I’m on TV! 62X: Schrödinger? I Hardly Know Her!

I’m on TV! 62X: Schrödinger? I Hardly Know Her!

Bedroom Sound Stage, Hollywood. April 2011.

I was proud of my piddly little production. “C’mon, folks! Get your forks ready. Lunch has arrived.” But as the second assistant director walked on set hollering for those in attendance to collect their takeaway orders, I’d be remiss in saying there wasn’t something amiss in the professionalism department. “Who the hell ordered less chillies in their tom yum, by the way? Have some class, that’s not how we do things here!”

Craft service on Potter was a pristine machine - our means were a fair bit leaner here. Instead of the buttery, belt-busting bowls of British food at Leavesden, we largely subsisted on instant ramen on a day-to-day basis. 

However, where we excelled was in the usage of spice - plenty of it to go around today. Since I’d already broken open the budget on beluga caviar, I’d sent out a pair of legs to rustle up Thai food. 

It was a skeleton crew on-call for this next sequence, so Ben need not pick any bones about me wasting the production purse. There was good reason for that. Staff were sparse as only the absolutely necessary need be exposed to my thigh sausage. “Did you manage to get my iced tea?”

The second director beamed up at me and promptly handed me my sweet treat. “Are you sure that’s enough for you, Mr. Rhys? I didn’t even see you eat breakfast. Aren’t you hungry?” 

Straw clenched between my teeth, “starving,” I answered and went back to drinking my beverage. Swallowing my slightly abated hunger, I elaborated. “Gonna be doing a lot of huffing and puffing soon. Blowing hot garlic into my scene partner’s face? Bad form.”

If the outline within the skin-coloured banana hammock swinging freely behind my floaty bathrobe hadn’t made it apparent yet, we were slated to film my first ever sex scene. 

Virgin territory, ironically enough. 

The crew surged around us as they ravenously pawed at their respective plastic containers. “What the-?” Someone opened one of the lids and a very… particular odour wafted out. “Who in their right mind ordered the stink bean salad?”

“Shut up, it’s tasty!”

“Not when we’re in a confined space it’s not. We don’t need you fumigating us with that funkiness.”

All in all, including the actors, George and his camera crew, the lighting and sound team, and finally a couple of essential gaffers had us at a cosy fifteen people on set. Rowdy as they were, their heightened volume more than made up for their shortened numbers.

Not exactly a sold out arena, but more than sufficient to induce performance anxiety. So, yes, I gave myself an inconspicuous tug or two to ensure I was filling my role properly. Shy is the last thing I am, but that didn’t make me an exhibitionist either. 

I wasn’t immune to nerves - even at the risk of being called a perv. But that was a label better suited to somebody else. 

“Can I have a sip? I’m so thirsty.” A pair of arms wound around my torso and a sharp chin poked me as it perched on my shoulder. 

I wasn’t unfamiliar with her penchant for PDA. Whether she was in front of a crowd or her mother, Zoe felt neither humility nor humiliation. Usually revelled in it, actually.

“Iced tea seems like the wrong choice for you, Zoe. You appear to be quite cold already.” Although her fingers flash-froze my abs, there were two prickly points prodding me on my back as well. I couldn’t discern which sensation sent chills across my skin. 

Talk about stiff competition.

Zoe was shameless. “You’ll keep me warm. Now, gimme!” I brought the straw up to her lips, and she proceeded to inhale everything in a sustained gulp until only air rattled through the ice. Zoe had drained me dry.

Before I could get too hot and bothered about the diluted dregs swimming at the bottom of my cup, the intimacy coordinator came into the picture. “Let’s get you two set up, shall we? George wants you in position by the time everyone’s done eating.”

“Lucky them. Dinner and a show.” I couldn’t help but comment as Zoe and I followed her to our markers.

“Why are you bitching? No one cares if dudes are topless.” I may have allowed Zoe that point, had she herself not been willingly flashing me through her loose robe this entire time.

Still, unlike my current clothing, it was probably prudent for me to cover my bases. “In that case, might as well take this opportunity to apologise for getting overexcited - or not getting excited enough.” Not that I imagined the latter would be a problem.

“Don’t worry, just because you’ll be holding it against me, doesn’t mean I’ll do it the same to you,” Zoe teased.

“Alright, you two, spread ‘em, please.” Zoe held no qualms letting her robe drop to the floor, while I merely opened the flaps to mine. 

