"Just Like That”
He sat in his director’s chair, unhappy with the filming taking place before him. It was supposed to be an erotic scene, between a student in a Catholic all-girls’ school, and one of the teaches, one soon to have a guilty conscience.
There is a myth about filming sex scenes, that they are in fact sexy. Nothing could be further from the truth. The lights, angles, continually touching up make up. Even with clearing out non-essential personnel, it can feel like a party. Hardly sexy. The director knew all that. He didn’t care, as long as the final product, what went upon screen, dazzled the audience, titillated; grabbed them by the throat, or grabbed them somewhere.
But the magic wasn’t happening. There was no passion in this scene. Merely having the plaid jumper and white blouse, complete with black push-up bra and white-cotton panties—alongside the robe and the collar; that wasn’t enough. No, the two actors had to generate heat. It couldn’t be faked. The audience would be able to tell. And the director wasn’t seeing any.
They took a break. The actor went to call his “partner;” that should have been clue #1 why it wasn’t going well. The girl went to her trailer. On impulse the director told the AD to clear the set. Take them over to craft-services; give them an early supper. Anything to break the routine that wasn’t working. Movie people are a superstitious lot.
After everyone left, the director sat brooding in his chair, staring at the set, hoping for some inspiration. He’d wanted to film the scene in a Confessional, but the studio had overridden him. It was controversial enough, they said, without starting a holy war. The darkened hallway of the school should work fine. “She” was supposed to come back to her locker after soccer practice, to find a book. “He” had finished some work and was heading to the front office to log it. He comes up behind her, seeing her bent over looking for the missing tome. He’s wanted her since she showed up, but being a man of the cloth, has denied his impulses. But seeing her this way, he can no longer. There against the lockers, with homecoming banners hung overhead, he takes her roughly.
It was great edgy stuff. A theme of sexual obsession—who didn’t understand that, and with the illicit backdrop that was a part of the collective fantasy fabric in American life. The whole thing was going to be a smash.
But not if the director couldn’t get this scene to work, which at the moment was not happening.
She came out of her trailer, and he realized he had neglected to tell her of his impromptu break. He was about to call out to her, but for some reason held his peace and simply watched her. She looked uncertain, the dark set and nobody there. She called out tentatively a few names; no one answered. Where the director was sitting, she couldn’t see him. A chill involuntarily ran up his spine, as he felt what he wanted his teacher to feel when he comes upon the girl. Telling himself he could use this emotion to help direct the scene, the director watches her without saying anything.
She walks up to the set, peering around, like she’s afraid of who is going to jump out at her. He says nothing, but silently leans forward, watching her. If he had a mirror he’d have seen a hungry look come in his eye, and perhaps been surprised.
She stands there, looking small and forlorn, and for a moment he feels bad for doing this. However, at that moment, the small amount of light there is hits her leg, and he sees that spot of thigh between the jumper and the white knee socks. In a rush; he’s moving.
She hears him before she sees him, and lets out a little squeak. Her eyes get big and wide. She finally makes out his form, and opens her mouth to say something, but he doesn’t give her the chance. Without pausing, he moves up against her and sweeps her into the lockers with a thud. She’s going to cry out but she’s so surprised she can’t make a sound.
He holds his body against her, letting his weight hold her in place. His breathing is ragged, from the look on her face; she doesn’t know what to do. Before she can figure it out he lowers his head and kisses her roughly. He lifts her head back up and she looks like she’s going to cry. But her breath is also ragged, and her cheeks are flushed.
He pushes his right knee into her, and her legs split enough to allow the protrusion. He holds his leg there, anchoring her, and puts his large hands on her shoulders. She tenses, as if he’s going to strangle her, but instead he holds her in place, and bends his head again, this time to kiss her neck. He alternates between light touches and hungry sucking. She physically responds to both, and he hears her sigh. He yearns to be gentle, but his need won’t allow it. He ends his exploration on her neck with a bite. Hard. Not enough to cause blood, but enough to make a small grunt escape her lips.
He moves his head back up to staring at her, and her eyes are as big as owls’; she’s afraid he’s coming back, and she’s afraid he’s not. He puts his hands on her shoulders, and slips off the jumper straps. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him. He pulls the shirt untucked, and starting at the bottom, unbuttons her blouse.
When his hands reach the level of her breasts her breath catches, and her back arches slightly. He hovers there, and then continues until all the buttons are undone. Then he moves his hand back down to her belly button. He puts his hand on her quivering stomach, and a small moan escapes her lips. He holds his hand there, slightly fluttering, as if he’s not sure whether he will climb her chest to those wonderful breasts, or journey further down. Her whole body is shaking, and he against his knee he feels wetness.
He raises his hand to the bra, one that clasps in the front. Deftly he unhooks it, and she springs out. He holds both of his hands on the verge of touching them, making massaging motions, but he never makes contact. Instead he moves his right hand back down to her stomach, and begins to lightly rub. She’s moaning a little more now, and swaying. She starts to slump over, just a bit, and he takes his left hand and pushes against her sternum, her head against the lockers. With his leg and his hand she’s effectively pinned; she couldn’t go anywhere if she wanted to.
