Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I owe my film editor cousin, Gary, three grand for an assortment of summer vice loans. He set me up with being an extra in a low budget horror film this winter. His postgraduate mates are shooting a gay Friday the 11th. As if the plotless collection of slasher 13th films is not gay enough. I am an unemployed bartender, thirty-something, feminine, smooth, cross dresser. The director wants me in a pair of skimpy daisy dukes for a lakeside walk down a path. Then the hockey mask guy gets me.
How did I get into this? Gary funded six of my casino weekends of blackjack, Roman cokes, and, within stumbling-distance-motel-rooms. Unlike reckless me, Gary is a sober nerd in a different Star Wars t-shirt for each day of the month. I will no longer be seeing Darth Vader and Yoda for breakfast because I am tossed out to live in my 87 Buick instead of his 3-story lakeside cabin. Neither of us have kids or partners. This is just a lesson of bullshit from a cruel son of my mother’s sister.
Earlier, the director “Shy Sam” told me to put on jean shorts in the bathroom for the next scene. This bathroom is so still. It is like an igloo in the middle of a vast Vermont forest. Everything about it is so mute. The concrete walls are teal like my late grandmother’s Victorian bathroom in Massachusetts. The shamrock green floor is surprisingly clean except for random twigs. I hear the crew laugh a few feet outside the doorless entry.
Breathing starts in one of the stalls. It is nasal and şişli escort slow. The bottoms of my planted feet are cold as I stand in the dead center between nasal congestion and an oblivious film crew. The stall door swings over a gust of cheap cologne. Someone wearing a flannel shirt and a hockey mask spills out into a robotic march. “Are you the first victim, bitch?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Your Gary’s younger cousin, Kevin?” said hockey mask.
“Yes.”
“I am Chris, the killer. I heard about you. We play Texas Hold’em in the purple trailer tonight if you want in. Gary would kill me for mentioning this, but I need money too. I am out of weed and new PS5 games.”
“Can’t. No bars are hiring bartenders. Broke. Live in car. When do we get paid around here?”
“Not for two weeks.”
“Do they advance us pay?”
“Yah, if you suck Shy Sam’s dick. Trust me, you’re his type and he will offer.”
“Thanks. I am walking the straight and narrow.”
“See you on the set, Kevin.”
Chris wreaks of skunk weed and is bald from behind and evaporates into the white morning sunlight.
Skinny director Shy Sam comes in wearing black government glasses and a headset that has a chord dragging in red and orange leaves behind him.
“Oh, you look great Kevin. Heard so much. Turn around,” he said.
I lift my hands and turn around. My torso is as naked as my feet and my nudity sivas escort is only obscured by painful Levis jean shorts.
“Fabulous ass,” he said. “Listen, did Gary tell you the duties of the job?”
“I wear jean shorts; you film me walking through a path and then I get attacked but that part is special effects?”
“The job is six hundred a week, which, is the part you just mentioned, and a few other scenes, when we need extras; I am afraid you are coffee bitch for the crew,” he said.
“Wow. Sounds groovy,” I said.
“Listen, you mind if you strut to the sink and bend over quick. I need to slay an awful headache and I want to squeeze one out, nothing physical, I promise, I will stand here the entire time. I ask all the sexy men to help me get through this filming shit.”
“Okay.” I walk to the sink and put my elbows on the cold porcelain. I can see his dick out in the mirror. His masturbation echoes across the walls.
“So, you hate filming?” I said.
“Oh baby, can you dance a bit. I want to see that ass jiggle. I have genius films in my head but when it comes to dealing with people, it all goes to shit, and I get depressed. I am trying to master people management so I can bring my vision to life you know.”
The skin-popping sound overlaps Sam’s filming philosophy.
“Oh, you have such a wonderful ass, baby. I heard you gambled away a fortune.”
“Damn, Gary talks shit I guess?”
“You stress siverek escort him out is all. He vents to us. I have a brother like you. I mean a wild one. Not a nerd like the rest of us. My rock star brother has always gotten everything easily and me not so much.”
“What you do right now seems wild to me. And I am not sure why they call you Shy Sam.”
“I am shy and a nerd, but I directed a few winning student documentaries on gamers and that shit went to my head. So, on the set, I am wild. But I am a nerd.”
Sam’s thick cock curves up under a black Metallic shirt. The souls of his Timberlands have not budged an inch. I sway my hips back and forth and pull up the denim shorts, so my bottom pops out in the still sunlit washroom.
“You know I didn’t have sex until I finished college,” Sam said. “He was gorgeous too.”
“So, is this how you make up for lost time?”
“Fucking Exactly!”
“Sam sounds like you lived a life just like my cousin. All gaming, coding, and editing. Living in his room. Ordering Door Dash.”
Sam’s voice grows louder. I smell old spice. The basketball sneaker squeaks pierce hard.
“I love your cousin and feel bad for this. But I know your type. Your just like my brother.”
“Bad about what? You haven’t done anything.”
My elbows unstuck from the cold sink porcelain to scrape down my denim shorts to lock my ankles. My bare ass is bent and cold. Sam’s voice is deep and in my ear.
“What did you want to ask me Kevin?”
“Can you advance my pay for tonight’s Texas…oh, fuck!”
I spread wider and bend down beneath the sink to feel the pressure of his marble cock coming ang going as my ass cheeks jiggle echoes against the walls.
“Thanks bro,” Shy Sam said. “My crew knows I’m fucking, and your scene is next so look sharp.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32