I remember the day I met Daniel. Don’t remember quite when it was. Something like ten years ago, now. I wore my vintage Styx t-shirt. Handed him my self-printed headshot, my coffee stained resume in the rundown casting studio on Fountain. I read the lines he wrote, deadpan. They were funny. And he and his friends cast me in their pilot. It was the first and only pilot I’ve ever done. We shot it on my birthday. I had just broken up with my girlfriend to pursue a guy I had met on another set. I thought Daniel was cute, though. But I thought he was interested in another actress, not me. The other girl in the pilot. The prettier, more interesting one. The one in a band.
The guy I liked didn’t really want anything to do with me. So I hooked up with Daniel’s friend, Andy, who had also worked on the pilot. I hope you’re keeping up with this. He was also cute. Tall. But I had wished it had been Daniel. Andy and I went on a first date, to see a movie at The Grove, and ran into Daniel with his ex-girlfriend. And then I slept with Andy. Again and again and again. But that didn’t work out because the guy I liked eventually came around after getting arrested in New Mexico. Although, that didn’t work out either. But that’s another story. Maybe even a better one. We’ll see.
But Daniel and I remained friends. Once, I ran into him with a friend on the 4th of July in Venice. We drunkenly ran into the Pacific ocean. My first time. It wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be, but maybe I was distracted. It was only me and Daniel in our little part of the ocean, I think. I thought we would hook up that night, but we didn’t. I went home with salt water hair. And again, one night, a friend and I went to his house to watch the movie, Suburbia. I thought maybe something would happen then, but nothing. We matched on a dating app and flirted for hours, but I thought we were joking around. We carried on being friends and nothing more. He came to my wedding. We sometimes hung out. It was a sporadic thing. But friends. We went to see the new Suspiria. Afterwards, I walked with him to his house. We talked a bit, and I had mentioned that my marriage was open. We got a little flirty, and when I left, my panties were so fucking wet. I didn’t understand why after all this time, all these opportunities, he still hadn’t made a move. It had been 8 years at that point. I had dressed like Anna Karina in my wool skirt, red cashmere sweater and tartan coat. I was a fucking dream for a nerdy movie fan like him. What the fuck?
I kept having dreams about Daniel. All the time. I’ve only ever really had recurring sex dreams about three men: Daniel, Vanilla Ice, and my fourth grade teacher. Don’t judge me. But it is what it is. And it ate away at me. I would masturbate to pictures of Daniel from his Facebook. His Instagram. Google images. There was one I really liked where he had shorter hair and there was a rainbow prism on his face. That picture made me cum so much. I would say his name out loud while I masturbated if my husband wasn’t home. But after a number of years, it wasn’t enough to satiate me anymore. I wanted to know what Daniel would feel like inside of me. I wanted to know what his cock looked like. How he kissed. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I had down the math, I only had like what? 10 more years of being mildly hot. At best? Like hot enough that your male friend wants to fuck you; even though, you’re married, and he came to your wedding, kind of hot. We had already known each other for 8 years with nothing happening, I couldn’t keep wasting time like this.
I texted him a picture of me in lingerie and pretended it was an accident. He said he was going to keep it anyway. Nooooooo, I half-heartedly protested. But what are you doing? Do you want to get together and watch a movie soon? Yeah, okay.
I sat on his old leather couch next to him. We ate pizza. We watched two Daniel Day-Lewis movies back to back, getting closer and closer on the couch. The thong underneath my denim mini skirt was soaked. My heart was racing. He better fucking put his fucking tongue down my throat. I couldn’t wait for him anymore. I interrupted Phantom Thread, “Can I tell you a secret?” I could. “I sent you that underwear pic of me on purpose.” He had figured. But why? “I was flirting with you.” And then he slowly moved in. We were going to kiss. He paused inches away from my lips. Are we going to do this? I nodded yes, kissing him hard. Fuck, it was so hot. I was kissing Daniel. Holy fuck. I could feel his tongue on my tongue. He made me so fucking wet.
