I Love My Side of the Story (8 page)

With grunts and gasps and groping, we
locked and unlocked lips, lashed tongues, explored each other. I couldn’t
breathe. I grabbed her tits, her hips, her ass, pulled her harder against me so
I could eat her alive. She smelled like flowers and fruity shampoo, and
underneath… she smelled like Amber. Her breath, perfect. No mints. Just her
natural breath. I felt her hands on my belt buckle, the strap pulled through,
the thing come apart. I was smiling. She grinned, kept opening up my pants.
When she pulled down the zipper, I felt my cock throb harder as blood rushed
into it, anticipating. When she reached her hand inside, felt that I was going
commando, then wrapped her fingers – so soft – around my shaft, I
moaned and closed my eyes. Lying there, I propped up on my left elbow, my right
arm around her lower back. She slid her fingers to the base of me, then dragged
them lightly all the way up the top with a little pressure from her thumb at
the end. I shuddered.

“You’re so big,” she said.

A rush of pride swelled inside my chest.
I know I’m well endowed, but still, every man loves to hear it. Every single
one of us. She lifted her head, closed her eyes halfway, and gave my cock a
squeeze as I kissed her. I growled into her mouth and she just laughed.

“Oh man, who the fuck are you?” I asked
her, pulling her bra and panties off –wrestled her naked. I yanked off my
shirt as we each kicked off our shoes. She bent up, kissing me as I reached to
pull my pants and socks off. It was fucking awesome.

Skin on skin – her soft feet on
the backs of my knees, her legs spread under me – I reached over, grabbed
a condom and slid it on with some effort. I gnawed on her beautiful tits, the
pointed pink nipples, and the soft flesh surrounding them. I pressed my lips
all over them, one by one, licking them lightly with my warm tongue. She made
my hard-on snap fuller when she moaned, harder than I remember it ever getting.
My groin warmed from the heat of her body. My cock pressed against her inner
thigh, wanting in. I moved up, grazed it along the soft pubic hair between her
legs. I moved my hips, pushed open her legs wider with one of my knees, and
felt the tip push her slightly open. She inhaled quickly, looked at me
sensually and pressed her nails into my back. I winced from the sweet sting and
slid the tip in. She was so tight and so fucking wet, I had to force myself to
not cum as I lengthened and pushed deeper in. As her tongue played with mine, I
dove in slowly, inch by inch. The muscles in my arms constricted and tightened
as they held me above her so I could look at her. The veins in my legs pulsed.
I relished all of it. As the last inch pressed in, she moaned loudly and
writhed, stretching onto me. I dipped and locked my teeth on her neck, gnawing
on it with slow pressure. I felt the shudder of her pussy as it gripped me with
the first clamping wave. I moved my hips around, my cock rubbing inside her and
reached down with my hand, jammed it between our stomachs to vibrate her clit
and stroke the outside of her pussy all over. She yelled out and moved against
my stroking hand, riding my cock as she lost control of restraint. Bucking
beneath me, she bent to the feelings, let them overtake her, closed her eyes,
too. She whimpered in my mouth. “I can’t take it. Oh Josh, you feel so
amazing.”

“Nothing compared to the way you feel,”
I told her, rocking in and out of her as her hands found my ass and slid down
to grab tight and push me deeper in her. “I’m gonna make you scream this time.”

Her breath caught in her beautiful
throat over and over as I filled her, grabbing her hips and moving them so she
rhythmically felt the waves returning to relieve the torture with bliss. “Oh my
God. This isn’t happening. I’m cumming again!” I kept my pace, felt our bodies
get slippery with sweat. I felt the orgasm building in me then, too – the
sight of her moaning and glistening beneath me, gorgeous. Her neck exposed, her
mouth open with beautiful moans of gratitude – it was too much for my
cock to bear.

Every cell flamed up and I yelled out as
I felt the first jerking rush pour out. True to my word, she screamed, taken on
the ride my climax gave her. I grunted and yelled out again as I felt myself
explode again and again, her pussy tightening, the ridges slamming me further
into ecstasy. It lasted forever and not long enough.

I fell all of my weight onto her and the
bed pushed in to make room. She kissed my shoulders and my neck while I rested,
caught my breath – my face mashed into the comforter beside her. I turned
to kiss her earlobe; exhaled satisfaction into it and gave it a tired little
nibble. From out of nowhere – the surprise of a lifetime – she came
again, screaming out, her sweet tight little pussy latching onto and nursing my
wounded soldier. She revived it with two more gripping contractions. “Hold on,”
I said, as she made an impatient moan. I pulled out, yanked off the condom,
threw it aside and grabbed another to slap it on.

I was on her for round two.

