Film Night 2

Film Night

It was well after ten o'clock when my darling husband knocked politely and entered my den.

Saturday night is our night, a night for curling up under a blanket in front of a bad movie, eating over-cooked pizza and downing an indifferent Merlot. And I'm still working.

He was missing me.

"You still grafting?" he asked, looking down at my screen and at the plethora of corrections, outlines and addenda artfully scribbled on a jotter by my right hand.

"Sort of... " I whispered. "But no... I'm pretty much done here."

"Cos it's kinda late."

I looked at my watch and then at the clock on the wall, as if I needed to check. My body had been screaming "enough!" for hours and yet, I'm still here, still pounding the keys.

"This can wait until the morning," I said. "Fresh pair of eyes and all that..."

I stood up, stretched and felt my spine crack back into place. I'd been sitting in the same position for nearly half a day, which was not (and is not) good for my posture or my eyesight.

Alex bent down and looked at my screen. "So, is this... you know? The one we're not supposed to talk about? The big one? For the Americans?"

I nodded. "It is..."

"Is it any good?" he asked. "Is it as good as the first?"

Again, I nodded. "Actually, it's better," I said. "Much better..."

"And... Err? Wassat?" said Alex, smiling.

"What's what?"

"That..." he said, pointing to an icon tucked away in the upper right corner of my screen.

He already knew the answer. It was an icon, an icon which contained a tiny, weeny, absolutely minuscule image of my pudenda, albeit an image from a few years ago.

Alex took the mouse from my hand, moved it around the screen and double-clicked on the little monochrome square. The image opened and...

No doubt about it. The pussy in question was (and still is) mine. The belly to which said pussy was attached is smooth and well muscled, and dates from a time before I squeezed a small person out of my Cooter. These days, the finely honed muscles have been replaced by a Mom-Bod, adorned with a series of reddish, purple Tiger Stripes, which I wear with pride because I feel that they have been well earned. I managed to gestate a small person for the requisite nine months and then fire him into the Brave New World exactly as nature intended.

The pussy, as gorgeous as it was, is covered in a dense layer of jet black hair. Said pubic triangle also appears to have been back-combed to make it look bigger and fuller though why is lost on me. Photoshopped filters make it look stranger still. Real and yet unreal. I guess I was in a funny mood.

He smiled and whispered "Nice but... Why?"

"Why indeed?" I said.

"And why is it on your desktop?" he continued.

Silence.

"I'm assuming you posted it on-line, too?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Again, why?"

I didn't (and still don't) have a good answer. "For fun, I guess, and it got a few 'likes'."

"Where did you post it?" he asked. "Not Facebook, I would imagine?"

"Dark Facebook," I replied. "FetLife..."

"I didn't think you bothered with that site any more?"

"I don't," I replied. "Not much these days. It's pretty dead anyway. Too many social justice warriors and their political crap."

"How many likes?" he asked but, before I had a chance to reply, he had his phone in his hand, was already on the site and was scrolling through my images.

"Huh?" he sniffed. "Just four? That's not right."

Seconds later, I received a notification that "XXXXXXX" liked my photo. And then he "Liked" all of my other images, even those images which were not particularly likeable.

"What's this?" he asked. "Nude Nuns with Big Guns. A movie? I guess it's not on Netflix..."

I shook my head. "No, it isn't on Netflix. Truthfully, I have no idea where I found it."

"Which service is it on? Will I like it? Do we still have a copy?"

"It's on one of the memory sticks plugged into the back of the TV" I said. "Or it was. I may have deleted it."

"It sounds... fun..." he said, as he trotted off downstairs to fire up the Idiot Box. I decided that now would be a good time to close the Mac down and be sociable.

"Hey!" he shouted from the Living Room. "I found it!"

"Found what?"

"Nude Nuns with Big Guns."

"Oh... Great," I whispered. "I think I'll go to bed."

Alex sat down to watch this classic of modern cinema. He lasted no more than five minutes.

"It's rubbish..." he said, peering around the bedroom door.

"I know..."

There's a pause. "Why are you posting pictures of your pussy to Fetlife?"

"I'm an exhibitionist, duh..." I said, smiling. "You know that. Always have been. Always will be."

"Plus, I was celebrating another milestone," I added. The number of reads on my collection... And my friends liked it... And, it felt good."

"I like it too," he said. "But still... Why?"