I straddled him on the couch, continuing to kiss him. He took off my white shirt, my sheer bra, I was half naked in front of him. On him. Still kissing him. I wanted to fuck him so badly. He slid down on the couch, placing his mouth underneath my pussy. Pulling my panties to the side, he tasted me. I could see clearly out the window behind his couch, and I wondered if his neighbors could see the topless woman getting eaten out by their neighbor. He ate my pussy like he had wanted to taste me for years. The same way I wanted to taste his cock and was going to. I got off him, told him I wanted his cock in my mouth. I leaned over his lap and put his cock in my mouth the way I had wanted to for almost a decade. I couldn’t wait for him to find out that my only true talent in life is giving blow jobs.
I wanted to fuck him, but Daniel said no. He had a girlfriend. Oh right. Daniel had a girlfriend. In the eight or whatever years I had known Daniel, he had never had a girlfriend to my knowledge. The only thing close to a girlfriend I had seen was when I had bumped into him with his ex-girlfriend, but she was an ex even at the time. I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t take Daniel having a girlfriend seriously. I honestly kept forgetting she even existed. I’m such a bitch. Problematic. But, I’m not in the boat where we blame the other party for someone’s indiscretions. But, I’ll accept being called a bitch. I still wanted to fuck Daniel either way. We had waited so long. I wanted to know what he’d feel like inside of me. In lieu of fucking me, he put his fingers so deep into my pussy that it took my breath away. I’ve never been into being finger fucked. Definitely some light fingering while being eaten out, but being finger fucked does nothing for me. Unless, of course, I can’t have sex with you. Then holy shit, yes, keep doing it. Harder. Deeper.
My Lyft driver got lost on the way taking me home, and I didn’t even notice because I kept replaying the night over and over again in my head. I had finally made-out with Daniel. He had had his fingers inside me. I had his cock down my throat. My appetite for him was nowhere near satiated though. Not until he’d fuck me. I knew after eight years of missed opportunities, the first time we’d have sex would be so fucking intense and dramatic. And I wanted that. I hadn’t had that in years. And I knew in my current marriage, I would never have passion again. It couldn’t be cultivated with us, no matter how much we loved each other as people. I would do anything to feel what it was like with Daniel, though.
I couldn’t wait to see him again. And luckily, I had left my water bottle behind in his house. Luckily, he didn’t live far away from where I worked in Hollywood. Not that I got a lot of work done while I thought about him fucking me anywhere and everywhere at all hours of the day. I went to get it wearing a plaid schoolgirl skirt and sheer white t-shirt with no bra underneath. He asked if I wanted to see what he was working on, so I sat across from him as he showed me some things he had edited. Finally, we talked about it. So the other night had been crazy. Yeah. Sexy. I wish we could do it again. He had to go to meet up with his girlfriend soon. Fuck, girlfriend. Right. He started to walk me out, but we kept pausing along the way. Drawing it out for as long as possible. I turned to him in the kitchen. I really wanted to make-out with him again. He grabbed me and pulled me in. Okay, maybe just for a little bit. It was so fucking hot. His hands up my skirt, in my hair. Pushed up against the kitchen counter. My hand down his pants. His tongue in my mouth. I could feel how hard he was through his pants. His front door was wide open. Anyone could see, walk in.
He pulled himself off me; he really had to go. I turned around and began to walk out the door. He came behind me and started kissing my neck, wrapped his arm around me and down the front of my panties. We stood right in front of the open door. He touched my pussy and kissed my neck as I stood in the doorframe, looking out over his porch, his front yard. He kept kissing me outside. I finally made it to my car, turned it on. “Are You Lonesome Tonight” played on the AM oldies station I listen to. I was getting ready to leave, when he came up to my car door. I opened it, and he bent down to kiss me again, feel my pussy one last time. Fuck.
Like I would eventually do with Sean, my former therapist, I couldn’t stop thinking about Daniel. About what it would be like to fuck him. Have him inside me. That was the first time I had really had a romantic or sexual obsession beyond Vincent and former boss years ago. Before, I could hold it together. There had been bad crushes, like a recent coworker, but this was something different that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. But something about the timing of Daniel. How my marriage was imploding while my ex-husband and I remained eerily passive aggressive about it. How I was working my first 9-5 in years, a schedule out of my control, which my OCD did not enjoy. A complete anxiety meltdown was brewing inside of me, and I had no idea that in a few months, I would basically have a nervous breakdown. I think I used Daniel has a distraction. Seducing my male friend was a project that would keep my mind off the fact that everything around me was out of my control. I needed Daniel. Without him, I would fall apart. I needed his cock inside me.
