Perspectives

Content Warning:

This story contains very rough sex and dubious consent. While both parties are eager participants, there are elements of fear, resentment, and anger which provoke a loss of control. Reader caution is advised.



Michael - A New Day

I'm not a star, not really. You'd recognize my face, I think, and maybe my name. I've a few characters that got famous, and more than a few performances I'm proud of. But a star? Nah.

Maybe that's why I've been able to so consistently work in this town and across the pond — I don't have much of an ego about it or inflated sense of self. In terms of acting skill I don't feel that its really being arrogant to say that I'm good, even great some of the time. I can carry a movie as a villain or a lead.

I'm still human, though. I still make mistakes. I sin and people sin against me.

Things got bad in my marriage before I left. It was for the best. Anyone looking to lay blame would find a six and two threes. And, both of us are grateful for our two sons, Sam and Max. The divorce hit me harder than I expected. Still, we get on far better now that we're apart than we ever did together. We're basically friendly again, and both of us adapt to the other's schedule. My ex is a set designer and prop maker. She'd been busy day and night working on a new job for the last few months, so I had the boys around almost all the time, except on weekends. Now that she was done, she had taken them on a nice long vacation. I'd miss them, of course, but it made sense. I had a new television job starting soon and I couldn't be around much anyway.

Still, sometimes I missed my ex-wife's company, and by that I mostly mean the sex. It was good. She was a looker, game for almost anything, and liked things a bit rougher than the average girl. Almost perfect. I had the occasional one-night stand, but most of them weren't anything to write home about.

I suppose I'm famous enough that it's not too hard for me to find company for the night. It might be easier for me to find someone to fuck, but that doesn't mean that is any easier to find the right someone. I was, perhaps futilely, still looking for some kind of emotional connection.

All of this is a very long way of saying that I had a good life, with some damage in it, like most everyone. I had few real complaints. Perhaps an emptiness, but easily filled with the work of learning a new role or a quick trip to somewhere nice.

I threw on a shirt and jeans, made coffee, and ambled over to my workspace, really just a laptop on a glass desk. My apartment had a decent view of the city, for which I paid a great deal. On days like this when the smog wasn't quite as present, it made it all worth it.

It was around nine, when I would usually have a quick gab with Sarah, my personal assistant and all around wizard. I called her and, like always, she answered within a few seconds, platinum blonde hair neatly arranged, makeup somehow perfect.

I'd have flirted with her if it weren't so unprofessional. Well, that's not precisely true. She was too good for my sort of work already. It was only a matter of time before I lost her to someone far more significant than I, but in the mean time I counted myself blessed.

"Morning, boss," she said in her wholesome midwestern accent.

"Morning, Sarah. What have I got today?"

"Nothing too heavy. A podcast interview over lunch."

"Where was that again?"

"The studio is right above little taco shop in Culver City. Seems like its pretty informal. I've listened to the podcast before, just for fun. It's informal, conversational. Sneak in a line or two about your next part and otherwise just relax."

"All right, sounds good. I'll be taking the afternoon to practice my lines, maybe get dinner later. Once you've finished with the accounting and contract review, take the rest of the day off. I know its been late nights for the past week or so."

She flashed her smile, bright whites. Again I wondered why she was working as my PA rather than trying to be a model, but I wasn't going to push my luck.

"Will do, boss. Good luck!"

The late nights were primarily due to the extrication of my finances from my ex-wife. It wasn't acrimonious, but rather complex. Neither of us wanted to take too much, and both of us wanted to protect our boys' futures.

I spent the remainder of the morning not really thinking of the podcast interview. Instead I read and re-read my lines for the pilot of "The Old Blood". It was good, dramatic horror. Gothic in the classic sense of the word. But it was also clear that an American had written dialogue for the British characters, and I made some notes. Nothing too harsh, just things to make it feel more natural. By the time I finished with my lines and sent the file back to the writer, it was time for me to get ready if I didn't want to be late.

I had no earthly idea of where this would lead.

