Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
In my line of work, I can detect talent with ease, like a bloodhound to game, like an ansty journalist to a scoop. My ability, though, can misfire on me. I knew I was in trouble when my best friend’s finance peeled off his shirt, and I found myself unable to escape the idea that I needed that body in front of my cameras. I was coming up with video titles when he pulled his pants down.
. . .
“We there yet?”
I grumble like a toddler.
Felicity’s eyes disappeared into her arching black lashes, giving me heated side-eye I knew all too well.
“We’re almost there,”
She mocked,with baby-talk.
“Need to go pee-pee?”
I laugh, absentmindedly eyeing lush pines that dart past in blurs of green. The rolling landscape of the country brought me back to a small-town childhood I was glad to escape.
“How far is this place anyway?”
Felicity tugged the cuffs of her sleek blazer that matched her green eyes, absently. Green isn’t a color that usually evokes the idea of flame or anything harmful, but these eyes told a different story. They are a piercing green that sets whatever its gaze dares to meet ablaze.
“Couple miles left. Regg’s family’s orchard should be fun, they have a private lake.”
I stuffed my face into my knuckle, leaning against the door, wishing I was spending the weekend anywhere else.
“Sounds more like a summer camp than a bachelor’s party.”
I snorted, arousing a little giggle from Felicity.
“C’mon, it won’t be that bad, you poor city boy.”
She snickered at me.
“Coming from the person who is heading back into the city for her bachelorette, getting twerked on by pretend cops and manicures or whatever you chicks do when you party.”
“In that order?”
She replied playfully. The chipped and faded pavement turns to rocky gravel, and the car is absorbed in the melody of crunching. We are silent for a couple minutes before my mind stubbornly wanders.
“You really like this dude, huh?”
I say, flinching at the sound of gravel tapping the paint on her Mercedes.
“If by ‘this dude’ you mean Regg, then duh. He’s a sweet guy. Hoping to settle down a little bit, save up and move back to Europe. Regg wanted to have the wedding here with his family because of that.”
I’m taken so aback that I choke on nothing.
“‘Settle down’? Wha- who are you and what did you do with Calco?”
That green blaze turns to me, and she smacks my arm sharply. She was a lady that had a good smack in her.
“Don’t go mentioning my old stage name! That’s years behind me.”
I look over at my best friend skeptically. The name sparks up old memories of our first meeting: as co-stars in a porno. After a shooting for a video, we hit the club for some drinks, and her sassy, eccentric nature oddly enough laced pretty well with my laid back, fun loving nature. We balanced each other out, she helped me push past my boundaries and I was there to ease her down to a more suitable level. We tried a relationship, but it didn’t work out. We both couldn’t find ourselves settling, we rode the perpetual shining lights of NYC, in constant motion.
She was the life of the party, finding new fun and people when things would start to become mundane. It’s hard imagining that same girl settling down and marrying.
“How did the hubby take the news of your old career?”
I ask, prying as usual. She smiled, knowing what I was doing.
“He took it well. He understood that I was a starry-eyed immigrant who needed cash and had the body to get it.”
We arrive at a fading wooden sign painted red and green that reads: “Simpson Orchard.” We turn into a matted dirt driveway, aligned by plump apple trees like pillars.
“Yee-haw, here we come.”
I mutter. If it wasn’t Felicity who had asked me, I wouldn’t have come. She considered me family, so she begged if I could be a groomsman for her fiance, who had an open spot from a last minute ditcher.
We pull into a wide driveway filled with vehicles in different shapes and sizes. Burly, manly trucks, to petite Sedans that glinted in the late Summer sunshine. Before the vehicles, a large house of ravishing dark wood stood tall above the delicate greenery and flowers that blossomed at its base. An intricate garden splashed color in front of the house, fountains trickling quietly, stone benches hidden among the woven paths.
Before I could get out of my seat, Felicity gripped my forearm in a way that thrusted me back to the times of our bodies tangled before the glinting lens of a camera. When it came to her work, you weren’t fucking her, she was fucking YOU. Her sassy attitude would flare up in times of arousal, and she took charge. Viewers ate it up. When I look to her eyes though, the reminiscing excitement deflates, and she looks on the verge of a scolding.
“Now, ground rules. Regg played college football, so his groomsmen buddies are a bunch of jocks.”
This trip suddenly got interesting. She detects the excitement in my eyes, and pops that shit like a balloon.
“Looking for talent is OFF LIMITS. Just be one of the guys. You hear me?”