Our coordinator reached for a bottle strapped to her tool belt, pumped out a generous dollop of something clear and viscous, then smeared our intimate bits with it. Oil or lubricant. “I’m sure, in some strange way, this is a necessary step in the pretend porno protocol - I’d only like to know why.” I questioned why she was rubbing us into a glistening sheen, to where excess oil was seeping into the flesh-coloured adhesive bands holding our modesty socks up. 

In lieu of a verbal explanation, she took her oil-coated hands and gave us a moist standing ovation - though I’d hesitate to call it clapping; more like plapping. Well, both George and I were fans of practical effects… Editors likely appreciated the audio clues for syncing as well. “Also, it prevents chaffing. A little trick of the trade! Now, time for bed.” 

Complying with her outstretched finger, I settled on the mattress first. Following which, Zoe straddled my waist. 

The thin slice of cotton barely blocked the soft warmth from either of us. “Unf-” Zoe let out a light moan. “Cosy.” For her, maybe. This was a rather hard situation for me.

“You - er… Shift up please, Zoe. Rest your weight below his navel, not directly on his um,” the coordinator floundered for appropriate wording.

Which I helpfully supplied. “Gentleman’s-” my (seemingly) mature euphemism brought hope to her face, “...penis.” Her hopes dashed. I shrugged. Couldn’t always be expected to be clever, could I? Sometimes, things just slip out.

I wish I had the headspace to delight in her crestfallen expression like I usually might’ve; however, my eyes involuntarily focused in on Zoe’s jiggling jubblies as she fell into a fit of giggles. 

My brain was severely deprived of oxygen today.

Our coordinator huffed as she tried to salvage any amount of decorum from either of us. Stomping down, she grabbed the hem of the sheets, whipped it to drape around our waists, and secured the sides to the mattress with a few small safety pins to hold them in place. Peeling off clear double-sided tape from her toolkit, she pasted strips on Zoe’s hips to help stick the folded cloth to her skin. “Place your hands here, Bas.” Taking my hands, she used them as additional anchors. “You both are natural disasters, but even an earthquake won’t shake this off.” She marched off while dusting her hands. “They’re all yours, Mr. Miller!”

“Tetchy.” I tsk’d.

“Comes with the territory of being a professional prude, I suppose,” Zoe opined while glancing down at our con(junk)tion. “She did a good job. Nobody is gonna be able to tell what we’re doing - even if it’s obvious.”

“Ok, everyone, final checks!” Within a few minutes, the entire crew polished off their meals, got into their respective positions, and resoundingly confirmed their stations. George found his seat beside the main camera, then tilted this head up at the ceiling. “All good up there?”

“No funny, all business. Nothing to see up here except the framing, boss!” Nested up on some overhead scaffolding was the secondary camera crew, getting a bird’s-eye-view of our burning passion. 

“Cracking.” Our director gave everyone a satisfied nod before turning his attention to us. “Let’s run through the dialogue first. We can get to the cardio after. Places and… action!”

[She started off slow, ramping up the pace with every sultry sway of our oil-slick skin. 

Our positions weren’t a mistake. Her on top, and me barely holding on beneath her. “Y-you can’t be serious. If I do what you’re asking, everything - everything! - I’ve built comes crashing down.” This was meant to be a pleasurable moment, but all that showed on my face and echoed in the desperate plea of my voice was pain.

“So?” A mean smirk loomed over me. Ten cruel thrusts rocked me back - each one punctuated by a sharp nail sinking into the flesh of my chest. “Don’t - haah - forget who got your foot in the door. My dad wouldn’t have given you a second look if it weren’t for me vouching for you. And now look at you, handling the biggest merger in his company’s history!”

“Then why? Why make me sabotage it? It’ll ruin my life and yours, too!” I winced, and not only because the script called for it. Zoe was getting steadily more aggressive with her riding. As her dominance grew, so was my prominence; which she was edging ever closer to. 

“Think, Eddie, think! We shared the same dealer - did you really believe you’re the only one who knew about NZT?” Lowering my hips in rhythm with our next pump, I tried to inch her up with a pull, so I didn’t accidentally enter her. Zoe opposed that force. Clamping her calves around me, she lifted herself up instead of forward, then reversed. A meaty thwap found her plonked directly where I’d been trying to avoid. “If I wanted my - hngh - dad to succeed, I’d have fed it to him. I still can. He’d make better use of it than you would anyway, and he’d kick you to the curb after emptying your pockets of every single pill you’ve got stashed, too. Then where would you be?”

In all the jostles, my adhesive tape gave way. A more genuine grimace nearly tore across my face at my unplanned waxing session. Before I could distress, though, supple heat soothed my hurt like a hot compress. 

