by Lisa Ferrari
“Well, that’s exactly what I was just writing to Sheila and Aaron and Rami and Heather about. I’m asking them about the timeline of the movie and if they’re going to film sequentially, beginning to end, or out of order like the ending first and the beginning second and the middle last. Because sometimes they do that, depending on locations and stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if there are, say, fifty locations in the movie, and I’m not saying there are because I have no idea, so it’s simply an arbitrary number, but if there are fifty, and maybe ten scenes are all in a forest someplace and we all pack up and travel to Montreal or Serbia or someplace, every forest scene will be shot then and there. We won’t shoot two scenes, come back to L.A., shoot a bunch of stuff on a sound stage, then go back to Serbia to shoot the middle scenes, then go back to L.A. again, and then make a third trip to Serbia to shoot the ending. It’ll be done all at once.”
“So, what if in the beginning, you and I are, like, normal people and by the end of the movie, we’re all like ripped, crazy warriors with torn clothes and camouflage and different hair and stuff? How do we manipulate our physiques to look like that?”
“Well, if there are scenes where we have to show a lot of skin, and therefore a lot of muscle, we can manipulate our nutrition and water consumption, and we can do cardio on set if we have to cut some weight. And if they want us looking more full and natural and less hardcore in the beginning, we can eat a bunch of rice and pasta and get a little bloated. Maybe eat some potato chips and drink some beer, you know? Get really bloated so we look smooth. Plus, remember that hair and make-up and lighting and especially costume play a big part. They’ll be able to make us look how they need us to look. Just try not to feel uncomfortable as we have to stand there in our underwear having twenty people studying our bodies and taking pictures of us so they can see how we look on camera.”
“Oh, God, you’re making me nervous. It’s like being onstage, posing, huh? Being evaluated by judges.”
“Yeah, that’s a fair comparison.”
“Maybe I should’ve done a show, so I would have already had that experience. Maybe they should’ve hired Stacy to be in this movie. She’s done lots of shows. And she had her boobs done.”
“Claire, come on, now. Don’t go there. Don’t think like that. Stacy isn’t here. You are. Stacy didn’t read for the part with me in the nightclub. You did. Stacy didn’t impress everyone at the meeting and Stacy isn’t going to star in the biggest movie of all time. You are.”
“I’m not starring in it.”
“Of course you are.”
“No, you and Calista and Garth Stone are. I’m just along for the ride. I’m a supporting player. I’m the Mercutio to your Romeo, the Ron Weasley to your Harry Potter. Or maybe the Cho Chang to your Cedric. That’s probably a better comparison.”
“Are you crazy? You are the star. I mean, you and I are co-starring, and Calista is the villain, along with Garth Stone, but you’re going to be the breakout star. You watch. I guarantee that’s what’s going to happen. Who’s the biggest star on Game of Thrones?”
“It’s an ensemble cast, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. But of all the actors and actresses, who do you think has become everyone’s favorite?”
“Probably Peter Dinklage or Emilia Clarke.”
“Right. You’re going to be like that. You’re going to be doing action movies. You’re going to be eating hamburgers and wearing a bacon bikini or a banana peel bikini or a cotton candy bikini or whatever. Trust me, you’re going to be… huge.”
“You really think so?”
“Trust me. But don’t let it freak you out. We’ll take it in stages, you know? Baby steps. Just enjoy it. It’s going to be a lot of fun. A lot of fun.”
Kellan leans over and kisses me. I dare to believe every word he’s just said.
Chapter 14
AFTER A WONDERFUL evening of just relaxing in our hotel, Saturday morning we get up and go downstairs for an amazing breakfast of eggs and fruit; there are massive amounts of delicious-looking croissants, donuts, and bacon, but I pass; I feel like I just washed my hair and did my nails, so I’m not about to go rock climbing in the desert. Not that I’ve ever been rock climbing. Or had an inclination to do so. It might be fun. But maybe kinda dangerous. Perhaps at one of those indoor climbing places where it’s safer.
How did I go from bacon to rock climbing?
