8. DOUBLE-CHECK
SILVINA
It’s January. It’s cold in San Francisco, but my cousin rings the doorbell in just a t-shirt. Gaze relentless and silver-streaked, he bargains with me without words.
It used to be Gioele and me against an imaginary world, until the world became real and we were flung to different sides of it. I don’t feel normal with him around anymore. You gotta do what you gotta do. Life isn’t supposed to be easy, la nonna always said. Years into this thing, I couldn’t agree more.
“Oh, god,” I say. “Gioele, what’re you doing? Did you walk here?”
He shrugs. “Heater’s broken on my car.”
“But why aren’t you wearing a jacket? Come in.”
He sighs like I don’t always let him in when he comes. He’s so relieved, I wish I’d picked up one of his calls over the last days.
There’s a simple wooden chair in the window nook of the living room. Of all places, that’s where he chooses to sit. It’s not like him—my Gioele splays himself out in all his glory on the couch or wherever he can get the most attention when he comes.
“I dunno. Forgot, I guess.” He leans his head back while he cracks his neck. It’s what he does for show, to take any pity off him. But when he comes like this, eyes dark with pain, all I want is to forget everything I’m trying to do and kiss him until we don’t need to think anymore.
Sometimes, it’s as simple as a few stray hairs at the tip of an eyebrow or the chapped corner of his lip that has me mesmerized. Sometimes, like now, I can’t help reaching out to touch the forgotten stubble right where his chin splits in a subtle cleft.
He shuts his eyes, lashes fluttering with emotion. I’m only touching him with a fingertip, but my Gioele feels it with every fiber. I’ve been held by men after him. I’ve slept with men after him. But no one has felt me the way he does.
“I dreamed about Lake Como,” he breathes. Pressing his hands against the seat of that chair, he gets to his feet again, head hanging. I stand too. I don’t back away when he takes a step closer.
“About that day?”
“Yeah. It was… a lot. You know?”
“You dreamed all of it?”
“Pretty much. Up until when we had to jump out the back window because Oscar came. He was faster than we’d ever seen him, wasn’t he?” He laughs, voice low.
“Yeah. It was like he had a hunch of something going on. It was weird.”
Gioele opens his arms for me. Just for a second, I think. Then, I let myself sink into his arms the way I want to.
“Oscar was no dummy. He could smell sex from miles away.”
“Shut up,” I murmur. “It wasn’t sex.”
He kisses the top of my head. “No, but you came. I’d never seen anything more beautiful.”
I’m beyond being embarrassed by his statement. I believe him even though I can’t agree. Losing all control like that?
My thoughts move forward in time, and he reads them. “Do you remember later that summer?” he whispers.
“It does us no good to rehash everything.”
“Ina mia.”
“Stop.”
In a rush, he lifts me off the floor. Reflex throws my legs around his hips, makes him groan, makes us press together in ways cousins don’t, and I let out the smallest sob against the warm skin of his neck. God, he smells like mine.
“Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” Tracy says from the door, thank the Lord.
“You didn’t. Come in,” I reply, while Gioele mutters, “Fuck me blind.”
In the kitchen, I throw cold water on my face. It doesn’t help that he stands right behind me. “Grab the blue sweater on my bed,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to get a cold. You can give it back to me tomorrow. At school or something.”
“Okay.”
I feel him behind me, hear the slow breathing of Gioele holding back his excitement for me. We’ve been here before. It gets harder to snap out of every time.
I lean on the sink, dipping my head down like he did when he first came. “Why did you come here talking about that?”
I gasp when his body meets my back, unyielding and perfect.
“Because I want to relive every second of us.” He nuzzles my neck. I can’t lift my head without melding with him in some backward embrace. “Do we mean nothing to you?”
We mean everything to me.
“Answer me.”
His grip loosens as I turn and face him. “What does it matter? It doesn’t change anything.”
“That’s not true. If we mean something, it changes it all.”
I shake my head. All these years of ups and downs. In one moment, my Gioele accepts my decision and treats me like Isaias treats Gabriela. Just the other day, we talked about the possibility of dating others. But here we are again with his emotional barometer sputtering on the scorching end. We’re back to temptation and intense need for each other all over again.
“Please, don’t do this.” I lean in so my mouth is against his ear, and I feel him shudder. My death stab comes without premeditation. “We’re just cousins.” The words never lose their effect; they make grief roll in my throat.
