Amazingly Ordinary
By Wes
Leigh
This is a work of fiction intended
solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people
or places is purely coincidental.
Readers who would like to chat are encouraged to contact me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.
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the author and is protected by copyright laws.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the
author's consent.
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"CUT! CUT! DAMN IT, CUTTTTTTT!"
I couldn't be certain, but it seemed the director was upset.
His face was bright red.
He was breathing hard. His eyes
were bulging. Veins were popping out all
over his forehead. And I was the reason.
He took a deep breath, then stomped over to stand right in
front of me. He wiped his forehead, then
stared into my eyes. "Which part of
ZOMBIES DON'T SPEAK do you not understand?"
I gulped. "Sorry."
"You can say `Arggh'," he
muttered. "Say `Arggh'."
"Arggh," I replied.
"You can say `Uggh'," he
murmured. He stuck his nose in my face.
"Uggh?" I mumbled, almost in a
question.
"BUT YOU CAN'T SAY, `OUCH'!" he shouted.
"S-s-sorry," I stammered.
"I stubbed my toe."
"THEN DON'T STUB YOUR TOE!" he screamed in my face. Then he spun on his heel and stomped back out
of the scene. "This is what I get for
hiring extras at a hundred dollars a day," he grumbled. "You get what you pay for, I guess."
Kristian frowned. "A
hundred dollars? That's all your paying
him. But he's playing my zombie
bodyguard. He's not an extra."
"Ummm, well, yeah, uhhh." The director
blinked his eyes and looked at his feet.
"That's not going to work," Kristian said, shaking his
head. "He gets guild rates, so you're
paying him five a day."
I looked at Kristian, stunned. Five hundred dollars a day? Wow!
That would be amazing.
The director didn't agree.
"No! Absolutely not. I'm not paying him five thousand a day."
I shook my head. I
must have heard wrong. Did he just say
five thousand?
Kristian crossed his arms.
"If the actor's guild hears what you're pulling,
you'll regret it."
"He's not in the guild!" the director exclaimed. "I don't have to pay him guild rates."
"He has an important part in the movie," Kristian insisted,
"so you'll pay him five thousand a day."
"But he CAN'T ACT!"
Now I had to agree with the director on that last part. I couldn't act. Not one little bit. I suppose I was doing fine for a zombie. No need to speak or express emotion. Just grunt and move around with stiff knees. But I was messing up even that, because I
kept tripping over crap and muttering words zombies weren't supposed to say
like `Ouch' and `Shit'.
Kristian glared at the director and said, "I'll coach him,
but he gets five a day."
The director gritted his teeth and said, "Fine. But he doesn't get his own dressing room."
Kristian shrugged.
"He can share mine. It will give
us a chance to develop our chemistry."
͠ ͠
͠
We were sitting in the cramped living area of Kristian's
RV. Our knees were touching. Kristian was holding my hands. I was looking down, embarrassed. "I've never done anything like this before," I
explained. "I'm totally out of my
element. I don't have a clue how to act."
Kristian squeezed my hands gently. "Look at me," he ordered.
I glanced up, struggling to meet his eyes.
"It's okay," he whispered, "Just look at me."
I stared into his blue gray orbs, hypnotized by his intense
stare.
"I know you can do this," he said. "I picked you out of all the
other extras—"
"Why?" I asked, interrupting him. "Why did you pick me?"
He thought for a moment, then replied, "Maybe it was the way
you laughed when the director called me Mr. Hansen."
"I didn't mean to be rude.
He just seemed to be sucking up to you awfully hard."
"He was," Kristian replied.
"You thought it was funny. So did I. We
connected."
I started to smile.
"I guess we did. A little bit."
Kristian nodded. "I
felt something extraordinary about you."
I snorted.
"Extraordinary? Hah!"
"But you are," he insisted.
I shook my head in denial.
"You're so amazing, Kristian, and I'm just amazingly ordinary."
He stared at me for a moment, then slowly leaned forward,
closer, a little closer, stopping with his lips an inch from mine. "Would I do this with an ordinary guy?" He closed the gap between us and touched his
lips against mine. He breathed out, caressing
my face with his minty breath. His
tongue flicked out and licked my lips.
