...Performance Piece (aka “The Cum Shot”)...

I’m kinda’ nervous ya know, 

cause it’s like     my first time. 

I mean, we’ve only just met. 

But no… like, I have heard of her. 

I feel like I should 

know her quite intimately. 

Then again, 

a lot of guys might say that. 

So anyway, she’s naked already. 

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed 

reading a magazine and for all I know, 

she may have been sitting there for hours. 

I begin to take my clothes off and 

not once does she look up from her reading. 

   Not once. 

I suppose I should be sorta’ relieved as 

I’m not always relaxed at 

moments of intimacy. 

Of course there’s the moment 

where you’d hope the lights would dim, 

but in this case they get brighter instead. 

Soon the entire bed is bathed in golden light. 

A bank of even further intensive lights 

switch on from the far side of the bed and 

the barrage of backlighting 

gives her head an angelic halo. 

Remove the magazine, 

give her a child, and

she’d surely be 

a madonna. 

What with all the extra light, 

I am now made totally aware 

   of all the others.  

No, we are certainly not alone. 

It’s not that anybody is truly gawking at me. 

If it’s possible, they 

actually look somewhat bored. 

Though I’m standing there naked, 

It is almost as if they’re 

gazing straight through me. 

“Hmmm,” they seem to say, 

“that picture on the far wall is crooked.” 

The director appears with his 

gynecologically enlightened entourage 

and I am presently ushered over to the bed.

When I get there, 

an assistant steps forward 

to relieve the only other 

naked person in the room 

of her reading material. 

The director gives us a quick idea of 

the dialog he expects from us, 

then goes to point out 

that it really doesn’t matter. 

We can say whatever we want 

as long as we don’t deviate too far 

from the joint activity at hand. 

I couldn’t say, 

go off on a tangent and 

start talking about fly fishing, 

that is, unless I could 

somehow tie it all back 

to the fishless activity at hand. 

The director yells “play ball!” 

but I don’t catch what he’s saying. 

I mean in my drama class 

they said the proper accepted verbiage is 

“take one,” or even, 

   “roll’em.” 

I’m not really sure I’ve got 

the proper background for all this. 

I pause to express 

my concerns to the director 

but both he and the 

fine thespian on the bed 

roll their eyes in unison. 

The director lets out a long sigh, 

then commences a short lecture 

about how un-important it is to 

fuss over verbal directive semantics. 

He then rather amazingly ties in my 

proposed subject of fly fishing by 

stating that the only thing 

that really matters is my tackle. 

Though I continue 

to pause production 

asking the director 

what my motivation is

for each line uttered, 

we move through the dialog fairly fast. 

You know, I am 

a professional after all.

It’s at this point we are 

forced to move on to the action stuff. 

To be honest, 

I’ve never felt confident 

with my physical acting. 

I’d much rather convey emotion 

through voice inflection 

and play of words. 

I just don’t feel 

my body movements 

are expressive enough. 

Of course with the film rolling, 

there’s the part where 

I commence all this 

vigorous thrusting. 

I mean, you kind of expect that 

in this film genre, but

what  I’ve come to question at this point 

is what is it my character is trying to say 

via his over enthusiastic display of libido? 

Does he respect her? 

Does she respect him?

Any meaningful dialog has 

pretty much gone out the window by now. 

My co-actor has begun to throw out some 

pretty impressive guttural improvisations 

and my goodness, 

the facial expressions she’s capable of! 

Not to be outdone, 

I counter with a few of my own, 

and just at the moment 

it occurs that I might ad lib 

a few lines from ‘Death of a Salesman’. 

And lo but the most 

embarrassing thing happens. 

I’m sure that all you actors out there 

know that the most important piece 

of film footage in this type of 

celluloid magic is the ‘money shot’. 

The Money Shot. 

You know… 

That little bit where

you deliver your payload. 

I mean… 

Damned if I didn’t 

blow that completely.

I mean really blow it. 

The no stopping and 

“Hey,-do-you-mind-if-we-

do-a-retake-on-that-one?”

   version of ‘blow it’. 

Oh, and of course my co-actor 

lets everyone know this instantly. 

I apologize profusely

but am drowned out by

an avalanche of caustic ridicule. 

You know, 

this wouldn’t have happened 

if I hadn’t been thinking 

about Willy Loman. 

I should never, 

ever have left the theater. 

                                                                   

Ó03 Jack David Hubbell