________________

They say having sex on the first night
isn’t good, that it will lead nowhere. I will argue that there are exceptions,
and not just in our case. I know a few relationships that started with one
torrid night, then stood the test of time’s turmoil. That’s what I hoped for,
for Amber and me.

After that night we were always
together. I wanted to be around her, even when she wasn’t there. She never
called me, which I knew was a ploy, the advice of some book, but I liked it.
When I like a woman – I’ll let her know. I can’t
not,
because when I’m into someone, she’s all I think about,
outside of acting and eating. If that’s not the case, I’m sorry… it’s not going
to last. There has to be passion.

I’ve tried to like women who I didn’t
feel that spark with, but who were pretty cool, regardless. It couldn’t last
because my cock wants out of my pants at all times. All I have to do is look at
a woman who I think is hot and it could be a ‘go.’ This is directly at war with
the other half of my nature, the side of me that loves having a girlfriend. I’m
going to get married. I want kids. I know this about myself. Some guys don’t
want these things, but most of us do.
 
So – if you want these things – then you can’t listen to
your cock, or you’ll lose what you’ve got. My point? It’s really hard to ignore
my baser instincts when I’m with a girl who I’m not that into. It has nothing
to do with looks. A ‘4’ will become a ‘10’ in the blink of your cock’s eye, if
being around her makes you happy.

That’s what I love about Amber. How
feminine she is, makes me feel who I am as a man. How smart she is, keeps me
interested. How loyal, loving, hot in bed, fun to be around, optimistic about
life, all keeps me happy to have her around. I respect the hell out of her.
Problem is, I don’t think she respects
me.

It started with Marlena’s party. The
night of the party, I got to her place and she opened the door in a hot little
blue number. It reminded me of the dress she wore when I met her. I tried to
jump her in the hallway, but she wouldn’t have it. Said we were late. Totally
fine. I don’t like being late either. But the second I saw an opportunity after
we got to the party, I pulled her upstairs and fucked her in the host’s closet.
When I said I loved her after we were done, I surprised even me. I knew I loved
her. Knew I wanted to tell her…just not then. I planned to tell her in a more romantic
setting, but you know what they say: How do you make God laugh… make plans.

When she and her girlfriends disappeared
onto the balcony, I knew they were talking about me. As a guy, you can’t get
around that. Your woman is going to talk. So there I am, heavily aware I’m the
subject of female conversation, wishing I knew what they were saying, and
barely able to hold a conversation with David because my mind is out on the
balcony. And I was worried with good reason because when she came back, I watched
her face… and though she smiled at me, something was said out there that wasn’t
good. Because when David handed me a beer, Amber said, “Are you really going to
have another one? Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” or something like that.
Inside, I felt a sting of embarrassment. For her to do that in front of
David…it wasn’t cool. I handed the beer back and kissed her on the head to shut
her up. As the night wore on, I decided to let it go… but in the back of my
mind, I took out a scorecard and put a mental picture on it of the smug look
she gave to Jessica. Jess even winked back to her. Or she had something in her
eye. I’d like to believe it was the latter, but let’s get real.

A Couple
Weeks Later

Waking up, I grab my phone and hit
snooze on the alarm. Amber slides her arm over my chest as I lie back down. She
turns on her side and wraps her leg over my crotch. Someone woke up before we
did.

“Mmm… Well, hello there.” Amber says.

“He likes your leg,” I smile and reach
up for her hand, sandwich it between my heart and my fingers.

“Does he? That’s so sweet of him,” she
purrs into my ear, her voice sleepy. “Why is your alarm set? It’s Saturday.”

I close my eyes, answer “Rehearsal,”
wishing I could fall back asleep for fifteen minutes. Or bang her. Or both.

She kisses the length of my collarbone.
“Rehearsal? You mean you have to go?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to, though.” I pull
her tighter. She’s so warm.

“Then don’t,” she smiles against my
chest, pushing her naked body against mine and making me harder.

“I have to.” I pull her on top of me,
her face above mine, hair falling around me. We are definitely going to fuck.

“What are you rehearsing for? A scene in
class?”

I shake my head, kiss her neck and
answer, “Uh uh. Showcase.”

She pulls herself up away from my mouth,
her face curious. “What showcase?”

Even though Amber’s a casting director,
we rarely talk about the business because she’s very opinionated on things, and
it makes it hard to talk to her… especially since she’s farther along than I am
on the success ladder. For now. I’ll get there.

“Actors Unite. Kara Wayfied, Jenna
Strong Casting, Allison Taggert & Associates.”

“God. Seriously? I feel sorry for you.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

She pushes her hair over so it hangs off
one side, but my cock is softening, thanks to the elitist look on her face.
“Well, Jenna casts worse that C-list movies. Allison is useless; she only does
those showcases to make money.”

“What about Kara?”

