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 façade, 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.
The bed has cream-colored sheets. They look like cotton. Thank God. It’s something I’d buy for myself, for my own home. This eases me a little.
The last guy, however, eats up all my hard-found calmness. He is not the tallest, but the broadest of all the men. He has shaggy hair and he’s wearing a black t-shirt, like my Abel. But unlike my husband, this man doesn’t look warm or welcoming at all. It could be because he’s the one setting up the video camera on a tripod, directly facing the bed.
I gulp and stand frozen at my spot as Abel walks farther in.
My husband shakes hands with the shaggy-haired man who immediately starts to explain things. He’s talking too fast for me to understand. I’m not liking him at all, and the dislike only grows when he says he’ll be in here with us. He explains that the tripod camera is for the amateur look, but he has a hand-held one too that he’ll be using to take shots from different angles. The big tattooed-guy with the camera around his neck will be taking still snaps and the lights guy will be here to deal with any lighting problems they might have.
“It’s pretty simple, really. Just follow your instincts.” He’s gesturing with his hands, shaggy hair bouncing. “Do what you guys do in your own bedroom. It’s supposed to look all natural and spontaneous, okay? Have her suck your dick or eat her out, you know? Whatever you’re comfortable with. The whole point is for this to look like a homemade video, all right? People are eating this amateur shit up.”
He says something else but I can’t hear him over the ruckus in my ears. My body is going haywire. My heart is bouncing around, jumping into my throat, falling into my stomach. I feel it sliding out of my body through my extremities, leaving me empty and dizzy. My brain’s rejecting this entire scenario. This isn’t what I pictured. I don’t know what I pictured, actually. But this isn’t it. I can’t do this.
I’m shaking so hard that I have to steady myself on the surprisingly chilled wall. Relax, I tell myself.
Calm the hell down. It’s okay. Things are okay.
If I don’t want to do this, we won’t do it. Right? No one’s pointing a gun at me or Abel. This is our choice.
But damn it, I’m disappointed.
I’m sliding down the wall, my legs spasming. In a flash, my husband is by my side. He buries my face in his chest and I inhale his apple-scented musky smell.
“You okay, baby? I’m here,” he murmurs as he simply holds me, like a mountain giving me shelter. Then he commands, without turning back or looking at anything but me, “Get out.”
“What?” By now, I know the voice of the tripod camera guy and I know this sharp rebuttal comes from him.
“Just get the fuck out,” Abel orders, squeezing me.
“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
I feel him getting closer to us and I cling to Abel tightly. I’m not proud of it, being a nervous ninny, but I can’t help myself.
My eyes are squeezed shut but I open them when a calm voice enters the argument. “Come on, man. Let’s go. Look at her, she’s shaking.”
Then I get a peek at the man who just said that and I realize he’s Nick, Blu’s husband. He’s the one with the camera around his neck and tattoos all over his arms.
“And how’s that my problem? If she wasn’t sure, she shouldn’t have come here. We’re not here to waste our time.”
Abel growls, ready to fire back at him, but I clutch his shirt and stop him. “Abel, no. Don’t. He’s right.”
“I won’t let anyone talk to you like that.”
“It’s okay.”
His jaw clenches and I increase my hold on him. We’re not here to fight with anyone or get arrested. Abel doesn’t need that. Besides, I can fight my own battles. I puff out a breath and step out of his embrace. He’s reluctant to let me go but I pat his chest, hoping to tell him that it’s okay. I face the man who’s glaring at me. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I, uh, I need a little bit of time. Is that okay?”
Abel can’t stop himself, obviously, so he answers before the man can. “It’s more than okay. Now get the fuck out of this room before I kick you out.”
The man doesn’t like that and he’s already charging at Abel but Nick stops him and pulls him back by his t-shirt. “You crazy, man? We’re not here to start a fight. Come on, let’s go. You’re the one who’s wasting time. If you keep standing here like a jackass, she’s never gonna do it, okay? So, let it the fuck go.”
