A Carousel In Silhouette

He nodded, the strain and need and lust evident on his face. She kissed him, and slowly he was inside a little bit. Oh god, the videos never told me it would feel like this. She felt his cock press against her hymen, and she pushed, and ow but then he was through and it started feeling a whole lot better and OH. So full. She held still for a moment.

"Did I hurt you?" he said, concerned.

"Shhh..." she said, and kissed him. She started moving, slowly, and then it started feeling a whole lot better still. Mmmm. And then she was bouncing back harder and harder and oh oh oh oh Unghh and she felt his body tense up like a spring.

"Sophie, I'm gonna..." he groaned.

"Yes. Uh uh uh yes. Yes uh uh uh, do it. In me."

That did it. He made a strangled noise as he emptied his balls deep inside her. She could feel it, hot, filling her and OH, and she came. Hard.

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They lay there, her straddling him, kissing and fondling each other as they slowly regained their senses.

"You know, there's a way we could finish our movie," she murmured.

"Oh? I'm all ears," said Gary.

"Two fake Shemps. You could put on some kind of fat suit to match Trevor's build and play The Politician. It isn't necessary for the scene for The Politician or The Escort to take all of their clothes off. I'll play the Escort. We could film it tonight, and you can alter your voice or Trevor's or both later in software, and I can try to imitate Mrs. Firth. We both know all the lines by heart. We could still finish the movie."

She paused, and grinned, "... and we wouldn't have to simulate anything..."

They hurriedly got dressed, and then hopped into her car and she drove them to the studio. A sudden thought occurred to him and the words were out before his brain caught up. "About Mrs. Firth, how did you kno.. I mean.. um..."

She laughed, stopped at the red light, looked at him. "I know who everyone is, silly. I know you better than anyone. Good job getting Wu to play Little Miss. She's been a lot nicer to me lately." She tromped on the gas as the light turned and they were at the warehouse before you could say

He unlocked the door, and locked it again behind them. Green backlights, on. They stuffed some foam into his t-shirt, and he put the button-down shirt over top. Perfect, just the right amount of paunch. He put on the bald wig and the Groucho nose and glasses, then stood behind the screen while she filmed a short test. He came back out, and they compared his look with the scene Trevor did with Mrs. Boychuk. They made a few adjustments to the foam, another ten second test, and decided it was close enough.

She got into The Escort costume, which required a little padding up top to match Mrs. Firth's rather impressive rack. She was an inch shorter than Mrs. Firth, and Gary was an inch shorter than Trevor, so their heights didn't matter at all. They did another ten second test with her and decided they weren't going to match it any better than that.

He started the camera rolling, and got into position. "Ok, let's go." said Gary. He started the scene.

There was really only two or three minutes of dialogue, and quite a bit of it was direct quotes from earlier in the movie. That one line was really funny when The Banker said it, but coming from The Escort, said with just a tinge of contempt to The Politician, it had a completely different meaning, and wasn't funny at all. There were a few lines during the sex, too, but much of that was ad-libbed. It was much easier for her this time, hardly any discomfort at all, and it felt sooo good. They ended the scene.

Gary and Sophie walked around to the front of the set, hand in hand, and then sat down and watched the scene they had just filmed. They were cuddling together on adjacent stacking chairs, watching their shadows seduce each other, coupling. A few minutes into the sex scene, she whispered:

"We can't use this, Pickle."

He looked at her, resigned. "I know, Spud. We did the dialogue ok, but..."

"But the sex is wrong. It's supposed to be strictly a business deal between a skeezy politician and an escort."

"And that isn't what we filmed."

"No. That was two lovers making love." They kissed. It went on. He found himself getting hard again.

"Want to try take two?" He winked.

She laughed. "Unless I counted wrong, this is our third time tonight. You betcha."

They did the scene again, nailed the lines again, and this time once he got going he just pounded it into her. She started to cum, and he just kept pounding, harder and faster and... animal. She had another orgasm, and another. And then she screamed his name. Not the character's name, he was just The Politician. "GARY!"

He started laughing as he came inside her for the third time tonight.

That started her laughing too. They were laughing and kissing and half-crying and holding each other close.

"Well, I think we fucked that take up," he chuckled, stroking her hair.

She smiled up at him with dreamy eyes. "What took you so long?" She kissed him. "I've all but thrown myself at you for the last two years."

He grinned. "Trev's right. I've been a fucking idiot. But I'm learning." He kissed her. "Thank you. For everything." Soon their hands were roaming all over each other, exploring. He started to kiss her neck, that little soft spot just below the ear, nibbling on her earlobe, smelling her, tasting her, and she moaned. She started stroking him, and it's wonderful to be eighteen. They were able to do a third take. This time, they managed to stay in character. It was easier to do that this time, because they were both starting to get a little sore and tired. Sophie didn't think she'd be able to walk normally for a week. They finished the scene, and then watched themselves in takes two and three.

"Ok, that's it. Take three is going in the movie. That's a wrap. Takes one and two, those I'm saving forever. Those are just for us." He smiled at her. Then they were holding each other close, just resting, his arm around her shoulder and her head snuggled in the crook of his neck.

