Charles Bock - Beautiful Children

“Oh, I'm just ducky.”

Heh. I like that. You're just ducky and tonight you're going to get fucky.

Lashes batted defensively. The smile stayed frozen.

What? I'm a poet. You just didn't know it…. Wow. Tough room. So tell me, Cheri. What made you decide to get involved with adult films.

The camera was still and it was silent for a moment and it did not seem she was going to respond. Then she said, “My boyfriend.”

Wow. No kidding? He must be a great guy. Gruff laughter. Remind me to thank him later.

She shot a look toward the side of the screen.

FORGET ABOUT HIM.

The lens shook with the order, then settled and calmed. Just worry about the camera, okay, honey?

A pan now, forward, until the camera was a yard or so away from Cheri, right above her, looking down from a point of dominance, the shot capturing the liquid of her eyes, their terror, and their quick change under way — Cheri's trapped fury, her outrage, and then her cool distance. A woman taking in exactly what had been said to her, precisely what was happening, not only the ridiculousness, but how scary the vibe was, how predatory.

The uncomfortable sound of a smoker's cough emerged from the other side of the camera. But the shot remained focused on Cheri, and the longer it stayed on her, the more ornamental her layers of makeup appeared. Beneath her attitude and glamorous stylings, beyond her body glitter and sparkling tan, the truth was strikingly obvious. A face that was nothing special, as plain and midwestern as the upbringing she was trying to hide.

Tell you what, went the voice. Why don't we get started? Let's take a look at you.

It seemed she was calculating, reaching some sort of decision. For more than a second, it appeared possible she was going to leave.

“So this is what you want?” she asked, looking toward the left side of the shot.

We'll get it in editing, the voice told someone at his side.

Rising, she stood with her legs a shoulder width apart, her movements sharp now, but exaggeratedly so — an angry slinging of weight onto one hip, a defiant push of her chest. Cheri tossed her hair so it fell in front of her face and she pouted and, in an obvious fuck you, put her middle finger into her mouth, sucking on it.

Oh, you're a horny little thing, aren't you. How about you give us a — turn around. Let's see that butt.

Was it possible these people were too stupid to recognize that she was mocking them?The thought entertained her. She snarled over her shoulder.

Yeah. That's it. The feisty ones are always the best, aren't they? Now bend over for all the people out there at home. Give us a sexy little show, baby.

Maybe she followed orders because the voice was so stupid, so unbelievably cheesy; or maybe because each of her slights was ignored, every jab and haymaker she threw was rolled with; because she got to display her power and get out her aggressions and put these nimrods in their place; because the whole scene plugged into her own natural desire for attention, and the pent-up colt released from the gate finally had something to do with all this nervous energy. The red light stayed on, the film kept rolling, the voice, grainy and businesslike, kept egging— Into the camera. That's right. And although the woman in the lens was not giving the guy behind the camera exactly what he asked for, neither was she telling him to fuck off. Indeed, with each move — a strap of the camisole falling over one of her wriggling shoulders, her hand covering a breast — the natural give-and-take of a working relationship seemed to form, its movements incrementally becoming more professional.

There you go, baby.

Hooking a finger into each string of her thong she slowly began its descent. The camcorder closed in, too fast, blurring the bull's-eye. Just as quickly the video pulled back, regained focus.

Very impressive. I'm sure our millions and millions of viewers out there would love to hit that bull's-eye.

Quickly she opened her legs, spread eagle, then snapped her knees shut. A camera flashbulb exploded, the screen filling momentarily with white light.

Make sure you get the bull's-eye, ordered Smoke Voice.

Murmured assent. The flashbulb popped again, creating a strobe effect.

Now a jiggle. From the right side of the screen someone entering the shot, a middle-aged beach bum. He had complex braces on each knee and was otherwise nude, his tan line the width of dental floss. Far more body hair than any sane person wants to see on a naked man.

Well, well, well, here's a welcome surprise. I guess it's time to meet your woodman, Cheri. Couldn't wait for her, I guess, could you, Rod?

The guy continued limping as quickly as he could, his legs rotating in wide half circles, accommodating the Erector set constructions. Even half-hard he was humongous.

Cheri's instinct was to look away, but she fought through her embarrassment and nerves. He reached the couch and looked at her and his eyes were small and dark and droopy.

Here he is, you know him, I know you'll love him — the one and only Rod Erectile.

He smiled. Deep grooves appeared down the sides of his face. “Hey,” he said, and for the briefest of moments, Cheri thought she recognized a resignation in him, an apology. But before she could process this thought, he was putting his mouth on hers, forceful, pressing, his thick cow tongue was pushing down her throat, too much for her to defend against.

“CUT.”

Now something impacted her, someone shoved her. She wanted it to be Ponyboy, saving her, beating the hell out of everything in sight. But when she opened her eyes, it was the guy with the cow tongue, Rod Erectile, flinging her body away from him. “FUCK,” he was yelling. “CUT.”

Rod.

“God DAMN!”

Stepping away from the couch, Rod turned his back to everyone and seemed to shake his head and look down. He put his hands on his hips. His face was that of a boy watching his birthday balloon trail toward telephone wires. “I'm sorry, Al. Her dance—”

I know. I know.

“I was feeling it. I went for it. I just—”

This shit always happens with you, man.

“I just lost it, I don't—” Rod turned to her. “I'm really sorry about this.”

You're just lucky I know you so well. Hiro, you got the instant wood?

The camera continued taping, and in the next moments captured Cheri's ashen face. Unsure of where she was, she collapsed backward, reclining fully against the couch, feeling its back with her hand to make sure it was there. Rod Erectile, looking pissed at himself, grabbed the loaded syrette away from the slim Asian.

“Why you don't just take a Viagra?” asked the Asian. “Eat a bunch of celery like the old-school days?”

Don't kid yourself, kid. An entertained snort from the director. Ol’ Hot Rod lives for that needle.

To Cheri he said, Stay ready. But don't masturbate, we want that for the take.

Once again Cheri looked to the left side of the screen, searching. Fixing on him, she all but implored: take control, protect me, do something.

Ponyboy chomped rigidly on an unlit cigar and looked as if he were about to be sick. His eyes met Cheri's, then broke contact, instead watching the syringe; it was moving toward Rod's penis.

A groan. Rod's musculature went tense. His hand balled into a fist.

Whenever Lincoln neared a convenience store, fast-food joint, or anywhere else a twelve-year-old boy might be found, he slowed down just a bit more. His contacts weren't in, and even with the high beams blaring it was hard to make out objects and shapes. Still, strangely enough, he felt contented.