Twintimacy
Chapter Two
03 – Fuck
‘Who’s playing the wife? Which of you has femme tendencies?’
That had been the toughest question for the twins to
address, and to resolve between them before I imposed a decision.
Getting the boys to accept a fuck scene in this movie took a
drawn-out process of dialogue, persuasion and threat, across several days.
There’s a bare room with a ceiling lamp suspended centrally over a simple
table, resembling an interrogation cell. The seating, for our meetings,
comprised three one-piece moulded chairs of lightweight plastic, to limit
injury if thrown in anger: these chairs aren’t comfortable for any length of
time, which may have gone some way to forcing a resolution. I took one side of the
table, with Struan and Cameron sat beside each other, opposite and close enough
to clash elbows when they became animated.
We talked, a lot, as I led the boys through the screenplay
of scene 03 – Fuck. I told them what was required, tabled as demands not
proposals. I laid it out for them starkly, but I’m not a complete ogre and I
was ready to listen.
Of course, their first response was along the lines of ‘What
the fuck!? NO WAY’, only longer and with fouler language. The carrot I
dangled was that Fuck might be sick, but it was to be enacted just the
once, and in thirty minutes it would be over. The stick I wielded was the
alternative of immediate progression to the filthy movie… or the snuff movie.
The imbalance of power helped their decision-making along.
I reassured the twins about exposure, in case they had
concerns. They would, I admitted, become porn stars of notoriety, but only
amongst the monied queer elite – hundreds of people, worldwide. They’d still be
able to walk amongst the tourists in Edinburgh, post-release, without hanging
heads in shame. The sort of men (mostly) who buy my films aren’t the kind to
point or ask for selfies, because they value discretion.
I spent some time with Struan and Cameron on the psychology
of incest, and how their shredded emotions might best be handled, during and
after filming. The movie was to be a work of art, in so far as porn can aspire
to artistic accolades, but they were just actors, performing parts with
brilliance but without any suggestion of real-world sexual attraction. They
didn’t think much of my explainer, but it helped turn ‘NO!’ into a more
open-minded approach.
Chairs were not thrown, but walls were punched, and heads
were held in hands. When the mildest differences of opinion arose between them,
I was careful to exploit the division, turning cracks into chasms until they
argued puce-faced with each other in front of me, silent.
We would circle back to their options, and I would drip feed
them with programme content for that TwAT film I’m desperate to make, to
gross them out.
Beyond the concept of family fucking, the hardest
conversations concerned their delivery. This couldn’t be a limp piece of film –
I just wouldn’t tolerate that. Their slamming had to be much more than a
standard fucking of their girlfriends, because anal was special and porn
demanded bigger highs.
I asked them to consider their masculinity, and how it must
translate into this scene of incest: Strength, control, determination,
aggression – where necessary – and breeding. Also stamina, in both roles. I’d
help, of course, with lubricant, chemical stimulant (Top) and relaxant
(bottom), but these aids wouldn’t get them far. I needed their commitment to
force this through – to action it faithfully.
United, they told me they didn’t think they could make this
fuck happen. And I was sympathetic, conceding that it was hard for two straight
boys to ass fuck, but I reminded them how important this was for me and, by
extension, for them.
It was Struan who asked me, a little naively, whether I’d be
judging their fuck in some way and, if so, how.
‘Of course! All I want from this scene is the look of
authentic, spontaneous, unforced anal incest. Performed with porn star verbals
and flashed smiles, all-round. My standards are high, but fair. Does that
answer your question, Struan?’
They never could agree on which of them would power-bottom
for the other. That discussion went on interminably, with two reluctant
candidates for the fucking role and none to put-out for bro. It was, I reckon,
the most serious test of their fraternal bonds they’d experienced in 22 years
of brotherhood, and I let the tension fester before appointing Cameron to the passive
role: no more debate, and no arguments.
Cameron dared to face me off, jabbing his fingers and raging
in the white singlet and boxy shorts he (and Struan) wore for these pre-movie
talks. He couldn’t do this, he wasn’t a fuck toy, and I was a fucking
cunt. Cameron got so close, I felt his boiling spit over my face as he
lashed out, verbally. There was a moment of danger, but I stood my ground, as
you have to when working with boys. The fists were clenched and vascular, but
he didn’t let them fly, and his chair stayed on the floor. That showed a degree
of self-control I admired, privately.