Kellan and I check out and drive to Melrose and do some shopping. We are swamped by even more paparazzi, of course. I think they literally sleep in their cars in front of hotels and swanky clubs and hip restaurants, hoping to get a few decent photographs of stars. I’m hardly a star. Kellan is. But I’m not. Though Kellan’s words from last night echo in my mind: I’m going to be huge. (I hope that’s not an omen, a foretelling of a return to my men’s Walmart work pants. But then I remember to focus on what I want, not on that which I do not want.)
Kellan is right about Melrose; there are a ton of cool little boutiques and shops up and down the street. We park the Ferrari and use the Pango app on his phone so we don’t have to monkey around with putting quarters in the parking meter. We stroll a bit at first because, to be honest, I am totally intimidated by the scene. Everything looks so expensive. Even the building fronts look expensive.
But then I see some cool purple leather breeches in a window. I’ve never worn breeches, purple or otherwise (the equestrienne I am not). But they’re friggin cool. Kellan insists I try them on. So we go inside.
The sales girl is super nice. She grabs the purple breeches and practically shoves Kellan and me into the changing booth together. I get the impression she wants to listen to us doing it in here.
I try on the purple pants somewhat awkwardly because my quads are sore from the leg press workout at our new house last night. But the pants fit perfectly. Kellan says they hug my ass like they were made for me.
I stand there while Kellan is inspecting the pants.
He gets hard immediately.
We very nearly actually do it in here.
But finally we exit so I can see the pants in the big floor-length mirror.
The sales girl, who has big spikey red and black hair, says I totally have to get the pants. She runs around the shop, grabbing stuff seemingly at random, and tells me I have to try it all on.
Kellan and I are in the shop for over an hour and everything she gives me fits perfectly.
The sales girl says I look hot.
Kellan agrees.
And, oddly enough, so do I. Apart from a few of the pics I saw of myself in my Jane’s shirt and of me wearing the space-cowgirl-bounty-hunter-pirate outfit I wore to the audition meeting, this is my first time looking at myself in the mirror and really and truly liking what I see.
Each item the sales girl gives me not only fits but fits well and looks good.
A bright pink bustier.
Silver daisy dukes and matching sandals, which go nicely with the pink bustier.
Two amazing pairs of jeans, one white and one red. I’ve never worn nor owned red pants before. I remember seeing Britney Spears wearing red patent leather pants at some point (the Toxic video? Love that song!). I remember thinking I could never pull them off. The pants I’m wearing now aren’t patent leather, just a stretchy denim that probably has some spandex woven into it.
“Wow,” says Kellan, “those look good.”
“Those do look good,” says the sales girl. “You should totally wear those with your Jane’s shirt.”
This blows my mind; she knows who I am?
She knows who I am.
She isn’t geeking out about it like some insane fangirl, but she knows.
It’s weird.
But kinda cool.
She hasn’t asked for a selfie or anything.
It occurs to me that she probably waits on actors and celebrity folk on a regular basis, so this is just another work day
for her.
She continues handing me clothes and I continue trying them on and loving everything she gives me.
In the end, the bill is almost 600 bucks.
When I take out my credit card, I discover Kellan already handed his credit card to the sales girl when I was in the changing booth.
He insists on paying.
I don’t like this; they’re my clothes and I am the one who is going to be wearing them and I want to know that I paid for them myself.
But I decide to table the discussion until later, when I can explain that I do not want him paying for everything.
I need to feel some measure of ownership over my life.
And having Kellan buy a car for me (the gorgeous red convertible I positively adore!) as well as shoes and clothes interferes with that. I did mostly pay him back after selling my Toyota, but technically I still owe him $5000. I should find a Chase branch and go in and withdraw the money and give it to Kellan, force him to take it, shove it down his pants if I must. I don’t want to act or feel like someone whose self-esteem is so low that she can’t accept a gift without feeling guilty, but I also don’t want to be seen as a charity case. It’s a slippery slope, especially when it comes to gifts and tokens of affection from one’s significant other. Take the ring on my finger, for example. It is, of course, gorgeous. I cherish it. And the promise and commitment it entails. But I bet it cost Kellan $10,000. That’s the same price he paid for my car. A tiny little ring versus an entire car.
