четверг, 27 сентября 2012 г.

The Fall

Euphoria...ever thought about this combination of letters that caresses your lips when you say it?

from Greek: euphoria "power of enduring easily,"
from euphoros, lit. "bearing well,"
from eu "well"+ pherein "to carry"

That's what happens to me when I wake up in the morning, sulking and sleepy, grumbling about how I don't want to go to work, and then I go out and drink in a lungful of autumn - euphoria flows through my nostrils and touches the tips of my toes on the inside. All the problems and routine seem to be gone, though they are not, they are always there even before I flutter my eyelashes open to see the sun embracing the world. It's just I "carry them well" now.

I love the fall - it is my spring. All my senses that I've put aside during the summer wake up, I become more romantic and vulnerable. I look around and see such beauty that I can hardly contain my heart inside my chest. People scurry by, wrapping themselves in their moodiness, but I see leaves and the sky so blue it hurts the eyes. I wonder why the sky is so unhealthily blue in the fall, it's like it's been stripped of its skin left there sore and sensitive, but damn beautiful!

Leaves...they are everywhere like annoying children at a birthday party, but they make the world brighter, they make life in September feel like the beginning of a fairy tale. Love that's in the air is red and yellow - mature. It's not fluttering in the wind anymore, not crying the raindrops off its tender skin; now it's waltzing in a furious spin and then glide to the ground to loll around like a warm yellow blanket.

I'd like to wrap myself in the fall, to cream it in and smell the freshness, to let the uneasiness of the air flow through my veins and make my fingers prickle, I'd like to "listen in" the shush of the wind and absorb the last drops of sun warmth, I'd like to inhale the beauty of the autumn earth and to never breathe it out, I'd like to be autumn myself - fresh, calm and motherly.

I walk along the streets and see the traces of the fall everywhere, I feel it sneaking a peek at us, trying to figure out how to make us prettier like it does the trees and meadows, and lakes and the sky; but all it manages to do is make our skin wither year after year.

Yet I feel euphoria dissolving in my blood as the fall approaches me from behind and rubs the back of its hand against my cheek. It sends goosebumps all over me, but I close my eyes and cherish the moment, because I know it will go away, and I'll be faced with another nine months of hustling through life until I can relax again, sit down and let my eyes burn with amber flame.

суббота, 22 сентября 2012 г.

Interview with a porn star

*You can call it  fanfiction (emphasis on fiction), a short story or a wet dream, anyway, the characters are definitely fictional, though inspired by some real people. It's something that just appeared to be on my mind today, or maybe it's just because I have my period and am too sensitive right now*

"That's your last chance, Mila", my boss says handing me an envelope,"if you don't get him to give this interview, you might consider looking for a new job."
Who is this 'him' now? I take the envelope trying to look cool and professional, but my legs are about to give way. If I lose this job, I will probably spend the rest of my life in shitty offices writing about acnes and waxing for cheap teen magazines. "Bare Truth" is the most prestigious sex-magazine, and it was a real wonder that I got the job. But now I'm about to lose it because my articles "are too missionary", damn! I feel tears getting close as I mumble: "Mr.Aspic, I will not dissapoint you."
"I hope you won't", he says waving me out of his office. 
I go out, and as soon as the door is closed I slip down the wall breathing in deeply, brushing away tears. Whoever it is in this envelope, I'll turn the world upside down, but I'll find a way to interview him. Curiosity takes over me, I open the envelope and feel the chill running down my spine. A name glows at me in bold letters - Brandon Oregon. BRANDON OREGON!
"Crap!", I cry out, obviously too loud, because suddenly everything goes quiet around me, and I realize there are people sitting in the foye and staring at me curiously. I clumsily stand up  and mince past them.

Brandon Oregon is an adult star, a gay adult star, and he is so hot that I already feel embarrased. I imagine myself blushing and stuttering in from of him, dropping the recorder, forgetting questions and fumbling through my notes with trembling sweaty hands. Shit! I'm so dead! I will never be able to pull it off. Whatever! I collapse into the chair and press my burning face against the cool surface of my desk. Ok, I will lose the job, but at least I will get to spend half an hour in one room with the hottest guy I know. I sit up, take the papers out of the envelope and find the contact phone number of Oregon's agent.