However, before I could answer, he asked another altogether different question. "Got any more?"

"Of course I have," I said. "You know I've got loads. All you had to do was ask."

"Well, I'm asking. Can I see them?"

"If you want..."

"Yeah, I do...," he said, smiling that ridiculous smile of his.

"Really? You do?"

He nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Yes, please..."

I went back to my MacBook, opened another folder, and then another and then another and, soon enough, we found ourselves staring at my archive of smut. "It's hidden, just in case certain fingers can't resist the urge to go snooping..."

"But you've already seen most of these," I said. "And so have your mates. Much to my considerable annoyance..."

"Point taken," he said as I flipped over to a gallery view and began clicking through the collection.

Most of these images are of yours truly standing naked in a field or jumping up and down in a body of water, also naked. There were a few sexy poses of me in the bath, in the shower and one or two more posing at various local landmarks like Penshaw Monument or inside the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle. There's a gorgeous shot of me on the Millennium Bridge in Gateshead, shot as part of the Spencer Tunick photoshoot from 2006. I was so much younger in those days.

"Yeah, I've seen most of these" he said. "Although I don't recognise that one, or that one, or that one come to think of it."

"Well, you've seen 'em all," I replied. "In one form or another..."

"Got any I haven't seen?"

I paused. "A few, obviously."

He lowered himself into an easy chair. "Are they a bit... sensitive?"

I nodded. "Yeah, they are..."

"Can I see them?"

"Huh? Why?"

"Because..."

I shook my head. "I really don't think that's such a good idea..."

Again, he replied with a rather tiresome "Why?" (It's like dealing with a three year old sometimes...)

"Because letting my husband browse through my collection of super Sexy images just does not seem like a good idea."

Again... "Why?"

"Because some of those images were from various relationships over the last twenty odd years, some of which I've enjoyed, and some I've not enjoyed."

Another blank stare.

"I have no idea why I kept any of them," I said. "And, truthfully, I'm starting to wish I hadn't."

Silence.

"Plus, how do I know you won't get all jealous?" I asked.

"Jealous?" said Alex. "Why would I get jealous? I had a past. You had a past. I thought we agreed to leave it at that?"

"We did, but I just don't think raking over these images a good idea..." I repeated.

"Well," he said. "We're older now. Wiser. More secure. We have a kid together. Maybe it's time we were honest?"

I shook my head. "Maybe? Maybe not? Probably best to err on the side of 'Maybe not'".

"Why?" he said, his voice rising. I sensed a degree of frustration developing...

"Because..."

"Because what?"

I was starting to get a little pissy at this point.

"Because once you see these images, you can't un-see them." I said, feeling very uneasy.

"So? What have you got to be ashamed of?"

I tried catch my breath and then wondered how on Earth I might be able to back out of this silly situation.

"I have nothing to be ashamed of," I said. "Just..."

"Yeah, come on," he said. "Let's see them!"

In needed time to think. I realised that if I didn't give in to his demands then this cycle would go on and on, round and round, to the point where he'd eventually loose his temper, not speak to me for a week and then, ultimately, hack my computer. He's like that. Like I said, he's a three year old at heart.

"Okay... as you wish." I said.

I clicked once, twice, three times.

"So... here goes.", I whispered. "Are you ready for this?" I asked.

"Yeah! Yeah!" He was practically drooling.

Another pause.

"I'm just not sure this is wise..."

Alex shook his head. "We all have secrets. We both have a past. I think it's time we admit that to ourselves and move on."

"I didn't realise it was bothering you quite as much as you imply?" I said.

"Your past? Doesn't so much as bother me," he continued. "Bother isn't the word. Jester [an old friend and occasional mentor] calls it a kind of retroactive jealousy, a sense that you had more fun than I did, even if that's not the case."

I shook my head. "I've told you everything in my past, and in quite a bit of detail too," I said. "Certain elements were fun. No point in denying that. Other bits were no fun at all, as I've said."

Alex sighed. "Suppose we do it by degrees?" he suggested. "Suppose we show each other a limited subset. A carefully curated version? How does that sound?"

"It sounds very mathematical..."

"Well? What do you think?"

I thought for a couple of seconds and then said "Okay, let's give it a go but... I suggest that we should adjourn for a couple of minutes, go collate whatever images we want to share and then take turns. What do you make of that?"

"I think it's a good compromise," said Alex. "It'll take me no more than fives minutes to find the old DVDs and..."

