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I slumped with my back against the rail of the bridge until Walter glanced at me and gave me a ‘thumbs up’ sign. “We’re done,” he smiled.
I was still breathing raggedly. The thrill for a man standing when he orgasms is always more intense than if he’s laying or sitting down at the moment he comes. My legs were still trembling.
“Great work, girls,” I grinned and then glanced over my shoulder to where Connie had been standing quietly off set while we filmed. She was writing notes, but somehow instinctively seemed to sense my eyes on her. She glanced up from the notepad and gazed at me with an expression that was completely unreal.
Chapter 19.
Lily and Becky showered together while I sat with my two cameramen, playing back the footage of the scene we had just shot. We were slumped on the sofa, eyes glued to the playback monitor as Walter ran through everything that had been shot.
“It looks good,” I couldn’t keep the bubble of enthusiasm from my voice. “The girls look incredible together, don’t they?”
Walter nodded. He was passionate about his profession and constantly critical, but even he was smiling. “It’s a good one,” he agreed.
Connie came in from the sunlight with her notebook clutched tightly in her fingers. The pages were frayed and curling, filled with her flowing looping handwriting. She came to a halt when she saw us and her eyes flicked to the monitor. She watched without comment for several minutes as Walter replayed the come shot, then she turned her eyes to where we sat.
“You guys look like the three wise monkeys,” she said, “hear no evil, see no evil and speak no evil.”
For some reason, that amused her immensely. She gave a little chortle of laughter and then foraged in her handbag for a new notebook.
“I know you’re not a film critic,” I ignored the aspersion she cast. “But what did you think of the filming?”
Connie looked blank for a moment, but I could see there was a lot going on behind her eyes. When she had assembled her thoughts, she inclined her head and then nodded. “It was more tasteful than the previous scenes you have filmed,” she declared in a comment that could have been praise or could have been a criticism.
I shrugged and gestured with my hands. “What does that mean? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It’s a good thing,” Connie conceded. “I felt you were able to capture something more than just porn,” she said. “Even I thought that was sexy.”
I almost fell off the sofa. Maybe I was hear no evil – maybe I wasn’t hearing her correctly.
“You thought that was sexy?” I was shocked.
“I did,” Connie nodded, and then she blushed and became flustered, like maybe she had said too much. She turned her attention quickly back to whatever was in her handbag. I pushed myself up off the sofa and gave my camera guys both a hardy slap on the back.
“Nice work, guys.”
I drifted down the hallway towards the bathroom. I needed a shower.
As I came level with one of the spare bedrooms, I noticed the door was slightly ajar, and I paused, reaching out for the handle to draw it closed.
From within the room beyond came the sound of sexy feminine giggles, and a voice made husky with emotion and broken by panting gasps of breath. I nudged the door open with my elbow and saw Becky and Lily on their hands and knees, naked on the bed. Spread out between them was Yvette. The young girl had her eyes closed and her legs spread wide with Becky and Lily hovering over her, taking turns to lick her pussy.
I watched for just a moment… no, I didn’t. I watched for several minutes, and then reluctantly wandered into the bathroom.
Damn! Now I needed another cold shower.
Chapter 20.
It was late in the afternoon before the three actresses emerged from the bedroom. They were dressed and looked like they were going somewhere. They were.
With filming finished, the girls were no longer needed. We exchanged hugs and kisses and promises to stay in touch and made plans to film together again in the near future. My camera guys were on their way back to Europe, and I stood on the front step of the house as all five of them piled into a hired car and drove away.
When I came back inside, it was just Connie and I – alone in the house.
“Well,” I said with a lazy smile. “Now that you have me all to yourself, whatever would you like to do with me?”
Connie flicked me a smile. “I’d like to ask you a question.”
I looked disappointed. “Is it a personal question? Is it a sexy question?”
“It’s a question about sex,” Connie said flatly.
“Is it a question about you and me having sex?”
(Okay, I had pushed it as far as I could).