I sink kaçak iddaa back into my seat with disappointment. Her green eyes were burning holes in me, and I knew she was expecting a verbal answer.
Felicity fled the porn scene as soon as she was raking in good money, and could stand on her own two feet in a new country. I never left, I went from the person in front of the camera, to the person behind it. A producer saw creativity in my performances and suggestions when filming, and offered me a job in the industry as a co-producer. With the money I was making, I felt no reason to leave.
We open our doors and step into the warm air of the orchard, and my nostrils are flushed with the potent scent of greens. Like a projector shining into the back of my eyelids, I was a scrawny kid hurtling across the dirt and grass with my siblings. I shake off the nostalgia, and tail Felicity as she clicks with her high heels up a tarnished cobblestone path up to the front door. She opens the door without knocking, and we step into a house alive with noise. The house enters immediately into a wide kitchen area furnished with vintage decor and signs that gives the room a feel of stepping into a 50s bar. Instead of a kitchen table, a round oval booth was placed in front of a window that curved around it, showing the driveway and the stretching greens of the orchard.
Women fill that booth right now, and men are scattered around the kitchen, standing. Stepping through the room, one side was poignantly female smelling rich with flowery and creamy perfumes, and the other was thick with musky deodorant and Axe. I’ve never worn Axe since a co-star complained. I stuck to more expensive colognes. It was more than prevalent that my fellow groomsmen were jock-heads. They were wide shouldered dressed in college sweatshirts, muscle-tees, and sweats. In contrast, the girls crowding the bench were sporting lavish dresses, curled hair, and make up. I had the feeling I knew what I was in for with my night with these guys.
The tallest, biggest of the guys approached Felicity and I as we entered. I felt my breath catch in my throat, looking at him. He had a sweet, coppery complexion that gleamed against his stout curls of black on his head. He had a freshly shaven face, and caramelized irises that glowed. A rugged and thin football sweatshirt couldn’t fully conceal his broad frame, and a hint at large round shoulders and even larger pecs bulge from the old cotton. He sported fading jeans that were taut on his bulky legs.
The man who must be Regg leans forward and kisses Felicity with his full lips, and the happy couple’s smiles tangle and illuminate like a beacon. He turns to me, outstretching a hand and looking his groomsman up and down.
“You must be Cesar. The name is Reginald Simpson. I’ve heard lots about you from my fiance.”
It takes me a moment to realize the man was talking to me. When your job is ornamented around sex, your perspective on it really changes. As a co-producer, beauty is a utility to make dollar signs, and my own arousal has been grinded and made less meaningful by the day to day use. When I’m filming, I’m not watching two people having sex, I’m making production decisions with angles, lighting, finding the best way to make a good product and get those dollar signs rolling. When I shake this man’s hand though, electricity nips at my crotch, reviving nostalgia from the live and unpredictable sexuality of my teenage years. His grip is firm, respectful.
“N-nice to meet… you.”
What is wrong with me? I must sound like an idiot. I felt color rising up my neck and I tried to swallow it. Felicity gains his attention with a tug of the arm and I feel like I can breathe without those honey eyes melting me.
“Okay hun, if one of your boys calls in strippers, I’ll have your balls. Don’t get too wasted! You know how I get when I get back home drunk.”
Her fingers find his bubble butt, and some of the guys make a scene of impersonating grossed out preteens.
Even some of the girls joined in. Reginald chuckles deeply, and to provoke the onlookers more, he wraps her in another kiss, pressing their bodies to each other. This kiss though, his beacon shines less brightly. There is a stiffness to his kiss, and strain to his jaw. Felicity took no note of it and was consumed in her man’s love, and I thought that I’d maybe imagined it. They pull away, and Felicity gives me a side hug, putting a hand on my chest.
“C’mon, Cece, Lets all get something to eat, we got a lot of liquor ahead of us.”
She coddles. My pet name, no matter who heard it usually has no effect on me, but a wave of embarrassment sinks into me like a kid at a family reunion when amusement shines in Regg’s eyes. The girls all cheer noisily and the men grumble in reply. Guys never change.
Chairs were pulled up to the booth, but there was no room for all of us, so most of us ate with our knees as a table, chowing down on homemade burgers and fries, complimentary from the Simpsons.
Regg’s growly, bassy voice teased me, his position squeezed kaçak bahis into the booth. Felicity was perched on his lap, a queen mounted on his thick thighs, snacking on fries. Felicity’s eyes dart to our conversation and she smirks. I raise my hands in innocence.