Plus, I can’t go from having my mom and dad and Denise telling me what to do to having Kellan, my fiancée and husband to be, telling me what to do.
I know what Kellan is going to say: that when someone gives you a gift, the proper thing to do is to accept it, otherwise you steel the joy of giving from the giver.
I know, I get it. But still.
It’s a conversation we’re going to have to have.
I don’t know how one turns down the generosity of a person who loves you, but there have to be boundaries. Don’t there?
Chapter 15
WE LEAVE THE boutique and drive to Sheila’s house for the BBQ party. I love the drive from L.A. to San Diego. It seems so tranquil. There’s nothing tranquil about the traffic, which is beyond crap, of course. But I don’t let that ruin the experience of cruising down the freeway in a red Ferrari, holding hands with the man I love and who loves me. To complain would be spoiled and heretical and astronomically bitchy.
I saw a meme once that said something to the effect of A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.
WE ARRIVE AT Sheila’s, and she welcomes us with open arms, as do Heather and Aaron and Rami and their families. We share a huge meal together (I eat three BBQ chicken breasts and two stuffed peppers; Kellan and I share a small piece of warm apple pie smothered in vanilla ice cream, and, oh! the look in Kellan’s eyes each time he feeds me a spoon of ice cream…) Kellan and I spend the next four hours in the Jacuzzi. Kellan massages my quads very gently, working out the soreness.
We take about a million selfies in the water as different people get into the spa and then out of it. We manage to chat with everyone at the party as they rotate through the Jacuzzi. More than one person says we look like fools in love. I couldn’t agree more.
ONCE THE PARTY wraps up, we drive to the Hotel Del Coronado on Coronado Island and check into our suite.
Neither of us feels like doing much so we put on our bathing suits, which are still damp from Sheila’s, and spend the evening relaxing in the hotel Jacuzzi.
Much to our surprise, Manny shows up carrying a big oval tray of cheeseburgers and French fries and onion rings and two big frosty mugs of diet root beer. He says it’s on the house.
Kellan and I try to protest but he refuses to listen. Nor does he accept money when Kellan offers it to him.
Kellan and I really aren’t yet hungry, but the burgers and fries and onion rings look so good that we devour them.
Manny returns twenty minutes later with chocolate soufflé hot from the oven with a side of vanilla bean ice cream, and full coffee service. He departs once again after refusing a tip.
Kellan and I take turns feeding each other bites of chocolate soufflé and vanilla bean ice cream (more ice cream!). We’re the only ones in the Jacuzzi and we begin licking warm, gooey chocolate off of each other’s fingers. We get so turned on that we eventually climb out of the spa and hurry back to our suite, where we plan to make love nonstop for three straight hours.
A few minutes after we get back to our room, I’m in the shower washing off the pool water when I hear Kellan talking to someone. He then joins me in the shower. When I ask him who he was talking to, he says he ordered some more vanilla ice cream from room service. Before I can ask anything else, Kellan takes me in his arms and presses his soft lips to mine. His tongue slides into my mouth and I open it to him, relishing the feeling of his tongue exploring my mouth.
I reach down and take his penis in both hands. He’s already hard as a rock. I squat down before him and take him into my mouth, squeezing and pumping his erection with both hands while I suck on the tip. It occurs to me to make Kellan come in my mouth. But before I can enact my plan, he pulls me to my feet, spins me around, and enters me from behind. His wet erection glides inside me in one long, smooth motion which takes my breath away.
He kisses my back and shoulders and neck, sending chills through my body and making my nipples hard. It gives me time for my body to accommodate him.
Kellan makes love to me from behind, squeezing and caressing and lightly slapping my buttocks. He leans forward and kisses and bites my neck and shoulders. His hands caress my breasts and stomach and inner thighs. He’s so deep inside me that I feel like I could have an orgasm if I tried.