A minute later, after a lot of glaring and panting, the men are out, and we’re alone inside the room.
I face my husband, who’s staring at me with an intensity that makes his gaze a solid, tangible thing. I’m about to tell him that I can’t do this because I’m the biggest chicken in the history of the world, but he doesn’t let me. He marches over, bends down and hoists me in his arms, bridal-style. All I can do is gasp his name, hold on to his shoulders as he strides to the bed and sits down with me on his lap.
“You okay?” He frowns, his thumb tracing the shape of my lips.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I…” I shake my head. “I panicked.”
“It’s okay. It’s fine. I don’t care. If you don’t wanna do it, we won’t do it.”
“You won’t be disappointed? Because I am. I’m super disappointed.”
He chuckles. “A chance to fuck you on camera? Fuck yeah, I’d love that. Ever since I set foot in this place, I’ve wanted to do that. But I’ve got a pretty intense imagination, Pixie. I don’t need a camera and a red light to picture a scenario where people are watching us fuck and jizzing their pants.”
I duck my head, laughing at him, laughing at myself. “It’s crazy how you can make me blush. I should be used to your dirty mouth by now.”
His chest shakes with laughter. “That’s part of my charm.”
I sink into him, sighing. My legs are swaying, wiggling toes grazing the floor. Somewhere in the last minute when Abel picked me up and sat me on his sturdy lap, I lost my flats and my feet are naked now.
My husband is quiet, simply breathing, nuzzling his cheek into my hair. Like a weirdo, I’m smelling his Adam’s apple. A few minutes pass in silence before I speak. “I keep imagining my parents. Like, what would they think if they saw me like this? What would they think if they knew how badly I want to do this with you? I shouldn’t be looking for their approval. In fact, the whole point of this is that I don’t care. But I can’t shake it off. What would the whole town think? Sky? Fucking Mrs. Weatherby who ruined everything. Mr. B. Your uncle.”
Abel sighs. “My uncle is probably slumped on a bar somewhere, sleeping his drinking binge off. He doesn’t care what’s happening in the world right now.”
“Your uncle drinks?” I look up at him.
He lowers his face, his stubbled chin scraping my forehead. “Yes, Pixie. My uncle’s a drunk. He usually drives a couple of towns over so no one finds out. I’ve had to pick him up a few times myself.”
“No way. I never knew that.”
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You never knew because I never told you.”
“You kept secrets from me?”
“Nah. It wasn’t important enough to tell. I don’t care about Peter Adams and he doesn’t care about me. We lived together because we had no choice. I mean, he had a choice. He could’ve kicked me out but he kept me, and in return, I kept his secret.”
“I’m so sorry. It must’ve been awful. You should’ve told me.”
Throwing me his lopsided smile, he shakes his head. “You made it all bearable.”
Swallowing a lump of emotion, I kiss his lips softly. I love this man so much. I’m constantly surprised by how much I love him, how I keep falling in love with him every day.
When we break apart, he says, “As for the rest of the town, they don’t care what’s happening either. They are all at church.”
“Oh yeah. Sunday.” I nod. “Church.”
I haven’t been to church ever since we got to New York. I don’t want to. Somewhere deep inside, I’m mad at God too.
I thought He’d help us when the time came, do the right thing. But He didn’t. He watched from the sidelines while they beat up my Abel, humiliated me. Lightning didn’t strike. The sky didn’t crack open with outrage. Maybe it wasn’t going to anyway, but I would’ve appreciated someone stepping in and stopping it. That would have been miracle enough.
“Do you miss it?” Abel asks. “Going to church?”
“No. I don’t think so. Do you?”
Scoffing, he murmurs, “The only reason I went to church was to see you.”
I bite my lip, making his eyes glitter. “I can’t believe you went just to see me. Especially in the beginning, when we didn’t even talk.”
“Eh. It wasn’t too bad. I kept myself busy.”