That was the only mercy I’d been granted. My cock had slipped out and Zoe didn’t care. She just fought my grip more and more in her frenzied search for friction. I might’ve worried that her own thong had slid off if it wasn’t for the distinctly damp cotton turned velvet clinging to every contour of her lips. 

Clouded by her wanton writhing over my exposed length, it took me a minute to regain my drowned senses. “H-!”

A second whack clapped when her palm slapped itself across my mouth. “Shh, shh, shh, Eddie. If you want any chance of keeping your NZT and maybe even making off with some scratch if you play your cards right, you’ll do as I say.” 

“Mrrgh!” A smothered hum and bulging eyes were the only silent protests I could muster.

She curved her spine. “Because I.” Moaned aloud. “Own.” And threw her head back in a whirl of sweat soaked locks. “You!” Did she just-? 

Zoe shivered., her lungs heaved for stolen breath. The overhead lamps highlighted the shadow of her protruding ribs as they framed her flexing abs. 

Yeah, she totally had.]

“Cut!” All the blood rushed out of my ears when I heard George’s sudden command. “Crikey, that was a scene and a half, wasn’t it? Zoe, you really…” Uh-oh, “sold the crap out of that fake orgasm! Nice improv - you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, girl. Bas, you were a tad too stiff there, mate.” No! No more unintended double entendres, please! 

My pulse was going haywire, only by bringing every ounce of my acting talent to bear was I able to not freak out. And unlike my throbbing cucumber, Zoe kept cool as one. “Sorry! That might’ve been my fault - I think I hit a sore spot. Let me readjust.” She reached down, and at an angle only I could see, parted that last bit of cloth to the side and rested her bare puss on my shaft.

“Ah! No worries then, Bas. Happens. Do you need a break before we move on to the next take?”

Soon as George provided his suggestion, Zoe jumped in and gave me hers. “I’m happy to keep going, just FYI.” She swerved forward ever so slightly until the tip of my dick was enveloped by her tight, wet entrance. “Your choice, Bas.” She purred.

I surveyed our audience; not a peep or a peek. We hadn’t been found out, and I was dumbfounded by it.

This was crazy. Absolutely and unequivocally so. Crazy. 

But as a salty drop of sweat pooled at the tips of her pebbled rippling nipples and dripped into my mouth. I stared transfixed at her flushed chest and manic grin, and her perfume of arousal invaded my nostrils with each sigh of my own shuddering breath.

“Hey! Whoever ate that bean stir fry, go get the febreze and spray it. I told you it was an awful order.” 

I discarded whatever notion of sanity I had left. Casting one last glance at the room beyond, I confirmed the crew remained none the wiser. And as the encroaching fingers of lust overwhelmed my capacity for higher thought along with Zoe’s fingers clawing at my chest again, there wasn’t any wisdom to be found within me at all, either. 

Fuck it. “Let’s go.” 

“Take two, action!”

She plunged down, swallowing me whole. I lost my mind after that.

[The cameras rolled again. She spoke her lines. My responses followed, but I struggled to register anything except the ecstasy of her embrace. 

Her pliant flesh wrung against my rigid length. Lenses and senses melded into a collage of sharp cuts and hard thrusts; soft zooms and heady fumes. The scene continued to carry beyond where we’d had to stop last time, as Zoe and I relentlessly chased our own ends under the guise of the script’s instructions.

We’d entered a fugue state, we almost lost track of our cues and risked unveiling ourselves. If it hadn’t been for the burning dollar bills suddenly raining down at us from the rafters in a precisely calculated ring, we would have. 

Remembering my role, I began staring right down the lens of the camera pointed at me from above. More flaming money fell; a hallucination of both mine and Eddie’s career, going up in smoke. 

NZT’s side effect was running its course, and so was our scene. As Eddie, I released my grip on lucidity. Latching instead on Zoe’s character (Roxy’s) throat and life. 

I traced my palm slowly and sensually up her silky torso. Goosebumps followed in its wake, trailing all the way up and tickling my fingertips as they wrapped around her threading jugular. 

I squeezed, she tensed. She squeezed, I spent.]

George called cut and gleefully began replaying the footage on his monitor. “Perfect, you two. My homage came out wonderfully.”

But I didn’t pay him any mind - too focussed instead on my own American beauty collecting herself above me. “You almost killed me with that last one, you know that?” One of her arms raised to cover her breasts, while the other inconspicuously tucked us both back in place before our unwitting coordinator came rushing over. 

I dropped my hand to her shoulders to help steady her. “What’s a little death between friends?”