This story can only be found bundled with the Erotic Novella “Bonding with the Babysitter”
It wasn’t maternal.
It was very confusing.
I’m looking through a 21 mm lens and all his features are exaggerated. The red quiff. The black and white check three piece drape. The brothel creepers. Curling up towards me. The skin of a child. Fair. Milky. Soft as a cream bun. The injections are working. I can feel them. Soon I’ll be ready to haul my fat ass down to the clinic for the egg collection. In the meantime. There’s this little job. And I’m telling him he’s gorgeous. It’s just right. Could he lean into the lamp post. Incline his head just a touch. Show us your teeth. And I’m getting closer. I had no close-ups in mind but here I can feel his breath. He’s sucking on a lolly. It’s bulging out his cheek and I don’t know if it fits the shot but I want to be the rhubarb and custard flavored dome in his wee little gob being alternately sucked upon and layered in a good slather of saliva with a good tonguing all the way around. And he knows. And he likes it. And as far as everyone else is concerned. There’s a weird mutton dressed as lamb taking photos in the Glasgow drisel of a summer’s day of a boy. Not yet known. Not yet holding back, and self-assured, and keeping a low profile, and covering his ass and cynical. A touch. Here’s a young lad full of pleasure for his drape. His quiff. His hair wash at the end of the day. His ministering. The makeup girls. The hairdos. The costume fiddling. And all those girls just waiting on him. All those girls just waiting on him. All those girls not ready to knock off till the last strand of his deep red hair is given a good rinse. And here. He’s staring back into a lens that’s closer and closer. And it’s manned by a girl.
A woman rather. With long black wavy hair. Who’s come specially for him. To look through one lens after another. One camera after another. Tell him he’s just the fucking business. And she seems to understand he’s got that extra bit. The look that means he’s worth it. He’s worth getting it bloody well right because he’s heading off this Glasgow shoot and out of this drizzle for L fucking A. For London for sure.
FOR AN AGENT THAT COUNTS. AFTER THIS MOVIE. AFTER THIS BREAK. AND THIS GIRL’S A GOOD SIGN. AND SHE’S LOOKING INTO MY EYEBALLS AND I JUST MIGHT FIND MYSELF PULLING DOWN ON THAT DARK BLACK HAIR CAUSE SHE UNDERSTANDS. SHE CAN JUST SEE. I CAN TELL.
I’m on to group shots now. And I’ve got two of them waiting. But I can’t stop. On these two. And I don’t know who to look at. Cause now there’s the naughty one with the dark curls and the side burns and he’s so cute. You’re just tremendous, boys. Will you look into the camera now. Will you lift your chin. What of a smile? Shall we go for a grin? Try a rollie again. Yes, give me the smoke. Let it out slow. No. Not you. Just that look you gave me there. You know the one. Try that again. You boys are just bloody amazing. D’you know that? And I’ve a mind to lay this fucking apparatus down on the damp ground and hold the poor wee boys’ heads together in my palms and kiss them both. Licking the outline of their cupid bows. One, after the other. Taking my saliva to follow their teeth. Lap at their tongues. A messenger bringing saliva from number 1 to number 2. And I don’t even know their names. Just their movie characters. And I know they know.
That they’d go along happily and excited cause it’s all new and a lark and
HELL THIS FILM IS JUST THE BEGINNING FOR ME AND SHE’S GIVING ME THAT PIERCING LOOK AND I KNOW SHE CAN SEE IT’S ME THAT HAS IT. THAT EXTRA WEE DOLLOP OF SEXUAL CHARISMA OR SUMMAT,
After the self-congratulators in the pub on Renfrew street I commandeer the lads. Like help us with the shopping, boys, my arms free, my steps jaunty with anticipation. They trundle my tripods, lenses and bodies past the chief cook and bottle washer of my tastefully decorated upmarket accommodation. This time she doesn’t press her mushroom risotto, merely lets me feel her eyeballs on my back as she and her son watch from the empty dining room. Great shoot! I call to my friend of last night, strain for the plaque “visitors not allowed”.