Everybody’s Watching (Part 2 – Shooting a Sex Tape)

Caty wasn’t sure what was happening. Every time she was around James, working on the documentary, she found herself thinking about having sex with him. Not just thinking, fantasizing. 

When they watched the footage he’d shot of the couple, Pam and Frankie, doing their – for lack of a better phrase – sex performance behind the bar, she found herself imagining the two of them doing exactly what those two were doing. Only even more of it. And maybe not in the back of a headlight-spotlighted van, but perhaps in the studio, or her hotel room, or James’ apartment, maybe on a live feed.

What made it even worse – or better? – she wasn’t quite sure yet, was that her boss back in LA said she would like Caty to be “more participatory. Talk about how it makes you feel watching it. That’s what people want to know.”

If only she knew how it made her feel. 

And then there was James, seemingly agonizing over just how much about sex and how much about the reasons behind everyone doing in everywhere in public should be in the final cut.

“There’s just something missing,” he mused, as he and Caty stood in the shadow of the giant wheel, right in the heart of London, watching a couple have sex on a park bench with a crowd of onlookers ringing them.

The woman was seated on the man’s lap, fucking him from that position, moving up and down on him. Her blouse was hanging open, no bra, and her breasts were bouncing freely. The man bent his head to lick them, sometimes she would rub them in his face. It didn’t get terribly interesting until she climbed off of him, and as he sat there, spent and still pulsing, she lifted her skirt and offered “Anyone who wants to touch me, may do so now – no fucking though, just fingers.”

Two men and three women came forward, one at a time to stroke her, rub her, lick her. The man watched, and grew more erect by the moment, finally rousing himself from the bench, dropping his pants fully, and bending her over that bench, plunging into her himself from behind.

Caty’s mouth was dry as she imagined herself with James in just that position. What she would do, how many others she would let touch her, or if she would only do it with him. She’d wear a sheer dress maybe, so everyone could see the outline of her body but not quite see everything. He’d suck on her tits through her dress until the fabric was dripping. He’d stroke her pussy through her dress until she was soaked and the hemline too…

She had to stop this. 

She swallowed hard.

James was looking at her, a flush of color on his own face.

They both turned away fast, looking at the couple again, as they finished with long moans and she stayed where she was for a moment, hair hanging down, head bent over the back of the bench.

Then as if on cue, she stood up, buttoned her blouse, pulled down her skirt. The man tugged his pants up, zipped, and pocketed her bra. “Souvenir,” he said. “We’ve never met before.” They sauntered off in opposite directions.


They were in a small café. Something bright and boring that he’d picked to defuse the insane rush of lust he had for Caty. He’d had it before, but today, in the park, he had the unreasonable thought that she was thinking what he was thinking. That he wished he was the man on the bench, very much so, and that Caty’s long blonde hair was hanging over her face, like the woman’s had been after…at least he’d wished he was that man until the man said they’d never met, and then they walked off, presumably never to see each other again.

He wanted to take Caty in fifty different positions in fifty different places – most of all in his bedroom, and spend the night with her, and have breakfast with her, and then do it all again.

She was his colleague, they had seven more days to assemble a coherent through-line to their doc, and deliver it to the network execs. And here he was thinking of one thing only, and that was having sex with Caty.

Hence the bright florescent lights of the kind of café he hated, fake rock n’ roll diner type of place. Nothing romantic or sensual here.

But then people were having sex in all the most unlikely places.

In the parking garage right at the television studio this morning, on the hood of a car; in the elevator with the doors locked open.

No wonder it was always on his mind.

Caty didn’t wear much make up and her lips were so pink and moist and lush. He wanted to kiss them, and kiss them, and then lay her across the white Formica table and take her right there.

“We could talk about this all night and still not have a clue,” Caty said. She’d led them down this path, analyzing their subject yet again. 

He shook his head as if to clear it.

“I suppose this whole thing is just one of those cases when actions speak louder than words,” James agreed.

“My boss wants us to make this more personal. For me to talk about how this makes me feel. I’m not quite sure how to do that.”

“How does it make you feel?” he asked.

Caty looked at him. He was looking right at her. There was something in her face. Something that made him know, in one sharp intake of breath, conclusively know, that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Slowly, a grin slid across his face.


Caty smiled back.  She could read it in his eyes, he was ready to lift her right up and do her against the table. He wanted what she wanted. She felt galvanized by the knowledge. She could have whatever she wanted with him. He wanted it, too. If only she didn’t look away. She willed herself not to look away.