Tracy enters. Saunters over to the fucking fridge. Why?
Gioele leans his forehead against mine. My beautiful, beautiful boy. “Do you wish sometimes…?”
“That we weren’t?” I whisper back. We’ve asked it all before, and our answers aren’t new either.
He nods slowly, opening his eyes, the silver streaks in them destroying me.
“Every hour of every day.”
“Even when you’re asleep?” he asks, rubbing it in.
“When you’re asleep and dream of us.”
His breathing changes, stomach tensing with sudden mirth. It’s what it does, this situation we’re in. It makes us find humor in the strangest place. His arms go around me, far, looping me in until I’m so tight against his body I feel no difference between me and the love of my life.
“Silvina and Gioele,” he articulates in the careful pitch of our late grandfather. “They sure like each other.”
I reply in the voice of la nonna, words as stilted as hers were. “It’s just play, husband. Antonella and Vito’s crime will never again happen in our family.”
He angles my head up until I’m staring into his eyes. He has me there, locked with him. If he kissed me, I’d give in to sweet hope, let my lips feast on him and live this moment, but my baby just pleads without words.
It’s hard to keep my stare from wavering. I blink. Shake my head at him, salt and liquid blurring my vision. I wait for him to stop this, yet another trial for our hearts. He catches a droplet with a finger.
“You’re unhappy. I won’t pressure you anymore, Ina mia. I just had to make sure.” With a peck to my forehead, he steps back. Then he turns and exits my apartment as quietly as he came.
GIOELE
The nights are shorter when you’ve made up your mind. I have a drink—one of my brother’s favorites, an expensive whiskey—and crawl to bed alone. That redhead from the bar has my number now. I don’t remember giving it to her, but she calls me at three, buzzed, probably from an after party. On autopilot, I pick up, hoping it’s not problems with la famiglia. I hang up when I realize it’s just a girl.
In the morning, I gaze out through the bedroom window. The sun is up. Could be a good sign. Maybe Harmony Femme is a new start.
I’ve researched them. They like to call themselves erotic, but they definitely show vaginas and cocks, all the inner workings, so to speak. They even vary it up with threesomes, female on female, and male on male.
From what I found on the internet, the most glaring difference between them and other porn-makers is some sort of romantic shine or what-have-you to their videos. At times, the whole setting looks a little pink. I guess the main thing is they first and foremost cater to women, and that’s what I say to Keegan Cuevas two hours later, once he asks me.
He steeples his hands in front of him, bending his index fingers into a tent. He straightens them. Lets them go. Straightens and lets them go again. It must be a tic. I take the coffee he’s offered me—no alcohol before the audition, supposedly—and pull in a nice, hot sip.
“You’re correct. We do cater to women. The differences between hardcore and what we do is in the subtleties.”
“The female way, like leaving a pink coating on the film?” I half-fib.
“Ah.” He smiles. Nods. “It’s an efficient technique, actually. It calls to their romantic side.”
“Funny. What else?”
He clicks a remote like he knew I’d ask. The forty-inch flat-screen in front of us flickers to life, and he fast-forwards until he’s at five minutes and thirty-two seconds.
“See the way he leans in over her, how we have the focus on their faces right there?”
“Yep.”
“That’s Swanson. He’s one of our long-termers who’s worked with most of our ladies. He’s huge with the audience because of the way he looks at her. See that?”
“He looks like he’s in love.”
“Exactly. And there.” He freezes the screen right where Swanson’s eyes close with pleasure. “He’s very expressive. In our brand of sexy, it’s not only about pumping in and out. Sure, the female spectator enjoys full-on action too, but there needs to be a variety. What I get from Swanson isn’t easy to find, the ability to act like the woman you’re with is The One. Hold on, let me show you another clip.”
He hits “play” again, and we go through a few more minutes of action before he freezes the screen. I see what he’s after. More than sex, it’s the illusion of lovemaking.
“Everyone with a boner can make a movie, but not everyone is a great actor. You know what I mean?”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Good. In your audition, I’ll be letting you work with one of my stars. I’m making it easy for you, because in addition to being stunning, Silk is as pro as they come.” He laughs quietly. “If you can’t pull it off with her, you’re not Harmony Femme material.”