Layla - The Beginning

I'm Layla. My mom loved everything Eric Clapton and that includes the song. I'm indifferent to it, but people say its pretty, and I might change it soon just to be safe. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

For now, I need to tell you about myself. I need you to understand where I'm coming form. I don't want you to think I'm just a slut. I am, and I own it, but my motivations have never been to hurt anyone.

Really, they've just been to alleviate my own hurt.

My mom wouldn't tell me about my dad. She did a great job of being a single mother, even without a lot of cash, and she taught me how to be tough and self-reliant. She was a makeup artist, sought after by some big names in Hollywood. I didn't really understand this, but I did get to meet a lot of actresses and actors and people in the film industry, just by being with my mom on set or elsewhere. I had some male role models around — good teachers, a b-list actor who helped my mom out with some stuff — but no one close. I didn't even really miss having a dad until I was a teenager.

Then something hit me, hard. I don't know what it was, exactly. I felt like I was missing something inside, and I had this…this need for validation and care that only a dad could provide. Lots of older guys will happily play ‘daddy' for a cute young girl, but they won't actually mean any of it. For them it was good fun and for me it was serious. I gave too much of myself and made a few mistakes, but I learned from them. At first I had enjoyed the physical aspects and the taboo nature of the relationships and roleplay, but I realized I needed an emotional connection that was never present with these men who just saw me as a way to get off. By the time I turned eighteen, I was a little bit wiser, but I had come to a single conclusion: if my father was alive, I intended to find him.

I still had a lot of fantasies about what my daddy was like, and what we'd do when we met. I won't lie - not all of them were wholesome. Some were downright nasty. But nothing prepared me for the actuality of what ended up happening.

Mom didn't want to help me to find my father. She actively resisted it. We fought a lot over it, more than we had ever fought over the typical teenaged stuff. Eventually, I stopped asking her, I moved out on my own, and our relationship got a lot better. I started school, but when mom died suddenly from undiagnosed heart disease, it hit me hard. I started looking for anything to distract myself, to give my life meaning. My connections through my mother really paid off. I'd wanted to be an actress at one point (haven't we all?) but as time passed I realized I found the culture more interesting than the work itself.

So I started a podcast, like lots of people. But somewhat differently, some of mom's friends were willing to show up and be interviewed by me. I started out with softball questions, not wanting to offend, but I found that I had a conversational style that made people want to open up to me. I never did anything underhanded or manipulative, they just told me stories that they had never told anyone else, sometimes embarrassing or funny or deeply personal. I started to get a following of people, and the reviews all talked about how "real" my show was. I opened up some income streams. Got a few sponsors. A Patreon.

I was finally making some money, and it shocked me. A friend of mine, Jean, a b-movie scream queen and generally hilarious person, joined my podcast. We started doing live shows. Nothing major. But lots of people came. We stuck to the west coast, still local.

So I had some success, and financial stability at a young age. And that let me start looking for father for real. I hired private investigators, got access to specialized software databases, even hired a lawyer. I kept a layer of fiction between me and the investigation so that everyone thought they were actually investigating on behalf of a "close family friend". Eventually, through methods that were not entirely ethical, I had a name. I couldn't get a DNA test done, not yet, but my people were 95% certain that this was the right guy.

I had dreamed for a long time that my father would turn out to be a movie star, but the fact that he was still shocked me. Even more startling, and shameful, he was someone I already kind of had a crush on. I mean, lots of people do, so thats not that weird. Is it?

Anyway, the point is, I knew who my father…my daddy was. And I already had a way to meet him. I sent out an invitation to his agent, who passed it on. I waited patiently. Well, I barely kept myself from calling them every day, but still, it paid off. I got him booked on the podcast…and his first available date was only two weeks away.

This was it. My chance.

I wouldn't waste it.

Michael - The Podcast

I managed to arrive and find a parking place on time, something of a miracle at that hour. I was smart if a bit casual in a fitted shirt and plain jeans. Nothing that would stand out. It was, thankfully, audio only. I followed my directions and went up some rickety stairs at the side of the building. That didn't reassure me but the plain metal door opened into a nice lounge, and I could see the studio behind a sturdy glass door. Two women sat before microphones at a simple table, chatting and laughing.