Maybe it was a silver spoon in my mouth or the name of the magazine that got me the chance, but now I see myself gleeing at myself in the rearview mirror. I'm dressed in a smart blue tight skirt, a matching jacket and a short-sleeved white blouse. A recorder, my camera (I thought since I was so lucky I might as well try to get some pictures for the article) and my glittering notebook with a silk cover are beside me on the passenger's seat. I smile as I feel excitement climbing up inside of me. I'm driving to BO's house and I will have a whole hour with him! I inhale and hiss slowly through my teeth letting the tension out. I don't know what I care more about -  my job or the impression I will make. I don't have too much time to think, because I see the familiar white house. I clasp the wheel harder and maneuver along the drive way as the white gate opens. I park the car with a surprising skill and get out.
It's warm outside and the front yard is green and beautiful. I see a pool sparkling in the distance. I look up at the house, putting my hand up to shade my eyes from the sun, and my heart stops...HE is flashing his smile at me through one of the enormous windows and starts waving at me. Shit! He must have thought I was waving at him. I quickly pull my hand down and scurry to the front door. In a couple of seconds he opens it, and I melt at the sight of him dressed in nice tight jeans with a metal-covered leather belt and a snow-white undershirt that is all stretchy and slightly transparent. I start thinking about the name of the material, fighting an urge to run my fingers across his visible abs.
"Um...", he snaps me out of my day-dreaming. I look up and I know I am as red as a fucking lobster. "You're "Bare Truth", right?"
"Yes", I whisper and clear my throught, "I'm Mila Robsky, a journalist...obviously." I smile sheepishly, and he smiles back and gives me his hand. He is so adorably shy that I gain my confidence and shake it, quite professionally as I think. Without letting go of my hand he leads me into a lofty sun-lit hall. I glance around and see huge photographs of naked female models covering the white walls. I raise my brow in surprise, he notices it and smiles apologetically.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" He lets go of my hand, and I breathe out in relief.
"Yes, but aren't you..." I stop, thinking of a more professional way to call him.
"Yeah, all the way. But I like beautiful things, aesthetic pleasure, you know".
He shows me to the white couch in the middle of the room with a small table in front of it. We sit down and I notice that the couch is quite rigid in spite of its all fluffy and  meringue look. I can't rid myself of the thought that it all looks like the beginning of an adult movie as we are sitting on the couch looking embarrassed at each other.
"Come on, Mila, get your shit together and do the interview!", I shout inwardly, and as I open my mouth to say something, he does too, and we laugh our embarrassment off a bit.
"I'm sorry, I'm being so rude here", he says getting up, "would you like a drink?" I'm considering whether it's professional enough to agree and run my lips together. He takes it as a 'yes'.
"Beer?" He opens a mini-fridge and looks expectantly at me.
"Yes", I breathe out, enchanted by his look, then shake my head in confusion, "No...tea, I'd like tea."
He smiles, gets a beer for himself and goes out to make some tea for me.

When I'm alone in the room, I put my camera, my recorder and the notebook I've been clasping to the whole time on the small wooden table and notice some posters of underwear and sex-toys with "BrandonBrand" written on them. I stretch on the couch and breathe deeply to calm myself. I'm angry for my weakness, I want to curl on the couch and cry, but clench my teeth and sit up. I pull my skirt a bit down, it isn't long enough to cover my knees, but the gesture gives me confidence. "What are you afraid of?", I tell myself. "He likes guys, so relax and imagine he's one your endless girlfriends you gossip about stuff with." I relax a little, but the pictures on the walls still bother me. It's an unusual interview, hardly any star would invite a journalist over to his house. I smirk proudly.

