Shuttered Truth

Leona

"Lee, get that shot..." Gustav Rott, the documentary director shouted and so I slid onto my back underneath the bench between the legs of the male performer. His cock was pounding the pussy of the female performer, Kelly, and she was keening and moaning like the true professional she was. Her body was certainly responding and my shot caught the slickness on his shaft and juices running down on to her backside.

"Cut...reset," Frank, the director of the professional pornographic film shouted and all action ceased. I slid past the end of the bench and then sat up. Two long hairy male legs were akimbo on either side of me and I glanced up. If he hadn't been a gentleman and cupped his cock and balls with his hands I would have smacked my forehead off them.

"Shit...sorry..." I scrambled to my feet, ensuring not to drop the very expensive self-stabilising hand held video camera I was using.

He gave me a smile and my lady bits responded. Jesus, how long had I gone without sex this time?

The next scene was the male performer fucking Kelly's face and so she lay on her back with her head hanging over the edge of the bench and the male performer stood with his legs either side of her head. He was bent forward, supporting his upper body on his arms either side of her legs on the bench.

Frank ok'd the setup of the stationary cameras and I moved off to the side to get my first roving view of what was about to happen. The action was slow at first with Kelly setting the pace of the intrusion into her mouth and throat. Very quickly Frank began calling for more.

"Don't stop when she gags, I wanna see drool..." he instructed but several times she used her safety out of turning to the side and popping the cock out of her mouth. Each time she gulped in air through her mouth, unable to breathe through her nose as it was full because the gagging was causing her eyes to water.

The male performer entered her mouth again and quickly began pounding her. The gurgling of spittle in her throat became louder and when she attempted to move her head the director roared for the male performer to keep going. To oblige he had to hold her head in place.

I moved with my camera down her body capturing the flexing and releasing of her fists and the slight flailing of her legs as she ran out of breath.

"That's it...give us the money shot Scot," Frank encouraged despite the fact that Kelly was now writhing on the bench, to my mind trying to get away, but I dared not interfere.

We'd been granted access as observers for a documentary that my friend was doing and he'd roped me in on cameras while I was recuperating in Germany with my grandfather.

"Yes, let the drool flow..."

Finally they released her and she sucked in huge gulps of air, but immediately Frank was in her face asking her to smile and say how great it'd been. She did his bidding but the smile didn't reach her eyes and when I panned up to Scot's face his expression of concern was genuine.

Later when the two performers were showered and dressed Gustav approached them for the agreed documentary interview. Frank hovered nearby and they kept glancing to him as they said how they really enjoyed their sessions even though it was a job to them.

I was asking the questions as Gustav had wanted a female perspective. I directed my next comment to Frank.

"You don't take very good care of your performers, Frank, do you? It was plain to see that both of them were in distress when you were pushing for 'the money shot' -- why didn't you respect that and stop?"

The camera panned from me over to Frank and he came charging towards me.

"Who the fuck do you think you are coming in here and throwing around accusations...?" he shouted but before he could get in my face Scot stood to his full 6'5" height and blocked his path to me.

"Cool it, Frank..." he rumbled.

"Really Scot? You want to side with her? Are you sure?"

I could hear the hidden threat in his questions and Scot looked between us all and then down to Kelly. She gave him a slight nod and he sat back down and took her hand. I thought I'd lost them when Frank grinned.

"Didn't think so. You," he jabbed a finger at me while Gustav kept his body between us. "No more questions like that, you hear?"

"He'll black list us if we don't do what he wants," Scot said quietly and I fervently hoped the sound engineer had captured it.

Kelly gripped his hand more tightly and leaned forwards.

"He's got a lot of influence with the other directors and if he puts word out that we're uncooperative we won't be first choice for jobs... I might be ok for a while but..."

"There are any number of guys lining up to do what I do...I'd never work," Scot added.

"You're right," Frank called as he stormed away. "You'll never work and this documentary will never see the light of day."

Two months later Gustav's documentary had gone viral on social media and the story was picked up by mainstream media. Kelly and Scot, rather than being blacklisted, were being hailed as brave whistleblowers and were fielding requests for interviews left and right.

Gustav was being put forward for an award and my name was on people's lips as a surprise participant given my background in photojournalism and a documentary with the Irish Peacekeeping Force abroad.

Today, Gustav sat with me, holding my hand as my grandfather, Bartolomew Herbrandt took his last breaths.

"It's a pity he'll miss his ninetieth birthday," Gustav commented.

"Who would have thought that when a small Catholic German orphan was sent to Ireland by the Irish Red Cross that he'd go onto live this long."

"Well I still think there's a book in the story. How, years later, he married the daughter of the Irish family who took him in and went on to have your mother who then had you."

Gustav had urged me many times to record my grandfather telling his stories, but as with most people, we never think our story is particular worthy of other people's interest.

He and I were all the family we had left. He'd lost his entire family during WWII and had told me stories of being a starving young boy and stealing food from the back of army lorries that rumbled through the streets of bombed out Cologne.

