This is the fourth story.
This is the story of Kara.
Kara was an actress, beautiful and talented, one you see on screen and immediately wonder how she isn't more famous. She had dark red hair, full and long, but wasn't as pale as redheads tend to be. She was about 5'6" with wide hips, a skinny waist, and d-cup tits. Her face was angular and glamorous, but also slightly gawky, with piercing blue eyes. One day I might say she looks like Emily Blunt, the next day I might say she looks like Maya Hawke, another day I might say she looks nothing like either of them. She had a truly unique face. A truly unique, gorgeous face.
We met working on a short film, but not one that I was acting in. I tried my hand at fight choreography for a few months in my twenties, hoping to capitalize off my physical fitness and make more inroads in the industry. This short, a proof-of-concept for an action feature, was my first solo gig, and Kara was the star.
She was a few years younger than me, I think about twenty-three, and already had more credits than most actors get in a lifetime. Our project would normally be too small-time for her, but she knew the director and was doing him a favor. This was also doing me a favor, because it meant I got to spend a lot of rehearsal time with a beautiful young woman, and with a fair amount of physical contact.
Kara and I started meeting a couple weeks before shooting, almost never one-on-one, but along with whatever male actor the scene du jour called for her to engage in combat. But these actors cycled in and out, and the one constant was the two of us. Over long days in a converted dance studio in the Valley, we discovered we had an easy, unforced chemistry. We got to know each other well, learning not just the other's typical coffee order, but their flexibility, their musculature, the smell of their sweat.
Every morning for two weeks I'd watch Kara walk in, in lululemon leggings and a sports bra, wearing a broad engaging smile that made me feel like the only guy in the world, and I'd think my day couldn't get any better. And then a half hour later I'd be stretching her out, one of her calves on my shoulder as I pressed into her hamstring, my eyes traveling down the curvature of her thigh, over her cameltoe, up her tight belly, to her breasts rising and falling with each controlled breath, and every day I'd realize I was wrong.
Hollywood people are incredibly good at making you feel like the most special person on the planet, and like you're the only one who knows how truly special they are. It's why you might never meet them but you'll go to war online to defend their honor, why you'll stick up for them after it's clear they've done some truly terrible shit. So even though everything was a dream between Kara and I, I knew not to read too much into it, to not assume she wanted to fuck me just because she was smiling at me. (To be fair, this is always a good thing to remember, Hollywood or not)
Until, that is, a small event at the end of her training.
We were working with another actor on the climactic fight of the film, on the final day before shooting started, and it just wasn't working. Kara was bringing it and hitting every move with gusto, but this guy, tall and musclebound and by all appearances the perfect action movie star, wasn't. I don't know if it was fear (not wanting to accidentally hurt a girl) or vanity (not wanting people to see the girl hurt him) but he wasn't committing to the moves and it looked fake. After an umpteenth failed run-through, my frustration boiling over, I stepped in.
"Step out for a second," I said to him. "Watch me."
He moved off the mats we were working on and I squared off in front of Kara.
"Action," I said.
She lunged at me, swinging a fist. I ducked it, put my hands on her back and drove my knee into her stomach. She grunted and wrapped around me and put a forearm across my neck, then I reached behind me with one arm and I flipped her forward, over my shoulder onto her back. Then I flipped around and spryly landed on top of her, straddling her waist. She threw a cross-punch, I grabbed her wrist. She threw another, I grabbed her other wrist. I pushed down with my body weight and pinned her arms on the mat over her head. My face was now an inch from hers, both of us breathing heavily, staring daggers into each other's eyes.
And we were only there a couple more seconds, but it was significantly longer than we needed to be. I was holding her wrists down tightly, suddenly intent on showing her how easily I could overpower her, and she was biting her lip and subtly grinding her belly against my crotch. I instantly knew the Hollywood way didn't apply here. She wanted to fuck me.
Fast forward to the wrap party. The shoot went great, but everyone was relieved an arduous couple weeks were over. We went to a bar in Studio City to celebrate, twenty of us taking over a couple tables in the back and letting loose. Kara was dressed casually, in a hoodie and jeans, but the hoodie was unzipped far enough down to show off some lovely cleavage, and it seemed she wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, only a bra. She was a mild-mannered, down-to-earth girl, who nonetheless had no qualms about flaunting her incredible rack.
Nothing had happened between us yet, but I could tell over the course of production that I had made an impression on her, that I was clearly the person she was most excited to hang out with each day. Now that we were no longer coworkers, I was hoping I could seal the deal and take her home after the party.
I wasn't the only one. Because of how close Kara and I had become, we spent most of the wrap party in close proximity to each other. This meant I spent most of the party in close proximity to every other guy who'd worked on the film, because all of them were trying to be the one to screw her. Kara was handling their interest like a pro, making them all feel special while subtly shutting them down.
Except me. As the night wound to a close, and everyone else started leaving, I expected her to bow out, for me to have to say goodbye to the possibility of sleeping with her. But it never happened. And suddenly there we were, sitting around the corner of a table, leaning in close, talking intimately, with no other suitors vying for her attention.
"So," I said. "I'd like to have another drink."
"Same," she said.
"But I'd really not like to spend $15."
"Me neither."
"I've got a pretty good selection at home, so-"
"I'm down."
"-I don't want to be presumptuous-"
"Jack." She smiled, her blue eyes digging into me. "I'm down."
I smiled. "Let's go then."
A half hour later I let us into my apartment. Kara walked in in front of me, a purse over her shoulder, and I watched her take in the space. As I've written before, I have a very curated space, combining old-fashioned aesthetics with a modern edge.
"Not what I was expecting," she said, dropping her purse on my coffee table.
"What were you expecting?" I asked.
She sat down bouncily on the couch, one leg crossed under her butt, and looked around.
"Movie posters. Jean Claude Van Damme. Kung fu flicks."
"Those don't do a good job of getting me laid."
She looked at me sharply. Too late I realized what I'd implied about her visit. But she was already smiling wryly.
"I think by the time they've walked through the door they've signed up for whatever," she said.
"Whatever?" I said.
"Well, not whatever."
"What did you sign up for?"
Her bright blue eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, a smile tugging at the corners.
"A drink," she said, sitting back. "At least."
I nodded.
"Coming right up."
