Gods & Monsters(69)
Resting his forehead over mine, he whispers, “If you want a different world, Pixie, I’ll build it with my own hands. I’ll build the ground, the sky, the fucking stars. I’ll build you an entire universe. But you have to promise me something.”
I put my hand on his cheek. “I’ll promise you anything.”
“You won’t shed a single tear for your parents or that town. Not one. Not anymore.”
“I promise.”
He plants a hard kiss and then takes me to our bed. Our world. Our kingdom.
Our first shoot is set for this Sunday.
Yup, I’m doing it. We are doing it. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy for me to accept that in seven days’ time I’m going to be naked in front of a camera. I’m going to have sex while the red light on a black device will be blinking, and then the lens will capture me, capture our love and it will be put in front of the whole world.
The entire week, I watch porn on Abel’s computer. It’s loud and garish and some of it is disgusting.
I learn that there are different kinds of porn for different kinds of people. Hardcore with cheesy storylines. Fetish porn that I’ve not been able to watch. Female-centric erotica where things are romantic and tasteful, but still a little fake. And then, there are videos where the couple actually looks like they’re having a good time. Their intimacy shows through their looks, their moans, their movements. I think these are the ones Blu was talking about the other day: amateur sex-tapes.
I love those videos. I think I’m addicted to them. Over and over, I watch their intimacy on display. I watch how the guy pulls her hair and makes her look in the camera. I watch how the girl loves it and shivers when she comes. Mostly, I love when they both finish but still, their hunger for each other remains and they kiss because they don’t know how to stop.
There’s a couple I stumbled over in my research. They are married; they wear wedding bands. He’s huge and tattooed, with close-cropped dark hair, and she’s tanned but soft with blonde hair. Their sex is explosive. It’s so good, I can almost orgasm just by watching them together. That’s the first thing I do when I get back home from work. I watch them, and by the time Abel gets home, I’m so horny, I’m dying for his brand of medicine.
I wonder how many people actually record themselves while having sex. I know not everyone puts it out there but the more I watch, the more I wonder. It seems so natural. The next step. Immortalizing your love for each other.
So in the week before we go for our shoot, I learn that sex-tapes might not be as otherworldly as I thought they were. It might be pretty common, pretty… normal.
On the day of the shoot, Abel wakes me up with his loving, tender kisses. We linger in bed and cuddle with each other. He feeds me Toblerones and I feed him apples. He washes my hair in the shower, where we can barely fit. Our elbows hit the wall every time we turn. Once we’re all dressed up, we head out.
Only, he stops me at the door and kisses my damp hair. “You trust me?”
The answer is a resounding yes. “More than anything.”
We hold hands all the way through our ride. The sky’s sunny and clear as we get off the train and walk to the warehouse. This is the third time I’m going in and this time, I’m going to be the one lying on a bed, not standing in the shadows.
Ethan set this up for us. He says it’s an audition kind of thing. If they like us, they will get us more gigs. I never thought it would be so easy to enter this world. Also, we’ll be using one of the rooms in the back. Thank God. I don’t think I can do it out here where noises are too loud and fake. It breaks the sanctity of what we’re trying to do: trying to build a world in an abandoned wasteland.
We walk down the same path, paved by the cement and wires. The sounds are the same, moaning and grunts and erotic screams. This time around though, they don’t have the pull to stop me and make me stare. No, I’m here for a purpose.
But that doesn’t mean I’m all cool and chilled out. I’m freaking out. It doesn’t matter how much research I’ve done, I don’t feel prepared. I don’t feel fearless. The clicks of the cameras taking still shots, the voices firing off commands, the people circling around the beds, the bathrobes, the heat. Everything is making me a little nauseated. A lot nauseated, actually.
I get closer to Abel, tightening my grip on his hand. He does me one better and puts his arm around my shoulder, plastering me to his body and kissing my hair.
“You’re the purest thing in my world,” he whispers as he breathes me in, and I fist the hem of his black t-shirt, nuzzling my nose into the hollow of his throat. He’s the purest thing in mine.
The light in the hallway is duller than the one in the open, loft-like space. It makes me breathe a little easier. The doors flanking either side are closed so I don’t know what they are for. I have a strong urge to open every single one of them and look at the other side. Are they going to be flashy and made up, with silk sheets and fluffy pillows? Or are they going to be normal, stripped of all fa?ade, with homey, everyday bedding – like the sheets on my bed, or rather mattress?
We stop at the far end of the passage and Abel opens a brown shiny door, ushering me inside. The first thing I see are the people. It’s obvious; you can’t miss them. There are three people in total and all of them are men.
The tallest guy with tattoos all over his arms is wearing the kind of camera that Abel has. He’s squinting into it and adjusting the lens like I’ve seen my husband do numerous times. The other guy has a thick black beard and he’s fiddling with the lights. It looks like an industrial lamp, with a black stem that makes a swing up top and holds the biggest, brightest bulb I’ve ever seen. The guy is adjusting the height of the stem so the bulb spotlights the very large bed at the very best angle.