faire l'amour

by Jessica Gadziala

  As he opened the front door, I could have sworn he murmured The whole fucking building might be waiting.

  But that made no sense.

  Sending him a horrifyingly awkward wave, I ducked my head, and rushed back to my car, locking myself in, letting out a shaky breath.

  It was done.

  I had signed the paperwork.

  I set up a date.

  I was about to feature in a porn movie.

  With a living porn legend.

  It was intimidating enough, the prospect of being in porn at all. But to do it alongside someone who had done it professionally while I had still been in college. A man thousands - if not millions - of women fantasized about, was a whole other thing entirely.

  Sucking in a breath, I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel as I turned the key.

  I could do it.

  I had fifteen-hundred reasons that said I could do it.

  Fifteen-hundred.

  That was just slightly less than I made in a full month working my day job.

  For, roughly, one hour of work.

  Sure that work involved being naked and having sex with a relative stranger. But one hour of discomfort compared to one-hundred-sixty hours of drudgery?

  There was no contest.

  And I had a couple days to get myself used to the idea of having sex for money.

  I'd needed to get used to a lot of things lately. And after everything else, really, this would be a breeze.

  Or, at least, that was what I told myself as I drove home, over the next few days at work, preparing dinner, cleaning my apartment.

  And, finally, the morning of my appointment as I took nearly a full hour to shave my legs, bikini area, exfoliate, slather on lotion, do my hair and makeup.

  Sure, it was just a scene, just acting.

  But his hands, his lips, his everything were going to be on me. And, well, a vain part of me wanted to look good, feel good, smell good.

  It was ridiculous, of course. I was just one in a literal sea of women. Utterly forgettable. I likely barely stacked up to all of them.

  But still.

  I wanted to be at least halfway desirable for him. Even if all this was for him was a job too.

  Because regardless of the clinical ways I was choosing to look at - and think about - the situation in order to keep some emotional distance from it, the fact of the matter was... I was going to have sex with Preston Renault.

  THREE

  Preston

  I was nervous.

  It was fucking asinine.

  I'd done thousands of scenes in my career. I'd worked with familiar women and new women. I'd done most of the types of scenes from hardcore hate-fucking to the most vanilla of vanilla scenes.

  There was nothing to be unsure about, to be anxious a bit.

  Sure, it had been years since I did my last scene. But I couldn't see that being a factor. I hadn't let my body go. I didn't all of a sudden start shooting off early. I didn't have less stamina. I was in the same condition and the same mindset as I had always been.

  It was a job.

  Just a job.

  But there was no mistaking it as I went through my morning routine. It was the skittering pace of my pulse, the way I second guessed everything from my suit to my fucking boxer briefs, the cologne I put on, the twenty minutes I spent filing any sharpness off my nails instead of the five minutes the task would usually take.

  I had never been anal about things like manicures and shit, but when your job was to put your fingers inside someone's body, the least you could do was make sure they were clean and smooth.

  I got into the office early, pretending there was enough to do to require it, but really just needing something to do to keep my mind off the scene in a few hours.

  It wasn't until I emailed Coop my STI test results that he came in with a fresh cup of coffee and a box of Altoids for afterward. No one liked stale coffee breath. And, as much as was possible, we - as actors - did our best to be conscientious of things like that, the little things that made scenes easier.

  "It's out," he told me, shrugging a shoulder.

  I didn't have to ask what he meant.

  We'd tried to keep the details about the new girl's scene under wraps - and more specifically, my involvement. We didn't need the whispers and speculation and the probable crowd of people who would try to be there to watch the scene.

  Preston Renault's big return.

  I knew it would be inevitable once we handed off the set schedules to the light and filming guys, but was sort of hoping it took long enough to get around that we could be in a closed set room before everyone decided to barge in.

  It wasn't uncommon for some actors to be sitting in on other scenes. Out of curiosity. Because they were friends - or more - with one of the actors. Simply because they had too much time until their scene and wanted to get the engines revving to make it easier when the time came.

  But, apparently, I had underestimated the lightning fast texting speed that meant absolutely everyone who was under contract in the company had likely already been informed about the situation.

  "We knew it was bound to happen," I said, playing it off even though I didn't feel anywhere near as blasé about it as I was pretending. "The sheet said closed set."

  "Yeah, but we never really enforce that. I mean... save for some of the BDSM scenes."

  We'd learned the hard way with that one. Sometimes, non-kink actors would want to sit in out of curiosity and would curse or jolt and knock something over if the Dom got a lot rougher than they were expecting, fucking up the whole scene.

  "Yeah, well, we are going to enforce it today. Actually, maybe just say something like it is new policy for debut actors. Closed sets. It's something we probably should have put in place long before now," I added, kicking myself a bit for not thinking of it. I knew how worked up I had been for my first scene, how much pressure the extra eyes around put on me.

  "Alright," Coop said, writing down the note. If he thought I was being unusual, he didn't let on. And if he did notice, he would likely attribute it to coming-out-of-retirement nerves. Which was true enough. "And I just want to remind you that one of the other new girls - Shay, the previous blonde, current redhead - has her scene this afternoon. I put it into your calendar," he added, knowing I always wanted to be around for the first scenes. Sometimes it was hard to tell by just watching the footage what the vibe was in the room. And if we were going to give someone a contract locking them into a few scenes, I needed to be sure the attitude on the set was right.