She held his gaze but she didn’t trust her words. So, she decided she’d send him a completely unequivocal message for once. And she’d send it right now. She drew in her breath and took the plunge she’d been wanting to take for a week; apparently, the moment she’d been waiting for, fantasizing about, obsessing over was right now.

“Actions do speak louder than words,” she said. And she leaned across the table and kissed him. 

And oh, of course, he kissed her back. It was a wonderful kiss, long and deep and promising more. But it was too uncomfortable, stretching over the table top, to kiss for long. She fell back on her side of the red plastic booth, breathless.

He stood up and walked to her side of the table, and he sat down next to her. 

“Another minute -” he said, his voice rough and raw, “another minute, and I think I would’ve exploded.” 

He pulled her against him and gave her another long kiss, tongue to tongue, lips feathering hers, eyes closed.

“Now that is saying something,” she said, when they broke for air.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me, the way I wanted -” he began.

“You. Definitely, absolutely, want -” and they lost themselves in another kiss, a devouring sort of a kiss, one in which you feel, Caty thought, as if your body is half his body and his body is half yours. 

It was difficult to let go this time, even to breathe.

“Wow. Maybe we should have public sex ourselves and interview each other,” James joked.

“Maybe we – we should,” she managed. She looked him straight in the eye. She was serious. She saw that he knew she was serious. He shot her that irresistible smile of his again, and oh, how she wanted him. 

“Let’s go back to my place,” he suggested, tossing some money on the table.

“Yes, your place,” she agreed. 

She’d gone this far, why not go even farther, why not lay it all out. Lay it out. There it was again, the sex that was everywhere. “We don’t have to do it in the road, as the Beatles suggested. But you could film us.”

“Yes, I could,” he said. Not as a question, but as a statement of fact.

Caty tried to play it cool. “Just to augment our research. Just to give it a more personal spin, as my boss is telling me to do. It could be – inspirational.”

“No doubt,” James said drily. He laughed and took her hand in his. Just feeling his hand holding hers, his thumb rubbing across her palm, which was sort of a signature gesture of his, made her melt inside.

“There’s no rule is there, not really,” she asked, “about not mixing business with pleasure. I mean especially when I’ve received kind of a round about directive…”

Now he was laughing full out. “I’ve thought about practically nothing else myself since the day I met you, to be frank. Not just fucking you, but filming us fucking. So. we’re on the same wave length, just in case you had the slightest doubt. If you’re up for it – well – we can always blur out our faces.”

“I’m up for it. Well up for it,” she said, wondering if she was, but the idea was so exciting that she felt as if she was going to come again, without him even touching her. 

They kissed again. He slipped his hands beneath her shirt, and unhooked her bra. With the fabric loose, he withdrew his hand and just watched her for a minute, then quickly, furtively, lifted edge of her shirt and tucked his hand up inside the loosened bra, his fingers pulling and stroking on her nipples, first one, then the other. 

He took his hand away as the waitress walked by, although honestly, she thought, what did it matter. Everyone did it anywhere these days. Still, the secrecy of it made it exciting, too.

Now his hand dropped to her stockinged leg, spread it just a bit, and put his hand up beneath her skirt, between her legs, and rubbed at her through her hose and panties. She put her hand over his to feel him feeling her. 

Then she dropped her own hand to his crotch, and ran her fingers over him until he swelled beneath them. She could unzip him right there. She could…take him in her mouth. She stifled a small cry. He’d rubbed her into an orgasm. 

Somehow they made it out of the restaurant. They were on the corner now, James was looking for a cab. She was tingling all over, as he pulled her close against his hip.

“I’d like to utterly, completely, and totally possess you,” he told her.

“Possess me,” she said, licking her lips, thoughtfully.

She liked that idea. Of course, not forever, but for a little while, oh yes, indeed. 

“I want to have sex with you. Kinky sex. On camera sex,” he said. “What in the hell have we been waiting for?”

At last, James hailed a cab. He opened the door for her, let her slip into the seat. His fingers very lightly squeezed her bottom, moved just forward, just under her skirt, brushing against her panties, as she slid into her seat. Wow, she wanted him. She’d been waiting such a long time, a full week. No, that wasn’t right. She’d been waiting all her life.

“Shepard’s Market,” James said, to the driver. To Caty, whispering now, “I want to explore you, every single inch of you, I want to watch you, frame by frame, until I know your very pores. I’ve wanted to do all sorts of utterly unspeakable things to you and with you and have you do them to me, only I had myself convinced I was reading in things that weren’t there, and you’d turn me down. And I was trying to be a gentleman, besides.”