He comes back with my tea and a BrandonBrand cookie on the saucer.
"Sweet", I smile at him. He sits down beside me.
"So, where do we start?" He looks more relaxed too, takes a sip of beer and leans back on the couch. 
"Mr. Oregon, are you ready to be open with me?"
"Well, my agent said your magazine is the best in the country, I don't read magazines, sorry, no time." He runs his index fingers up and down the bottle neck, and I realize, in bewilderment, that he is nervous.
"But I'll read your article, Mila. And yes, I'm ready to answer all of your questions apart from the trial case. I'm sick of people talking about it."
"Ok, I won't go there."
Wow, I feel like I've just won a lottery. I switch on the recorder and put it on the table.
"Brandon. Please."
"Brandon, you've just finished a project where you, let's say, don't get undressed on camera for the first time. How different was it from all you had to do before?"
"Correction, I didn't have to do anything, I liked what I was doing, but I liked making "Me in Me" too. It's nice to realize that people see there's something more to me than just adult entertainment. I enjoyed every minute of my work on set."
"Now that you started you career as an actor 'like any other', are you planning to go down this road and never go back?"
"Well, I certainly want to do more movies like "Me in Me", but I'm still open for opportunities." He winks at me and takes another sip of his beer. I swallow.
"You play the main part in almost all your adult movies, it seems the director knew how to capture the audience."
"Well, I would give credit to the other guys."
"Yes, but you're gorgeous!" I blurt and blush at the same time. Shit. Not professional at all. He blushes too. Oh my, he's cute!
"I guess."
I scan my notes quickly.
"So, after having been a part of so many adult movies, how do you manage to remain such a sweet cupid with innocent eyes?" He looks at me with his sweet-cupid innocent eyes and tucks some loose hair behind his ear, but his hair is not long enough to stay in place, and the lock bounces back onto his face; he looks like Zac Efron in School Musical, only he's blond and he's cuter. Oh my, he's 25 and still looks like a schoolboy.
"I don't know", he says eventually and quite sincerely.
"You are said to be the most passionate and emotional adult star. You give 200% of performance that captures both male and female hearts, what's your secret, Brandon?" 
"I just enjoy it, I want to be there, and I know what people want to see."
"Obviously, there is no need for acting in the first several minutes. What minute does your acting start from?"
He laughs, finishes his beer and puts the bottle on the table.
"Have to be honest, ha? It's hard to separate acting from not acting. On the one hand, it's all acting, it's a movie, you always see the camera, there is a director giving you tips on what to do; on the other hand, it's not acting, I use my own emotions, body reflexes that are sometimes really hard to control." He laughs again, but he's relaxed. Is he laughing at me? I decide to take no prisoners.
"Have you ever had an orgasm on set earlier than you were supposed to?" 
"Well, I was close, but I held it back," he says with a playfully proud look and shakes his fists triumphantly in the air with a gleeful "Yeah!"
Now I don't know if he's joking or telling the truth, but I burst out laughing, and my tension evaporates completely. I lean on the back of the couch and prop my cheek on one hand.
"Have you ever slept with the actors you worked with off camera?"
"I even dated some of them. The chemistry on set is really palpable, we have very warm and tender relationships. It's not just about work."
"That must be awkward, dating a guy and having sex with others. Didn't they mind?"
"Why? They do the same, I don't mind. I know what it's like when you are phisically attracted to a person, we are all professionals, we can handle it. But relationships outside the set are something different. I always try to build up on trust and honesty, and I was lucky to have boyfriends who are with me on this."
"Do you have a list of all the guys you ever had sex with?" Suddenly he looks confused. Shit, wrong question?
"Why would I do that? It's all just fun, I'm not collecting trophies." 
I try to change the topic.
"What's with the blue sun?"
"What blue sun?"
"The one you have on your butt cheek. The tattoo."
"You did your homework." He smiles at me, but this time all timidity is gone, and under his stare I can feel a sweet sensation that makes me shudder a little on the inside.
"Indeed. It's quite conspicuous, though you don't have it untill after a couple of years from the start of your career. So what about it?"
"It's a birthday present, it reminds me of the person who gave it to me."
"What's the name of the lucky one?"
"No names." His good mood returns, and he starts playing with my pen that I've put on the couch between us beside my notebook.
"No names, ok. What is it that turns you on the most? I mean, tugging on the earlobe, stroking the butt, that kind of stuff." 
He stills and looks me in the eyes. His look sets me on fire, his eyes misty, inquiring, penetrating.
"You tell me first." He's playful, I can see that and I want to play along, but I'm too captivated and longing. 
"Well, I'm the interviewer, I'm supposed to ask you questions." I try to sound cool and don't break the eye contact. A trace of a smile flashes on his face and vanishes again. I pull myself together and smile at him.
"Ok, umm...I'm quite sensitive at my fingertips."
"How do I know that's true?"
"Well, there is no way to prove it, because I am good at acting," I say, inwardly admiring my courage. "So, you'll have to take me by my word on this."
"You are good at acting? Let's see." And he moves closer. I start to panic and instinctively shift back, as he takes the notebook with the pen and puts them on the table.
"Give me impassive."
I stare impassively at him.
"Whatever I do", he says and runs his fingers up my thigh. I inhale but manage not to move. We are still looking in each other's eyes. The bastard! He knows I like him and he's using his power agaist me. His eyes are alight with amusement and playfulness. He then places a kiss on my knee and looks at me again. Then he takes my hand and I press my legs together slightly to keep the dizzying pleasure inside me. He starts kissing my fingertips, I'm struggling not to move and stare calmly into his eyes, but as he runs his tongue along the soft of my fingers and bites a little I burst.
"Brandon, stop, please!" I implore trying and failing to pull my hand back. I innerly shout to him not to stop.
He freezes and lets go of my hand.
"There, it seems you were telling the truth." He says and sits back against the couch again.
"Well, I've been honest. Now, it's your turn."
"What turns me on..." He stretches and puts his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling. I'm dying to put my arms around his torso and kiss him all the way down.
"Quite a lot, actually, but I have to admit I'm a fervent kisser." (That you are! I think to myself) "It is the first step anyway, so, it's like a signal to my body to get ready for a dance."
"Sex is a dance for you?"
"It's a lot of things for me. Sex is versatile."
"Do girls turn you on?" I ask quite out of the blue, it's definitely not on my list of questions. He looks at me curiously and playfully.
