Cut to an extreme close-up of her mouth as she pronounces the word soundlessly now so we can recognise it when spoken. He had shot it exactly as I related it to him like a pastiche of a British Public Service Announcement.Ī young woman looks earnestly into the camera. But this concept was much better suited to BNV because Falfaux didn’t make flashy cars they made safe boring cars. It was a spec commercial, the kind of thing a new director puts on his reel to show he can make a concept work in thirty seconds. It was weird because it wasn’t even a real ad. The guy in the commercial looked exactly like me. Was this his way of getting back at me for leaving him in St LaCroix? I thought Iwas being paranoid until I saw the casting. And now adding disgust to discomfort I saw that this commercial was for Falfaux. I think because we decided it was too British for the American market. He and I had talked about making the same commercial for BNV at Killallon Fitzpatrick but for some reason we never presented it. The reason is was quite good was because it was my idea. Nestled there amongst the self-conscious up-to-the-minute motion graphics was a link to his finished commercial, which, if it was a piece of shit would have been fine but it wasn’t. On a monthly showreel called Shotz, in the New Directors section, I was presented with the fact that a copywriter I worked with at my former agency had since become a commercials director. I adore you was merely I love you-lite and oh baby was completely meaningless. I toyed with saying you’re lovely but this just felt childish. She would surely see through it for the manipulation it was and stop what she was doing. I wanted to say I love you but it was too risky. I stiffened inside her and her body immediately straightened as if we really had become one. The rain persisted outside and as she leaned back to scratch gently under my balls the colder light from outside contrasted with the ochre glow from the desk-lamp backlighting her small perfect dancer’s breasts. She fluttered up and down on me with such agility I was reminded of a nymph whose gossamer wings allowed her to hover and dip at will. This led to touching and tickling, pecking and pouting and after she broke away to brush her teeth, turn out the lights and close her laptop we progressed to sensual half-lit sensitive sex. I felt sufficiently encouraged by that half-hearted smile to spank her gently through her cotton knickers. It was only a matter of time before something would need to be said. There was no way I was going to marry her but there was no way I’d be allowed access to her ass if she knew this. I resisted the urge to respond or acknowledge because I knew that once recognised the subject could never be put back in the box. Especially, for some reason, if they were Asian. The huge crazy-eyed smile she reserved for babies was subtle compared to the impossible affection conjured up in the presence of every old couple we encountered.
These hints had more recently taken the form of exaggerated street mimes. She was pissed because I hadn’t picked up on her latest hint that we should live together, get married, have children and die of old age in each other’s arms. “You’re accusing me of having an affair with your ass, behind your back?”
“You hug it like it’s a separate person.” she said thawing a little. While making the dramatic announcement that I had better go if I was to be in decent shape for work the next day I began to say goodbye to her magnificent world class ass. Was she still pissed at me? I had work the next day and she didn’t. Our evening stroll had been cut short by a rainstorm and so once we got inside we shook off our wet things and lay across her bed and chatted and ordinarily this would have been enough to get the ball rolling but I was still not confident enough to make a move. So it was ironic, that my fiancé should be the one who inadvertently introduced me to online dating.īobbing and swaying in front of my face as we ascended the steps to her fourthfloor Elizabeth Street apartment was the reason we’d been together so long. And dating within Alcoholics Anonymous was out of the question since the last thing I wanted to do was wake up beside a version of myself in a skirt. But I couldn’t meet girls in bars anymore. I joked about it, saying I was a Vagitarian but I knew it wasn’t normal. In the same way a junkie spent all his time thinking about his next fix, my life had become something I did between orgasms. I didn’t get laid enough to be called a sex-addict.Īnd yet the name felt right.
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