I was working on the film crew for
Desert Winds 2
which was filming on location in Gold Butte National Monument, Nevada, in the sandstone region known as Little Finland. I was a gaffer by trade and my name has sped across the end credit roll of many films. If you watched any one of my films many to the very end you'd see "Lead Gaffer: Derek Montahue". But that hardly happens anymore; people don't see my name. Streaming companies rarely show end credits on their productions. Any film shown on TV that even has end credits, the credits are blasted through at 5x speed in a small frame while they run ads of upcoming shows adjacent to the credits. Opening credits are dictated by the unions and sometimes the star cast of a production, but the end credits are normally used as a "perk" by the producers to attract talent. The unions could give a shit about the end credits. If you're a great gaffer like me, you want a credit in the movie, because that's solid barter power for higher paid gigs on future productions. That's tangible pay dirt.
"Oh yes, Mister Montahue, we really loved the lighting you did for the Misfits film. Your work is brilliant. How would you like to work on Desert Winds 2?"
I was a gaffer's gaffer. Photography, and especially motion photography, is all about capturing light. I create and mold the light.
It was sunset and a wrap for the day. We didn't have any night shooting scheduled on that Friday night, so the cast and crew were hightailing it back to their hotel rooms in Mesquite, which is about 80 miles northeast of Vegas. Las Vegas was strictly off-limits for our crew, because it was not a place you would hang out for a few hours and back to work at 5:00 AM the next morning. We had to be ready to shoot by first light, which according to my phone app was 6:33 am. Sunrise at 6:59 am.
A few of us had trailers to sleep in at the shooting location. We could avoid the commute and watch the equipment while sipping bourbon in the moonlight.
The AD (Assistant Director) asked the DP (Director of Photography) and I to hang back and scout for night shooting locations on Saturday. The blue hour at the end of day was the best time to scout, and to shoot, since we could see the fading glow of the sun on the horizon. The sun waited for nobody and you had minutes and seconds of critical time to get the frames. If it was missed, it would be 24 hours for a do-over. The film financiers were tight with money and demanded
Desert Winds 2
wrapped in 20 days. Normally it takes 23 to 28 days to shoot a feature length film, and every day costing them tens of thousands of dollars.
For that reason, many Western films were once shot in Italy, hence the term "Spaghetti Western", because there were locations there with a similar backdrop to the American Wild West, and most of the cast and crew took little money. Many were so excited about being part of a Hollywood production they would even work for credits only. Bragging rights. The film companies could send a one or a few known actors over there to shack up for six months and produce half-a-dozen films for nearly pure profit. If you watched those closely you see that almost all the minor and background actors were dubbed in post, because they didn't speak English.
Our film was financed by a dot com group and they seemed to behave like insanely powerful tough-guys. Being artificially cheap inflated their egos. There was a rivalry between Hollywood and Silicon Valley, the dot-commers were the new brat kids trying to "disrupt" the firm grip of Hollywood.
The DP and I hopped in the Jeep and he drove us into the valley of red top sandstone cliffs. The dusty red land contrasted perfectly with the blue horizon. The features were beautiful, yet looked like ruins from an ancient alien civilization, evacuated and abandoned after a war of mass destruction. The film Star Blasters 5 was filmed there, with Greta Jamison hopping from cliff to cliff in simulated low-gravity while laser-blasting giant space insects. But we were making a Western-style romance film.
"Check out that cool rock bridge formation, Derek. Let's get out and take a look."
He stopped the Jeep and we jumped out onto the dusty path. I had the feeling we were on the surface of Mars, and I wondered if maybe there were small grassy spots like Earth on Mars. Rich guys wanted to move to Mars for some reason.
This place was named "Devil's Fire" because the red rocks appeared to be on fire.
Brandon was scoping out the shots he wanted. "We definitely need drone footage around here. Let's climb up there and look around."
We made our way up to the top of the bridge. I turned and didn't see Brandon anywhere. The sun was gone but the moon was nearly full and shined bright.
"Brandon!"
Did he fall? I didn't hear him fall. We climbed up closely together. The Jeep hadn't budged.
"Bran-don! Hey dude, were are you?"
I noticed the shape of a person farther down the bridge. How the hell Brandon got that far away from me I couldn't figure out. I replayed the thoughts in my mind; maybe my mind had played tricks on me.
"There you are Brandon. I see you. Coming your way."
I walked across the bridge toward Brandon. He hadn't replied which was unsettling. Maybe he couldn't hear me, or I couldn't hear him. He was just standing there motionless. What was he doing?
As I approached it became clear that this person was not Brandon. I slowed my approach about ten feet away, when I realized this person was a woman. Staring at me.
"Who are..."