I smiled. "I have all of mine here and catalogued," I said.

Alex laughed. "I thought you might..." and off he went.

He returned ten minutes later, which had given me an ample opportunity to reduce my rather scandalous collection to more manageable proportions. Some things, I just didn't feel like sharing. [Don't worry, we'll come to those...]

"Okay," he said. "So who goes first?"

"I'm happy to go first," I said.

"Okay, go," said Alex. "Show me what you've got."

"As you like," I said, clicking on the first folder. The window opened and, within, were the first set of nudie images ever taken of yours truly.

"These," I said. "... were taken as part of Sophie's final year project at University. You've seen the public images. These are the private collection. They were taken using the lowest quality digital device we could find, in this instance, a broken webcam we pulled out of a bin. The lens was fogged and the sensor had been dropped in DietCoke but it still worked, after a fashion."

I pulled up a slideshow and clicked slowly through the images. [These images and the background story are described, in full, in the story "Lo-Fi".]

"Most of these were never used and have never been shown in public," I said. "But a few were put on display at the Polytechnic and Laing Galleries in Newcastle."

I paused. Alex sat with his jaw open wide. "Bloody hell," he whispered. "A public exhibition?"

"Indeed," I said. "A very public exhibition."

"The thing is..." I whispered. "Everyone assumed that they were Sophie. Even Mum. We're identical twins. You couldn't tell us apart in those days, and the only person who guessed the identity of the model was Dad."

"But then he was a Detective Inspector, wasn't he?" asked Alex.

"He was, and it took him all of thirty seconds," I said. "Not even that. Our respective body language gave it all away. Sophie was the centre of attention and loving every minute, whereas I had hidden myself away in a corner out of embarrassment. Truthfully, I just wanted to slide under a rock. The difference in body language gave us away in an instant."

"These are gorgeous," said Alex. "They're you but then... they're not you. I love the fact that you're so... natural... "

"Natural? Perhaps but I was also very, very frightened," I said. "And cold. You can just make out the goosebumps."

"I like the way you're... so..."

"So 'what'?" I asked.

"I like your boobs," he said. "I like your pussy. I like your ass. They're so.... bare, for want of a better term."

I look raw. Unkempt. My boobs are small and undernourished, my ribs prominent. My legs look thin, my muscles wasted. Indeed, the girl staring out of those images looks positively haunted, like the woes of the world had been piled high on her shoulders. And, in truth, they had. I'd just quit the music business, spent a month in a rehabilitation clinic and signed on to the Dole. Worse, I had some major problems with the Tax Man in the form of an unpaid VAT bill and I was desperate for money. Sophie paid me twenty quid to model, and that twenty quid kept me in noodles and beans for a fortnight. The Tax Man saw none of that.

"Bare? I guess," I said. "You mean that they're minus the tattoos, right?"

Alex smiled. "I guess, but that's probably because I'm so used to seeing your warpaint. It's odd not seeing the decorations. It could be Sophie but then... it isn't, is it?"

"Sophie hates tattoos because they're permanent and require a degree of commitment, and you know Sophie. Commitment isn't her thing at all."

I continued to flick through another two dozen or so images of varying sophistication. They brought back memories. Good memories in the main but also... It was a difficult time. More on that later.

"Hold on," said Alex. "What's that?"

He pointed towards an image where I'm quite clearly touching myself. My eyes are closed and fingers are pressed into the small gap at the top of my thighs. My expression suggests that there's more going on than a quick glance might suggest.

"That's kinda horny," Alex whispered. "Deliciously horny..."

"Well, it was a charged atmosphere," I said. "Sophie wanted me to let go a little, to lighten up some, and I did."

"Did you? You know... Get off?"

"Yeah, I did," I replied, smiling.

I continued to scroll. Sophie had managed to capture a shot of my fingers buried inside my pussy lips. My tiny little clit was more or less, centre frame."

"Fuck..." whispered Alex. "How did Sophie react to that?"

I smiled. "We'd seen each other wank before. Just one of those things. In this instance, she thought I was acting but, no, I wasn't. I... came..."

I scrolled through a few more images, mostly rather indelicate but slightly arty split crotch shots, and then closed the window. The final image, a huge shot of a dark patch of jet black pubic hair, seemed to linger long after the panel had folded itself back onto the menu bar.

"Your turn?" I mumbled.