My parents, Helen and Jack Roach, had died when I was ten so he'd become my guardian and raised me with the best of both German and Irish traditions.

Now his thin, veined hand reached for mine and I gripped it.

"It's ok, grandpa," I said in fluent German. "You can go now. I'll be alright."

He smiled, squeezed my hand and let out a final breath. The nurse nearby muted the machines quickly and we sat in peaceful silence as the tears flowed down my face. I felt privileged to be present at the end of a life well lived.

"You know he was the one who first placed a camera in my hands and told me to record the world around me. I'm not sure he could have envisioned me on the set of a porn movie or dodging bombs with Irish soldiers."

Gustav gave a quiet laugh. "He was proud of you Leona, no matter what you did."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so. He told me often enough. Whether you were travelling with the fashion photographer or following peace keepers into former war zones he kept a close watch on you always."

Two weeks later the taxi pulled up outside the Dublin city center building that housed my apartment. I tipped the driver as he unloaded just one suitcase from the boot of his car. I'd learned how to travel light when I'd been an assistant to a famous fashion photographer and besides, all of my belongings, except the urn I clutched, were here in Ireland.

After the incident with the Irish Peacekeepers nine months ago, I hadn't intended to go back to Germany but Opa had been very persuasive and it turned out that I needed more tender loving care than I'd realized. I owed him so much and this apartment was no exception. We'd lived in a house in the suburbs until I was twenty and then Opa had decided to go back to Germany. He'd split the proceeds of the house sale with me and allowed me to buy this place outright.

The front of the business on the ground floor was obviously under renovation and I wondered if the lovely couple who'd run the pub were still there. I lifted a corner of the plastic covering and saw that the once red bricks had been painted black and I just caught a glimpse of the sign above. Club Expression. I was doubly glad now that I'd invested in good sound proofing for the flat above. It was all quiet now, being nearly midnight.

I sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pooled around my hairline and in the creases of my knees and elbows. The nightmare had been more vivid this time and Fidelma's face had begun beautiful and then morphed into a bleeding corpse. I shook myself out of the past and threw back the covers. The sun was just peeking over the horizon so I grabbed a cup of tea and went out onto the small balcony that overlooked an enclosed garden below. As I took in the improvements that had been made, movement caught my attention.

Three tall muscled men moved slowly and fluidly as they worked through what I recognized as a Tai Chi routine. They were shirtless, despite the crisp chill in the air. I could see that two of them had a variety of tattoos, but the younger less muscled man, sported only one or two.

My hand massaged the spot where my new tattoo for my grandfather was still healing. It sat to the left of my chest, just over my breast. An open heart and within that the black eagle with the red beak of Germany. It was similar to the ones I'd had done when my parents died years earlier. An open shamrock for my Irish dad on my right upper arm, and on my left upper arm an open claddagh with the black eagle inside for my German/Irish mother.

The men below changed from Tai Chi and were doing press ups on the grass. My mouth went dry and my thighs clenched as their muscles worked to lift them up and down. An image of me lying on the grass beneath one of them or maybe all three of them flashed into my mind and I gripped the mug.

They switched to sit ups and I was lucky to have them facing me so that I could see their washboard abs flexing and releasing. I liked to work out to keep myself in shape. I still used the routine I'd learned while getting special training with the peacekeeping soldiers I'd shadowed over a two year period. My physique would never match theirs for muscle and tone. Along with what they were doing here I guessed that they also had to lift weights.

They continued with stretches and even though their workout shorts were loose it was still possible to make out that each of them was well endowed, matching their heights which I guessed must range from 6'5" to only a few inches shorter.

As the sun fully crested the horizon fifteen minutes later they grabbed towels from a nearby bench, rubbed the sweat from their faces and bodies and then filed down the path towards the back entrance of the building. Just before he went out of view the youngest man glanced up at me.

"Ciao bella," he called and blew me a kiss before he disappeared.

My entire body reacted and I almost dropped the mug. His accent had been perfect and I wondered if he was full Italian or a hybrid like me.

These were obviously the owners of the club downstairs.

"It's always nice to have neighbors who are easy on the eye, Lee," I told myself as I ditched the mug in the dishwasher and headed for a cool shower.

I opened my phone and searched for Club Expression. There were ads on social media for the Grand Opening in a week and I found an article on them too and read the blurb.

"The three Irish Italian brothers, Ryan, Dónal and Fionn Vincenzi have recently bought and renovated what was a quaint Irish pub. It's past patrons would probably lift an eyebrow at the exclusive private members club they have established in its stead. Local businesses and residents had expressed concerns, but the brothers have been currying favor with their neighbors by heavily investing in the surrounding amenities. A playground, a swimming pool, a youth club and pool/snooker hall, a gym with a minimal membership fee and classes that cater for 8 year olds up to 80 year olds.