He rubs her around her belly button for some time, and then his hand inches downward. It reaches the hem of her panties, and snakes a finger underneath the elastic band, running it back and forth. Tears fall from her eyes, and a burning look of desire. He inches his finger further down, but then brings it back up. Back and forth several times, until her breath is ragged.
He takes his hand from her neck, and she holds herself there. With a warning look, he lowers himself, both hands tracing her body on the side. He reaches a crouch, right above the hem of the jumper. He runs his hands up and down the side of her skirt, from her knees up to her hips. She moves slightly in rhythm.
This last time he doesn’t run up the outside of the skirt, but rather puts his hands beneath it, all the way up to the elastic band of the panties. In one smooth motion he pulls them down her supine legs, and she gasps. When the panties fall below the jumper, their whiteness glows as if under a black-light. He holds them there for a moment, staring, then moves them down to her side-saddle shoes. Without prodding she steps one foot out, and then the other.
He runs his hands back up her leg, this time taking the skirt with him, and tucking it into itself. With this motion he has a view of her; the small thatch of trimmed red hair glistening with sweat already. Below the mound, a small protrusion, then disappearing into her, with just the hint of her labia. Her thighs are soaked as moisture now runs down her leg, and he can smell her. It’s intoxicating. He leans in closer, and breathing in deep, holding her in place with his hands on her legs. She cries out slightly.
He opens up her legs even more, and she moves willingly. The labia looks back at him. He blows lightly on those lips and she almost faints. He runs his right hand up her thigh, gather wetness, and then around the lower lips. She makes more noise, but at a glance from him, does her best to stay quiet. His fingers trace all around her opening, even underneath, just tickling the back opening as he runs his fingers up the crack of her ass. He makes this circuit twice, and on the third time without warning he sinks two fingers into her. She cries out, and puts a hand over her own mouth. It’s a good thing, because she can’t stop the moans from escaping her lips as he rhythmically works his fingers in and out, slowly, making sure to spend time on the upper wall.
She’s so concerned with keeping her moans muffled that she doesn’t see him lower his head to her body until he gets his lips to her. With soft teeth and tongue he moves the hood, and puts her clit in his mouth. Holding it gently in his teeth, he starts sucking. Combined with the increased velocity of his probing fingers, she quickly reaches her first orgasm. He doesn’t pause, though, and continues on, lightly sucking and biting while she has three more.
He pauses for a moment, and she catches her breath. He takes the time to rise back up, until he’s at eye level. He puts his knee back between her legs, pinning her in place. He puts his right index finger up to her lips, and she takes it in her mouth, and starts sucking eagerly. He moves his finger in and out of her mouth slightly, and this seems to turn her on all the more.
While this is happening, his left hand strays to her breast, and barely touches it as he moves over it’s surface. The nipple is rock-hard, and he takes it in his fingers, pinching it just lightly. She moans as he continues to rub her breast a little more. He lowers his mouth to her right breast, and takes her nipple in his mouth, much like her clit. She pushes against him, willing her to take more in his mouth, and he obliges. She continues to suck his fingers—two of them now—for every last bit of moisture.
He comes back up to face her, and removes both hands. He just looks at her, and she stares back at him, still slightly scared, a little bit ashamed, but desperately hungry.
He reaches down to his belt, and her eyes follow, her lips curving back. The unbuckles the belt, and lets it sit there. She can’t take it, and leans forward to finish the job. He pushes against her, momentarily not letting her get to him, but relenting after a moment. She tugs his pants and boxers down, and grasps at him in her hand. He’s already in position, but he responds even more to her touch.
He lets her hold him for a moment, and then grabs her arms roughly and pins her to the locker completely. She looks at him, eyes wide, as he moves up into her. He crouches slightly to get the angle, and the tip of him brushes up against her clit. He’s pressed against her, and she wants to cry out. To keep quiet, she sinks her teeth into his shoulder instead.
He takes his hands down to her ass, and pulls her up. She helps out, and slowly he enters her. She wraps her legs around his, and starts arching her back and bucking to his rhythm. They move slowly, but only to get the pace, and then he thrusts into her ferociously, as the stored up heat pours into her.
His mouth finds her and he viciously kisses her, bruising her lips, but no more than she kisses back. Their tongues lock and they increase the pace. He’s now slamming her against the locker involuntarily, but when he tries to slow down she bites his lip savagely. This spurs him on, and he increases the already frenetic pace.
With this amount of heat it can’t last long, and they both feel climaxes quickly building. Scraping for every last bit of passion, they both enter fever pitch, and climax simultaneously; shuddering violently against each other. She sobs once, half in pleasure, and half in sorrow that it is ended.
He withdraws from her and stumbles back into his director’s chair, just barely managing to get his clothes back in order. She half-walks half-crawls to her trailer, and disappears inside. He sits there in the quiet until the crew come filing back in, happy and fed.
What are we going to do, the AD asks. The director thinks about it a moment and says the problem is our teacher. He doesn’t seem to get it. What do we do asks the AD. The director smiles grimly and says get me a robe. I’ll do it.
Robe now on, he walks to her trailer to tell her they are reshooting the scene. He knocks once peremptorily and then steps inside. She is reclothed, but still looking dazed, and spent. She sees his costume and her eyes go wide; he’s now familiar with that look. Just like that he says. I want you to look just like that.