Lights, camera, action?
A thread of light streams in through the crack in the drapes, but I notice there’s something wrong in the room: it’s already lit, with a series of lamps and candles, giving off a soft and even illumination. The two Oscars glimmer on the side table.
This doesn’t seem right.
Where am I? I know this isn't the room I stayed in the night before. And, who is this person next to me, in bed. Oh fuck, I didn’t do what I think I did. Did I? I think so. Bloody hell, I think so. Jesus, why does every Oscar ceremony end up with me in bed with another winner? From Charlize to George, I seem to lose all inhibitions on this night.
When I roll over, I see golden locks of hair. Soft, smooth, and slightly smooshed by the pillow. They roll over. It’s Helen Mirren. It’s beginning to make sense; the eye contact, the brushes against my leg, the whisperings of her hotel room and number, and the night that I’ll never forget.
The woman is insatiable. She has the stamina of a woman half her age. The things she can do to her tongue can make my eyes roll so far back in my head, I can see behind me. There were hands, fingers, lips, and the occasional toy. The dirty Dame knows what she’s doing. And she does it well.
But we aren’t alone in the room.
When I open my eyes a bit more, I see her husband, director Taylor Hackford. Why was he there? Why was he in the room? Is he some sick perv, watching his wife and me getting it on, like a real-life Kama Sutra?
Oh fuck. He wasn’t there to watch us, he was there to film us. The lighting, the decor... and Vilmos Zsigmond doing the cinematography. Why didn't I remember all the grips and gaffers? Why didn't I remember signing the contract? Even though I was drunk last night, I should've expected this. Ok, so it's happened twice before, but this time is different. I hope Vilmos got my good side and shot me from high, using a diffused filter on the camera.
The morning after the awards, I made a porn flick with Helen Mirren, directed by her husband, being released on Paramount Classics.
It already has a lot of Oscar buzz behind it… but then, that could be Helen’s vibrator.
This doesn’t seem right.
Where am I? I know this isn't the room I stayed in the night before. And, who is this person next to me, in bed. Oh fuck, I didn’t do what I think I did. Did I? I think so. Bloody hell, I think so. Jesus, why does every Oscar ceremony end up with me in bed with another winner? From Charlize to George, I seem to lose all inhibitions on this night.
When I roll over, I see golden locks of hair. Soft, smooth, and slightly smooshed by the pillow. They roll over. It’s Helen Mirren. It’s beginning to make sense; the eye contact, the brushes against my leg, the whisperings of her hotel room and number, and the night that I’ll never forget.
The woman is insatiable. She has the stamina of a woman half her age. The things she can do to her tongue can make my eyes roll so far back in my head, I can see behind me. There were hands, fingers, lips, and the occasional toy. The dirty Dame knows what she’s doing. And she does it well.
But we aren’t alone in the room.
When I open my eyes a bit more, I see her husband, director Taylor Hackford. Why was he there? Why was he in the room? Is he some sick perv, watching his wife and me getting it on, like a real-life Kama Sutra?
Oh fuck. He wasn’t there to watch us, he was there to film us. The lighting, the decor... and Vilmos Zsigmond doing the cinematography. Why didn't I remember all the grips and gaffers? Why didn't I remember signing the contract? Even though I was drunk last night, I should've expected this. Ok, so it's happened twice before, but this time is different. I hope Vilmos got my good side and shot me from high, using a diffused filter on the camera.
The morning after the awards, I made a porn flick with Helen Mirren, directed by her husband, being released on Paramount Classics.
It already has a lot of Oscar buzz behind it… but then, that could be Helen’s vibrator.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
8 Comments:
Is this oscar WEEK?
haha! no kidding! Torn is right!
and you are one sick fucker - she is like 110 years old, dude.
Ya know, I was just walking down 5th Ave and they were ALREADY selling bootleg copies on the street - "The Queen's Bitch".
helen is beautiful. and boy oh boy. does she know how to eat a burger!
She's a good lay, isn't she?
Buzz...buzz...is that D cell or C cell batteries for the vibrator....remind me to blog about my brush with a vibrator sometime. PS: Say Hi to Helen, would you? I hope you had safe sex.
OMG how much acid did you take on Sunday?
OK, I wasn't freaked out until you brought the hubby into the story. But at least you know how you like to be filmed while performing, as opposed to the rest of us novices.
BTW, was she as classy a lover as I've imagined her more than a few times?
Post a Comment
<< Home