The older of the two, a cheerful woman with a head of unruly red hair and a Metallica crop top waved me in with a smile. The younger had black hair, a tight t-shirt with a classic Dracula poster on it, and she was somewhat frantically going through her bag. I would be lying if I said I didn't notice the latter more than the former. She had flawless makeup, perfect hair, and eyes that invited me to look into them. It's a bit of a cliché but I certainly felt something when I saw her. There were a million attractive women in L.A., but something about her drew me immediately.

I entered the comfortable closeness of the studio. I'd grown to appreciate little audio shows like this. Only a few people on staff, very informal, no pressure. The questions tended to be better and the conversations more enjoyable. It was also an easy way to promote whatever I happened to be in without much effort. I sat down at the round table in front of a microphone.

"I'm Jean and that beauty over there rifling through her bag is Layla," the readied said.

"Hi," Layla paused and looked up at me, before waving. My first impression was that she seemed oddly shy and quiet to be on a podcast.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Jean asked. "We have, um, water…and coke. And thats basically it."

"Water would be fine."

As Jean got me water from a cooler in the corner, I truly noticed Layla. To my amusement, I could tell that she was doing everything she could to avoid simply staring at me, but was still peeking from the corner of her eye when she thought I wasn't looking. It wasn't annoying, but it was rather cute.

"Don't mind Layla," Jean said with a smirk, setting the ice cold bottle of water in front of me. "She just has something of a puppy crush on you. She'll warm up once she gets going."

"J-Jean! That's not…I mean…I'm not..." Layla started, suddenly flushed with embarrassment. Then she paused, relieved, and smiled. The simple change of expression changed everything about her, it seemed, brightening the room. "There! I knew I had my tablet. It has all of my questions on it."

"Oh, I thought this was going to be pretty informal?"

"Where's the fun in an interview if you don't get some hardball questions?" Jean asked, with a wink.

I honestly already liked both of them. The session itself went about as well as such things can. The conversation was witty, with Jean throwing in some innuendo now and then. They both asked questions that were interesting, and not the type of thing that I was fully accustomed to. Layla, in particular seemed to have done some extensive research on my past, and had questions about my early acting education (mostly learning through getting lucky on a few minor roles) and work in L.A, including some of the things I'd rather forget about. The city has a long memory for things like drug use, however. It was all friendly, however, and fun.

"So, can you tell us about your latest project?" Jean asked, finally, signaling that we were near the end of the interview, giving me the standard courtesy of self-promotion.

"Yes. It's called Old Blood. I get to play a traditional historical horror role with a bit of a predatory twist. The cast is tremendous, and I think its going to have a great reception and to be honest, I love every day on the set there."

"I'd love it too if I got paid to get in bed with Rebecca Vanders," Layla said, a bit more cattily than I had expected. Rebecca was a gorgeous blonde, but more importantly an incredible performer, and I was playing one of her romantic interests. While I did not expect it here, I had become used to the professional abilities of women being dismissed due to their appearance. My response was driven by that experience.

"She's a very skilled actress, and its past time she go to be a lead in something of this scale. She's really been stuck in supporting roles for far too long. Its a privilege to work with her, appearance notwithstanding."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything," Layla said, although she clearly had. That being said, she sounded genuinely apologetic. She added something interesting, after. "When I was really young I got to meet her on the set of Kid Stuff. She was really patient with me and I'm sure I asked a lot of annoying questions. I'm glad she's finally getting recognition."

The recording ended on that note, and we bantered a bit before leaving. Then, Jean got a call. She apologized but took it. I often wonder what might have happened if she had ignored it.

As soon as the conversation was just between myself and Layla, it was as though the atmosphere changed. Before, based on her demeanor, I would have placed her in her mid to late twenties, but now, I would have said she was twenty, or even younger. She looked at me, pretense gone, all eagerness. It was enchanting, if I'm honest.

"Do you want to get some dinner later?"

