Note: This story/main character is fictional, but takes from some real locations.
*
It was on just that street corner, in that particular section of London at just the right time of day that I saw her through the small crowd and the film crew. It was 2004, and I was in Britain on university study from the states, walking around during some free time after class. It was never on my agenda to come across a set for a Woody Allen movie, much less to see her, at that moment, of all things. Scarlett Johansson was sitting on a curb some feet from the camera, and they were getting ready to shoot one more take with her for the day.
I should've been excited just to see a movie shoot, which I probably was in the back of my mind. But seeing her absorbed me completely, without a moment lapsed of focus. She had long golden-blonde hair, a loose shirt that didn't do a thing to hide her incredible breasts, and a pair of pants that did even less to hide her fantastic legs. Her face was being dapped with a little make-up so I couldn't make out her whole face at first -- but when she was revealed my mouth fell open. Forget the movies I'd seen her in; from a block away her total glorious figure came to me so hard that I would have left everything in the world for her, right then, a heartbeat drop for whatever she could say.
In the shallowest way, I guess, I was smitten.
I stuck around while a scene was shot, something very brief, and then it was called a wrap for the day. Scarlett gave a quick hug to her director and tried her best to ward off the lot of autograph hounds coming at her from the small crowd of English twits in the area. I put my hand through my hair to make sure I looked alright (I was in relatively good shape then, good strong slightly muscle-build, 6'2, hazel eyes, curvy eyebrows, her same age), and was deliberate in my move -- as soon as everyone had left her and she was walking down the block, I took my one shot and walked up to her. I wasn't quite a stalker, but close.
"Hi, I am, um," I said, trying to find a word
"No more, thank you, I'm on my way to-"
"Maybe I could help you find it? I know the area well."
"You're American," she said. "Very nice. Glad to finally find another one." She laughed a little maybe out of nervousness. I did the same.
"Yeah, I'm in from the states too."
"Oh cool. Listen, if we don't move in a minute those 'blokes' will be after me non-stop, man." "Well, I know a little place just down the road off to the side, very small, quiet pub. No problem there." I was very cool now. Super cool. I could hear bad-ass music in my head.
"Ok, great. You're not a stalker, are you?"
"What?"
"Just teasing, I make sure to throw everyone off with that."
She smiled at what she said. Maybe she was tired, too, after a day's shoot.
"Well, I'll show you the way then."
"Great."
... Five minutes later we were sitting across from one another in the pub. Even with her make-up off she was absolutely a wonder. Perfect nose, subtle but perky lips, deep blue (not too-blue though) eyes and, now apparently, lipstick that she just applied while I was getting a couple of beers. At first I was hesitant to come in, thinking that I might be off-putting to her as another creep-fan type trying to get to "know the real Scarlett". Somehow, I guess, she didn't sense that, and asked if I would help her with some line readings from the Woody Allen movie.
Sitting down at the table I handed her a very tall pint of some ale. My eyes never averted hers.
"So, why would a nice girl like you want to do a line reading in a place like this?"
"Well, first off, Mr. Beer-Shirt," referring to my front shirt, now stained with beer. She giggled.
"Damn," I muttered, unbuttoning it as I sat down.
"Anyway, the scene takes place in a bar. Second and I know this might sound a little weird, but -- I don't like line reading with the guy I'm doing the scene with. Too... stuffy to really rehearse to. If I can do with just a total stranger, I'll get to hear more of my own voice, how I do in the scene, that kind of thing. Plus, I'm slightly tipsy in the scene."
"Sounds good. I should tell you I have no experience with it, except like drama class in high school, which wasn't fun."
"Uh-huh... Oh my god!"
"What, what now?"
"Your undershirt! You're a Tom Waits fan?"
She was referring to my slightly ratty Tom Waits Rain Dogs shirt. This was, of course, way before she put out her own album of Waits cover songs. "Oh, yeah, totally. I just bought Blood Money the other day and can't put it down."
"His songs are so amazing, such a great artist. Oh shit. I forgot to ask, what's your name?"
"Sydney."
"Nice, very nice..." She kept taking looks at my shirt as she drank her beer. She wasn't a lightweight with the beer, either, chugging it for a beat until putting it down and taking out two copies of the script. I could see her glancing from time to time at the rest of my body as well -- my biceps, my legs. I returned the glances in kind. I was also starting to get some sexier, dirtier images of her in my mind. I felt my cock twitch in my pants, but it went down for the moment as I drank some more beer and tried to focus on the script.
... A half hour later we had run through the scene four times, and by half-hour's end we also had three beers in us each. It was a particularly sensual scene with just dialog (i.e. a character asks Scarlett's character if any men have ever been disappointed with her in the sack, to which she replies, "Well, no one ever asked for their money back,") and by the end of it I could tell she was really getting into it. The last time I even got into it a little more, and best of all was a particular moment that still sticks out, even after everything else that happened: her foot, which was bare after slipping out of a sandal, brushed against my leg while she read some of her more confessing lines about making passes and whatnot. My cock twitched and practically became totally hard in that moment, and would've tried to take her in my arms if not for the state of the pub at that time -- and what happened next.
There was one of those cliché Brit-pub-brawls that happens from people yelling at each other in accents so thick you can only make out only the intent without the pronunciation. From this the bar cleared out, which included a startled Scarlett and I. My dick lowered once again, though I'm sure if she looked close enough she could have seen the spot my pre-cum had made during those takes.
We were now outside, the sun setting on the quiet street of London. Scarlett was laughing out loud.
"Did you fucking see that? Wow, double wow, I knew one of the producers like saw one of these fights the other night, but I didn't think they'd happen here!"
"Yeah, they sometimes do. Pretty clichéd."
"Totally. Say, what are you doing now?" She asked this, one of her sandaled feet curled up, as if asking out a boy to a date at 14.
"Well I, uh, I actually don't have any plans now, all my classes finished early today."
"Would I be like imposing on you greatly if we could go back to your apartment?"
My mouth fell for a second and my calm composure faded fast. "Really? You mean it?"
"Seriously, Sydney, you've been incredible the whole past half hour. I mean, I've done line readings with Woody and you're just... I don't know, different. I like it. I need to rehearse some more scenes, anyway, and I'm not in the mood to see my publicist and shit back at the hotel, y'know."
"Yeah, I see..." My mind was racing. All I could muster was, "Sure, definitely, it's uh, a kind of a bus ride, so hope you don't mind."
"No problem there... I like buses."
.... Entering in the apartment an hour later -- the bus got caught up in the rush hour traffic -- gave me and Scarlett some more time to talk, but mostly it was in quiet, surrounded by the hordes of people. We kept glancing at each other, sometimes trying not to have the other notice, sometimes obviously so. It was completely clear by the halfway point that it was flirting, as if out of her character from the movie. To try and cram in against other passengers I put my arm around her at one point. She didn't object, and my hand brushed against her right tit. Again, repressed excitement.
As soon as I let her into my apartment, which was a small one-room flat with a small kitchen and small couch and only moderately big beg, she said she needed to pee. She went into the restroom and I sat against the recliner. What's the next move, I thought? Do I try and make it first, or will she? How far can this completely fantasy-turned-reality scenario go?
Scarlett got out of the bathroom and kicked off her sandals.
"So, uh," I said, slightly stammering in front of her. She was smiling in that way that's a dead give away to anyone with a pair of balls. "Shall we get to what you uh, were talking about with the uh, script?"
