I was just finishing a cigarette when Jason finally showed up. I dropped the butt into a rusted old Folgers can beside me and leaned on the porch railing to watch as he parked beside us, killing the engine on his rumbling F150. Late afternoon sun twinkled off of his dirty, cracked windshield so that I couldn’t get a good look at him yet; just a vague, hulking shape behind the wheel.
He got out of the truck and turned to face the cabin we’d rented. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the hockey mask, but could sense when his gaze locked upon me, holding as he withdrew a machete from the passenger’s seat.
I’ll admit, it was enough to send a chill racing down my back.
“Holy shit,” I said. “You look amazing! Wait, wait!”
I lifted my phone and Jason was nice enough to pause as I snapped a shot of him that was going to look fucking fire on my Instagram. I craned my head and called back towards the cabin, “Hey hon, he’s here!”
I spun and framed up another shot, my face in the foreground, affecting an exaggerated look of terror with my hand on my cheek while Jason lurked behind me.
“Hey! Make sure and give me your info later, I’ll totally tag you, okay?”
The patio door opened and my husband, Matt, came out of the cabin to join me, fiddling with his camera as always, and breaking into a huge grin when he saw the figure on the lawn. “Oh man, brother, you look incredible! Come on up, want anything to drink? We’ve got a few Whiteclaws, some IPA, I think I saw a kombucha...whatever you want!”
Jason approached, moving slowly, boots clomping on the porch steps like fists on a coffin lid. He was massive up close, towering over both Matt and I, and I could appreciate all the fine detailing that he’d put into his costume. It looked screen-ready, the tatters of his jumpsuit dark with mud and splashes of rusty blood. For the mask, he’d gone for a look that was probably somewhere around the seventh or eighth movie in the series, the formerly white plastic now the color of rotted bone, with a small chunk near the bottom broken off to reveal a hint of jawbone. His skin was a mottled, appropriately corpsey gray and looked to have been airbrushed. He’d even added some dry, ancient wounds on his thickly muscled arms with either latex or silicone.
In a word, the dude looked intense.
“Hey, I’m Amy,” I said and stuck my hand out.
The towering, murderous figure tilted his head slightly, arms at his sides, staring down at me with what I hoped was approval. It was hard to be sure without a face or a sound, or really any movement at all, but why the hell wouldn’t he be? I took great care of my body, and my Crystal Lake Camp Counselor outfit was the perfect balance of innocent and sexy--the cropped t-shirt stretched tight across my tits and revealing the flat, toned expanse of my belly, and the pair of Daisy Duke style jean shorts didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. I looked like the perfect, most scrumptious little victim. I’d even put some waves into my hair, teasing the brunette locks into a style that would have fit right in at an early 80’s summer camp.
After a few moments of him maybe, possibly, checking me out and ignoring my outstretched hand, I lowered it, remembering that Matt had mentioned that the guy--who’s actual first name I didn’t even know--had said in their emails that he preferred to remain in character if that was cool. It would have been nice to get some indication that there was an actual human underneath that getup, but I respected his process. I’d certainly dealt with a hell of a lot weirder than someone wanting to get all Method with their modeling.
This photoshoot had been Matt’s idea, something that he’d cooked up one night while baked, excitedly babbling about how we could do a whole series inspired by 70’s and 80’s slasher movies, how people would just eat them up, and how great they’d look in both our portfolios. It would give him a chance to play around with stylized lighting setups, and just maybe this could lead to someone hiring him to work on a short film or something. I’d always been a pretty big horror fan, so there wasn't exactly any need to twist my arm to get me on board, and I liked being Matt’s go-to model.
Plus, he was always super worked up after a really good shoot and it’d be fun to fuck our way around the cabin. Really live up to the whole slutty legacy of the type of character I was portraying.
“Okay!” Matt said loudly, breaking the tension. He slung the camera strap over his neck and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “I’m pretty much set up inside, so what do you say? All set, hon?”
I peered up, still trying to catch a glimpse of the eyes behind that scarred mask, but he’d darkened them with makeup and, coupled with the fading sunlight, there was no trace of humanity. Just twin pools of black regarding me with that empty, passive interest. Like he wasn’t some model that we’d found on one of Matt’s Facebook photo groups, but the real deal.
