Trouble in Paradise...
Our contracts arrived a few days later. Thomas recommended we engage an attorney to look over the documents. He gave us the names of a couple of attorneys in Los Angeles, but Cyndi, with the help of her friend Trina, hired an attorney friend of Trina's from her college days. We were told via email and video chat that the contract was basic, straightforward, and legitimate. We would appear in the web series for a minimum of ninety days and a maximum of one hundred and twenty.
One or both of us would be on camera 24/7. If the series ran the full four months, between our base pay and commissions for viewer sign-ups over a certain amount, we would make more money than working the farm for the past three years. Cyndi and I couldn't help but find the irony in the commissions we could earn. We would be earning extra money to entice more people to watch us fucking, sucking, and generally having a good time. All I could say to that was - only in America!
Our house, barn, and vehicles would be fitted with audio and video, where we would be expected to have sex. For health and safety reasons, the only building on the farm that was off-limits was the thirty-thousand-square-foot hydroponic plant. The plant, fully functioning year-round, was quickly becoming our main source of income.
There were three pages of legalese regarding the production company and our rights. The production company could back out or end the series anytime for any reason, and our compensation would end when the series stopped airing. On the other hand, we were obligated to fulfill our contract once the web series went live. We had two outs. One was at the ninety-day mark. If we wanted the series to end, we could give a seven-day notice, and production would wrap the closest Sunday to the seventh day. This was especially helpful since, by that time, it would be spring, and the farm would be fully up and running. The other was ten days before the series aired for the first time. The stipulation was that we would have to pay the labor to remove the equipment from the house.
In our last video conference before we signed the contract, Thomas informed us that, unlike the series he had done, which were loosely scripted, this series would be totally real. The exception was that he wanted some drama for the viewers to live out with us. Before going live, production, specifically Thomas, would suggest possible scenarios, but it would be up to us to choose what we do.
I was a simple person. My idea of a storyline was that a young, progressive couple in Montana took on a newly hired employee that eventually made their way into Cyndi's and my pants.
As for drama, it started the moment I signed the contract. Cyndi mysteriously turned into a person I didn't recognize. I felt my happy world slipping away. The ever-constant sex was gone. She preferred to be on the phone or online with Thomas and his life partner, Devon. The little arguments she picked with me were the worst. We never fought. I had no idea what was going on. Whatever it was, the days before Thomas and the crew arrived were a living hell.
And then the drama started.
Just before noon, ten days after we signed the contract, slowed by one of Montana's magnificent snowstorms, the caravan of vehicles arrived: an eighteen-wheeler truck, a utility box truck, a sleek, multi-million dollar decked-out RV, and a twelve-seat Mercedes passenger van that was totally out of place in rural Montana.
Our house was over half a mile off a tree-lined, infrequently traveled county road. The closest town, if that's what you wanted to call it, was twenty minutes away, and Great Falls was a two-hour drive.
If someone discovered we had company, we prepared a cover story that we rented out a portion of the farm to a small independent movie company. It wasn't unheard of for Hollywood production companies to come to Montana. The exterior shots were great, and it was cheaper to film in Montana than in California. Hell, half of Hollywood owned little ranchettes all over the state.
I was out in the barn when I heard the roar of trucks navigating their way down the long gravel drive. The honking horns helped announce them as well. They were lucky the snowstorm bypassed us; we only got a few inches. We had already plowed and salted well in advance of their arrival. The temperature hovered at a tolerable eighteen degrees, and the ground was solid, with no ice or snow to inhibit them. Cyndi and I made it to the front of the house when they stopped their engines. Cyndi was like a little girl jumping up and down, clapping her hands excitedly.
I was more reserved about their arrival. On the one hand, it meant I was one step closer to fulfilling my fantasy of feeling, tasting, and being with a man. On the other hand, Cyndi's behavior was so perplexing that my head was spinning.
The night before their arrival, Cyndi admitted that she was sexually attracted to Thomas and Devon, something she'd never experienced before. It didn't come as a big surprise, and I wondered why she was telling me. Whatever she was up to, she wasn't ready to say. She fed me that little tidbit and moved on.
Over breakfast the next morning, she dropped a second bomb. Thomas wanted to make sure I was fully initiated to man-sex before the series started. He wanted me to act like a virgin when, in fact, I wouldn't be. He didn't want me to look like a fool when the cameras went live. I was waiting for Cyndi to tell me who the mysterious man would be to
'train me,'
but she never said.
The straw on the camel's back was getting heavier. I told her I wouldn't even consider it. The sad part was that it didn't matter what I said; it was set in stone once Cyndi said it.
