With a groan of extreme restraint, I get out of the bed. I shower in some cold water to kill my boner and then brush my teeth. Once I’m all clean and minty, I trundle to my kitchen in only a pair of jeans to make a cup of coffee and wait for Tanner. He and I need to do some extensive blocking for the scene today because Ginger has decided she wants to try the harder, kinkier stuff, so we’ll have some props going on and some cues that I’ll mention in my monologue when we record it after the scene.
While I wait for the Keurig to power up, I open up my laptop and make a new Word document. I type in Ginger’s name at the top, along with the date and the style of scene we’re filming.
I film all sorts of scenes—sweet ones, filthy ones, public ones, scripted ones—and I try to make every monologue match the tone of the sex. I’ve become a bit famous for these monologues, which was a surprise to everyone when I started doing them a few years ago. Who wants to sit and listen to a guy talk for ten minutes before the fucking gets started? Who wants to wait for the penis-in-vagina, the P-in-V, just to hear the guy talk about the girl and what he loves about their sex?
A lot of people, actually.
A lot.
And I enjoy doing it. Honestly. What turns me on, what turns a girl on, what makes sexy, filthy porn—I could talk about that shit all day.
I limit myself to ten minutes though.
I won’t draft the full monologue script until after the scene, but I go ahead and skeleton in several of the things I know I want to say. That right now, Ginger’s newness to kink inspires me to be rougher than I normally am. That her submission fantasies and my domination fantasies dovetail perfectly, and that when we’re fucking, I like to imagine dirty things, nasty things.
I won’t say that I imagine Devi when I’m screwing Ginger, or that all of these dirty, nasty fantasies come to my mind when I’m alone in my bed with my hand under the sheets and one of Devi’s girl/girl scenes on the laptop next to me. That would dispel the fantasy that I’m trying to create with my monologues, the fantasy that I sort of sexually fall in love with every girl I film with. But still, it’s Devi I’m thinking about while I drag the bondage bed out of its usual corner in the basement and into the center of the concrete-floored playroom I had built here for filming scenes.
It’s not nearly as elaborate as Vida’s, but it works. Bare floor (easy to clean, plus it adds to that dungeon vibe people like), racks of toys and restraints, and chains and hooks dangling from the ceiling.
God, Devi would look good here, strapped down and waiting for me. Or maybe with those toned arms bound and stretched up toward the ceiling…
By the time Tanner and Ginger arrive, my hard-on is back and I’m more than ready to begin fucking.
Thirty minutes later, after we verbally run through Ginger’s limits and make sure she’s cool with what Tanner and I have come up with for the scene, she’s flat on her back on the bondage bed and I’m buckling the cuffs around her wrists, subtly checking to make sure they aren’t cutting off blood flow to her hands and fingers. It’s something I’ve done hundreds of times, and I smile affectionately down at her. Is there anything better than a great day on a great job with an old friend? And then out of the corner of my eye, I see my phone light up on the table behind Tanner, and my heart thumps with an electric judder, knowing it could be another text from Devi.
It really is a fantastic day.
“We’re going to have fun now,” I tell Ginger, practically humming as I move down to cuff her ankles.
Tanner’s filming behind us, and there are a couple of other crew guys here today to help, and so Ginger is on, tilting her head so that the camera can’t miss her seductive smile as she replies, “I know. I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”
This is the part where I should respond in kind, maybe growl something harsh and kinky, but I’m still in this bubble of goodwill and happiness, and my mind is full of Devi and stars, so instead I say, “I’m going to make you feel as beautiful as Cassiopeia today.”
Ginger gives me a look that isn’t just blank. It’s blankness with shock and ignorance and the slightest whiff of humiliation. She has no idea what I’ve just said, I think. So I add, “Cassiopeia was an ancient Greek queen.”
She looks a little taken aback by this, like she still doesn’t know how to respond, like Greek mythology has no place in a BDSM porn scene, and after a couple of beats, she arches her back and purrs, “But you can’t make me feel like a queen, because I’ve been such a bad girl.”
And then she wriggles in her restraints, her mouth in a little moue of disappointment. “Stop talking, and punish me, Sir.”
And my happy bubble starts to collapse in on itself.
Because of course Greek mythology has no place on a porn set. Of course Ginger doesn’t want to make small talk or flirt or listen to my stupid thoughts. She’s here to be flogged and fucked, and as friendly as we might be, we’re not friends in the normal sense of the word. We’re co-workers, colleagues, and Ginger is like the girl in the next cubicle at an office. As chatty as we might be in a meeting, we’ll never be anything more.
And it’s not just Ginger. Can I honestly claim that any of the other girls I work with are anything more than friendly co-workers? That they wouldn’t get impatient with me if I wanted to talk about constellations instead of simply get on with the scene so we can all get paid and back to our real lives?
Devi wouldn’t be like that, though.
Or would she? a worried voice in my mind wonders.