We went to see The Last Black Man in San Francisco. I already had tickets because I felt it was going to be “the best movie of the decade.” He had really wanted to see it, too. I don’t know what I was thinking. I knew all I could think about was wanting to fuck him. I don’t know why I would invite him to a movie I actually wanted to watch, where we would be in a crowded theatre, sitting smack in the middle, nowhere to hide. Nowhere to make-out. For two hours. Just sitting in silence. Wondering if I should touch him somehow. Or if he would touch me somehow. Or what if we knew somebody else there and they saw us? Those two hours were two of the most excruciating hours I’ve ever experienced. This was a movie I had waited months to see, but it dragged on to new heights of boredom because I wanted to walk back to Daniel’s with him to make-out and fuck because I thought it certainly wasn’t going to happen in this theatre. I still, to this day, have not rewatched that movie because it was so unbearable that night. The only other time I had been more miserable in a theatre was when my ex-boyfriend took me to see Lawrence of Arabia, and I had zero interest outside of Omar Sharif. It lasted almost 4 hours, and I knew I would be quizzed on it afterwards by my pretentious ex. I hate Lawrence of Arabia. But thank god, this movie wasn’t as long, and it eventually ended.
Daniel and I exited the theatre, and instead of heading towards the exit, he grabbed my hand and pulled me in the opposite direction. “Let’s go this way,” he said, guiding me to a dead-ended hallway of the Arclight Hollywood cinema. Nobody was around. Between entrances to other theaters, Daniel pulled me in and started making out with me. He had been waiting to touch me, too. Our hands were all over each other until someone exited one of the theaters, saw us, and started laughing to themselves. Daniel pulled me into one of the theaters, I’m not sure what movie was playing, but we made out by the exit doors until we heard more people coming. We looked for another movie to sneak into and found a pretty empty screening of Echo in the Canyon. We went straight to the top row, the other maybe 5, 10 people tops in the theatre were sitting in the middle. Nobody could see us making out with each other. Nobody could see Daniel get down on the theatre floor, hiding between rows, as he took off my panties, his head between my thighs and made me cum in his mouth. “Expecting to Fly” by Buffalo Springfield played on the screen as I tried to quietly cum with his tongue on me.
I wanted to fuck him so badly, but we couldn’t go back to his place. His roommate was in town, and they were friends with his girlfriend. Oh, yeah. Girlfriend. I kept forgetting. Back in his seat, I leaned over his lap and took his cock out. It was his turn to try to cum silently, the sound of iconic 60’s Laurel Canyon music tuning out his groans and the noises my mouth made as I took him into it. I swallowed his cum, and I loved it. That’s the first and only time I’ve ever given a blow job in a movie theatre. First time I had ever been eaten out in a movie theatre. Fuck, it was so hot. I’d think about it for days. Weeks. How my cum must’ve been on the movie theatre seat. I wanted to fuck him so fucking bad. I can’t say it enough, really.
I rented a cabin in Laurel Canyon, to write in. The inspiration I would later use for Sean at the Chateau Marmont. Only, I really did plan on writing in Laurel Canyon. The cabin was perfect. An A-frame wonder high in the hills with three decks to write on. You could really hear the echo in the canyon. It was the dream place for me to work on the screenplay I was writing that took place in the early 70s. Wearing my Gunne Sax and wide-brimmed hat, drinking matcha on the deck, sweating in the sun as I typed. But that would be the following day. I had other plans for my first night. I wanted Daniel to come over. We’d smoke some pot, eat some pizza, “watch a movie.” I made a playlist to write to, but it was so fucking good, I knew I wanted to hear it while Daniel fucked me in the loft of the tiny hippy cabin. I wanted to cum again to “Expecting to Fly.” Much like I later did for Sean, I made sure everything was immaculate. I wore my Sandalwood perfume, my Spell tasseled sleeved dress. Shaved, waxed, stoned. And then he arrived.