Layla - An Innocent Proposal

I couldn't believe that I even asked him! I wanted to play it cool, maybe see if he'd ask me out first. That would have been ideal for a number of reasons. I certainly wasn't planning on inviting him to dinner that night, and in front of Jean, too!

Not that she would think badly of me, but she'd definitely be asking me for details later if we did go out. It didn't matter. For a moment, I could see his dark eyes grow cold, and I was certain he was going to refuse me.

"Sure," he said, making my heart race easily with his lopsided smile. "I'll pick you up at about eight? Maybe somewhere a bit upscale if you're up for it. My treat."

"Uh…um…yes. That sounds wonderful. I'll text you my address."

And of course texting him my address meant that he had to give me his mobile number, and just like that, we had a date. I ignored his grin. I knew that he was pleased by my embarrassment. Something about that made it even worse. And better. I squirmed where I stood, without thinking.

I don't remember much of the rest of the conversation, or that afternoon. I was in a daze…a potent mix of anticipation and fantasies. Too many of them were sexual. As I got ready, I reminded myself with each glance at the mirror that being appealing and seductive was a means to an end, and that end was absolutely not seducing the man I believed to be my father, but simply to get him to open up to me a bit.

Sometimes I even believed it.

In any case, I was sure that this would be the night that I would tell him. I would wait, see if he'd drink enough to loosen up his tongue. I wasn't trying to trap him in any material away, I was making decent money, had contacts. I simply didn't want him to be in any condition to deny the possibility of his fatherhood. In fact, ideally, he would be willing to part with some of his DNA for a test.

I could have stolen it from him, taken it from the lip of his water bottle or found a way to steal some hair. I told myself that I didn't do it because of the moral implications, but here I was, still using deception to reach the same ends.

The truth, as even I knew it then, was that I wanted to spend at least a little bit more time with my daddy as a woman, and not his daughter. I wanted to feel his gaze moving over me. I wanted to be the sole focus of his…attentions. I wanted to feel what maybe my mother had felt, and for a few moments, maybe have that sense of validation that I'd been aching for.

Even his presence was somehow addictive. By the time I'd finished slipping into my sexy-yet-understated little black dress and making my eyes look devastatingly smoky, I was craving him. That worried me. An infatuated girl made more mistakes. My mom taught me that.

Michael arrived a little bit late, not out of any urge to be fashionable, but because despite his preparations, traffic was worse than expected. I didn't hold it against him. I was smiling pretty widely when I hopped into the passenger seat of his Mercedes at the curb. He pulled away quickly, so he couldn't get a good look at me, but I was able to study him as he drove. He wore a dark gray suit, no tie, collar a bit open, very slick but still somehow just a bit casual. He was focused while he drove, precise and careful, eyes intense, even a bit frightening. The woodsy scent of his cologne, understated and undoubtedly expensive, wafted over to me and made me a little light-headed. I bit my lip and tried to sound sophisticated.

"Good to see you, Michael."

"Same to you. Sorry I'm late."

"Five minutes over isn't late. Especially in this town."

We paused at a stop light long enough for his eyes to wander over me, taking me in from my strappy heels to my thighs, skirt, and bare shoulders. I shivered slightly. This was going to be a difficult night if I couldn't contain my reactions.

"You look gorgeous."

"Thanks. You look, um…nice, too," I said, before mentally kicking myself. Nice? He looked like sex in a suit and all I could come up with was ‘nice'?"

We were fairly silent for the rest of the drive. There was quite a bit of traffic and not everyone was as good a driver as he was, so I didn't want to distract him. I used the time to calm myself, and remember why I was doing this. I was going to be charming, sexy, and fun. I was going to get him to admit some things that would either confirm or deny his relationship with my mother. I would then tell him either here, or at a later time, of my suspicions and ask for a DNA test. An easy, straightforward plan.

You know what they say about plans, though. Before I knew it we had parked and he had ushered me in to the restaurant, his hand a firm presence on the small of my back.

The place was nice. I realized that I had heard of it, before, a traditional-if-upscale Portuguese restaurant. It was small, cozy even, with candle light. I looked around and saw a producer that I recognized.