“If you’d thought I’d say yes, would you have let that gentleman thing stop you?”

“Not for a second,” he said.


James took her to his loft studio, which was also his apartment. His studio was chilly, almost as chilly as the street. He saw Caty rubbing her hands together as soon as they arrived. He set the heater going, turned on the studio lights. They were bright and warm and made the loft glow like summer had suddenly come. 

He was going to do this right, cinematically as well as sexually. Besides, deferring his gratification a few more minutes – and oh, he was sure that he would be thoroughly gratified – was part of the pleasure.

It was possibly an innate part of his nature, making himself wait just a little. That was one of the reasons he’d held himself in check all week long. He knew very well what Caty wanted, or thought she wanted, but she was edgy about it, uncertain. He could’ve swung that his way, but with the kinds of things he was imagining the two of them doing together, he wanted her to be just as sure as he was. And, besides, good things come to he who waits. His father used to tell him that, although certainly he wasn’t talking about circumstances such as these.

He turned the lights so that they lit his bed, which was, he realized, ridiculously near his editing console. He’d started out sleeping on a futon sofa after late nights working, added the bed, and despite intentions to the contrary, work being as consuming as it was, he continued to live where he worked. It wasn’t a bad thing now. 

He straightened his sheets, he fluffed his pillows, then he took out the camera, set it on a tripod, and hooked up his monitor. He took a light reading. If he was going to create personal erotica he might as well make it well-lit personal erotica. 

Caty was looking out his narrow floor to ceiling windows at the grey Thames, the greyer sky. He moved up behind her. 

“Ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille?” she teased.

“Ready when you are.” His voice was husky, he hadn’t realized until just that moment how badly he wanted her.

She spun toward him, and looked at him searchingly. For a moment there, he thought she was scared. Not of him, but of the way she was feeling. He understood that. It was the intensity of the sexual current running between them. He was a little off balance himself with wanting her. He’d never in his life felt such a strong desire for a woman. He meant what he said. He wanted to possess her.

And add in this layer of public performance – well at least the idea of it. There was no reason they had to include any of the footage he shot. But a part of him very much wanted to do that. 

“If you’ve changed your mind,” he said, “no problem. We can still be, ha, friends.”

She laughed. “We’re already friends,” she said. “Aren’t we? Partners in crime more or less?”


“Which means it’s perfectly okay for us to do whatever we want to. The very fact of our friendship makes it a completely safe environment for experimentation.”

“Do you think that’s what all these people tell themselves? Before they strip down naked in a public elevator?”

“Possibly,” she said. “Not those two in the park. They said they were strangers.”

“We were strangers two weeks ago,” he said. “Which seems impossible considering everything I’m feeling right now and everything we’ve seen and…”

His voice trailed off.

She stroked his cheek for a moment, and rubbed up against him. James felt his body take over, harden, and flex. 

She broke from him then, and strolled leisurely across the loft. She was swaying her hips slightly, as if she was moving to some music playing only in her head.

James wondered briefly what she thought of the place, she hadn’t said. Awards framed on the walls. Some modern art, rather good for works purchased at street fairs and fund raisers. The old futon sofa, coffee table spilling video tapes, flat screen TV, kitchen with its breakfast bar and all the modern appliances from espresso machine to ice maker. Things he’d bought to impress a girl or two, once he found one worth impressing. Well, he’d found one now. But he wanted to impress her in an entirely different way.

“Do you want something to eat or drink?” he asked her, though he could barely get those banal words from his lips.

“Not now,” she said. “Later, maybe.” She licked her lips. Clearly it wasn’t his appliances she was interested in. She slipped off her leather jacket and dropped it on his floor. 

That simple act made him throb all over. He felt a rising pressure in his jeans, he was definitely ready now, gratification deferment be damned.

She ran her finger along the edge of his edit console, like she was considering what each one of the switches could mean. She stepped into the sunny pool of studio lighting, pulled her pashima wool scarf from her neck, dropped it on his bed.

“Turn on the camera,” she commanded him.

James snapped to attention, he strode across the room – he wanted to run – and he turned that camera on. Speaking personally, he didn’t need anything to turn him on anymore.

She stepped next to him again, she ran her hand lightly along his hips and down to his bulging crotch. 

“I hope you can wait a little while longer,” she murmured.

“Wait?” he’d been waiting, she’d waited, what did they have to wait for now? The tape was rolling on the empty bed.

“I thought I’d do myself first, while you watched.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Is this – a fantasy of yours?”