And then, Cameron resorted to pleading with me: ‘We’ll
never get over this. Please, don’t make us fuck!’
When he’d calmed, we spoke some more – all of us – about the
confidence I had in them to shoot my perfect fuck scene. Sure, it would feel a
bit freaky, but they’re sexual animals in their prime and I wanted them to head
into the bedroom, relax, and try to enjoy the intimacy I’d brokered.
At that, it became Struan’s turn to fly off the handle. I’m
a sick pervert, apparently. Maybe, but it’s not me who’ll be talked about for
years in taboo circles as one of those identicals who ass fucked!
***
It’s important they are able to see each other’s faces, as
they fuck, which precludes a number of sexual positions.
Cameron’s on the bottom of the bed with his legs, folded at
the knees, drawn up alongside his torso, halving his length. He’s wearing black
ankle socks for the opening sequences, with the premise being that this sex was
so impulsive – so animalistic – that he was pinned down by his twin before he
could strip fully. In close-up we see the socks are damp with Cameron’s sweat,
but they’ll get wetter.
Struan is standing, naked – no socks on him. He’s behind his
brother, and inside him.
It hasn’t been an enviable task, for our active boy, trying
to balance care for his twin with the avoidance of my sharp reprimands through
his earpiece. But of course, it’s far worse for the passive actor, in agony at
the busting of his virginity but under orders to keep a happy face.
I’ve allowed them plenty of lubricant, but set against that
is Struan’s thick slab of Scottish dick meat, pump primed with porn as a
preliminary, off screen, though somehow he didn’t find his favourite lesbian
girls as horny in my sex prison as he does in the privacy of his own bedroom.
Their positioning allows Struan to lean-in upon Cameron,
letting gravity do a little of his penetrative work. He has control over
Cameron’s raised ankles, using them to micro-manage the sub’s attitude vis-a-vis
the thrusting direction of Struan’ own hips.
Despite their specific instructions, Struan entering Cameron
does not proceed in a way that is true to the screenplay I’ve walked them
through several times.
His ass lips parted in the most forgiving way by Struan’s
prick, Cameron’s face cycles through a series of acute winces, with brow
furrowed and eyes compressed to slits. His paws grab the mattress through the
sheet, clawing white-knuckled at the unyielding foam. Cameron’s verbals aren’t
consistent with a state of sexual ecstasy, either:
‘No… slower!’
‘Ahh… fuck!’ (Well, that one is fine as I’ve written it,
but it’s the grinding of teeth that goes with it that’s cementing the fail.)
He’s forbidden to mention that it hurts, whilst Struan is
forbidden to apologise for the pain he is causing. I’d spoken to them, in
briefing, about how this fuck should look, in an obsessively granular way:
‘I don’t think this is Cameron’s first time, okay? You
boys have messed around before, including anal play. So, I feel your challenge
as porn stars is to bring this to life as Cameron’s fourth time, say – he’s not
a total slut! – even though it’s a cherry-popping occasion in the real world.
Above all, it’s a moment of sweet intimacy you’ve both longed for, and not an
ordeal. That’s how I’ll direct the fuck scene, and those are the responses I
expect from you.’
They’re both laboured in their breathing, though it’s just
the initial spearing they’ve accomplished. Most of Struan is in his twin, but
he’s finding anal sex to be tight, and Cameron to be unreceptive. And now
they’re both static, panting, like this is enough and they expect a ‘well
done’.
<Struan only> ‘Fuck!’
It should be all I need to say, but he hardly leaps into
action.
Sulkily, the fucker’s hips start to swing.
<Cameron only> ‘Open up!’
They are, I hope, remembering my pointers as to what
lust-driven boy fucking should look and sound like. This is limp, though.
Struan is ginger in the way he extracts himself from his brother’s ring, then
pushes back in an exploratory way, like he fears there’s a booby trap up that
dumpster. Cameron, meanwhile, over-voices the discomfort he knows we don’t
want to hear of:
‘Aww… damn!’
‘Ahh… shit… hurts!’
As he says the hurt word, abandoning the self-control
I’m asking of him, Cameron’s face finds the close-up camera, and he’s scared.
It’s a serious fuck-up.
‘Sorry…’ Cameron blurts, compounding the error. This isn’t
looking authentic, is it?
<Cameron only> ‘Recover it, now. Open up properly. No
moaning.’
<Struan only> ‘Fuck
him like you’re desperate for his ass. Do it!’
