Page 45 of Darling
“He’s older, has a huge dick, and honestly, I’ve been wanting it inside me for so long, but our schedules never line up.” I don’t bother mentioning that I cancelled our last shoot because I wanted to visit him in the hospital instead. “Should be really fun.”
“Fun.”
The spark in his eye transforms into something a little darker. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it had a hint of jealousy to it, butI do know better. He’s turned on, is what it is. And that turns me on.
“Yeah, extremely fun.”
“How much older?” Christian asks.
“Dunno, like forty something?”
“I noticed that a lot of the guys youshoot withare a little older. Is that your type?”
I give him a pointed look. “I mean, yeah. But also, they tend to know what they’re doing on the whole. Fuck, ha, on the ‘hole.’ But like, they’re not just good-looking guys out to make an easy buck who’ve not got the first clue how to make someone feel good. I mean, some of these guys are straight, and it shows.” I laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, lying back and getting pounded can be a good time, but a guy who knows how to work it? I’m choosing that over a twenty-two-year-old gym bro every time. But yeah, it helps that they’re also the sort of guy I’m generally attracted to.”
“Is that important?” he asks. “That you’re attracted to them?”
“In porn, no. It’s not that important. You can have great chemistry on screen with a guy that you have no chemistry with off, and vice versa. It’s happened to me. Fuck, one of my most liked scenes is with a guy I literally could not get out of my apartment fast enough. So I can and have been with guys I’m not attracted to, but it definitely helps if you are. I mean, I certainly enjoy those scenes more.”
“Have you ever wanted more from someone you’ve filmed with? Wanted to spend time with them after the cameras stopped?” He gives me a thoughtful look as he lifts his water. “You said that the human connection you get by doing this job is one of the main reasons you do it. Have you ever wanted to pursue more with someone you’ve been with for work?”
Though this sounds a lot like the kinds of questions I’m askedwhen people think they might want to date a porn star, that’s not what this is. Because Christian has already implied that it’s impossible, and I’m not delusional. I’m not sure how to answer it, because I don’t know how he might respond to the answer. And I don’t want to lie because 1) I’m not a good liar, and 2) What sort of basis is that for anything?
“Yeah,” I admit. “A couple of times. But if they felt the same, then they didn’t think to mention it to me.” I’d had a couple guys want to meet me for a hookup after a shoot, without the cameras, but no one had ever reached out and asked me to the movies and dinner. Older guys like fucking me, younger guys like fucking, so usually it’s just that. I guess I’m just not ‘let’s move in together and get a dog’ sort of material. Christian has an expectant look on his face, like he’s waiting for me to expand. “It’s a strange situation. Sex and intimacy are closely linked for a lot of people, but so many people who do this job are able to—and aim to—keep them very separate. I suppose I’m different in that I don’t really want to. I love being intimate with another person, whether it’s for an hour or a week or whatever. You could say I’m a bit of a slut for it.”
Christian gives me a tender look. “I think what you said in the hospital was extremely insightful. Intimacyisa basic human need, affection and love, too, and given it sounds like you had very little of it as a child, it makes sense that you would seek it out in whatever way you can now as an adult.”
It’s so fucking on point that there’s no use denying it. “Yeah. You’re right.”
A more serious look moves into his eyes. “I can offer you intimacy, Asher, lots of it, but love…” He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Love is not something I can give to you, or anyone else. I’m just not… I’m sorry.”
I feel some thick emotion rise up in my chest, to my throat.I clear it and make a weird dismissive noise. “Yeah, well, right now I just need you to hold up your end of the bargain and let me paint you. You still down?”
He straightens and gives me what must be his political smile, businesslike and earnest. “I am.” He nods.
“Okay, then let’s go.”
Fifteen
Christian
Iwatch by the window as Asher sets about tearing the cellophane from a large canvas and sets it against his dining table. Then he wheels the little trolley across the room and sets it next to it. From his bedroom, he brings out what looks like a bedsheet and drapes it over his sofa. He goes back to the canvas, looks at the couch and then me, and then goes back and removes the sheet.
He looks at me. “How do you feel about being naked?”
“Do youwantme naked?”
He doesn’t give retort with any of his usual sass; he doesn’t even give me the kind of look he might usually to this sort of comment. He studies me carefully, seriously, as he thinks about it. Finally, he nods. “Yeah, I’d like you naked for this.”
“Then I’ll get naked.”
In his bedroom, I strip out of my clothes, hesitating over my underwear. Naked, he said. I slide them off and fold them on top of my clothes. He has a full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door, and I take a moment to study myself in it, wondering how he might capture me. It’s not something I do often, look at myself naked. I know I’m in relatively good shape for my age (heart attack notwithstanding), but there’s softeningaround my middle that I’d rather wasn’t there. A few wrinkles on my forehead that I’d prefer were less visible, and a smattering of grey on my temples—that I know some people find attractive, but in conjunction with everything else, only make me think about aging and death. Asher is twenty-five years old. Almost twenty years my junior. Felix had been, too. What did either of them want with a man twice their age, with half their stamina, and a quarter of their remaining life expectancy? Ultimately, Felix had chosen a man his own age, like Asher should do, too. When Asher is my age, I’ll be in my sixties, if I even make it that far, and though it isn’t the most scandalous age gap I’ve heard of, it’s hardly the most innocuous, either. A knock on the door disrupts the spiral of thoughts about my own mortality.
“If you’re jerking off in there, you could have at least invited me.”
I pull open the door to find him in a torn vest top that hangs loose, showing the sharp lines of his collarbone and his muscled biceps. He’s barefoot and wearing baggy pyjama-style bottoms, which are splattered with paint. His eyes flash with unmistakable heat as he looks me over, his throat moving as he swallows.
“Well, happy fucking birthday to me,” he says quietly.