  "You'll have plenty of time to shower and get some lunch beforehand," he added, sounding half distracted. "Do you need me to remind you when it is time for your scene?"

  "No, thanks, Coop. I won't forget."

  First time I'd fucked on film in years. I wasn't likely to forget something like that.

  In fact, I found myself walking down the hall toward the room for the day - a simple, expected, bedroom set - a good twenty minutes before the scene was to start, before Rosie even showed up.

  "Heya, Boss," Jerry, the camera guy, greeted me, seeming a bit more wired than usual. It wasn't every day you could expect to see your boss bare-assed naked. It was an oddly exciting day for him.

  Aside from being a good cameraman, the girls liked Jerry because he was an older, 'seen it all' father figure, someone who never eyed their tits or adjusted their cocks in their pants around them, who treated them like they were fully clothed even when they were standing in front of him fully naked. And it made sense. He'd started filming porn when he was just out of film school to make ends meet while he waited for his big break that just never came. I'd never had him do one of my scenes, but he'd been with us from inception, liking the benefits package since he had a wife and twin teenage daughters.

  "New girl today, I see," he said casually as the lighting crew moved around, trying to get the right mix of natural and artificial light.

  "Yeah. She's nervous as fuck too. Just so you kn
ow. This might not go off without a hitch."

  "Got it. Can't be worse than that one girl. Poor thing."

  My stomach twisted a bit at that one. She'd been some of the new talent we'd brought on in the early days, saying she was experienced with menage, was down for a gangbang with some degradation aspects, had very few hard limits.

  It turned out there was no way she had been honest about any of that, likely lied to secure a place, thinking the kinkier she was, the more we'd want her.

  She'd had a mental breakdown in the middle of the scene, running to the side of the room to puke, then curl up into herself, sobbing, rocking. No one could get close enough to her - not even the girls - for an agonizing forty-minutes to try to help her dress, get her to the hospital for a psych eval.

  It had been the worst day of my professional career. We waited on bated breath for what seemed like the inevitable - a lawsuit even though she had filled out paperwork, had fully consented on camera and during the scenes until the eventual breakdown.

  The lawsuit never came. A year later, I saw her on some shaky camera low-budget with degradation and another breakdown. But instead of the shoot ending, she was taunted, teased, and fucked through it all.

  And that was what gave porn a bad name.

  That was what we were trying to fix.

  That was why our interview process was like any other job interview. Because I never wanted to watch a girl break down, because actresses - and actors - needed to be thoroughly vetted.

  A tiny, niggling voice in the back of my head said that in this case - with this woman - I hadn't done what I promised myself I would do. I hadn't vetted her enough. I knew she was unsure, shaking at the idea of being in the building.

  But I tried to convince myself that it was the interview itself, that once upon a time, I had been terrible at them myself, could stress myself right out of a job I was perfectly suited for.

  And I chose not to consider the other possible reasons why she was so uncertain, so anxious.

  I also chose not to analyze why I was so hellbent on doing this scene.

  I had a feeling that whatever conclusions I might come to wouldn't make any kind of rational sense anyway.

  "So, it's your comeback," Jerry said, filling the somewhat awkward silence that I decided to fill by going over to the dock, loading up a pre-made playlist, letting it play quietly. Music in porn was cheesy, but I couldn't seem to make myself turn it off either as I walked along the windows, turning my neck to crack a crick out of it, rolling my shoulders.

  I knew to the onlookers that I seemed agitated or anxious - neither things I wanted employees to think about me.

  Within a few minutes, everything was set up, and we were all just standing there, waiting for Rosie to arrive.

  The urge to go meet her at the door was the exact reason I refused to leave the room.

  I didn't buzz in the actors and actresses unless I just so happened to be walking by and see them standing outside. I didn't chauffeur the new guys or girls from the door to the room for their first scenes.

  So whatever was going on with me that had me forming such strange urges needed to be reined in, caged.

  My head whipped around hard enough to send a shooting pain up into my skull when the door pulled open again, admitting Cooper, then, a second after, Rosie.

  She wore a dress similar to the one she'd worn to the interview - flowing, just barely coming in at the breast and waist before flaring out, all black and blue floral. Her hair was down, wavy. Her makeup was done, but minimal. And she carried in with her a vanilla honey smell that I found myself breathing in for a long second as she looked around, taking in the dressers, lamps, carpet, then finally... the bed.

  Her chest expanded on a deep breath as she inevitably looked at Jerry, the sound guys, the sole woman we had in the room - someone who didn't have an official job title solely because we couldn't think of an appropriate one, but whose job it was to sit in on the scenes, to make sure nothing got out of hand. An advocate for the women, in a way. The new girls felt more comfortable with a woman around, and comfortable actresses made better scenes. Plus, it was just good from a business standpoint. I was nothing if not careful.