The response is
an increase in tempo from 2/10 to 4/10, using two-thirds of Struan’s length. It
is, at once, hard for Cameron to take, but having let himself down he finds
ways to cope without complaining. One hand tries to extract chunks from the
mattress whilst the other fishes for his twin’s thigh, and that’s a move I
like: open palm skating over Struan’s humping leg, disturbing the light down
arranged upon it, glowing golden, and finding sensory comfort in the touch of
his identical, mid-fuck.
In truth, Cameron’s wandering hand is imploring moderation
in Struan’s fuck. That which he can’t ask for, he can promote by way of gestures
his twin will understand, because they’re flesh and blood, and DNA.
Gripped in the vice of Cameron’s asshole, Struan’s dick
stays hard enough to work with, thank fuck. On autopilot, Struan recalls and
displays my mandated facial expressions – the forced grins and the looks of
assertive concentration as he plows into his bro. Now and again, Struan
remembers his skeletal script, too:
‘Fuck yeah… feels so good!’
‘Holy shit, Cam… you’re so tight.’
<Struan only> ‘Okay,
up some more gears, now.’
I harry the active boy hard. This foreplay is not
enthralling to watch, at length, and I need to see men at work.
‘Fuck…’ Struan curses, under his breath but caught by our
sensitive microphones. A word of defiance. He mustn’t warn his twin or, worse,
ask permission to drill.
<Struan only> ‘Make
him hurt.’
Struan tightens his grip on Cameron’s ankles, pushing back
harder on the limbs as he transfers more of his body weight onto his brother,
slanting into Cameron with his groin. The bottom boy knows the screenplay from
here, and there’s an instinctive reaction of panic:
‘Fuck… Struan… not too fast!’
<Struan only> ‘Fast!’
I override the fraternal plea with my more important
instruction, and find Struan receptive to me. This is, after all, a one-off
depravity like I said, and it’s well progressed.
We’re onto focused
anal work, now. It’s carefree and fuck the consequences – just enjoy
yourself in the moment. Slapping noises have started as Struan hilts his dick
to an elevated rhythm, groin slamming into ass. Anal novice he may be, but
Struan’s an athlete beginning to deploy his strength, pushing through the hard
resistance he encounters. It does look good, for the cameras, with our
top developing his technique on the fly, forcing a deep penetration from his
engine room – those bucking hips.
Struan acts-out fragments of my stage directions, as he
remembers them: The sexy wink, as he gazes down into Cameron’s stunned eyes,
and the placing of a hand against the back of his own neck, casual, to out-turn
a furry armpit dribbling with his effortful perspiration.
Cameron, too, half-recalls his prompts, which are easy. Smile,
and be thankful is the sum of it, and he garbles an approximation of his lines,
now and then:
‘Feels so good…’
‘Awww…. fuck, yeah…. you’re so big!’
But there’s a mismatch between the hackneyed porn lingo, and
the agony writ over Cameron’s face. Everything is tensed or screwed-up. The
knuckles drag at the mattress. The toes are curled into the soles, stiff. It’s
a war waged on virginity, and it hurts like hell. The red stinging of Cameron’s
eyes is caught at length by the passing camera.
For my viewers, a boy fuck must be a hard fuck, and this has
become one.
<Struan only> ‘Slap
him. Improve you verbals.’
Again, Struan acknowledges me with a shallow nod to camera
that looks weird. The naturalness should be better.
‘Sweet little pussy, eh?’ he purrs to his twin. ‘My
secret faggot, yeah?’
But Cameron isn’t seeing the funny side of this. He’s
started to moan at each punching penetration:
‘Ahh…. ahh… ah FUCK… awww.’
Struan uses an open palm to clap his brother across a folded
thigh.
<Struan only> ‘Harder,
with the slapping. Let me hear it ring!’
My top boy responds, spanking Cameron with a more
satisfactory method, masculine and harsh. Cameron gasps under the assault,
though it’s trivial compared to the pain he registers anally.
<Struan only> ‘Okay,
step up your fucking to the max. Give it everything. Fucking rape him!’
At which Struan stops pumping, defiant as anything. Extracting
his leaking prick from his bro, leaving it to wobble semi-hard and furious, he
finds the nearest camera.
‘Fuck you! Asshole! Fuck you, you utter cunt! I can’t do
this anymore!’
