to clean the perspiration away and then gently pours some oil around her anal aperture as well as Steve’s penis still standing at attention.
Katherine closes her eyes. She’s never been entered there. Penetrated. Fucked. Sodomized. But, she remembers all those nights lying in silence next to her sleeping, cuckolded husband, her whole body consumed by the thoughts of transgression. Her lover had soon discovered how sensitive she was down there and they had often speculated about it. Sometime after they had split up and he was writing her these desperate letters to get
