Jacman Breas Loose

Pressure builds, and he bolts. Where can he find some peace and quiet, and someone who doesn't know who he is?

Hugh Jackman finds an oasis of calm and hot sex, away from the spotlight.

This is a fantasy, and in no way reflects a real incident, nor do I wish to cause concern or upset to Mr Jackman and his family in anyway with this erotic story.

However if you are the sexiest man alive, you must realise you are the centre of many a person's erotic dreams.

*

The PR people were driving him crazy. Do this, go there, meet this person, and have a photo taken with that person. The whole last month had been intense, with the worldwide promotional tour for the new film taking over his life.

Smiling and being nice to people was usually so easy, but lately, with the past year, the back to back filming, PR tours, the Oscars, and production work it was becoming too much.

He just needed some space.

Staring across the room at the camera set up ready to film yet another interview, with the same old questions, the same well rehearsed stories and the same old need to project himself, it was all getting to be a pain in the butt.

Deb and the kids weren't due for another week, and although he normally enjoyed meeting people, and being the centre of attention, he was wishing he could just break loose, and be invisible for a while.

Even last night, when he met up with his half sister for a late night meal in a London Restaurant, people were filming him with their mobiles as he ate, and he knew, within hours the recordings would be up on YouTube for all to see.

No privacy allowed.

The crew all stood in front of him, sound man, cameraman, PR people, lighting and the Studio bodies, all waiting for the next in the back to back line of press people to sit in the chair across for where he sat, and to record the ten minutes of allotted time that would be used to promote the new film out to the public on some TV programme.

Part of the marketing of the product, he knew it was so very important, but somehow, so far from what he dreamt of as a drama student all those years ago.

In walked a blond woman, her overpowering scent wafting across to him before she arrived. Why did woman do that? Overdo the perfume. Didn't they know that their own individual scents were usually much more erotic than the synthetic ones?

Standing up, he smiled one of his killer smiles and taking her hand, leant forward to kiss her cheek, before indicating where to sit. Settling down into position he asked her, "Sam the PR man says you're fairly new to the early morning show, how's it going?" As she started to answer, the make up girl came over and dusted some more powder on his forehead, so that the ice breaking answer was almost lost.

"I love it, it was such an opportunity for me, and getting to interview you as my first guest is so exciting. I've followed your career for years, ever since 'The Fountain', such a romantic film."

Laughing a little ironically, he replied, as the hair person started to run her fingers through his hair, making sure it was looking at its best for the camera. "Not one of my more popular films, too esoteric for most people, but it's one of my favourite roles."

"A deep and thoughtful film."

"Yeah, Darren Aronofsky's direction was a joy to work with."

There was a settling of everyone as they all walked back, leaving the two people, sitting in front of the large poster advertising the new film, the opening date in big letters across the top, waiting ready to be filmed.

"And roll camera, ready Hugh, ready sound, let's go."

Settling into his interview persona, smiling and flirting outrageously with his eyes, he focused on the woman, answering her questions about the film, his work out regime, what he thought about being back here in England, and whether it was true about him doing a new re make of Carousel later in the year.

Telling her the well rehearsed story of how his father came dressed in a tuxedo to watch him sing Carousel at Carnegie Hall years ago, his mind wandered back to a time when he could walk about, unnoticed, before the fame, when the hunger for good parts and work was there, and it all seemed so exciting.

Where had the last fourteen years gone. It had all happened so fast, and most of the time he felt like it was out of his control. He yearned for just a break, a small break, where he could kick out, be the old Hugh he was way back when, before the responsibility, the fame, the people staring at him, and behaving himself.

When the allotted ten minutes were up, he stood and joked with the blond, telling her how much he enjoyed meeting her, and as she left, along with her film crew, he sat sipping at the bottle of water, as the throng of people moved and shifted around him, setting up the next interview, the next set of similar questions, the well rehearsed stories to be trotted out.

Yesterday he had filmed the Jonathan Ross show segment to go out tomorrow night, and later today he was meeting up with Studio suits to discuss another possible project to be filmed in about two years time. It felt like he was on a treadmill, never ending.

Putting his hand in his pocket he felt the envelope that had been handed to him early this morning by his assistant, but hadn't got around to opening. Pulling it out, and turning it over in his hand as the noise around him bubbled, people doing their jobs, setting up new camera's, PR people fussing, assistants ordering food on the hotel phone, he noticed the writing said his name in a strong script across the front.

Ripping open the envelope he pulled out the letter, along with the ticket clipped to the one page sheet. Reading quickly and then holding up the ticket in his hand he smiled to himself. Well here might be the answer to his problems. Earlier this year he had inadvertently mentioned that the English Soccer team he supported was Norwich City. It was during an interview with some guy who was so off field he had made him laugh the whole time, appealing to his sense of humour. Hearing he was in town, the guy had sent a ticket for the match on Saturday, along with the note of thanks for the last interview, and please enjoy the match as his guest.

Calling over his assistant, he asked, "What is booked for the weekend, what have I got set?"

"Saturday we just have some one on one's with some magazines, and you have Sunday off."

"What about tomorrow night? What time is the recording going to finish?"

