Chapter 3

It’s hot on a film set. Even standing just off the set, which was where I’d mostly been up to now, it was pretty hot but on the set itself, it’s roasting. Those lights are strong and there’s plenty of them. And they give off a ton of heat. So even in the vast, usually cold, open space of the warehouse that passed for Jim Lad Productions studio facility, it was damn hot on set.

During my audition, I’d been dressed casually—and coolly—in jeans and a t-shirt to begin with—before stripping off and fucking Amber like she’d—literally—never been fucked before. For today’s scene, they had me wearing a suit and open-neck shirt—thankfully, they didn’t go as far as a tie. And added to that there was now this whole ‘mystery’ about Emma, I mean Kitty, and revealing her to me during the shoot...

I was hot from the lights, wearing hot clothes, nervous about shooting the scene and suddenly nervous about seeing my wife too—what would she look like? Had they gone “retro” and made her look like she did in the Eighties or Nineties? How would I react to seeing her? Would that reaction be ‘right’ for the film?

“Relax,” Mel said, calmly. “You’ll do fine. And if you’re worried about what Emma looks like ... Don’t. She looks amazing. I mean, she always looks good, but today...”

I smiled at her. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

“Liar.” She held my gaze and added, “I can see it in your eyes. But not just that though. Whenever you’re nervous or worried about something you do this thing with your wedding ring.”

“What thing?” I asked, looking down at my left hand.

“You kind of stroke it with your thumb. It’s like you’re trying to twist it around your finger.”

As soon as she said that I realised that she was right, I did that a lot.

I shrugged. “I just—”

“Just nothing. Relax and do your thing. And let Emma do her thing.”

“You mean Kitty.”

“Whatever. Just do what you do, what you two always do, and it’ll make this the best movie this studio makes all year. Trust me.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“Okay,” called Daisy, “Quiet on the set. We’re rolling. Mel, in your own time...”

Mel looked directly into the camera, smiled and lifted the microphone to just below her chin.

“Hey everyone, thanks for joining us. We have a real treat for you today. A real treat. In a little while, I’m going to bring out one of, if not the, biggest and best British adult star of the late eighties, early nineties. She’s been out of the spotlight for a long time, but she’s finally making a return to the business and you get to see her in action first. The amazing Miss Kitty Rodgers. Or should that be Mrs Kitty Rodgers?

“Because before I bring Kitty out, I’d like you to meet the newest cock to enter the industry. A man who I’m certain is going to be a huge hit with the ladies and make all you guys out there very, very jealous. He is Kitty’s real-life husband and he’s here with me now. Please welcome, Dick Rodgers!”

There was a smattering of applause from off set.

“I should explain,” Mel said, “that today we have more than a few visitors to the set. Kitty’s comeback and Dick’s debut are highly anticipated by those in the know. And somehow they’ve all managed to be here today to see it in the flesh—so to speak.” She raised an eyebrow and flashed a predatory grin at the camera.

Then she turned her attention to me. I glanced around and noticed one of the cameras pointing directly at me.

“So, Dick, I hear you have a really fat cock and you know how to use it. Is that true?”

“Well, I guess you’d know from experience, Mel.”

“Oh, hell, yes!” She turned back to the camera, “Guys, you know me, I’ve fucked the best. At least, I thought I had. Then Dick here fills me with his fat dick and turns me into an orgasmic puddle. I swear, he had me begging him to stop.”

“It was your own fault,” I said. “You called me an Old Man.”

“That’s because you are an Old Man. But an Old Man with a fat cock and an amazing tongue. Now, tell me, Dick, are you looking forward to your new career.”

“I’m looking forward to turning you into yet another orgasmic puddle, but this time with everyone watching.” I winked at the camera and people off set started laughing.

“Okay, okay. We’ll see. I have a few tricks for our first film together that you haven’t seen yet. We’ll see who ends up a puddle.” She looked into the camera again and said, “Okay, shall we get today’s star attraction out here? First, here’s a little history lesson.”

She paused for a few seconds—just long enough to allow the editors to cut in the archive footage—then said, “Now, please welcome, Mrs Kitty Rodgers!”

There was more applause from off set as Mel and I watched the door where Emma was due to appear.

There are times in a man’s life when he is almost overcome with nerves. The butterflies flutter around your stomach. You sweat like you wouldn’t think was possible. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to burst through your ribcage. You may even feel physically sick. I’m told the birth of your child is one such time—although never having had the good fortune to be a father, I wouldn’t know.

But the time I do know for certain a man feels like that is on his wedding day. I’ve experienced it twice and they were the two times in my life I’ve felt those extreme nerves.

Now it was three times.

Only this was worse somehow. Don’t ask me why, it just was.

My first wedding day was a grand affair—the country church packed with guests, the big white dress, the Morning Suit, the whole shebang. When I married Emma, it was an altogether smaller affair—just me, her and a couple of close friends. And Dom, of course.

But the nerves were the same as I stood at the altar waiting. Both times I felt my heart leap into my throat when the music began signalling my bride’s arrival. Both times I remember staring straight ahead, for the most part, stealing only glances behind to see her walking towards me looking like the most beautiful girl in the world.