"You sure," said Alex. "Because these are a bit more explicit..."

"You obviously want to show me them," I said. "So, let fly the dogs of war... Put 'em on the table and let's see what you've got..."

Okay, so I wasn't ready for what came next. I thought I'd be subjected to one or two of Alex and his mates up to silly pranks with a couple of strippers but... No, this was a touch more adult.

"These were taken at a Music Festival in Prague," said Alex. "2010, I think. We got kinda off it..."

Six images. They told a story.

"My mate Andy took these," said Alex. "They're at a street party in the capital. The girls were fairly tripping over themselves to get at us."

And then... I'm confronted with an image of my darling husband having his cock sucked. On a street corner. Out in the open. In front of his mates, and a few passers-by too. They're cheering. All of them.

"That's Karen," said Alex. "She was from Sheffield. So were her mates. They asked us to buy them a drink in exchange for favours so...  We bought a round and they followed through on their verbal contract."

"So I see..." I whispered, plainly annoyed.

"The next couple of images," said Alex. "That's what happened back at our hotel room."

I was presented with a suite of maybe twenty images, the majority of which were blurred and out of focus or poorly exposed but they served to illustrate exactly what had happened to perfection.

Six or seven, or maybe eight guys with just two girls, all naked. The girls are lying on a bed, head to head, legs up in the air and spread wide. And the guys are taking turns to fuck them, an array of men standing, side by side, trying to coax their cocks into something resembling an erection.

I sort of expected something like this but imagining a scenario and actually seeing it in the flesh are two different sides of the same coin. I found this a little tough to get into.

"Why are you showing me these?" I asked.

"Because..." Alex lowered his head. "Guilt, mostly..."

"Guilt? How so?"

"Because I feel guilty," said Alex. "As guilty as fuck about the whole fucking fiasco. I feel as guilty as fuck because I was married with a daughter and I should have been at home, with my wife and my child, and not gone catting around Europe like some teenager. I should have been a better husband."

I elected to say nothing. Instead, I just let Alex vent.

"I also feel guilty," he said. "Actually very guilty, and I feel ashamed. I feel ashamed that I... debased myself like this. What the fuck was going on in my head?"

So this session wasn't so much a "let's looks at some sexy". It was also a confessional.

"We've all done stuff we're ashamed of..." I said, taking charge. "Don't worry about sharing. Better to let go than hold on to it."

"The point is this," he said. "I want you to know that I am not that sad little bloke any more. I'm older, wiser, and I don't need that shit in my life either," he continued. "I don't have those shitty people in my life. I've grown up. Or at least I hope I have."

He sat with his head in his hands for a couple of minutes before adding "There's a movie, too..."

And there was. I clicked fool that I am...

Yeah, eight guys. (I counted them) Two girls. There are a lot of erect cocks in this scene.

And then there's Alex, standing to one side, cock in hand, watching as his friend dumps a load inside 'Karen'. Karen seems to like it. Karen wants another cock, and then another. A guy steps up to the plate and gets on with the business. Another takes his place, and then another. None of them lasts more than a couple of seconds before they shoot their load. It's like a production line and I sort of feel sorry for the guy at the end of the line because he's got the ultimate in sloppy seconds.

And then I don't because the guy at the end of the line, the guy holding his cock like it's some kind of pink hand grenade, is Alex. He slips between Karen's thighs and starts hammering away whilst his mates all cheer and shout and wave him on.

Karen's mate, whatever her name is, is similarly impaled. She has a cock in each hand, one in her mouth and one up her vagina.

Then something awful occurred to me.

"Alex!" I hissed. "For fuck's sake."

"What? What?"

"You're not wearing a fucking rubber."

And he wasn't. The dumb shit had gone in bareback. And so had his friends. All of them.

"This is seriously fucked up..." I whispered. "Were you... Insane?"

Alex paused for a few seconds than sank down to his knees.

"I knew my wife was cheating on me," he said. "I'd known for years and, truth be told, I suspected all along that our daughter wasn't mine so I was basically just trying to end it all. Trying to do something stupid so that I could get myself out of that shitty relationship."

"By catching AIDS?" I hissed. "You fucking moron..."

I shut the window and glowered at him.

"This was twelve years ago. Maybe more," said Alex. He counted out the years on his fingers. "Yeah, twelve years, I think. Niamh [his daughter] is fourteen so, yeah, twelve years ago."