***
Earlier this week, I teased the forthcoming release of Twintimacy
to my premium mailing list. The big spenders like an early heads-up on my
projects, making them feel part of my community.
Prior to filming there wasn’t much to show, but I attached a
photo of the twins at my negotiating table, huddled close and anxious. The day
one feedback was gratifying, reinforcing my choice of boys for the shoot.
Before they’d seen anything of these two in action, a clamour for more had
begun. These comments were representative:
Twins!! I expect they have a whole programme of releases
forthcoming? I’m sure there is plenty of work you could make for them?
Ryan, I guess you have post-shoot plans for this pair?
But if you’re uncommitted with them, let’s talk. They are suitable for the
extremes I deal in. We can agree a price. Catch-up soon.
Very much looking forward to this one. Huge potential for
these boys. Do they already know that there’s no way out for them?
It’s always fun to read the comments, but most of these folk
would make poor managers of boys. Until you have one or two movies in the can,
it’s vital to encourage feelings of hope in your subjects. Sure, hopelessness is
also hot, when the time comes – the days they work with the sole motivation of
deferring a darker tomorrow – but Twintimacy has a more nuanced
structure.
***
They’re both on the bed, now.
Struan recovers on folded knees, parted wide with the soles
of his feet reared under his ass. Head down, palms spread over his broad
thighs, panting hard. His hair is a soaking, tousled mess, and his torso runs
with sweat. Struan’s dick is bloody along the length, as it continues to pulse
cum from the vivid raspberry crown.
Struan fucked powerfully, to finish. I made him, with the
appropriate balance of threat, verbal abuse, and the odd praise word streamed
live through his earpiece. He built-up the fuck and then, unappreciative, I
told him I wanted much more. I made Struan lift and suspend his twin, impaled
to the root on bloated prick.
Struan cried through the latter stages, his face a picture
of confliction, but my instructions remained clear:
<Struan only> ‘Fuck
harder.’
Slap-slap-slap-slap-slap, became the relentless audio
from the bedroom as Struan, pinning his brother, pile-drove his first-timer
ass. I caught sight of the blood on his shaft, extracted by tearing then
smeared by the fucking, and relayed my thoughts:
<Struan only> ‘GOOD
boy. Good boy. Keep hammering away.’
The active kid issued traces of the right language, from his
sodden face…
‘Fuck yeah!’
‘Mmmff… open wider for me!’
…but it was spoilt by openly resistant, off-script
complaint, becoming more insistent:
‘Cam… I can’t help it… he’s forcing me!’
‘Fuck, Cam… just hold-out for a bit longer… he’s making
me!’
‘I’m SO, SO sorry!’
Cameron is at his twin’s knees, towards the top of the bed,
but the arrangement of his body is a contrast. The fucked youth is on his side,
curled almost foetal with knees drawn-up towards his chest. He clutches those
knees, gathering himself close for huddled comfort. Cameron is sobbing
uncontrolled – or, perhaps, he could get his shit together if he wanted to, but
has instead decided to spite me by spoiling my film.
Cameron is dribbling from his asshole onto the expensive bed
sheet. The passive boy backflushes his brother’s cum, tinged cloudy red by his
own rectal blood.
It was hard work for Cameron, on the bottom, and he too is
soaking in bitter sweat. When either of them shifts on the bed, they uncover
wet shadows on the sheet. Certainly, it became a masculine fuck, with energy
and drive exhibited after my endless cajoling. Was it good enough? I’m sure
Struan and Cameron think so, but the twins aren’t the decision-makers, today.
Cameron is saying nothing, just crying a lot. It’s fair to
say, he found the ravaging of his virginity a difficult experience. But it’s
done, now: cherry popped and well bred.
I’d said their break between scenes 03 and 04 would be a
short one, and they’ve had it. Time’s up!
<Universal call> ‘Suck.’
My tone is calm but clear. The only feedback is the
vehemence of the cursing (Struan) and the raised volume of the wailing
(Cameron). I leave them for twenty seconds before following-up.
<Universal call> ‘Suck.’
I’m louder and more definitive, second time around, but I’ve
not lost my temper.
‘Pur-leeeze!’ Cameron sobs, pathetic, still curled.
‘FUCK you!’ Struan yells, cum still stringing from
his hosepipe.
<Universal call> ‘Suck. Final warning, now.’
I’m harsher, but I
don’t shout. This is their problem, not mine.
***
04 – Suck
Their USP is ‘snap’. Identical twins who follow the exact
same gym routine, use the same barber and work with the same stylist.