  "Rosie, this is Jerry, Frank, Joe, and Marie," Cooper explained, waving his hand to each person as he introduced them. "And, of course, you know Preston," he went on, making Rosie's head lift to find me standing there. Her eyes were wide, worried, for a long moment before her lips tipped up at the edges to give me that unsure, shy smile again, something that took a bit of the fear out of her eyes.

  "Hey," she said, shaking her head as soon as it was out of her mouth, like she thought it was inappropriate, like she didn't know what you were supposed to say to someone you barely knew but were about to have sex with in front of a group of people.

  "Hey," I said back, giving her a reassuring smile of my own, suddenly mad at myself for not telling her to come earlier, to have a few minutes alone to just talk, ease into things with some basic friendliness.

  But there was no time for that now as I reached to shut off my phone, as everyone else did as well, making Rosie's brows draw together as she reached into the giant sack of a bag she carried to find her own, switching it off.

  "Okay. Well, I'm off to do assistant-type things. It was nice to see you again, Rosie. Come on, you," he added, waving his arm at the grounp who had been craning their necks into the doorway. "Closed set means closed set," he reminded them, pulling the shade on the door, then closing the door behind him with a pointed click that made Rosie, with her back to it, jolt.

  "I, ah, I don't know what to do," she admitted in a hushed voice, like she didn't want the others to overhear as she took a few tentative steps toward me.

  "Well, now we have a scene," I told her, raising my hand slowly, closing it around the strap of her purse on her shoulder, lifting it, sliding it down, then off her arm, setting it on the ledge under the window. "Nervous?" I half stated, half asked, watching as her head nodded a bit frantically.

  "I was when I did my first scene too," I admitted, keeping my voice low. We might have been in a room full of people, but the only way to pull the scene off was to find a little bit of intimacy between us, regardless of the situation. Especially since she was new.

  "Really?" Her eyes looked hopeful as her hand rose up to push her hair behind her ear, then flick it back, needing something to do, some outlet for her excess energy.

  "If I'd have had anything in my stomach, I probably would have thrown up," I admitted, telling her something I'd never told someone before. Luckily for me, it hadn't shown on the film, so I'd never needed to own up to the nerves in the past.

  "Are we, ah, going to get, um, instructions or anything?" she asked, chancing a look around at the small group who - to their credit - were acting busy though they had no work until we got things started.

  "No instructions," I told her, reaching out again, this time touching the bare skin of her upper arm, gliding downward until my fingers closed around her small wrist, dragging her a foot closer until our bodies were almost brushing. Her pulse tripped and skittered under my touch. It was likely nerves, but I couldn't help but get excited at the prospect of it being anticipation.

  That was the thrill of it all, as it always had been. Not the perverse sort of pleasure many got for being on film, from knowing others would watch him, envy him, admire his fucking skills. No. For me, it always was about the ability to get a woman to forget about the cameras, to lose herself in the moment, in the pleasure, in me.

  That was the rush.

  That was why I had done as well as I had, why I had managed to become a name rather than a faceless body - utterly forgettable.

  Male viewers, they weren't usually that particular, but the females? Yeah, they picked up on the real enjoyment, the way a woman would truly get lost in the moment, in the sensations. That was what did it for them, got them from the sort of detached viewer to lost in it too, swept away enough to feel their own bodies shudder wit
h orgasm even as the woman in the scene did.

  Maybe it had been a while, but I could make it happen again, find that spark, kindle it, stoke it until it was a raging fire, until she was so consumed by the heat that there was nothing else in the world except it, her, me.

  My thumb traced the inside of her wrist gently, just a hint of a touch, but enough to have her gaze rising, meeting mine, her lips parting ever so slightly. Seeing it, my hand slid upward, up the inside of her forearm, the crook of her elbow, her upper arm, across her exposed clavicle, hearing her air suck in quietly at the feel of my fingers on her bare skin.

  She was getting hazy around the edges, losing her tight grip on reality.

  That was all I needed as my touch moved up the gentle incline of her neck, softly tucking her hair behind her ear, lingering, letting my fingertips trace that ever so sensitive spot just behind and below the curve of the lobe. Her head tipped back a bit, giving me better access, inviting more.

  My finger traced backward, slipping into the soft strands of her hair, tips moving to gently massage her scalp, something that made her head loll to the side almost immediately, silently begging for more. My other hand lifted, fingers moving to do the same until her eyes got foggy with contentment, with the hint of a spark.

  Aside from the music, the room was silent. And with her back to them, she seemed to be forgetting they were even there. She'd be reminded eventually, but my hope was to have her too hot to go back to shy and nervous.

  Desire bloomed across her skin, tinting her chest, neck, and cheeks a delicate pink. I bet as she got more and more lost inside her own body and what it had to offer, I would find that same flush over her breasts, her belly, maybe - if she was that sensitive - her thighs.

  Taking a shaky breath, her heavy lids lost their fight, fluttering closed as my thumbs moved to stroke down either side of her jaw.

  My head tilted down, my nose teasing up the side of hers, letting her know my intention just a second before my lips pressed down to hers, absorbing the slight whimpering noise she let out at the contact.