"If they do the right things, yes."
I blush and find myself moving an inch closer to him.
"What are the right things, Brandon?"
"Er...sexual." He says and he seems embarrassed again.
For all the love in the world, you're a porn star, what are you embarrassed of?
"Have you ever had sex with a girl?" I don't back off, seizing the moment.
"No." His tone is impenetrable.
"Would you like to try?" I ask and understand by his raised eyebrow that he takes it as an offer. I quickly rectify the situation.
"I mean not now, not with me."
Oh, please, ground, swallow me right now!
"Don't you want me?"
"You are quite straightforward." I say, my arms crossed on my chest in a protective mode.
"Not sure about the first part of the word."
"You do like guys, don't you?" I know the question is stupid, but words start dancing in my mind, and I'm no longer able to be professional. He laughs in full voice so suddenly that it startles me.
"You are funny! Are you sure you've seen my movies?"
"Yes, I ...just..." I want to cry and to throw myself at him, to run away and to bite his bare shoulder, I'm so confused that I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands. That seems to alarm him, because he puts his arm around my waist and sounds concerned.
"Hey, Mila, what's wrong? Have I said something?..Hey, girl...I'm sorry, please don't cry."
I raise my head and look at him, he jerks back, because I'm really mad right now.
"I'm not crying!" I snap. I don't know what I'm doing right now, but definitely not interviewing. I'm mad at myself, I'm mad at Aspic for getting me into it, I'm mad at Brandon, because he is the most beautiful creature on earth, and I want him and I'm so bitter that he's gay. He is looking at me guiltily, his eyes making my heart melt and my anger cool down. I soften.
"I'm sorry, Brandon, I don't know what came over me." I take my notebook and free myself of his embrace.
"So, you haven't answered, would you like to have sex with a girl?"
He is serious and so sweet at the same time, he shakes his disobedient sunny hair off his eyes.
"For me sex is not something you can encase in a set of rules. Sex is something that distinguishes people from animals, because we know how to have fun in it. I think a human being can be appealing or not regardless of their sex. I prefer guys, that's true, but I know women can be hot for me too. When it comes to sex, it's all about your basic instinct." He pauses, and we don't speak for a while. I'm processing his words, he's looking at his hands, self-possessed. I'm hesitating to ask my last question, but I'm curious.
"Have you ever been embarrassed of who you are or what you do?"
He clasps his hands together and takes a deep breath. Then he presses his lips together and shifts them to one side as little children do when they think hard or did something wrong. At that moment I just want to hug him and tell him that everything is going to be fine. Finally he starts to speak.
"I don't know if I've been embarrassed or afraid. I certainly regret some things I did in the past, but then, all people do. I'm not ashamed of who I am and never was, it's stupid, really, to be ashamed of who you are, makes no sense to live then. As for what I did, do you mean ashamed of sex on camera?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"Well, if you mean this, I have to say there were always people who made me feel uncomfortable, but also there were always people who stood by me and still do. I'm a lucky man to have good friends. I'm proud of how I got out of some shit that happened in my life. I do what I like and consider worth doing. If someone disapproves of my lifestyle, it's their opinion. I have mine."
"You are amazing." I say. He looks up to find me gaping at him in calm admiration. "Can I take some pictures of you?"
"Sure." He says and sits upright. I take my camera and remove the lens cap. A model smile spreads automatically across his face. I snap a picture.
"That's not working. Lie down." I command, suddenly overwhelmed with some domineering feeling. He does as he is told. I kneel astride him, the inside of my thighs slightly touching his hips on each side. His smile changes to a sweet one, and I take some more pictures.
"That's more like it", I say looking at him through the camera lens. He runs his fingers up my legs, cups my butt cheeks and squeezes them. I tighten, but let him do it, because it makes his face expression amazing, and his eyes glitter like two diamonds. I snap some more pics, lower the camera, lean down to him and catch his lower lip between my teeth. He gasps, and I don't know if it's with surprise or desire. I kiss him, caressing his mouth with my tongue, and he lets me do it. Then he kisses back. I'm thankful I have my panties on or I'd be dripping all over him.When I let go of his lips, I sit back on him and feel his erection under me.
"Am I doing the right things?" I ask, taking another picture. He smiles and closes his eyes as I slowly start moving up and down rubbing my wet panties against his zipper.
"No, open your eyes, you're awesome like this." I say, and he looks at me, his lips apart, pupils dilated, color in his cheeks. I take a picture. He grabs the arm of the couch above his head. I take another. He starts moving with me accelerating my pace. I take another.
"I want to have a picture of your tattoo," I whisper and get up a little letting him slide from under me. He kneels with his back towards me and unbuckles his belt. I run my fingers down his spine and pull his jeans and boxer shorts a bit lower to reveal a dashing blue sun tattoo. He leans forward, places one hand on his back and face of the couch. So perfect! I take a picture of the tattoo, then let his face be in the picture too. He turns away from me again and gracefully arches his back. I take one more picture and place a hot wet kiss on the blue sun. He hisses.
"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Oregon." I say and get up intending to take my things and leave.
"What?" He turns to me in astonishment. "You will leave me like this?"
"Look, Brandon, I can't..." I stare back at him with my guilty eyes, shifting from foot to foot. "I don't take sex for granted as you do. I don't know you well enough."
He looks wounded.
"Mila, there are no cameras or directors, I don't take sex for granted either."
"I'm sorry." I whisper.
"Look, we are just two people who are attracted to each other."
I put the camera aside and get closer. I kiss him again and at this moment I know I will not be able to walk away right now. I want him, but I'm embarrassed. He lays me on the sofa and pulls my panties off.
"I don't want you in me. It's too....personal...invasive." My mind is in chaos, I'm losing the sense of reality as he nods in agreement and leans to kiss me again. I feel him smiling against my lips.
"I'm not sure what to do." He says not leaving my mouth."Give me a tip."
"Slow and tender". I whisper back.
He starts rubbing against my clitoris and I cup him so that he moves against me and into my hand. I squeeze tighter around him, and he groans through his teeth. As he goes quicker, I feel that the interview has been worth losing the job. Fuck the job and Mr.Aspic. Right now I'm all sensation and I don't give a damn for my future. I feel his orgasm coming and toughen my muscles to keep up.
"I'm gonna come", he says and I join him in an amazing orgasm.