Predictably, they share a big social media presence across the usual platforms,
and their video messaging is slick: Subscribe to our mentoring service, lost
young men, and level yourself up until you, too, can globe trot, enjoying the
same success we’ve found!
A credible offer? Well, perhaps, if you too had lucky
genes, wealthy parents, an expensive education, and the small matter of a
duplicate to attract eyeballs.
So they’re used to working in front of the camera, but
self-directed. This evening, after a reversal of fortune, they’re being used,
working in front of the camera.
There’s foreplay to perform, and the twins face each other
at the centre of the bed. On their knees, backs straight, they’re pretty much
the mirror image of the other, if you ignore one dirty, drooling prick, and one
asshole still farting abundant seed.
They’re kissing, but this time it’s tender and slow, not greedy
and urgent. The pecking of lips is audible. Hands wander across slick backs and
clamp to furry, folded thighs.
They do their best to deliver the script for this final
scene:
‘Fuck, that was immense!’ says Struan, grinning.
‘It hurt a bit, though,’ says Cameron, stone faced.
‘Yeah… you’re so fucking tight,’ says Struan. ‘That felt so
good, like you were strangling my prick.’
‘It was intense,’ says Cameron, matter-of-fact, reluctant to
join in his twin’s euphoria.
‘It will get easier for you, on repeat. I promise!’ says
Struan, reinforcing his words with a soft kiss.
‘It’s very wrong,’ says Cameron.
‘I know, bro,’ says Struan, solemnly. ‘It’s wild that we
feel this way.’
‘Nobody must find out, okay?’ says Cameron.
‘Sure, of course not,’ says Struan. ‘But you’re so freakin
HOT, Cam!’
At which, the active boy feigns a giggle. Cameron laughs
along, but awkwardly, as though noting an off-stage prompt. This has the
dramatic professionalism of an infant school play. I add to my feedback sheet.
‘Can you suck me off?’ asks Cameron. ‘I mean… I’d love to
cum, too.’
Without giving an immediate response, Struan caresses his
twin’s flank with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he answers. ‘Let’s both
suck, huh? Let’s do a 69. It will be fun!’
Cameron’s hopeful smile – already thin – flattens to a stern
look. ‘You gonna wash, first?’ he says, nodding towards Struan’s filthy
schlong.
‘No, mate… I need this now,’ Struan says, demanding.
‘Fuck… come on, mate! It would only take a minute,’ Cameron
protests.
Struan shakes his head, dismissing the reasonable
compromise. ‘It will feel more raw… more real… sucking each other without
breaking our flow, to wash.’
‘For fucks’ sake!’ says Cameron.
‘Bro, let’s just try it, yeah? Let’s suck, before the
passion dies,’ says Struan.
The scripted dialogue is finished, and now they’re expected
to arrange themselves in a natural-looking way, for oral. Instead the boys
freeze, facing each other off, mumbling and mouthing to each other with hands
dropped to their sides, making tense fists.
<Universal call> ‘Suck.’
I broadcast to their earpieces.
***
They’re curled on the mattress like semicolons, planted in
opposite directions and offset, each mop of curls embedded in the groin of the
other twin.
On the sheet below Cameron’s head, lurid puke is spread. It
was the taste of his own shit on Struan’s dick that caught him queasy, early.
Not getting the passive boy to douche before the fuck scene was nasty of me.
Both of them have been blown by girlfriends, so they know
the qualities of an excellent suck job: deep and vigorous. That’s what I expect
of the boys, but they’re making it hard work. I hear more whimpering than I do feasting.
<Universal call> ‘To the root, boys. All the way down, huh?’
My encouragement drives temporary behavioural change and the
sounds of throats gobbling, but they’re quick to lapse back into easier
nibbling.
Cameron’s face – when he re-surfaces, now and then – is
stained with his tears. He’s also become an irritating sniffer as he cleans
Struan’s dick of his own faecal mess, and rectal blood.
Struan, sucking clean shaft, has the better job and wears a
set face that’s more furious than sad.
The roles they’ve taken today – top & bottom, dom &
sub – could continue beyond this evening, were I so minded, with one twin given
the responsibility of making decisions for the pair and first call on the
division of tasks; and the other as a powerless junior – a mindless drone. I
can think of several fetish scenes, with cruel dilemmas, that would suit that
dynamic very well. But I mustn’t get ahead of myself!