“Meh.” She shrugs. I don’t say anything.
She looks down. “Oh, baby. He went back to sleep.”

 
The alarm goes off again. I lift her and
put her down to the side of me. Then I roll off the bed and stand up. “You can
stay here if you want, but I have to get ready.”

“Yeah? Okay.” I look back at her to see
her snuggle under the covers, pulling them up high under her chin for warmth. I
smile; she sure is cute. While she dozes, I brush my teeth, pull on a t-shirt,
jeans, socks, boots, then go to kneel by the bed and kiss her goodbye. “I’ll
call you later.”

“Okay,” she smiles, waking. “Are you
doing a comedy or a drama?”

I hesitate. “Um…Drama.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” I ask.

“Well, people like to laugh and if you
want to make a good impression, then…” She shrugs again.

“Yeah, but I want to do dramas. Or at
least, realistic life stories. Or action. And Kara casts dramatic independent
films.”

Amber, her hair sprawled out on the
pillow behind her, her fingers touching my shoulder, says, “Honey, Kara has no
talent for casting. Trust me. I interned for her and that woman has no eye for
it.”

I take a deep breath. “Babe... she just
cast a feature that filmed here in the city. I got ahold of the script and it
was awesome. That’s the kind of stuff I want to work on. And I have to try.”

“Of course you do. I’m sorry,” she
says.
 

I stand and slide my arms through my
jacket. “You can hang out here as long as you need. I’ll call you later.”

“Have a great rehearsal.”

“Thanks.” I close the door and start
walking.

A Week After

Class is brutal tonight. It’s like
everyone has a target on their back, and our coach is pointing a shotgun, then
deciding we’re too pathetic to shoot. Watching the scenes, I can understand it.
Matt and Melissa did one from
Streetcar
Named Desire
that, besides having been done a million and one fucking
times, lacked even a sliver of passion. Gary’s scene was okay, but only because
it was surprising to see him do a scene from
Glengarry Glen Ross
. All David Mamet’s plays are heavy on dialogue.
The other four scenes were uncommitted, painfully boring, and hard on the eyes.

Now I’m onstage – my turn to get
slaughtered, but I release my fear and go for it. I’m with Sylvia, a girl so
sexy that both men
and
women want to
sleep with her. We’re in the middle of the one-act play
Split
when suddenly our coach – Henrick Von Clauson –
stands up and makes his trademark noise of fury-tainted disappointment. I
didn’t even hear the sound because I was in the zone; that place where you and
the character are one person.

I do hear him when he says, “No no no
no…NO.” I grit my teeth and wait for it. “Sylvia – it’s not working.
She’s afraid her husband has cheated on her with his female best friend who’s
world-traveled
, when you’re not. Who’s
well dressed
, when you’re not. Who’s
gregarious,
the life of the party,
when you’re not.” He thrusts out his pale, wrinkled hand, palm up and asks her,
“Do you see what I’m saying? Could you
please
– Dear God, I’m begging you! – try to a bit more bland… or at the
very least stop pushing out your breasts so goddamn much??!!”

She juts out a hip and lands her
manicured hand on it. “I’m just not that type, Henrick. What do you want me to
do?”

He looks at me like
Do you believe this
? But I don’t move, save for my eyebrows. I
don’t by any stretch want Sylvia to see me react because on top of being a
knockout, she is bat-shit crazy. She will make me pay in rehearsals. I’m not
stupid.

He spins in a circle, his hands in the
air and yells, “I want you to
act!
I
want you
to act,
Sylvia. This is not
a
Being Sylvia
class. This is a Being
The Character
class. The living,
breathing, feeling, dreaming, crying, praying – CHARACTER. Get off the
stage. You’re making me ill.” He waves his hands with a snort.

I step down, sunken and disappointed. As
I pass him, he looks at me and says like it’s nothing, “Josh. Excellent work.
You disappeared. You were him. Your best work to date. Excellent.”

I stare open-mouthed at my coach, my god
among men, and my father figure. “Oh. Um… thanks, Henrick.”

“Go on then. Stop staring at me,” he
says, and shoves his reading glasses back up on his ancient nose, thumbing
through a folder.

“Right. Sorry.” I go take my seat next
to Gary and we share a look. When Henrick Von Clauson says
excellent work,
you feel like you won not one Oscar, but ten. He
only says it a couple times a year, and never to the same person.
As soon as class is over, I shoot out of
my seat, thinking,
I have to
tell Amber.
She said she
was working late tonight, so I’ll go surprise her at her office.

 
“Great job,” Gary says, hitting my
shoulder on my way out.

I
spin on my heels, say, “Thanks Gary. You too!” and take off running.

“You
want to grab a beer, Josh?” Matt yells after me.

“Can’t,
Matt. Have to go,” I yell back.