She nodded, almost shyly. “I have it all planned out. I actually was planning it out while we were filming Pam and Frankie behind the pub.”

“A week ago,” he said. “A week you’ve been planning this?”

“Well. Thinking about it. So, if you don’t mind. I think you’ll enjoy my fantasies, too.”

“All right,” he said. 

He stepped behind the camera then, using it to conceal the very vulnerable state he was in at present. 

“Do you think,” he asked her, “that’s what people are really doing out there, acting out their fantasies?”

“Of course,” Caty said. “They’re doing what we’re doing.”

“We haven’t done anything yet,” James said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. Because he was, now, growing impatient. He couldn’t help himself.

Caty caught his tone, and she laughed. “James. I’m a researcher. You’re a documentarian. We need to proceed in a careful, logical fashion.”

“Why the hell do we need to do that?” He had to check himself. Good things come to he who waits…

She sat down on the edge of the bed. She shook out her hair. “I’m nervous,” she said, “Will you direct me a little? Please?”

And now he found himself relenting, getting into it. This was a little different than what he’d expected, more or a less just a recorded love making session. This was something a little stranger, a little more out there. But in the end, this could be positively delicious. In the end, she was right, he was a documentarian. Maybe with some discreet editing or a bit of a blur over her face, this could be something they could actually use. For whatever reason, this thought made him even harder. 

“Well,” he said, “go for it. Undress.”

“What first?”

“Unzip those boots,” he said.

And she did so.

“Take off your shirt.”

She lifted it over her head, and without removing it, took first one breast and then the other from her bra. She pushed down the bra straps, and began to rub at the nipples, tweaking them. “Get these… nice and hard,” she said. “Do you like?”

“Make them wet,” he said. 

She licked her fingers and rubbed them across her nipples. The wetness glinted in the studio light.

“It’s hot in here,” she said. “These lights.”

“Not the only reason,” he noted.

She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, wet her finger again, then licked her entire palm and rubbed it across her breasts, until each nipple was dripping. Oh yes, he thought, she was right to start things like this.

She bent her knees and hiked up her skirt. He could see the sheer lacy top of her panty hose, and the blue panties to match the bra she’d tossed away, the panties he’d felt beneath her stockings in the restaurant. She rubbed at herself just as he’d done, on the outside of those stockings and panties for a long time. He could see, when he zoomed in, dampness gathering on the fabric. 

“Take them off,” he said. “Slowly.”

She tugged her hose down from her hips, peeled them ever so slowly, stroking her own leg as she went. She kicked them off her feet.

She leaned back against his pillows and pushed her panties to one side and inserted one finger, then two. 

Then three. 

Her skirt was all bunched up against her hips. Her fingers moved 

in and out, faster and faster, her eyes closed, she was gasping.

He felt his cock pressing against the fabric of his jeans. 

She came. He saw her come, with a long, shudder and a low moan.

When she pulled her fingers free, they were dripping. She rubbed her own come across her nipples. 

“Oh yeah,” he breathed. “That’s right, that’s right. Show me more.”

She stretched her panties far to one side now, so that he could see her pubic hair, see her clit, which looked swollen and moist. 

She put her fingers inside herself again, as if she couldn’t bear not to feel them there, and she came again, and again, and again. Four times. 

A faint sheen of perspiration glazed her brow. 

“Beautifully multi-orgasmic,” he murmured. 

At last she lifted her hand away from her pussy. 

She opened her eyes. The camera made a faint whirring sound and there was the sound of her ragged breathing and his. That was it.

A lovely flush had spread across her neck and breasts. He wanted to lick it. He moved to the bed. He sat down on the bed next to her.

He began to lick her. Her cheek, her neck, her breasts. Oh yes, her breasts. He could taste her on her tits. He could taste her.

He licked her belly. The edges of her hips, her thighs.

He spread panties wider, and licked inside her. Her taste…

She came again. Oh yes. This was good. 

But Caty slipped away and stood, an impish gleam in her eye. “Camera still rolling?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he managed, thickly. “Of course.”

“Now I want to see you. Get yourself off.”

“I will get myself off, in you -” he said reaching for her arm. 

But she sidestepped him, danced across the floor and behind the camera. “In good time,” she said. “Come on, please? I’ve never seen – and I’ll bet very few female viewers have seen – a man do himself.”

“Really?” he asked her. “So, you’re a viewing virgin?”

“A viewing virgin voyeur,” she said. “Come on,” she teased him, “talk me through it.”

James roared with laughter. She was calling the shots here, when he was so used to calling them at work or at play. He really rather liked it.