"You mean the Graham Norton Show. You should be out of there by about six thirty. Why?"

"Clear Saturday for me, I don't care how you do it, just do it. Rearrange the one on ones to another day next week, and see if you can hire me a car, a nice unobtrusive one, to be at the studio after Graham Norton as I am going away for the weekend."

The look of panic on the assistants face was classic. Glancing behind him at the PR people and the studio bodies, he frowned. "Not sure if they're going to be too happy about this Hugh."

"Tough, they have my soul for the six weeks; I'm entitled to a couple of days on my own. Set up the break for me and tell them I'll do that interview with Howard Stern for them in return. They'll buy that."

Noticing the next body to come into interview him, a friendly looking man, with salt and pepper hair and an orange tan, he stuffed the ticket and letter in his pocket and stood up to shake hands, suddenly feeling more refreshed than he had ten minutes ago.

*

Climbing into the Silver Mercedes Series 6 convertible, he looked up at Clive his assistant and laughing said, "So this is the most inconspicuous car they could find?"

"Closing the trunk of the car, where he had just stowed the weekend bag with Hugh's stuff, he walked up to the side of the car and leaning in the window pointed out, "For the Studio, this is as plain and simple as you get."

Turning the key in the ignition, he floored the gas, "See you on Sunday night." and in a flourish was gone into the London Friday evening traffic, lost amongst the rush hour, fighting his way across town to get to the motorway leading to the North East and Norwich.

Finally feeling like he was free, he turned on the radio, and finding a station, listened to the drive time show, a mixture of music, phone in, mayhem and traffic information. Singing along with the Stones, he relaxed even more, remembering that crazy Russian interview for Wolverine: The Origins, when he had sung along with the Russian guys to the Stones song Satisfaction. Many of the Eastern countries that he did interviews in expected him to do crazy things, and being a person who never said no, he would just go for it, usually having fun, but even someone as sociable as he was needed to have some space, and this weekend he intended to cut loose from all the pressure and just chill.

Leaving London behind him took a while, the traffic stopping and starting, the crazy narrow streets and abundance of roadwork's making the journey slow and painful, but he didn't care, he was alone for the first time in ages, no pressure, no call on his time, no watchful eyes. Just him, the radio, and the freedom of road. Eventually reaching the M11 he kicked down on the speed, the car moving smoothly along, a steady speed of 80 mph, overtaking Lorries and other cars, aiming for the turn off at Cambridge.

Not having any idea where he was going to stay, he had decided to do as he had as young man. Stop and find a bed and breakfast somewhere in the sticks. Hopefully he would be unrecognised and if he left it late to stop, maybe closer to Norwich, he could just slip in somewhere, grab something to eat and have an early night.

An hour and a half later he was driving up the A11, the small villages going past in a blur, when the car started to slow down. Pumping the gas, he frowned, looking at the fuel gage. Plenty there, a quarter full. The water seemed OK, no light, and no blinking light for the oil. So why was the car slowing down, now giving the odd shudder, as he kept going moving forward, trees and fields all around, the darkness unbroken by any sign of street lights, trying to keep going until he came across some form of civilisation.

Eventually the car came to a grinding halt, and hitting the steering wheel with his palm he grunted. Damn, damn, damn.

Pulling out the mobile from his jacket slung on the chair next to him, he tried to dial, only to find no signal. No damn signal, a broken car, and in the middle of nowhere. Well he wanted peace and quiet and it looked as if he had it. Deathly quiet. Looking out at the high thick trees around him, he tried to remember how far back the last house had been. About a couple of miles in his estimation. There was nothing else left to do, but get out and walk back, see if he could use their phone and get someone to help get the car going. Grabbing his jacket and locking up the car, he started the walk back up the road. Half way there the heavens opened up, the rain pouring down in torrents, soaking him completely, rain dripping off his nose and hair, he ran the rest of the way, until he came to a small cottage set back from the road behind a stone wall, a bright green chipped door with a large brass knocker sitting dead centre.

Hunched up, trying to avoid the deluge, he hovered under the small porch, as he waited for the door to open to his knock. Listening to the sound behind the door, he heard a dog bark, and then slowly the door opened, revealing a beautiful woman, her long blond hair framing a delicate heart shaped face.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but my car has broken down further up the road. I tried to phone for help, but there's no mobile signal. I don't suppose I could use your phone to call for assistance."

He watched as the woman, the large dog at her side, stare out quietly into the gloom of the night. After a pause she stepped back, opening the door and gesturing him to enter.

"Of course, the phone is on the table in the lounge, please come in out of the rain."

Stepping into the unlit hall, he started to wipe his feet, "I had better take off my shoes. I'm dripping wet and I don't want to mess up your home." Slipping off his shoes, he followed her into the small and cosy lounge and walking over to the small side table, picked up the phone and stood wondering who to call.

"Sorry, but do you know a local garage, or have a phone book around. I'm not a local, and not sure of who to call?"

Stepping forward out of a shadow, he noticed the woman looking towards him, but not quite head on, and with a shock realised she was blind. Her lovely light grey eyes unfocused, the small frown on her face as she listened intently to him and thought about an answer.