We are lying on the couch, panting, he is still on me and stroking my hip.
"Professional habit?" I ask.
"What do you mean?" he mumbles not looking at me.
"You saying 'I'm gonna come'. I can feel you, I don't need a warning." I smile and run my fingers across his undershirt.
"Oh," he says and stretches over me like a baby-lion.

"Do I have a carte blanche? For everything that's on the tape?" I ask pulling my panties on and getting my things together.
"You certainly do," he says with a contended smile. He is still lying on his belly on the couch, his jeans down, exposing the lovely blue sun. I smile as I look at it for the last time. That's my prospect shining right at me. I clasp my recorder to my chest. I'm not afraid to see Mr.Aspic anymore.

Freefall into abyss.

Everything started with a fall...

When you look down and understand that the ground is rushing towards you and you have nothing to hold on to, the world around you starts morphing into something else, into one unified idea that you don't quite understand.
You start feeling things more intensely.
You fly down letting the wind blow the layers of emotions away until you are naked in your freedom and you are, finally, excited. You stretch you arms wide apart, you open your mouth and start drinking the freedom, inhaling it, letting it get to your groins till you emotionally orgasm and touch the blue cool surface that swallows you whole. You plunge yourself into it deeper and deeper savoring the "after-pleasure", salty water sipping through the tiny slots between your lips.
                                                                     No air.
                                                                              No pain.
                                                                                          No fear.
When you surface again, waves start splashing against your face, toying with you, laughing at you, and you start laughing with them. You raise you head and see how small the mushroom of the cliff you've just slipped off looks from down here. And you think how lucky you are that your unintentional base-jumping has had a good outcome. And then you think that you will be careful next time and will never let it happen again (won't you?). You swim to the shore, get out of water and feel the cliff burning a hole in your back with its invisible eyes, excitement starts rising again somewhere from below your belly-button. "Fuck me!" - you say in despair and start climbing the cliff again.

...I've never jumped off a cliff, but it happens to me all the time, the whole process over and over again.
You live your life, mind your own business, and all of a sudden you see a cliff of your own sex that attracts you like hell, you see a cliff of the opposite sex that makes you wail with longing, you see a cliff that you'd like to taste, a cliff that smells of happiness and eternal joy... and on and on and on. You come to the cliffs again and again, you slip off, you fly down, and after some really nasty falls you thank God you are still alive.

So, that's my life: getting down and up again.

...I like metaphors. They make the shit of life look beautiful...