Keegan takes me down a narrow flight of stairs to the first floor of his headquarters, and with an open palm, he shows me into a studio. It’s small. Holds a bed on some sort of a podium, and just a white screen behind it. A cameraman tinkers with his equipment, and a few spotlights are lit over the makeshift stage. I scan the room for this Silk but see no women.
“I have a couple of smaller sets here, for auditions and such, but my main studio is in White Forest Bay.”
“Ah, yeah. I was wondering about that.”
“The changing room is at the back to your right. We’ve got some clothes laid out for you in there. Once you’re back and Silk is ready, I’ll be directing you myself.”
“All right, sir.” I give him a thumbs-up and head off.
It really is just a changing room of the kind you find at Target. A big mirror, a stool, and a few hangers with clothes on a wall hook. I strip out of my threads and put on black boxer briefs and worn-out Levi’s that fit me perfectly. The last item waiting for me is a white, half-sleeved button-down. I’m not supposed to wear socks or shoes, I guess.
I look at myself in the mirror. Ruffle my hair a little. My eyes already simmer with intent, which, according to Silvina, makes the silver streaks in them stand out. She says it makes me look like I’m part wolf. Ina mia; I love her imagination.
Apart from my eyes and the just-fucked hair to my shoulders, I look like a regular guy. In these clothes, I almost look innocent, like just some dude the girl picked up at the pier.
I step outside to the sound of a soft voice. It’s light and incredibly feminine, and the specimen turning to shake my hand is surreally beautiful. She has golden waves curving around her face, which is heart-shaped and hosts big, expressive eyes. A full, pouty mouth looks like it was created with the pure intent of being sucked on.
“Hi, there. I’m Silk.”
I detect a slight European accent, which makes her even more exotic. I’ll get to ravage this one? I’m good with that.
“Hey. Gioele. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I keep my eyes high on her face while we shake hands, though I’m sure she’s used to men roving over her curves.
“So it’ll be you and me today, then?” she says, tipping her head to the side.
“That okay with you?” I breathe, angling my head the same way. I pour on charm, letting my stare burn.
She lowers her lashes. “I have no complaints.”
I feel a grin grow on my face while I study her. Never averting her gaze, she shares a few seconds of wordless amusement with me, her lips slanting up too. Fuck. She’s fearless.
“All right, kids,” Keegan says, chuckling. “Silk, lose the robe and stand by the bed. Gioele, on cue, you’ll walk toward her.” He lifts a finger. “Now: on the first take, I want you to approach Silk like you haven’t seen her in a long time. You can’t believe you’ll finally get to sleep with her again. Can you fake that?”
“I’ll give it a go,” I reply.
“Have you done any acting before?”
“No, haven’t needed to.” I smirk.
“Again, it has nothing to do with how easily turned on you are. Your female audience needs to believe in your story. Okay? This’ll be short. Sweet. Emphasis on sweet. Take out anything you can think of from your past. Have you ever missed someone, maybe an old girlfriend, a whole fucking lot and then been able to have her again?”
I bob my head. “All the time.”
For a moment, Keegan’s gaze sticks to me. “Cool. Channel that feeling. Take in how breathtaking Silk is, and she’ll be right there for you. Fuck her like you would someone you love and respect like crazy, enjoy the shit out of her, and let it show. Got it? First and foremost: let. It. Show.”
Silk smiles. Arches a fine, dark brow at me in challenge. “You up for this, sugar?”
“Never been readier, honeypot.”
A second cameraman enters, grinning. “Sorry I’m late. This sounds interesting.”
Five minutes later, the overhead lights go off, and another set of spotlights are lit. I’m positioned by a fake door, ready, when Keegan calls, “And go!”
Silk shimmies out of a pink silk robe and leans against the bedpost like she’s sad, aka missing me. She’s wearing a balcony bra, also pink, with a lot of lace on it, and half of her breasts swelling above it. My dick’s already straining against my jeans.
Long, shapely legs and a perky little ass. Her panties are just a string at the back. When she swings toward me, a transparent piece of heart-shaped fabric creates what could only be described as the illusion of underwear. I see her naked slit from here. Fucking nice.
Keegan sends me a thumbs-up. This is my chance, and I better pull it off. I think of Silvina, how I miss her when I look at her, when we’re in the same room, on the same couch, when she’s in my arms and I can’t even kiss her.