A few minutes later they decided they were finished for the night. Cleanup of the place could wait until the morning. They shut everything down, locked up and left.

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When he changed his relationship status on Facebook to "in a relationship with Sophie Taylor", the comments confirmed that he had, indeed, been a blind fucking idiot.

no shit, Sherlock.

well, duh.

only since forever

this is my shocked face

thanks, Captain Obvious

Even her dad was mocking him:

Breaking news from Spain: Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.

They tore down the set and the dressing rooms, packed everything up in her car (it took five trips with just the two of them, good thing it was a hatchback), returned the rental stuff, and emptied out the warehouse. He spent the next week studying for finals, editing together the movie, altering voices in software and trying to fix the sound levels, adding backgrounds with the chroma-key software, and spending time with Sophie.

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How do you have a screening for the cast when you want to keep their identities secret, even from each other? Or, at least allow them a way to pretend that they don't know who everyone is?

Vladimir Putin's little black dress showed an impressive amount of cleavage. He was looking way up at a very buff Richard Nixon, chatting quietly. All around the room were small groups of two and three, waiting for Gary to start the movie. Side by side, Barack Obama and Jimmy Carter looked like Laurel and Hardy as they bantered with Margaret Thatcher. Hillary Clinton giggled and gave Donald Trump a playful slap on the arm, her fingers lingering. Bill Clinton was wearing a tight-fitting blue dress, showing off his long, toned legs; he and another Nixon were flirting with John McCain.

"I'd like to thank you all for coming," said Gary, with Sophie by his side. "If you'll all get seated we'll start the show."

It was a big screen TV in a small room: close enough to a movie theater, he figured. The credits rolled, a carousel horse moving in time to Craig's music:

The Carousel. Starring: The Carousel Players. Based on the play La Ronde by Arthur Schnitzler. Adapted for the screen by Sophie Taylor. Music by Craig Dumont. Directed by Gary Sullivan. Produced by Gary Sullivan and Sophie Taylor. Chapter One: The Soldier and The Escort.

The small, admittedly biased audience laughed in all the right places, gasped together, thoroughly enjoyed themselves watching their own performances. There was even a little hanky panky going on in the dark, some heavy breathing going on under those masks. The show was over too soon. In singles and pairs, most of the cast left shortly afterwards.

Margaret Thatcher came up to Gary after the show. "Gary, I'm sorry I... flaked out on you like that."

"It's ok, we got it done anyhow, everything worked out all right."

"No, it isn't all right. You were counting on me and I let you down. I want to make it up to you." She told him what she had in mind.

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Mrs. Firth basically acted as Gary's distribution agent. She had a few connections in the art house movie world, and she called a few people, and sent out a few compressed video files. A few theaters expressed interest, and three of them showed The Carousel for a week each. It had an R rating. And the reviews started coming back:

"The director is obviously talented and uses his unique medium adequately, but visually the production is rough around the edges. At times the sound quality is muffled and pretty bad in places, frankly. But the story is deceptively good, leading the viewer down one path until the last scene, where we find we've been on a completely different path all along. The story is well paced and well told, and the actors, although obviously all amateurs, are completely convincing in their roles, in particular The Escort. I won't give away the ending, because it changes the way you see the rest of the movie. Worth seeing a second time."

It wasn't a blockbuster. It wasn't even a hit. It certainly wasn't a masterpiece, but so what? Dark Star and Clerks and THX-1138 weren't masterpieces either, and look where John Carpenter and Kevin Smith and George Lucas are today. How many movies has Kevin Smith made now, thirty seven?

Gary made most of his money back, but in the end it was actually a small financial loss. But that didn't matter. He had made a feature-length movie, and it had been shown in a theater, and people had paid their own money to see it. Not one of the reviews was truly bad, all of them praised the story, and none noted the different actors in the last scene, so apparently that ruse had worked.

Those art house directors had a few connections too, and a few copies of the movie began floating around Hollywood, and into the hands of a few executives. People were impressed with the director's raw talent, but they really wanted that writer.

And before he had entered film school, even before graduating high school, the Director's Guild was pestering him for union dues. Sophie also found herself paying dues to the Screenwriter's Guild. And both of them were ok with that. They had their feet in the door of the movie industry, and a future in front of them.

They wrote their final exams. Gary managed a B average in Math that year, and they both graduated.

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Yeah, sure, they were a little young, but nobody was surprised in the slightest. Mostly it was just family and a few friends, nothing really big. They were saving up for him to go to film school and getting her established as a screen writer; she already had an agent and had been approached by three studios. The way the offers were coming in, she'd be able to support them both while he went to school, and once he graduated the sky was no limit.

They took the pictures in front of a big tree in her parents' back yard, right under a small tree house with a cute little balcony.

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They were nine years old, reading comic books in Tree Fort. Out of the blue she said if he showed her his, then she'd show him hers. So he did, and she did. She laughed and said it looked like a little pink pickle, and she was going to call him Pickle from now on. "Oh yeah? Well yours looks like... like... like a potato! If you ever ever EVER call me Pickle then I'm going to call you... Spud!"