“With what?”
“With you. I used to stare at you. A lot. I’d watch you whisper something in Sky’s ear or laugh at something quietly. And then I’d close my eyes at night and see your smiles in my dreams, smiling myself. Yeah, Sundays were pretty exciting for me.” He kisses my nose, making me giggle, like I’m back in church. “And then I used to draw you, sitting there, while Father Knight talked about life and death and all that bullshit.”
I gasp, sparks running under my skin. “You used to draw in church? That’s why whenever I looked at you, your head was down.”
“You used to stare at me, Pixie?” He smirks.
“No. I mean, sometimes. Sermons are boring,” I mumble, getting embarrassed.
“Yeah. I don’t think it’s that. I think you always found me hot.”
I try not to smile. “Oh please. You were the one who fell for me first. The very first day.”
He licks his lips, his warm breath puffing over my mouth. I wish I could eat it up, all of his breaths, his sighs, his grunts. Him.
“Yeah, I did,” he admits. “I was so angry that day, and then I saw you, surrounded by the fields, the woods. My Pixie. And it all went away.”
My heart’s racing now. We’ve come so far from that day. We’ve grown and endured so much. Years of lying and sneaking around, and then running away. Even through all of that, he still gives me the butterflies. Still makes me think I’m that naïve, innocent girl who fell in love with the new boy.
“I always wished that I could sit with you. In church. Or maybe at school so we could eat lunch together.”
“Maybe you can.” He smiles, even though his eyes are smoldering. “You are. Sitting right next to me on the pew. We’re sitting all the way in the back, while Father Knight’s talking smack and everyone’s looking at him like his words are gold.”
Something happens to me at his words. A shift in my thinking. A crackling on my skin. There’s meaning in his eyes. Meaning and power and magic, and it makes me aware of the fact that for the past fifteen minutes, I’ve been sitting on my husband’s very hard lap, my butt pressing into what’s now becoming an impressive hard-on.
“All the way in the back?”
“Yeah.”
“By that… stained glass window? Where you first saw me? When you came in with Mr. B?”
“Fuck yeah. The light’s shining down on your hair, making it all pretty and beautiful. And my fingers are aching to touch it. Curl the strands. Pull them into my fist.”
“I-I think you can, now.”
“I can?”
I nod. “I’m your wife now, aren’t I? You can do whatever you want with me. And guess what? Me too.”
A dangerous glint enters his gaze; it makes me shiver. My heart purrs and pounds in my chest, and I fist his cross.
“You don’t wanna give me free rein, Pixie. Not with the whole town so close.”
I squirm in his lap, but somehow it feels like the back of my thighs are sliding down the shiny wood of the pew, my toes brushing against the floor of my hometown’s church.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m gonna do some very dirty things to you while you listen to your priest, and I won’t even let you keep your screams in check. In fact…” His chest rumbles, the vibrations echoing in my heavy breasts, which are crushed against him. “In fact, I’m gonna make sure you scream so people turn their heads and see you. The town’s princess moaning in pleasure, or maybe in pain. And you know where I’ll be?”
“Wh-where?”
“I’ll be kneeling on the ground, my head under her pink dress, licking her cunt.” His hand gets under my dress as he slides his callused fingers up my trembling thigh. “They won’t be able to see me at first, Pixie. They won’t be able to tell why Evangeline Elizabeth Hart, such a good little girl, is arching her back, thrusting her tits out, squeezing her cherry red nipples through her dress. They won’t understand why you’re moaning like that. Why you’re looking at the sky, cursing, telling someone to stop but then a second later, you’re telling him to keep going.”
Abel’s fingers are now at the hem of my panties. He can feel how wet I am, how drenched. How my pussy is pulsing, gaping open and closed like a fist, through the thin fabric. She’s dying for him, for his fingers, for his tongue, even his teeth.
“Abel…” I whimper when I feel him tucking his fingers inside my panties and rubbing the slick lips of my core.