“A pet name for me. Had it ever since we met at work.”
This makes Regg nearly choke on a fry. Calco clearly didn’t mention that footage of his fiance and I getting to it exists on the internet. Felicity’s eyes flare like gasoline on a ghostly green flame, and she interjects.
“He’s a producer.”
The other guests were visibly puzzled by the exchange before them. The ladies, who know of their girl’s dark past on the internet look like they were witnesses to a live recording of Jersey Shore, enraptured in the juicy gossip of former partners. I usually don’t get into my career, cause it can make people uncomfortable. I usually lie and say I work at a dead-end job as a waiter somewhere to avoid the unspoken criticism in people’s gaze.
“I make porn.”
I say plainly. It’s best to avoid telling her husband-to-be that I fucked his wife once upon a time, and got paid doing it. The guys exchange glances. I brace for the glares, for the perturbed eyes to look over me, expecting someone who would make porn to be a hunched over and perverted loser and not a normal guy. Instead their eyes light up like I told them I was a movie star.
One stated, wiping barbecue sauce from his thin lips.
“You get paid to film girl’s junk? Fucking awesome!”
Relief fills my chest like a canteen. If I am going to spend the whole night with these guys, this reaction couldn’t have been better. It seems that my man card skyrocketed in their eyes, looking over their dim looks of envy they were trying to hide. I should leave unsaid that I also make gay porn. Hey, whatever pays the bills.
Felicity hops off her mount and does a regal flourish to her ladies.
“LETS GO GIRLS!”
Shrieks respond, and they flood out of the house in a wave of brandishing skirts, clicking up the driveway and piling into a couple cars. Whatever they were doing, I was slightly envious. She was retreating to the embrace of the city lights, where nothing rested, where suns didn’t set over sleepy orchards, they only shined brighter.
Where I wasn’t stuck with her unfathomably attractive fiance. Regg considers his group with his warm eyes, perking an eyebrow.
“Do I expect the same response from you, homies?”
One of his friends replied, his toned body was about to bust out of his tight dri-fit shirt. I didn’t have my hopes up for a New York-styled party, but this bachelor party really undershot it. We settled into the basement of their house, which was an impressive gaming room and man-cave. Beers were drunk, Madden NFL on the PS4 was played loudly. I sat spread leg on a sofa that I was sinking into and consumed by its overly soft cushions. This was an average hangout with the guys, not a bachelor party.
“Can’t believe my man is getting married. Big Regg, a family guy? No fucking way.”
A stout guy with ebony skin and dreadlocks said, his eyes focused intently on the game, joysticks smashing and buttons cracking between him and his opponent beside him.
Regg shrugged his cannonball shoulders, and I quietly pity the guy that was on the receiving end of that body on the field.
“My girl has me done in. She fine.”
A shockingly ginger guy with wavy locks of orange, and a fine freckled complexion, snorts.
“I almost shit myself when I heard you were moving across the ocean for her. Thought you were really happy in the city with your personal trainer job my man? Big step, that is.”
Suddenly the easy-going nature of the big man across from me falters, and I saw through something that I probably shouldn’t be noticing on a person, nor have I ever.
He tensed, once again, ever so subtly. His rich eyes were suddenly polluted with a coldness that I don’t think any of the “bros” in the room saw. Something was flickering over his tawny features. He seemed to not know how to respond, and something took over me.
“What the fuck kinda party is this? Are you guys city boys or a bunch of ranchers?”
The guys playing the game flicked it onto the buzzing pause menu, and turned over their shoulders. Eyes were on me, not Regg.
“What do you propose?”
Regg said. His face looked almost relieved for the subject to be changed.
“Let’s actually throw a bachelor party, ladies.”
I transformed the basement into a cutesy boys’ get together into an atmosphere of burning ember lights, more drinking, and drinking games to add on top. A lot of guys were playing beer pong, their shouts shaking the entire house, and a haze from the alcohol was blurring my thoughts.
Even though I was instructed to not inspect for talent, my porn producer gears were turning with the aid of the alcohol, and I was eyeing the partiers thoughtfully. Whether or not they looked to be packing, good angles of their butts, their movements. No matter what, though, my eyes kept drawing back to forbidden ground, to Regg, illegal bahis like a magnet. My radar was pulsing looking at him. He stood astute, a few paces away from the majority of his buddies, watching the game quietly. He seemed to be watching his alcohol. Felicity’s voice sang in my head:
You better not get too wasted!