He pushed forward and kissed me.
Then he pulled back. "Would I?"
he asked.
I blinked. "I suppose
not."
"Well, believe it," he insisted. "You're not ordinary. I can see it, even if you can't. And I want to get to know you better. Lots better."
The last part he said with a sexy smirk.
"Is that why you picked me?" I asked. "So you could rub
against me until we both came? So you could get me naked in your RV? So you could kiss
me?"
He blushed and stopped grinning at me. "No. I
mean, those things were all fun, but that's not why I picked you."
"Then why?" I was almost begging him to explain
himself. "I'm no one special, so I don't
understand why you're doing all this for me."
"Do I need a reason?" he asked. "Can't life be spontaneous and fun every now
and then? Don't you ever do something on
a whim, just to see what happens?"
"No, I don't," I answered.
"Then maybe it's time you did," Kristian replied, smiling
again. "Starting today."
"Okay," I said. "I'll
give it a try. But you still haven't
answered my questions. Why'd you rub
your ... your ... you know, against me, until we, ummm,
came in our pants? And what's with the
kiss just now?"
"Chemistry," he said with a grin.
"Chemistry?"
"Yeah, you know.
Actors who work together in a movie need chemistry. There has to be a spark between them, or the
audience will decide they're being phony and the movie
will flop. You have to have chemistry."
"So kissing me ...?"
"... is creating that spark between us." He smiled again and leaned forward.
This time, I kissed him back.
͠ ͠
͠
We were sitting on opposite sides of the sofa, breathing
hard, trying to catch our breath after an intense chemistry-development session,
when Kristian's mother opened the door of the RV and stepped inside.
"Oh," she said, in strongly accented English. "I didn't realize anyone was here."
"Moder, how many times do I
have to ask you to knock first? What if
I was getting dressed?" Kristian asked, slightly exasperated.
She looked down at Kristian and said, "I diapered your
bottom for years, mit dyrebare
barn. There would be nothing I
haven't seen before."
Kristian turned bright red.
Poor kid.
Then she looked at me and seemed to realize what she had
done. "Oh, Kriss,
I'm so sorry. I've done it again,
haven't I?"
Kristian sighed.
"It's okay, Mor. Mother,
this is Johnny. He's playing the part of
my zombie sidekick in the movie. Johnny,
this is my mom, Ella Johannsen." I
looked at him, puzzled, so he explained, "Johannsen is our family name. Hansen is my screen name. My agent thought it would work better for
me."
She walked over and shook my hand. "Nice to meet you, young man." She turned to Kristian and asked, "When can
we work on your algebra, Kriss? You mustn't get behind, you know."
Kristian sighed again.
"I have a mandatory day off from filming tomorrow. Can we do it then?"
She nodded and walked to the door. Turning around, she said, "I'm sorry, Kriss. I'll try to
remember to knock in the future. Mr.
Johnny, it was nice meeting you."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
"Nice meeting you, too."
And then she was gone, leaving us both staring at our
feet. I didn't know what Kristian was
thinking at that moment, but I was thinking, `I'm sure glad she didn't come
barging in while we were sucking face on the sofa.'
Kristian groaned softly.
I looked up and saw him frowning, his eyes closed, rubbing his
forehead. "She means well," he
said. "But she still thinks I'm the
eleven-year-old child actor who needs his mommy watching over him." He opened his eyes and stared at me. Were those tears I saw?
"I'm fifteen!" he exclaimed.
"I'm considered a man at home, but she still treats me like a
child." He punched the side of the couch
and muttered, "Mit dyrebare
barn!" Then he pulled a cushion to
his face and screamed into it.
"Ummm, what does that mean?" I
asked.
He dropped the cushion into his lap and explained. "It means my precious child. It's what my mother always called me when I
was little. And sometimes, she forgets
and calls me that in front of people, and I hate it. Why can't she see that I'm a man now?"