Connie did the sensible thing – she ignored me. She opened up her notebook to a blank page, and then stared down at it like maybe the question had been written in invisible ink. “Why don’t you make films that have a BDSM theme?” she asked. “That genre is very popular right now, you know?”
I put on my game face. “I do know BDSM is popular at the moment,” I admitted. “But it’s only popular with women, and only with women who read particular erotic novels. BDSM might seem like a new trend that is suddenly sweeping the world, but the reality is that BDSM is nothing new. And there’s nothing new in porn either.”
Connie looked a little surprised. “So there has always been porn films made for people who have an interest in bondage and discipline?”
“Of course,” I said. I dropped down onto the sofa with a weary sigh. “Connie, there are porn films made to cater for every imaginable fetish – and that includes BDSM. However, the BDSM films that are made are generally filmed for a male audience because men are the ones who largely watch porn films.”
“So you don’t feel that the interest over recent years in BDSM would translate to something marketable you could film?”
I shook my head. “The phenomenon you are referring to is largely confined to women readers. I make my films for male viewers,” I emphasized the words.
Connie scribbled in her notebook, and when she looked up she suddenly seemed to realize that it was getting dark. She looked around with a curious expression on her face as if to say ‘where did the sun go’.
“Where did the sun go?” she asked.
I glanced over my shoulder and shrugged. “It’s been a long day. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having sex.”
Connie got to her feet and ran her fingers down over her bottom and thighs to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt. Her eyes flicked away from me and suddenly she was glancing past my shoulder. She was checking her reflection in one of the windows.
“Are you coming to dinner with me? Or do you want to meet me at the restaurant?”
Connie glanced at her watch. “What time have you made the reservation for?”
“Seven,” I said, and then made a mental note to book a table for seven o’clock as soon as I could discreetly get to a phone.
Connie glanced down at her wristwatch again, and I saw her lips move silently like she was talking to herself – working something out in her mind. Maybe she was calculating travelling time, or maybe she was calling me a jerk under her breath. I didn’t know.
She looked up at last. “I’ll meet you there,” she decided. “It’s called ‘Still Water’, right?”
I nodded. “It’s on Seventh Street.”
Chapter 21.
I was waiting in the restaurant parking lot when Connie arrived a few minutes before seven. She was wearing a white blouse and a red leather skirt, cut half-way up her thigh. She looked classy – in a sexy kind of way. She smiled a greeting and I took her arm and we walked together round the corner of the building, her high heels clipping on the pavement.
The ‘Still Water’ was one of those intimate, low-lit restaurants that love-lost guys take their girlfriends to when they propose.
There were no lights – the place was lit by thousands of candles flickering from fittings
along the walls and twinkling on every table. There was a piano in a corner behind the reception counter where a grizzled little old man played show tunes and love songs with a kind of effortless ease that only comes from familiarity. He smiled at me from behind his spectacles as Connie and I stood waiting in the small foyer. I smiled back. The pianist took a discreet gulp of his martini and then launched into a tinkling rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’.
The maître d’ drifted out of the shadows like he was gliding an inch above the carpet. I never saw his legs move. He was a thin man in his fifties, immaculately dressed in suit and tie. He had a crop of wavy, silvered hair and a pencil moustache. He ran his finger down the reservations register and chewed on his lip so that it looked like his moustache was crawling into the corner of his mouth. He stabbed the page suddenly with a stub of his finger and looked up with a dramatic ‘ahh’, like he had discovered the secret elixir of life. “There you are,” he said. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy.”
I felt Connie go stiff beside me.
“We’re not married,” I explained, and then I patted my trouser pocket as if I had something there.
The maître d’ caught the gesture and gave me a knowing wink. “Very good, sir,” he inclined his head. “‘Still Water’ would like to present you with a complimentary bottle of champagne,” and then he leaned close to me and gave me a conspiratorial nod. “Good luck,” he whispered.
I nodded back. “I’ll need it,” I whispered. “I’m sure the bottle of champagne will help tremendously.”