But before I can, Kellan withdraws. He squirts bodywash all over my butt and begins massaging my glutes. He spreads my buttocks and gently massages my anus. After several soapy and slippery minutes, I’m standing on my toes, sticking my hips out, lifting my posterior to him because I want more, I want something in there.
Ever the mind-reader, and the glorious love of my life, Kellan senses my longing. He slowly and gently and softly glides the tip of his finger over my opening in a circle, and then inserts his fingertip into me.
I’m wondering if he’s going to put his penis inside me. I’m certainly ready. Kellan fingers me for a few minutes, then withdraws his finger and rinses my bottom with the detachable shower head thing.
Once my anus is squeaky clean, he shuts off the water and towels me dry, followed by himself, after which he leads me to bed.
Kellan has me lie on my front. He kneels on the bed and spreads my legs wide. I’m so wet and ready and open to him. I have no idea what he’s about to do but I’m looking forward to it. At this point, he can do anything he likes to me.
Kellan begins by kissing my neck and shoulders. His warm breath and lips and tongue send shivers down my body.
Kellan kisses his way down my back, very slowly, teasing me, drawing it out, working his way, gradually, all the way down to my buttocks. He spreads me open and his tongue, so hot and wet and soft, swirls around my anus. I have a feeling I know what he’s about to do.
Kellan leaves the bed and grabs something from the refrigerator. He comes back to bed and I hear the distinct sound of a pint of ice cream having its lid peeled off.
Kellan’s warm hands caress my buttocks again, warm and soft, though I can feel his calluses earned through the hours and hours of dedicated weightlifting. They add a manliness to his touch that I find I enjoy, that I find adds to my attraction to him. I’ve never been with someone so absolutely and unabashedly alpha.
His alpha hands spread my ass open and his hot tongue plunges into my anus.
I gasp in delight.
Kellan has a very long tongue. I bet he could touch the tip of his nose with it. I should ask him later, make him demonstrate.
Claire, focus
; your fiancée is performing glorious anilingus on you.
Is that spelled with an ‘a’ or an ‘i’?
An ‘i’. Now focus.
You mean I’ve been spelling it wrong all this time?!
Claire!
I return to the here and now, savoring the feeling of Kellan’s hot tongue inside me. (And wishing we had some pot so I could temper my schizophrenia.) He’s really eating me. I never knew men were so turned on by eating a woman’s ass.
I desperately want to climax while he’s doing it.
Something cold, ice cold, fills my anus. Followed immediately once more by Kellan’s hot tongue.
Oh wow.
He’s eating vanilla ice cream out of me.
I love it.
I absolutely love it.
It’s a mixture of glorious sensation (his hot tongue!) combined with his appetite for my body, his love of my entire body. No one has ever performed anilingus on me before. I always figured most guys wanted nothing to do with a girl’s back door. Unless maybe they were weirdos with a warped sense of sexuality and had spent hundreds of hours watching porn where men were doing messed up stuff to women’s butts. Bowling pins and three dicks at once and lots of choking.
But Kellan is different. There’s nothing perverted about it. It’s simply his insatiable appetite for me. All of me. Including my ass. Which he’s devouring now with dabs and dollops of vanilla ice cream. The contrast between the ice cream and his tongue is heavenly. After a few minutes, I can bear it no longer. I slide one hand between my legs and furiously rub my clitoris. Less than a minute later, I’m coming so hard I can barely stand it. Kellan moans loudly as my muscles contract during the powerful orgasm and my anus squeezes his tongue as he swirls it around inside me.
A moment later Kellan slides up close to me, his warm body settles gently on my back, and his erection glides into my vagina, which is so, so wet and still quivering. Kellan slides is arms under my shoulders and grabs on to them, allowing him to leverage himself deeper and deeper inside me. His mouth finds my ear, his tongue and lips hot and wet. I can smell the ice cream.
Kellan’s hips press against my buttocks as he makes deep, short thrusts. He’s so deep.