I scooted over next to him and slid my arm around his
shoulders. He leaned into me, letting me
hold him to my chest. "Moms can't help
it, Kristian. No matter how old we get,
we're always gonna be their precious children. My mom still asks me if I'm wearing clean
underwear before leaving the house."
He giggled and turned to look up at me. "You live with your mom?"
I nodded. "And my
dad. They said I can stay with them
until I finish grad school in a couple of years, but I try to work while I'm
going to school, to help with the bills, you know?"
Kristian snuggled back into my chest. "I help with the bills too. They gave me a lot of money for my last
picture. I gave it all to my dad, and he
invested it for me, but I insisted that he buy us a new house to live in. It's in Aalborg. We like it there. Not so crowded as Copenhagen, and the
waterfront is really quite lovely. Dad stays home when I make movies; Mom comes
with me and tutors me so I don't get behind on my
studies. They're both devoted to me, but
sometimes I want them to give me more space."
I hugged Kristian and began running my hand slowly up and
down his back. "I know what you
mean. I'm twenty-three, and my parents
still treat me like a little kid sometimes.
Maybe it will get better when I move out. I don't know."
Kristian turned his face and nuzzled up under my chin.
I chuckled. "What are
you doing?"
"Developing chemistry," he replied with a giggle.
"I think our chemistry is good," I said, "but what I really
need is acting lessons."
Kristian sat up and scooted over a bit. Then he took my hands in his own and said,
"Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Just do it, weirdo."
"Weirdo? So I'm a weirdo now?" I asked, squinting my eyes at
Kristian.
"Yes," he declared with a smirk, "my zombie weirdo. Now, do what I said. Close your eyes."
I did what he asked.
"Now stop thinking," he commanded.
I opened my eyes and laughed. "How do I stop thinking?"
He squeezed my hands hard.
"Hush! Close your eyes. Stop thinking. You're a zombie. Zombies don't think. They react.
If they're hungry, they follow their noses to the nearest brains and
eat. If they hear a noise, they move
toward it. That's all they do, so you
must learn to let your mind go blank.
That's how you become a zombie."
Okay. Blank
mind. I suppose I could do that.
I kept my eyes closed and stopped thinking. I felt Kristian's hands in mine. I heard the hum of the air conditioner. I smelled Kristian's musky odor, the faint
blend of sweaty boy and horny teenager.
I started boning up. STOP
THINKING, I ordered my mind. Blank
mind. Zombie mind.
Kristian whispered, "The horrible invaders are chasing
me. My zombie friend, will you help me?"
I grunted, "Ugghh."
Kristian giggled.
"Good. Are you hungry?"
I moaned, "Mmumm."
"Do you want to eat my brains?" he asked.
Of course, I didn't.
No matter how hungry I might get, I was devoted to my friend
Kristian. I whined and leaned forward to
rest my forehead against his shoulder.
Then I whimpered.
He reached up and patted my head. "Good zombie."
͠ ͠
͠
The RV shower was much too small, so our bodies were pressed
together the entire time. Our lips were
pressed together too, as we made zombie groans and moans while sucking each
other's tongues. Our cocks were pressed
together as well, sliding against each other and against our slippery stomachs,
coated with a slimy layer of soap ... at first ... but soon with an even slicker
layer of creamy spooge. As our cocks erupted, launching spunk almost
to our chins, I realized that I was enjoying being an actor.
͠ ͠
͠
The director didn't yell at me again, the rest of the day.
I stumbled around, tripping over crap, but all I did was
grunt and moan. Kristian and I managed
to evade the crazy Canadian invaders all afternoon, dodging from one hiding spot
to another. At one point, I tripped over
a curb and fell to the ground in a heap.
It hurt, so I gave my most pitiful zombie groan as I lay on the
ground. Kristian lifted my chin. I stared up at him, with complete zombie
devotion. He stroked the side of my
face, lifted me to my feet, and told me to stay at his side. I nodded and said, "Uggh."
The director loved it.
I'm sure that scene will make it into the movie.
I might be amazingly ordinary, but I'm a damned good zombie. As long as I'm Kristian's
zombie.
The end of AMAZINGLY ORDINARY, Chapter Three