But. The show.
There’s a contract, and while it doesn’t say anything that would prohibit fucking against my door after filming the first episode, there are stipulations that suggest that it wouldn’t be in the best interest of the project. And this project is so important to Logan. He spent several days hammering out the details via my agent, and I’m happy with the resulting arrangement. There will be seven episodes in total, each roughly forty to sixty minutes in length, and progressing in sexual and romantic activity. The story of a young L.A. couple will be unscripted and improvised, but the director/screenwriter/cameraman (aka Logan) will explain briefly where and how far he’d like each scene to go at the beginning of each shoot. And if I have any objections, I am to bring them up then.
The series, which is to be filmed in its entirety before airing on Vida Gine’s website, will eventually earn the label of hardcore porn—unless the scenes don’t naturally reach that. And they will, if Logan or I have anything to say about it. There will be little to no kink or fetish, and all sexual activity is to be exclusively between the two of us. The usual safety clauses were written in to protect both of us (but mostly me—women in the industry are generally the victims of nonconsensual assault), and we each submitted and approved each other’s limit lists. Mine detailed the fluids I considered acceptable, his specified no tickling, particularly of his feet. Apparently when tickled, Logan O’Toole cries.
When I read that last bit of information, I immediately had to text him. I never fantasized about tickling you. And now it’s all I can think about.
His response had been, At least you’re thinking about me.
Was I ever not?
So, with the flirting and the texting, and the way he looked at me throughout our date with hungry eyes, I was already pretty certain he wanted me. Even when he almost let me walk away, I knew it was only himself getting in the way.
And then that kiss…
Damn, that kiss. It was unreal because it was so real. It wasn’t acting or performing. It wasn’t a show of any sort, even though the rest of the night had been all about the series, all about the camera. Our dynamics and dialogue at the park dictated by that little red light. But then I’d gotten out of the car and left, and he chased after me without the camera in his hand. The scene was over, but he wanted my lips just as much as I wanted his, and so he’d left the camera behind and claimed me for his own. Not for Vida or Lelie or for art, but for Logan.
Fuck, it makes me wet just thinking about it.
Maybe I could have asked him to stay. Maybe it wouldn’t have hindered the show’s storyline. We could have spent the night together off-screen, and then simply pretended it hadn’t happened when we filmed the next episode. After all, that’s what would have to happen with this kiss; since it wasn’t filmed, we would need to film a fake first kiss for the project still.
But despite the hiccup of this first kiss, we agreed the show would be best if we let the relationship progress in front of the audience. And I’m head over heels with the concept. I’m head over heels with Logan’s desire to create something authentic.
I am even, possibly—probably—a little head over heels with Logan himself. Or a lot.
Which is why I let him say goodnight. I let him walk away. I let him leave me with the promise that we’d see each other again soon, and I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.
So when he sends over a rough edit of the footage two days after he left me on my doorstep, I don’t need to see it to remember how amazing he is and how incredible our date was, but I rush to play it all the same.
And wow. It’s fantastic. More than fantastic—it’s breathtaking. It’s art.
Too eager to wait until I’m at my computer to watch it, I stare transfixed at the screen of my iPhone and swoon all over again. It’s good. So, so good. I know I’m biased because I personally experienced what he’s captured, but it’s more than that. The angles he chose to shoot from, the way he cut the footage together—it’s beautiful and captivating and different than anything I’ve seen both in and out of the industry. I knew it was going to be good, but I’m surprised by how good.
I’m also surprised how well he captured the sexual tension between us. It’s so thick it’s palpable, and I’m certain that if I were a stranger watching these two people on the screen, I’d be dying for them to bang. Just like I’m dying for us to bang. I’m dying for it so badly I’m in agony.
But I’m excited too—about how good the footage has turned out, about being a part of this incredible and innovative art, about what’s happening between Logan and me on a personal level. So excited that my cheeks hurt from grinning by the time I reach the part of the video where I get out of the car.
The part that’s supposed to be the end.
But it doesn’t end there. It goes on, and soon I’m watching Logan run after me—not once, but twice—and then he’s ravishing me on my doorstep in what I’m certain has to be the hottest kiss ever captured by a camera.
My heart sinks with disappointment—not with the speed of a comet or a falling star, but with the slow descent of a hot air balloon. It takes me a minute to process that the most utterly thrilling moment of my life so far has been tainted by its preservation. Because now I’m uncertain whether he ran after me for me…or for this.
I slump onto a dining room chair. He couldn’t have faked that kiss. It’s impossible. Isn’t it? He was definitely aroused—I know that for a fact. His cock was a steel rod through his clothes.