Cameron is gagging on shaft, as he tries to follow the
screenplay.
<Universal call> ‘Deep throat, yes? Look keen, and look
turned-on!’
Hassled beyond his tolerance level, Cameron reverts to
sobbing, and his tears plop to his brother’s fat meat.
‘FUCK you!’ Struan rages, breaking from Cameron’s semi-hard
and crimson about his face as he searches for the nearest camera.
It’s fine to have a feisty boy around, when the going gets
tough. Anger flushed through his system, Struan could be a persuadable boy in
all sorts of abhorrent set-ups. In the end, all that matters is the job getting
done, not the hyper-masculine tantrums along the way.
The kids drag on each other’s pricks, nurturing the hard-ons
and teasing the orgasms that will end this horror show for them. Faces I expect
to evidence joy are lost, conveniently, amidst girthy roots and pubes.
<Universal call> ‘Deeper still, and faster. Fuck those throats.
Choke yourselves.’
Cameron extracts himself from Struan’s slimy rod, to feel
sorry for himself to a wider audience. A camera focuses upon his wretched face
as his tears roll over Celtic freckles. Our Cam wipes away the worst of his
misery with a forearm.
Struan, workmanlike, stays lodged on his bro’s prick,
fucking his throat with punishing efficiency and persisting through noisy bouts
of gagging.
<Struan only> ‘Good
boy, great work. Keep it going.’
Cameron, though, doesn’t re-engage with fraternal dick.
Shoulders slumped, he weeps.
<Cameron only> ‘Get THE FUCK back onto Struan, and suck. NOW!
Fucking faggot!’
Engorged, they’re fat in each other’s mouths. They choke
around dick meat, coughing and spluttering their ways through first-time blow
jobs, starting to appreciate – just maybe – how the girlfriends feel when the
boys get carried away. Chins are tickled by trimmed pubes, for they’re going full-length,
at last.
The boys ooze drool from tired lips. They don’t look lost
in ecstasy. It’s a tragic scene: hateful, desperate, forced. The conceit
has been smashed, for the viewer – Struan and Cameron are not, in fact, lover
boys. The overtones through this finale are sinister.
They must shoot into the mouth as cum dump, but withdraw
whilst their dick is still leaking and their partner still choking on shot juice.
To the twins’ credit, their orgasms coincide almost exactly in a way that will
look sensational on the small screen, emphasising the psychic bonds of their
brotherhood.
Seething, the boys cough-up family seed, parting from their
69 damn quickly to curl in tight scrunches, back-to-back so as not to see each
other in their climax of incestual depravity. Both sob extendedly.
As the closing credits of Twintimacy roll, the boys
are faded out.
The screen becomes black, and on it the final formalities appear,
in white lettering:
© Liberty Media Group, 2025
Join us again, soon…
***
They want to know NOW but I’ll make them wait, not
just overnight but through until tomorrow afternoon. Then, fatigued after
scratchy sleeps on top of today’s escapades, I’ll meet with Struan and Cameron
in the familiar room, across the desk with the boys back in their flimsy
singlets and shorts.
To start, I’ll ask the twins the sort of open question every
boy hates:
How do you feel that went?
They’ll stumble, mumble, look blankly to each other and then
– I guarantee – tell me they thought they did great, though along the way
they’ll admit to finding it hard. I’ll give them time to talk themselves out,
and then I’ll ask them:
Do you want to know what I think?
They won’t want to, but they’ll need to. They’ll
be sweating, and I’ll be close enough to smell the fear.
I’ll tell them, being honest, that there were sequences of
excellence in the Twintimacy shoot that will edit well. There were
longer periods of functional, if wooden, acting from which I can salvage what I
need. I don’t think I’ll raise their expectations to the extent they begin to sense
freedom is imminent: they’re smart kids who’ll anticipate my ‘but’ to
follow.
I’ll let them know there were long sequences in Fuck
and Suck that failed the authenticity test, and the fluency test, which
was a great shame. To this they’ll interject with their own opinions, urgent
and angry.
They will, I expect, remind me they’re desperate not
to become involved with the other film projects I’ve reviewed with them. They
miss Mum, who they worry about because she’s not been well. Anyway, they’ve
given their best.
I will confirm to the twins, Struan and Cameron, that
they’re not leaving my facility tonight. But they’ll remain together, supporting
each other, resilient and strong in the face of great challenge.
