weird fucking? nah, just fucking weird

Well, I signed up for it, and knew the drill going in. I asked lover for the okay, and he gave it to me. Still, the experience reminds me of the time a naturally large-breasted friend of mine thought she wanted to be a stripper. I played the pimp and drove the bitch to the track. I.e., I took her to the strip joint at lunch, when they have the buffet. The bits on the buffet looked almost as fried and dried as the bits the lady on stage was showing. And she did show. I think she smelled fear in the air, she sensed my gal-pal was looking on intrepidly. So you think you wanna be a stripper honey? Well, these are the the goods. Open up the hood and let her see the carborater, piston rods, fuel pump, etc. She pried her legs so wide, it was an anatomy lesson, even for me. My friend ran outta there going "yipe, yipe, yipe," all the way home. Cured.

I think I'm cured too. After weeks of being background, silent, dogshit on a set, I took up one of my fellow extra's offer to be in his movie. I would get to be in the opening scene and get killed. I was especially pleased, as he knew I was gay, but had no problem casting me in a straight role. Sounds fun, how can you pass up anticipating your own demise? Oh, and it was not only a slasher film, it was a titty film as well. My background pal supplements his income by doing live sex parties where he does his girlfriend. There a big thing now on the hollywood undergound scene. I've been to some gay ones.

I like my extra pal, he's a good guy. If I was in the Desert Storm, he'd be the guy I want running our unit. No nonsense, funny dude. His lady, his PREGNANT lady, has decided she wants to do a movies. They ask me to film a scene where she fucks and kills me. Today, they are filming the fuck scene. Ahh, now I know why I got cast! Anyway, they've piddled around dressing set, making this shit hole of a room, look like a shit hole of a trick palace. It was a foul and pestilent place, this bedroom. Weird metal posters forever locked in 1993. Lots of dust, which was aggravating my cold, my nasal passages were totally blocked. A storage space off a beat-up house out in the San Fernando valley (yup, we did the cliche), they had set up to be a bedroom. There were a bunch of computer monitors fortuitiously stacked in the corner of the room that we were able to use, but not until they "art directed" the shit outta them and made them look all fakey and arrranged. When they were helter-skelter, they looked much more creepy and filthy. Spare parts, severed from their motherboard, left to rot. The camera and lights are finally set. And suddenly, I'm required to be in my boxers, her jacket comes off, and I have a bare-breasted women on top of me. I'm trying to be as professional as possible, but the minute she mounted me, I could feel the heat in her thighs, the blood running through this other human being pressed to me. Weird. The first live breasts I've seen since my moms. It's so overwhelming, it's not sexual. Well, it is and isn't. It's not sexual enough that you get a hard-on, but your hardwiring does commence. Even for gay dudes. Those are naked breasts dangling over me. This person is bouncing up and down on me simulating sex. It's just fucking weird. I don't know how anyone can maintain a relationship and do this for a living. At some point being that close would lead to some sort of intimacy. Or if it doesn't, it means you've got weird shut-off valves to your emotions, and some day those valves may be shut-off for good. On rehearsal, I go bound outta bed, and my large frame breaks it. This sets off a chain reaction that knocks over some computer monitors. Fortunetly, the bed and monitors can be reassembled. Clang, bang, thank you maam.

She's barely weeks into her pregnancy, so it's not like I'm in that twisted of a film. Of course, devilish me tries to take it there. During a quiet space in the scene, I adlibbed "huh, it looks like my daughter's room," and "I feel filthy," when she asks me to take a shower. These takes prolly got ruined, cuz the boom man couldn't hold his laff. I then got off a "Do you have any handsoap?" line as I exited, that I hope they keep in. Of course, these peeps are so straight-ahead, they'll prolly not do it. I changed my written line from a "Oh baby, I can do it all night long" (how fucking corny is that during fucking?), to "I'll fucking bring it all night, woman." Comon, that's totally better. The director, another extra buddy, tried to shush me by saying "follow the script," to me, but I was like, "well, the script is corny." "tell Smoochy Jones the script is corny." The script's writer Smoochy Jones being yet another background artist who's artistic stock has no purchase with me. "Well, i would, but he's not here. So I'll tell you." I mean, I'm buckass naked, and free. What's he gonna do, get someone else to play the fool?