"I never thought we'd get here!" Thomas exclaimed, sounding out of breath like he'd run the last mile of the trip. I was closest to him, and he didn't hesitate to grab me and give me an obligatory hug. I pulled away a second later, stifling my gag reflexes. Thomas smelled of stale wine, rancid cigar smoke, and unpleasant body odor. "You weren't lying when you said you lived in
bum-fuck nowhere.
"
"It's home." Cyndi laughed. She was still bouncing up and down, her excitement palpable. She hugged Thomas, lingering in his arms long enough to rub her body against his. She received a welcome kiss, first on her cheek and then a longer, tongue-in-mouth kiss. As happy as she was to see Thomas, Cyndi kept her eyes past him to the RV door.
"Man, it's fucking freezing here! I think my balls have shriveled up and are trying to run back to California!"
Cyndi and I were dressed in our normal one-piece thermal coveralls. Plus, we were more used to the cold temperatures. The more modern coveralls were thinner, and the suits were more sculpted to our bodies. We didn't look like the Michelin man. Thomas and crew had on fancy
'Hollywood
' parkas, gloves, and knit caps, the stuff that makes you look attractive on an Aspen ski slope but does nothing to keep you warm.
"Not to worry, we have extra warm gear for everyone, and if you stay long enough, believe it or not, you'll get used to it." Cyndi laughed.
It felt strange standing in the driveway with people surrounding us. We weren't used to having company. Cyndi and I weren't loners but never felt the need to have a lot of people in our lives. Not that it mattered. There weren't too many people our age left living around us. We had three neighbors on our side of the road from town: the dairy and two smaller farms. The residents of the two smaller farms were all over seventy, and I pretty much acted as their caretaker, especially during the winter months. Cyndi didn't care for older people and kept her distance whenever possible.
As for the dairy, other than business, we rarely associated with them. My family partnered with the dairy long before I came along. The owners never seemed to want anything more than to conduct business. We were always pleasant with each other, but that's where it stopped. We never shared a meal or socialized over coffee.
Cyndi and I weren't total hermits. Off-winter months, we went into Great Falls regularly, Cyndi more than me. The rest of the time, when you were rural like we were, things didn't come to you; you went to them, which in our case was the General Store. The General Store was an entire city in one little store. It was the Post Office, package delivery, grocery store, utility company, gas station, and the central hub to catch up on the news, another word for gossip. Sometimes the news was good: people getting married, children born. Sometimes, it was bad; someone died, or someone was dying. But most of the time, it was just plain old gossip, the kind that, although it wasn't meant to hurt, it ultimately did.
Weather permitting, we made it to town at least once a week during the winter. If we didn't, it went without saying that Joe, the owner of the General Store and the mayor of our small community, would be on the phone to make sure we were okay. It was just the way we were.
"Yeah, well, we don't have to worry about people barging in on you." Thomas's eyes hadn't left Cyndi, and I realized I wasn't a part of whatever was happening.
"That's for sure," Cyndi said. We don't have to worry about privacy issues." Thomas was six feet tall, making him tower over Cyndi. She hugged her body to his, making the height difference appear less prominent.
Cyndi showed the crew to the bunkhouse. The comfortable, large, four-bedroom farmhouse was the house I grew up in. After we married, Cyndi and I decided to build our own home. I didn't have the heart to tear down my childhood home, so when Cyndi came up with the idea to use it as a bunkhouse, it was a win-win.
We immediately became unessential personnel as the crew began their technical action plan. Not only did our guests have to deal with the extreme cold, which was second nature to us, but they also needed to get the trucks repositioned and unloaded with the essential items before nightfall, which, during winter, came early.
Thomas turned to a spectacularly handsome black man who finally emerged from the RV and smiled. His eyes lit up, and the smile on his face gave away his feelings. This was the mysterious lover, Devon, whom he often spoke about. Cyndi rushed to his side to give him a welcoming hug and similar kisses, which she and Thomas shared.
Cyndi invited Thomas and Devon to the house where we wouldn't be in the way. Our house was a three-bedroom, three-bath modern log cabin home built for simplicity. There was a front door only because homes came with front doors - not that we ever used it. We always used the mudroom entrance.
Mudrooms in our part of the world were essential. We custom-built ours to keep our work life and personal life separate. The large room had wall-to-wall cabinets for work clothes, outer clothes, and a custom-built shoe/boot rack. Shoes were strictly forbidden in the house. A heavy-duty washing machine and dryer were used for work clothes, and there was a stall shower, toilet, and sink. During the farming season, it was my changing room. I was normally up at four in the morning and didn't want to disturb Cyndi. The accessibility of having a bathroom and my clothes all in one place was convenient. Also, my work was dirty and quite naturally smelly, and Cyndi didn't want it dragged into our home.
Past the mudroom was the living area. The open-concept space had a kitchen/dining area and living room. The room's focal point was an oversized wood-burning fireplace that took up one whole wall. It provided a homey feeling and warmed the house during winter.