Rumors of criminality follow these brothers, but there doesn't seem to be any evidence to back those up. Perhaps we've all just watched too many episodes of the Sopranos and think that all handsome Italian fellas have to have a hidden Mafia past."

Under the article was a picture of the three of them shaking hands with Mr O' Rourke as they handed over the keys.

Keys, I thought, what had the O' Rourke's done with the spare set for this flat I'd left with them for emergencies while I was gone?

Later that afternoon I checked the post box on the outside wall of the building at the bottom of the stairs that led to my apartment door. No keys but plenty of junk mail that went directly into the paper recycling bin. I heard a noise directly above me and looked up. Fionn Vincenzi was on the scaffolding adjusting the camera that was on the wall.

"Excuse me...hello?" I called up and he looked over the safety rail. "What are you doing?"

He looked between me and the camera and I tried not to notice how fit and handsome he was.

"I'm making pasta, Bella, what does it look like?" he smart arsed back at me.

"That wall belongs to me, you've no business having a camera on it."

He placed the tool he'd been using between his feet and hunkered down so that he could speak to me without shouting. It took a lot of effort but I kept my gaze away from the bulge I now had a clear view of between his parted thighs. Jesus, even his thighs were sexy trying to escape the fabric of his jeans which was stretched to its limit.

"You're mistaken, Miss Roach." I tried to hide my surprise at him knowing my name.

"How so, Mr Vincenzi?" two could play at that game. He smiled.

"Your property begins up there," he said pointing to a row of bricks about a foot above the scaffolding. "We checked the plans very carefully to ensure we were not encroaching on you, I assure you."

I stepped back and scanned the window level. There was about a foot between the bottom of my windows and the line he'd pointed out and that matched the inside.

"Will that camera cover this entrance?" I asked and he nodded. I supposed it was no harm to have it as a deterrent but with so many changes being made I felt I needed to set boundaries with these new people. The O' Rourke's and I had worked well together as neighbors.

"May I get back to work now, Bella? You have no further complaints?" he asked. The mischief dancing in his eyes was alluring but I kept any hint of amusement at bay.

"None right now..." I replied and stepped up to the waiting Uber I'd ordered. "But I'm sure it's only a matter of time." I left the implication hanging that I might have in the future because who knew?

When the Uber driver pulled up outside the graveyard I took a moment before I paid and stepped out. The car pulled away and I noticed a man standing on the far side of the dual carriage way, watching me. He was familiar and not in a good way but then a large truck blocked my view and when it moved in the traffic he was gone. I shook it off, after all what were the chances he'd followed me from Germany?

I'd finally received all of the permissions I needed to bury some of Opa's ashes with my parents as he'd wished. The rest of him was buried at the base of a tree in Germany in a beautiful forest set up just for that purpose.

Before I went to their grave, however, I needed to pay my respects to Sergeant Fidelma Cusack. I laid the small posey of flowers I'd bought on the base of her grave.

She'd been a fiery redhaired soldier on her third deployment into a now peaceful warzone to help keep that peace intact. The first day we'd met she'd berated the male subordinate ranks about making inappropriate remarks to me but in an aside had added.

"Naturally if anyone or all of them catches your eye I wouldn't dream of stopping you...since you're not actually military personnel what you do in your own time is none of my business. Just leave the boys intact enough that they can carry out their duties."

She'd winked and walked away and while I'd found her a little scandalous I'd liked her instantly.

She'd been assigned to be my shadow on my third trip collecting video for the documentary the TV station I'd worked for at the time had been given the green light to produce.

I'd known from earlier that day that tensions were high when there were several briefings I wasn't allowed attend.

"I've been authorized to tell you that there has been unauthorized insurgent activity in a zone that should be neutral. That's where we'll be patrolling today so stay close, keep your press flak jacket firmly in place and if you're told to leave an area you get the fuck out without hesitation no matter what. Am I clear?"

My body camera was on the whole time and so there was clear footage of the ambush.

"Press, out now," the commander had ordered us out and so we'd taken off running, following the other soldiers. I'd been training with them for the previous six months before they'd deployed, but my speed was lacking with the weight of the body armor and my photography equipment. Suddenly Fidelma stopped me and tugged my camera bag off my back and shouted at me to get going and that's when the bomb exploded. I watched in horror as she was thrown up into the air and her body flung towards us. It landed hard, crumpled and bent in unnatural ways a few feet away and without any thought I ran to her. The medic found me with her head on my lap and my camera bag safely beside me unharmed. He declared her dead at the scene.

A gust of wind flapped my long coat around my legs and I shivered.

"I'm sorry Fids," I whispered.

I moved over to my parents' grave and after bringing them all up to date on my current situation, I knelt down at the hole that had been dug by the cemetery staff at the bottom edge of the headstone and placed the urn into it. I tried to use the little mound of earth to one side to cover it over but it had frozen overnight. Feeling that I couldn't leave Opa exposed to the elements until the cemetery staff returned to finish the job, I began stabbing at it.