“Fuck, baby. You just told them. You just whispered my name and outed our secret. Now they’re all beginning to rise from their seats. They are staring at you. Father Knight’s wondering what the fuck is going on. But I can’t stop.”
He nudges his hard dick under my butt as his fingers pick up speed. He isn’t touching the one place I want him to: my clit. But he’s burying his fingers in the seams of my cunt, in my wet curls.
“I can’t stop eating you out. You’re too tasty. Too delicious. Like sugar. You make me so horny, Pixie.”
“B-but they’ll take you away. Even if I’m your wife. They’ll lock you up if you do something like that. I-in church,” I protest, getting closer to him, rocking in his lap, trying to guide his fingers to where I need him.
I protest like we’re really in church and my heart is fluttering like a nervous bird. We’re whispering now. When I breathe, I can smell the incense, the varnish. I can hear the rustle of someone’s shoes sliding across the floor. I can hear the swish, the whispers of someone adjusting in their seats. The clearing of throats. The sighs. I can see them standing up, one by one, frowning, trying to figure out what’s going on. I can feel their gazes stabbing me, throwing stones at me.
I’m so turned on. I’m flushed and sweating like I’m on fire. Like I’ve swallowed the sun itself. I can hear Abel’s breaths next to me, all excited and growing more feral by the second.
And I never — not ever — want him to stop.
“They won’t.” He licks the side of my mouth and I have no choice but to catch his tongue, suck on the tip of it, drink his flavor.
“Why not?”
“Because when I lift your dress all the way up…” He’s doing it right now, inching the fabric up, until my wet panties come into view. I’ve totally slipped into my role and I try to close my thighs, but he doesn’t let me. He splays his palm open on my flesh and parts my legs, opening me up. To himself. To the town.
“Your panties are gonna be drenched. Look.” He rubs his glossy fingers up and down the wet spot, hitting my clit through the soggy cloth, making me jerk and twist my hips.
We both look down at where he’s rubbing me. It’s so dirty and obscene and so fucking erotic. My pale thighs open, scraping against his jeans. Then he pushes the crotch of my white underwear to the side, baring my pussy. I grab hold of his wrist and stare at him fearfully, aroused out of my mind.
“No, th-they will see.”
His gaze is wicked and desperate. Every part of him is dying to do this, has been dying to do this for years, expose me. “But they gotta see it, baby. They gotta see how wet and pink you are. They need to see it because only then will they get it. They will finally get why I’m a fiend for you. For your body. They need to see your cunt and how tight it is, how it drives me fucking crazy, how I’d do anything for you.”
I gush even more at his words, my clit buzzing with the sound of his rough voice. I let go of his wrist and let him pull the useless fabric all the way to one side, exposing my clenching hole.
“Fuck yeah,” he whispers, his fingers swirling in my wet heat, dragging around in my sticky arousal. Then he pushes a long finger in and I arch up, pressing my hips into his hand. “Yeah, that’s so nice and tight, Pixie. See, now they know. Now they know that your pussy is magic. They’re all nodding their heads now. Now they get why I’m kneeling at your feet and lapping at you like a dog. And why I’m humping the air. Now they understand why I need you so bad.”
His voice seems to be coming from a distance. I’m in a daze. I’m here in this room with him and I’m also in the past, hundreds of miles away in my old church. I’m everywhere. I’m in every person. I’m in every living thing.
I’m in Abel and he’s in me. His Pixie.
He’s watching me with hooded eyes, his lips parted, harsh breaths coming out of his mouth in gusts. “What do I do now, Pixie? How do I get rid of this ache, huh?”
In a burst of energy, I stop his wrist, and somehow manage to sit up. “You cure me every day, don’t you? Now I’m gonna cure you.”
But when I go to stand up, he stops me. He looks into my eyes, all deep and meaningful and my heart starts slamming, even more than before. Somehow, I already know what he’s going to say. “Everyone’s watching, Pixie. The whole world.”