"Sorry, I don't drive, so not sure of a local garage, and I don't have a phone book, but I can phone a friend of mine, Sarah, and see if she can tell us who she uses."

Stepping forward, she reached for the phone, her arm knocking against his. Stepping back he apologised, "Sorry." Watching as she picked up and dialled the number, waiting for it to be picked up at the other end. She was slim and tall, her skin a clear soft peach, unblemished by make up. The soft smell of lavender teased his nose and his eyes moved down to the small swell of her breasts where her plain silk blouse draped over the sweet mounds, the start of a gentle cleavage visible where the two sides of the top lay undone.

"Sarah, hi, it's Grace. I have a stranded motorist in need of a garage. Do you know one?" Listening to her friend, she stood there in front of him, the dog nudging her leg, her free hand rubbing the dogs' ear as she spoke with her friend. "Okay I'll put him on." Holding out the handset towards him, she told him, "Sarah says she knows someone who will take a call at this time of night, here she'll tell you all about them."

Taking the handset he said hi to the voice at the other end, and listened as she explained that the nearest garage she knew was about ten miles up the road, run by a man named Dave, and gave him the number to call. Thanking her he put down the handset, and then redialled, calling the garage, waiting for it to answer. A woman's voice came on the line, and after explaining the situation to her, she told him that Dave was out dealing with the towing of another stranded vehicle and not expected back for at least three hours, but as soon as he returned she would get him to call.

Hugh looked up at the beautiful woman, and told her, "He's out on a job, not expected back for some time, could I sit here and wait for the call?"

"Of course, give them my number and I'll make some coffee for us."

As she walked out the room, the dog following, Hugh called out, "what's your number?"

Turning around, she gave a small laugh, the sound melting him, a deep and sweet sound, "Whoops, sorry." and told him her number for him to give to the voice at the end of the line.

*

Sitting in front of the fire, his once damp clothes now dry, the hot coffee and a sandwich warming his insides, he watched as she gracefully curled her legs under her, the short black skirt riding up her thighs, revealing long slim limbs, the skin tight and smooth.

"You're an Australian aren't you?"

Smiling he retorted, "How can you tell?"

Laughing she replied, "Your accent. But I can hear a little twang of American in there."

"I live in the states, New York. How long have you lived here?"

"All my life, I was born in the cottage and inherited it from my mother when she died three years ago. What are you doing over here? Are you on holiday?"

Not sure what to say and not wanting to give himself away he answered as truthfully as he could without saying too much. "I'm over here on business, but was taking a break this weekend to go up to Norwich to watch the soccer. How about you, what do you do? I mean do you work?"

"Yes, I write for a living. Erotic literature."

Hugh sat staring at the angelic woman sitting in front of him, stunned at her reply, her sightless eyes staring into the middle distance, the dog asleep on the floor in front of her.

"Erotic literature?"

"Yes. Do I hear a touch of prudish judgement in your voice?"

Rushing to reassure her, he stammered, "N..n.. no, it's just, well I didn't expect. Ummm...."

Laughing she told him, "What did you think, just because I'm blind I don't now about sex? "

"Look I didn't mean to sound judgemental, I was just a little shocked. Your so beautiful and a little delicate looking, it kind of sits at an odd tangent to everything. The pretty cottage, your looks, the fact that you're......"

"Blind." she helpfully filled in for him in the silence.

"Yes. I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth, don't I?"

"Yes, but don't worry, I'm used to it. By the way, I'm Grace, what's your name?"

"Hugh."

"Well Hugh, I like to know who I'm talking to, and what they look like, so with your permission I would like to feel your face and get an idea of how you look so I can keep a picture of you in my minds eye."

Standing up, she walked across to where he sat, and gently placing her hands on his face proceeded to run her soft fingers over his features, his nose, his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks. Running down the creases each side of his nose, she smiled, "You have a good face, and I can tell you smile a lot."

Unable to answer, where ever her fingers had touched leaving a warm tingle, Hugh found the simple progress around his face so erotic, his breath catching in his throat, his heartbeat heavy in his chest.

When she moved her hands around towards his ears, her soft fingers touching the curls and dips he groaned, and watched as the tip of her tongue poked out between her lips in concentration.

"What colour hair do you have Hugh?" her hands now touching his thick brushed back hair.

"Dark brown. Almost black."

Moving back down from his hair, to his cheeks and chin, she felt the stubble, almost always present, before stepping back and returning to her seat opposite him.

"Very masculine. You're very good looking."

"Thank you. You're very beautiful."

"Thank you." There settled a peaceful silence between them, until she dropped the bomb into the silence, one he didn't expect, but one that he knew he would take up.

"It's late, I'm going to bed, would you like to join me? I would very much like to explore your body with my hands and get to 'see' more of you."

Standing up she held her hand out. Slowly he stood, and taking her hand in his followed her out of the room and towards the stairs. Led by his hand, the woman, blind and unable to see who he really was, unable to know his true identity, taking him for who he was and not what he did, offered him release from his reality for a short while.

A release so very enticing, a small oasis in his crazy life filled with staring curious people all wanting a part of him, that he just let go and followed.