Actually, I wasn't buckass naked. I had my boxer's on, cuz my hips were hidding under hers. But, when I was going to lay down, the hole in my boxer's splayed open, and everyone got a nice shot of my tackle. "We can tape that shut, get me some duct tape," one of the horrified crew said. "I've got a stapler," another said. I opted for the duct tape over my duct.

The gal had a kewl tatoo on her foot that said property of "XXXXX," the name of my extra buddy. I pointed that out I thought it was cool, and she said, "He's got one too, that sez property of me." I tried to joke around whilest she was on top of me, hoping to make it not so bad, but I think she really tried to disconnect and not have a smidge of back&forth with me. She also put her hands over her breasts whenever we weren't filming. I thought that odd, her being a veteran of so many of these. It wasn't like I was looking, I was trying to respect her and not be up in her business. Which made for a weird vibe when doing the scene. I felt we had to be intimate on screen, but yet she made me feel wrong to try and engage her whiles she's bucking up and down on me, or talking to me. So, I just tried to play it like a whore-john relationship, where the whore totally disconnects from the john, in a way that's more obvious than usual to the John, and he gets annoyed. She was rushing my orgasm's end along anyway, so I used that teed-off feeling to bark my line at her. All this thought over a dumb horror slasher movie, but then I'm the guy who figures out backstories for my extra characters. I had to make a fake orgasm, and they wanted me to do the typical over the top male reaction, and I really fought against it. Maybe on screen it will come out that way, but I hate the cheesy cum-shot acting you see most of the time. They asked for it bigger once, but I just kept playing as where I saw it, and let the chips fall where they may. I also had to admit, my Death Cab Tour came in handy: we had to get sound checks, so I just recited the tour while I was sitting in this bed. I also found that doing the tour over and over, the same jokes, etc., helped me re-do the takes. In my improv days, I use to have extreme trouble trying to get a take right once I got past the initial few.

Lunch was tater tots and sloppy joes, served up by the same woman who's tater tits I had just scene bouncing above me. Hard-working actress, doubling as craft services. She did slap my hand, when I tried to eat soup reserved for the crew. I was handcuffed for the scene, and she scratched my chest after I came. There was an argument/discussion about whether to have a close-up depicting me bleeding from the scratch. "Wouldn't I say ow, if someone scratched me deep enuff to draw blood?" Eventually, they decided to not have my chest dripping with blood. Thank god.

I even argued for my own nudity, I was so into it. I have no desire to be caught forever on film as a fat fuck, but I felt it looks stupid to have me putting on boxers after I have sex. You always want to parade around your still-impressive-impaler after sex, on that glorious walk to the bathroom. Thankfully, our director figured out a way for me to just pull up my boxers, like I had pulled them down, but not off my legs for a heat of the moment, or $$$ fuck. That made sense, and spared my sacs from soiling the cinema.

Finally, the day was done, I ate my tater tots & sloppy joes, and glanced for second at a porno mag belonging to the owner of the house. Yuck, it was gross to look at it, having just been stuck in unsettling nudity land. You've just done a scene that eliminates the fantasy element of looking at these random bodies pushed together for $$. By the way: if a film crew ever asks to use your living space, say no. We tore the shite outta that hole. The director calls his girlfriend "Mom," for obvious reasons. But, until I figured out the pregnancy thing (she said she wasn't smoking and drinking suddenly), it was a bit disturbing to hear. Him saying "mom this" and "mom that" to the woman who's mamms are dangling over me. Again, it was just plain fucking weird.