It only takes me seconds to tumble into intense longing. It’s so ingrained, I sometimes wonder if I weren’t simply born with it. I combine that feeling with the vision in front of me. Silk doesn’t look like a porn star. She’s an angel, golden with impossible curves and eyes full of yearning and tenderness for me.
I let out a puff of air and knock on the doorframe. She turns fully to me, lifts her hands to her chest, half-covering herself in one of those sexy-as-hell, fragile ways that makes a guy want to storm to her.
“You’re home?” she asks, voice catching.
“Yes, baby. Finally, I’m here.”
And that’s the extent of our dialog. I do what I’d do with Silvina, if I weren’t in this position, if I didn’t have to fill the void of her. I take two giant strides, eyes memorizing every smooth angle of her features. I let them run down to her mouth before I cup her face and kiss her.
I kiss her deeply—groaning—making her tongue dance with mine. I angle her chin higher, and then I’m over her, telling her I love her. It’s off-script, and I’m letting it all out. Today she’s my darling. Today she’s my Silvina.
Behind me, Keegan is quiet. Silk is what he promised, a pro, and she clings to me, arms around my neck like we’ve been one person thousands of times before. I grab her thighs, lift her up. She smells like luxury and soap.
Two steps, and we’re on the bed. It doesn’t make a sound when I splay her out and start to devour her like she’s my One. Small licks and sucks along her jawline.
My first time with Silvina stabs through my heart. Today that’s okay. It makes this real.
“It’s been so long,” she chokes out. I draw back to look into her gorgeous eyes. She too conjures someone, some lover she’s never been able to forget. “Where were you? I was alone without you.”
“I’m here,” I whisper and slide my hands over her, gentle caresses that take me to her breasts. I fold her bra down, revealing her nipples. They’re different to Silvina’s, bigger, puffier, yet perfect all the same. I swirl my tongue over them. “I’ll never leave you again.”
She lets out a small sob— It’s so real my cock jerks.
“Do you want me deep inside you?”
“Silk, sit up. Start on his pants.” Keegan’s voice is low.
I let go of her, letting my eyes sear her body while she does what he asks. Softly, she shifts into a sitting position and begins to stroke my stomach above the top button of my jeans. While I watch her, I pull my shirt over my head and let it drop to the side of the bed. I do it slowly, knowing they’ll enjoy my brand of slender, hard, and soccer-muscular.
“Nice touch,” a cameraman says.
Silk knows how to make a guy feel special. Fully focused on the beast in my briefs, she wiggles my jeans down, then my underwear, until I’m bobbing in front of her, erect and ready. Her lips are cabernet-red and have that gloss to them I like. They open and let her tongue out. It’s a killer view from up here, to see her lick my head, then pull my cock so far in she’s gagging on the second try. She does it subtly, though. Maybe that’s what women like to watch.
With my pants around my knees, I rock into her mouth. Silk’s arms go around me, hands rising until they embrace my ass. It’s a blowjob that’s much more intimate than any I’ve received from a barfly.
A stab goes off in my chest, right at the center between my lungs. It’s the wrongness of it, no doubt. Sleeping with someone random doesn’t do this to me—a quick fling, a slut, some drunk girl in need of a quickie is fine. But this isn’t.
So I pull Silk up to me, find her mouth and kiss her with the intensity of someone in need of oblivion. I lower her to the bed and kick my pants off.
“You, the most beautiful girl in the world,” I whisper to Silvina as Silk squirms out of her panties. She pants, breasts shivering with anticipation that’s fake or real. I kiss her again, kiss her, kiss her like I would Silvina, and I can’t get enough of my girl, right here, beneath me. I find her pussy, and it’s wet for me—I stroke along her seam, opening her with a finger. She gasps, wanting more, and I give it to her, a few fingers penetrating at once.
She lets out a hushed squeal of the kind that makes a guy lose it. I fall over her, growling into her ear about how she’s delicious, how she’s everything, how I want every part of her to be my air, my food, my wind, my rain.
I push inside of her. She bends against me, taking each inch I have to give. I sigh against her ear, kiss her, enjoy every damn cell of this woman, my substitute, a beautiful, perfect substitute, while her head bows into the pillow in ecstasy, golden waves pouring over the sheets as she drains me.