the man with the white socks

It was so strange. There I was, on Christmas day, having mad sex with my beautiful Spanish boy (toy). We had just sat through two hours of boredom (Ben Affleck, I want my money back) where we had spend most of the time being one of these annoying couples you'd hate to have sitting in front of you. Making out in the dark, a hand here and there, nibble on the lips. We had barely made it back to my bedroom and clothes were flying left and right. We were sweating; I was against the frame of my door, cold hands under my shirt, then lift up and pushed to the bed. I opened my eyes, and there was my Latin Boy (toy), all handsome, naked, gorgeous muscular chest, legs…mmm.. And his white socks. And normally, I would have just laughed and playfully mocked him… Johnny walked in one night at SFP after I had sent him a headshot and we talked on the phone. He wanted to meet and get a vibe from me.He said I would be perfect for the lead in the movie he wrote, was producing, casting as a casting director named Brett and would star in…. Red flag number one. But you see, when you have gone through one crappy audition after the other, where you are always told you'd make it big if only…If only I had bigger boobs, if only I didn't have an accent, if only I was blonder, taller, skinnier…If only… Johnny thought I was perfect as I was. Perfect… Me!I got excited. It was hard not to. I was excited because it was a role in a feature movie, and a part that had words, tons of words, whole pages filled with words that my tongue was ready to let roll! So when Johnny stopped by and squatted the bar, urging me to come rehearse the scenes for the audition-the coffee shop scene, the club scene, the date rape scene- I got hyped up and did not see the red flag number two: yes, there is a rape scene, but no worries: "it's going to be tasteful and you're so hot, you really shouldn't worry about being naked on screen."I went to his apartment, alone. And when I got there, I thought: How lucky am I? A great part awaited me, and I was the favorite. He was even helping me practice.We first started with a warm up. Johnny suggested Meisner. The repetition exercise. We stood in front of each other, breath in, breath out… and we took turn repeating.Johnny spoke first:- You seem nervous.- I seem nervous, I repeated- You seem nervous!!!- I seem nervous…- Ok forget about it Sophie. If you’re not going to be honest, if you’re not pro enough to be truthful this is pointless.- I don’t understand what you mean Johnny.- You have to admit that you’re feeling nervous OK?So I said OK, ignored the knot in my stomach warning me: red flag number three… I was so nervous by then, my voice started to shake. Johnny got pissed and decided it was pointless for the day. He was disappointed I wasn't “open enough”. But he liked me and was willing to "mold" me some more, but tomorrow.I was working that night when Johnny showed up to give me some notes- and he wanted to make sure I knew how to rehearse the rape scene. In our underwear of course… I was a little thrown back but I didn't find anything too odd with this! No, no I am not a nympho, but I have worked on scenes in class or for plays that required me to be in my underwear, and they all had to be rehearsed in our underwear. Because, just like some of my teachers pointed out:” How do you expect to be comfortable in your underwear on a stage if you’ve never tried it in the privacy and safety of a rehearsal!” The next evening, here I was, ignoring all the red flags my body was waving at me, tensing up my shoulders, my stomach hurting so much the coffee seemed to dig a hole in it.And Johnny, like the pro that he is, started by showing me footage he got with his new camera; his modeling book, the new Calvin Klein boxers he bought…an hour later, we finally ran our lines. I felt fine and ready for the screen test, I had worked that morning with an acting coach, I had my notes. So I was ready to burst into tears when Johnny scheduled another rehearsal. I did not want to come back again, and be alone with him. And red flag number four: Johnny let me know he thought he might have made a mistake with me. I was over-confident. Maybe I didn't truly want to become an actor since I refused to do the grunt work and make sacrifices. And after all, it's not like I am that great yet, I should be grateful he is giving me so many chances: the way I said the lines was wrong, the way I moved was wrong. RED FLAG, RED FLAG!!!!So I came back for my last rehearsal. When I walked in, the room was dark, only lit by a small lamp. Red flag number six. Johnny was fussing over the camera. He wanted to make sure we couldn't see that my body was a bit soft. (I'd have to tone it, Johnny said) and he wanted it all to be about me, so no need to film his face (RED FLAG NUMBER SEVEN) And I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because it did not feel right but I was an actress,yes, I was an actress, I knew what to do with my hands…(The Seagull) and so I walked to the bed, and I went through my notes, getting ready for my scene. And Johnny said, OK, take your shirt off and get to your underwear. And I took them off. And then Johnny said: let's start the scene….Johnny said his first line:- Take your clothes off!That wasn't really in the scene. What clothes? I was already in my underwear. So I looked up at Johnny. Except I didn't see Johnny. All I saw was his penis: He was naked. I mean, totally naked. Well no, not totally: he kept his white sport socks on!- Take your clothes off! He started yelling.I couldn't say a word. I just stared. My head going from left to right, right to left. No. Johnny stared at me with disgust. “Let’s just go on. Unlike you, I’m not afraid to be true to the character whenever I am working on it. I don’t just perform for the camera. This is called being in the moment OK?”I went on with the scene, mainly because I just didn’t know what else to do. I was only conscious of Johnny’s naked body against my legs, how his 2 days beard was scratching the soft spot above my chest, how his arms felt so heavy on my stomach, how I felt nauseous whenever his lips would brush against my face. And I was moving, wiggling, trying not to have his dick touch any parts of my body. And how disgusted I felt, these white socks glowing in the dark room. How amazed I was my brain could remember the lines I blurted out... My eyes were starting to get wet when Johnny finally whispered: “scene” in my ear, calling the end.I got home and I clichéd my way to a shower. I understood now. I did feel dirty. I wanted to scrub off the skin Johnny had touched. And I felt ashamed. Because I didn’t say a single thing. I just didn’t know what had happened. Did I get sexually harassed? It didn’t feel like it. I mean, I never thought I was going to get raped. I never felt my life was in danger. Maybe it was all me? Was it me? I knew he had stepped over the line but what about me? Had I encouraged him? Why had I not seen any red flags? They were there, I know they were there! Was I even more in the wrong not to have screamed and run out of there? And I just didn’t know why. Johnny said he was being true to the character so did that mean…I wasn’t?I still went for my screen test. Mainly because I did not want Johnny to know how much I had been affected. I was a professional. I could handle this. Yeah, right… I kicked ass at that audition. I really did. But it did not matter. Because every time Johnny said a line, I saw his naked body and those white socks. And I thought I might cry. Every time Johnny touched me, I saw his naked body and those white socks… And I thought I might cry. Every time Johnny breathed, I saw his naked body and those fucking white socks… And I knew I would cry. For many nights.For the whole year, I found reasons not to go to auditions. I did not want to act anymore. I didn't feel like it. It took me a year of my life to realize that I was not the one lacking talent. I was not the one with a problem… For a whole year I was ashamed, I could not tell anyone what had happened… Because I had stayed. Because I had allowed it… I had just turned 23 Johnny. I was young and innocent. I thought love for art was above pettiness, above sexual abuse, above using someone for a cheap thrill...Because we were fellow artists and respected the Theater. So I did not say anything to anyone. A whole year. That's a long time for a guilt trip, Johnny. Did you have one? I am an actress, I was one back then, and I will always be one. Part or no part… I will no longer be a naïve girl, Johnny. I can't report you to SAG. Because it is too late. But I can write about it. I can't punch you in the stomach, Johnny, because I no longer know where you live...I can't have sex with my boy and his white socks, Johnny, but I can ask him to take them off. I can't forget you Johnny, but you, you better remember me.