Like the big magnet he was, I wandered over to him against my will, slurping my beer.
“At ease, soldier!”
I joke at him. He looks up, his eyes sober and sharp. I get a smile out of the guy. Damn, that’s a nice smile. Forget pulling his clothes off, put that gorgeous face on magazines. He would make a hell of a model. On the other hand, please, take your clothes off.
He absentmindedly said, smiling again when someone scored and a roar was lifted into the air like dying animals.
“Loosen’ up man, this is your bachelor party!”
I exclaim against the music. My heart was more alive near Regg, I was more aware of the blood in my limbs, I could feel the weight of my junk, like you do when you’re getting sexually antsy, but not turned on… Yet.
Jesus, I’m really acting like a teenager. What is it about this guy? I’ve trained my dick as a tool for profit. It rises when I want it to, it comes when I want it to. Why am I suddenly a porn newbie when I’m near Regg?
He grunted a small laugh, and it felt a little forced.
“Guess I’m not feeling it, man.”
I look at him skeptically. I bite my tongue, but it ends up not shutting up anyway. Why do I meddle? I’m so dramatic that I ruin relationships I’m in FOR me.
“You’re faking it. Felicity told you to watch your liquor so you’re stopping yourself. Not to bash on your fiance, but as her best friend I feel like I get a say: fuck that man! This is your NIGHT. You get the rest of your life in Europe with her to do as the queen commands.”
I pull a shot glass from the table, and pour him a hefty one, basically forcing it into his hands. His face was tense again.
“You need some time with your guys. It’s like you’re wearing a sticky note that says: ‘kill me please, the person I’m not even married to yet has me by the balls!’.”
It’s like I return to my body, and I’m able to interpret what just spewed out of my mouth with no filter. Jesus, I just trashed on this huge black guy’s wife, not to mention my best friend. With how tense he was, I expect him to sucker punch me.
That’s when he takes the shot, his face grimacing at the burn as it went down.
He hollered. His eyes turn back to glowing caramel that has me stuck like glue. He smacks my back, and walks over to the beer pong.
“Lets fucking go, boyz!”
He roars, and the football in him was really shining through. His friends whoop in response, and I can’t help but join in.
. . .
An armful of beers in, I had to start watching my liquor, and started slowing down and drinking soda. I get handsy when I’m drunk, and I don’t want to do something weird around these guys, especially with Regg around. My body is a lively hum, my heart jolting in my throat, laughing and roughhousing with the other guys. We played a vicious game of drunk dodgeball, and chairs were upturned, and faces were glossy with sweat. Beer cans littered the scene, and some uncoordinated Mario Kart was taking place, every successful shell attack releasing a wall of shouts of anger and excitement. I was not eager for the sorry soul who would receive the blue shell. The house would surely collapse from the noise.
I was thumbing through my phone, and a text from Felicity popped up.
“Uuuuu behaving yersef’ mister porn maaan.”
I chuckle. She was wasted. I text back quickly.
“Aaaand Calco is clearly wasted. Hydrate, girl. You’ve got a sexy guy to come home to.”
She took a little bit to reply, with drunk fingers.
“You approve!! I’ve got eyes for studs haahaha. Hope you’re having fun with the guys! Thx fer cumming. WHooPS, COMING. EWWW-“
Who knows what was going on in her head. I look up from my phone, and unsurprisingly my eyes are on Regg. He had stripped his sweatshirt, and a white shirt was damp and pasted to his bulky frame with sweat.
Felicity would never admit it, but her time in the porno game really shaped her taste in men. My hand itches to go to my wallet and give him the card to my colleague and I’s office. Respect your friend’s wishes, man.
The blue shell finally happened. Someone jumped up, throwing his Joy Cons maliciously.
“DAAAAMN. Fuck this, its hot as fuck in here. Let’s do something outside.”
Regg looked up from his phone, smiling.
“Wanna hit the lake, guys?”
He got a storm of approving responses, and before I could breathe I’m being hauled out to a large John Deer Gator, and we were whisking along the darkened orchard, the sun completely bled out from the sky, and a milky twilight rose like a halo. Cold wind coils me in my leather jacket, cooling my burning skin. It’s like we hit a screen, and the murky scent of lake fills my nose, and without turning, I know we have arrived. We pull up to the man-made sandy shore, where the lake sits like obsidian glass, nestled in the weeds of wildlife. It was a behemoth for a private lake, stretching for miles. The guys pile out, rough housing across the sand. One of them gags.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32