We stepped into the cabin. He quickly looked around, and then pulled me into him, kissing me deeply, passionately. We continued to fool around in the big bed under the exposed cabin beams. I played the playlist. Daniel asked if we were going to do this. Was this finally going to happen after 8ish years of friendship? Yes. It was. My heart was racing so fast, the room was spinning. I was going to feel him inside of me. I had thought about this moment for years. And it was perfect. Because I could tell he was also nervous and excited. That he also felt the intensity of the situation. He could also feel the insane, adrenaline rush as he put his cock inside me. I’ve only ever had experiences like it with one other person, and those were recently. I didn’t have it with my ex-husband, didn’t have it with Vincent, didn’t have it with Sean, or the ex-boyfriend who made me watch Lawrence of Arabia. It was like a drug. It was a drug. We were riding the same fucking high, peaking at the same time when we felt each other for the first time. “Holy shit, we’re fucking,” he said in almost disbelief. That’s how surreal it felt. We had done it. It was happening. It had taken so long. And we fucked so long. Fuck, it was Lawrence of Arabia. But much, much better. Nothing can top the high of fucking a longtime friend you have chemistry with after years of fantasizing about it. I’ve done coke, heroin, MDMA, enough pills to take down The Rock, but I assure you, none of them feel as good as fucking your attractive male friend of 8 years. I swear to fucking god. It can only be beat by the feeling of being in love, and even that may be a stretch. The cabin in Laurel Canyon was a fucking dream. We were actually a 60’s erotic art film.
But it wouldn’t stop there. We had one more to go. I had never been to a drive-in theatre. Covid hadn’t hit yet, so there was no revival of drive-in movies, and the screenings were scarce. There were a few drive-ins left in the LA area, and they were always dead. And I wanted to fuck Daniel in one. The only thing that could possibly top our first fuck. So a few weeks later, we did that. But only after I sent him my cum-stained panties in the mail as a surprise.
I paid almost $1,000 to have my car windows tinted super dark. That’s how much of a piece of shit I am. But I reasoned with myself that skin cancer runs in my family, so it wasn’t just about being able to fuck in my car without anybody seeing. It’s for health. But mostly fucking. I wore black cowboy boots, a pink For Love & Lemons dress with a black heart print, and an oversized denim jacket. My eyeshadow was hot pink. I think it was my best outfit I’ve ever worn. Kind of an Alabama Worley thing going on. And as we stood in line for concessions, I swear to god, Daniel looked at me like he was in love with me for a minute. He looked at my face, smiling, his eyes locking with mine. What? He said he liked my eyeshadow. Yeah, right, you just fell in love with me for about 80 seconds. I saw you.
We didn’t even attempt to watch the movie. We immediately started making out and fucking so hard in my car that the windows fogged up, the car shook. The few people at the drive-in had to know people were fucking in my car. It was too obvious. But we kept going. I made him cum three times. Once while I was on top of him, straddling him in the backseat. Riding him as the sound from Ready or Not played through the drive-in radio station. The second time while he was on top of me, laying across the backseat, my legs over his shoulders, my head pounding against the armrest on the door as he called me “a fucking whore” per my request. Then the third time in my mouth as I gave him a blow job that tasted a little like popcorn.
And then he got sad. He looked upset. Silently feeling guilty for cheating on his girlfriend. Oh, right. The girlfriend. Seeing him sad and feeling guilty made it click for me. And I’m not sure what happened, but I suddenly felt out of my body. My first moment of derealization aka disassociation that feels like you’re a spectator of your own body instead of actually in your body. A feeling I got stuck in for months. I think I finally felt guilty for my part in this affair. Not having realized up until that point that his relationship was real. Feeling unloved and unwanted because Daniel didn’t love me. My own husband wouldn’t have even cared about me like Daniel cared about his girlfriend in that moment. I think I suddenly realized how alone I was, and I couldn’t escape it all by fixating on fucking Daniel. The anxiety, panic, depression, and OCD were seeping in fast. I tried to keep calm. I reasoned that I was just tired. It was late. We fucked so much. I was fine. And we left the drive-in.
A couple weeks later, I started having the panic attacks and suicidal thoughts that led me to seeking out a therapist. Sean. The one who preyed on me. I haven’t seen Daniel since the drive-in. I had told Sean about this story, told him it was part of what triggered the problems I was having. And Sean fucked me anyway. Read more »