I stopped. I could not speak. It was a nightmare and I tried to yell and wake myself up, but the words wouldn't come out, as if my head was wrapped up in cotton balls and duct tape and I was mute. I could feel myself trying to yell, and I felt my chest trying to push out a sound, but I was stuck on pause.
I could not take my eyes away from the woman. She didn't flinch. I was fixed on her; her pheromones or aura or psychic energy had grabbed hold of me and she had my complete attention. I had forgotten all about Brandon. He did not exist in that world.
October 3, 1847. Williamsburg, Virginia. I was driving her in my carriage. The horse hooves clapped on the pebble drive. We came to a clearing and a string quartet was performing for anyone who passed by. Thunder cracked through the music and it started to rain. I offered to stop and pull out my umbrella and she motioned me over to a path turning into the woods. Her blouse was soaked and I could see her dark areola and nipples contrasted through her thin wet veil. The sight of her breasts aroused me. Droplets of rain trickled over her skin rolled in between her breasts. When she unzipped my trousers and slid her hand inside to grab hold of my cock, I was already getting hard. She gently stroked my cock while gazing into my eyes. There were no words exchanged -- only looks. She unbuckled my belt and popped the button on my trousers. As she stood up on the carriage, I slid my trousers down to my knees. The rain pitter-pattered on my cock. She straddled me and I slid my finger into her pussy and felt between her labia. I pulled out a finger dipped of honey and tasted her. Her mouth opened slowly and she made a slight gasp.
Her eyes were locked on mine as she spread her lips and slid her body onto my erection. She put her hand on the back of my neck and started to rock and glide, maneuvering her hips at their joints without moving her upper body, and made slow twerked movements as she rode me. From her lips, a whisper: "don't cum inside me," into my ear as she picked up speed and galloped on my cock even harder. She came as she was bouncing on me full speed and let out a moan that echoed through the forest. It was indeed difficult but I had obeyed her command. She climbed off me and knelt upon the carriage bench, then put her lips on my cock, and licked around my throbbing cock head slowly. I could feel myself edge closer to cumming in her mouth. She stopped just as I was about to cum, momentarily pulled away and whispered again, "don't cum inside me."
My mind was being programmed by a Vegas dealer who was shuffling a deck of cards representing my queue of thoughts. The slapping of the cards down onto the deck was hypnotic and went on much longer than I think it should. Two seconds, right? It was taking minutes, maybe hours -- and there were ten or a hundred or a thousand or even a million decks shuffled all at once. A thousand copies of the dealer's human form, shuffling cards in unison. When I laser-focused and concentrated, I retarded the shuffling motion. All the dealers moved in slow motion. I zoomed around on a deck of the cards and realized they were not traditional French four-suited decks, but multiple suits. Eagles, Crowns, Stars, Moons, Planets, and an Independence Day parade. An army of 10,000 bicycles with cards taped in the wheel spokes. The card slapping sound resumed normal playback speed and amplified and became deafening hypercasusis. I realized each individual card represented an experience in my mind, but new cards -- new memories -- were being inserted into all the shuffles. These were new memories of her.
She put her mouth back on my cock and went deeper, sliding all the way down my shaft. She went full deep-throat on my cock and took me all the way in. I could feel the head of my cock become thicker and engorged inside her mouth. My glans penis rubbing against the soft wall in the back of her throat. She sucked me so hard, I could feel her sucking the cum out of my balls. I was getting close to cumming and told her. But she did not stop. I reached the point of no return and climaxed my hot load down her throat. She swallowed it all down and pulled her face off of me, looked up with a serious scowl then smacked my face, splattering water of my face into the rain. Raindrops met raindrops. "I told you. Don't cum inside me."
March 15, 1967. New York City. The Ides of March. Her and I were in Kelley's Diner sharing a plate of food and a pack of cigarettes after seeing Jay Colantone sing at JP's Cave in the village. She slid a foot out of her heels and arched her leg up, pushed her toes deep into my balls and blew cigarette smoke in my face. When a woman blew smoke in your face that meant she wanted to fuck you. My erection grew solid in my pants. She took another puff and pressed her foot deeper into me. I left a five-dollar bill on the table to cover the bill and took her hand and led her out of the diner. I wanted to fuck this woman and we were miles from any convenient place. I couldn't wait. I pressed her up against a parked Buick Riviera and slid my hand up her skirt. She wasn't wearing panties and her pussy was wet. I found her clit and softly rubbed it. The clit was to be treated like an egg yolk. A delicate touch was needed. If you pushed too hard it would rupture. She unzipped my pants and pulled my cock out into her hands and stroked me. I put a hand on each leg and pulled her up against the car, spreading her legs and opening her up to receive my cock. I thrust inside her and fucked her in public. She tilted her head back and moaned loudly when I exploded my cum inside her pussy. Dogs in the neighborhood barked at her moans. They were cheering her on.
