Page 54 of Hello Darling
15
Evan
Isend a text to “Sassy AmericanGirl” requesting that she come to base camp and meet me at my trailer, which bears the nameplate “Alan Winslow” after my character’s name, in half an hour. I tell her that the security guard (a retired policeman) and my burly on-set production assistant (a dude who clearly doesn’t give a shit if I bang someone in my trailer but seems a bit chatty) will be around outside the trailer and have been advised to let her in. I told them that she is my “dialect consultant.” She doesn’t even have a clever response to text back to me, surprisingly. She must be busy.
Exactly half an hour later, I’m startled by two loud knocks on my trailer door. My PA’s patented two-knock alert.
“How’s it going?” I hear Stella ask.
“Not bad. How’s it going for you?”
“It’s going well.”
I open the trailer door and reach down to help my lady up the steps. The first thing I notice is that her big brown eyes are pink-rimmed like she has allergies. The next thing I notice is that she’s wearing a large formless coat and those black high-heeled boots that remind me of the first time I tasted her, and frankly, that’s all I expect to be thinking about for a while. “Hello darling,” I say. “I’m ready for my lesson.”
“I’m ready to give it to you,” she says, saucily.
I nod at the P.A. and shut the door. I’m wearing sweats and I hug her over her big coat, even though it’s wet, and she makes a cooing sound.
This is her first time in my trailer. It’s a big one. Fit for a king, but cozy. I keep it neat, of course. The TV is on, the blinds are closed, and now the air smells of Stella—fresh baked goods and a hint of a musky citrusy floral something or other. Whatever it is—one whiff and I’m a goner.
“It’s good to see you,” I say, as I pull away from her. “Thanks for popping by. I have to be in the hair and makeup trailer in an hour.”
“Okay. So, do you usually put a sign on the door that says ‘If this trailer’s rockin’ don’t bother knockin’?”
“I’m usually far too professional to do the things we’re about to do in a trailer. Best we stay as quiet and still as possible.”
“That will be a challenge.”
“You up for it?”
“I can see that you are…” She reaches for the unapologetic bulge in the front of my sweatpants and leans in to kiss me, before removing her voluminous coat.
Because I am a gentleman, I reach for her coat to help her take it off and then hang it up on the hook behind the door. Because this woman makes me feel like a naughty gentleman, when I turn to see that she’s wearing her sexy sailor Halloween costume, I grunt and mutter: “Well, fuck me…Ahoy, matey.” It’s not quite as revealing as it was in my filthy imagination ever since she first told me of it, but I don’t know which is stronger—the urge to make her get down on all fours to scrub the deck so I can spank that naughty ass or the urge to spank her, throw that coat back over her and reprimand her for wearing that outfit to a party that I was not present at.
“Know where I can find any nice seamen?” She blinks at me innocently.
Her top is so low-cut and her breasts are so pushed-up in it, they’re like two flesh-colored fishing buoys stuffed into a tube sock. Yeah—there are just too many urges to act on. In the end, I always just want to stare at her and touch her and kiss her all over.
I whistle. “Well, I can see why you were so popular on Halloween.”
She covers her face, adorably embarrassed. “I can’t believe I wore this in public.”
“I can’t believe I only have forty-five minutes to get off with you.”
“In the dialect of these parts, we say ‘make out with you.’”
“Fuck that. Get those parts over here now.” I sit down on the padded bench and pat my lap, hold my arms outstretched.
She straddles me, careful not to rock the trailer, but it seems sturdy enough.
I bite my lower lip as I stare down at her sublime tits. “At least we know you’d never drown…”
She laughs, quietly. “I told my friend Mona, who lives in Portland, about you today. She said she’d drown me in the tears of the millions of women who’d die just to kiss you and hear you say their name if I don’t enjoy this fling.”
“Sounds like you’d better enjoy it, then.”
Last time we were together, Stella and I had the “I’m clean” / ”I haven’t had sex without a condom in years” / ”Me neither” / “I’m on the pill” conversation, so we are no longer using those custom-made products from Cocklandia. It just felt so damned good and I never expected to feel so close to her so soon.