“Yeah,” I said, telling myself to keep the sense of unease, to use it. It would certainly make it a hell of a lot easier to look terrified on camera. “Yeah, let’s go.”
We shot inside first, meaning to run some setups in the cabin’s living room and the upstairs bedroom so that it’d be fully dark when we moved outside later. Matt started with just me, looking all cute and innocent and vulnerable, getting me to pose on the couch and snapping off a few quick shots mostly to test that his lights were properly synced to his shutter.
I grabbed my bag from the coffee table and pulled out an orange prescription bottle, popped the top, and tipped the joint I’d stashed inside out onto my palm before going back in to fish for a lighter.
“And just what are you doing?” Matt asked with a grin, still firing off tests and adjusting settings as I exhaled fragrant smoke.
“Getting into character,” I said. “Gotta do something to draw Jason’s wrath, right? Unless you’ve got someone here for me to have sex with.”
Matt laughed and shook his head. After a moment of consideration, I offered the joint to Jason. I didn’t wanna mess with his whole process, but didn’t wanna be rude either. Still no reaction. Ah well, more for me. I took a few more puffs and then put it out before I got too high. Aside from the expected relaxation and munchies, weed always made me a tad horny, and with all the setups that we had planned, it was going to be at least a few hours before we were done with Jason and I could have Matt to myself and rip his clothes off. Best to pace myself.
After maybe a half dozen more photos, Matt lowered the camera, frowning in contemplation, then broke into a goofy grin and rooted his phone out, saying, “Oh man, just wait you guys. Just wait for it…”
A moment later, the shrieking violins of the Friday the 13th title song blasted out of the cabin’s speaker system, making me utter a little shriek and then laugh, my cheeks glowing with embarrassment. Jason, standing out of frame near the kitchen, hadn’t moved an inch.
Matt swore, apologized, and used his phone to remotely bring the volume down until we had a proper level of cinematic ambience and then we got down to the shoot proper. For my first frames shared with the legendary, unstoppable butcher of Crystal Lake, we had him coming through the front door, his enormous frame silhouetted by the blood-red embers of the dying sun, and me sprawled out on the floor, clawing my way towards the camera in hopes of escape.
A few dozen snaps of Matt’s camera, him moving, suggesting small changes--move your right arm up slightly, look more to the left, good, now look at me--and then we moved upstairs, repeating the pattern. An idyllic start, the arrival of a masked killer, and finally me on the ground, emoting terror as he raised his blade.
It was all going well. Quite well. Matt occasionally flipped the camera around, proudly showing us some of the shots, and even on the tiny LCD screen, they looked great. The cabin that he’d found had great lighting--Matt really only added one or at most two of his big light panels to any scene--and it turned out that I looked pretty fucking cute while screaming in mortal peril. The real star though, the one who absolutely made every frame, was Jason. Or whatever the hell his name actually was. His incredibly detailed costume, size, and sheer presence really took things to the next level, and by the time that we were ready to move outside to get some exteriors down by the lake, we were pumped. At least, Matt and I were. Jason was stoic and silent as ever, just taking his direction and trailing behind us slowly in true slasher fashion.
At the edge of the cabin lawn where we’d parked, there was a small break in the undergrowth that wound down perhaps fifty yards to a small lake. Not much more than a glorified fishing hole, but there was a gorgeously weathered wooden dock studded with big log support poles, and the owner had even added a sort of homemade “street light” that shone down with a buttery glow.
The weed was doing its thing, and I was feeling good and loose, enjoying the feel of the night air on my skin and the way that my tight daisy dukes rubbed ever so gently against my clit when I moved just the right way. And--much as I probably wouldn’t admit when sober--the whole Jason thing was kinda doing it for me. There was something undeniably erotic in it; a pretty girl on the ground in submission, her posture seeking mercy from the hulking monolith standing rigid above her. Of course, the filmmakers had always known this, hence the runaway success of the slasher genre, but actually being the woman in the shot was a whole other level.
I was seriously amped, and my pussy was practically begging for attention.
Basically, Matt was gonna get fucking rocked later.
We set up on the dock and after the preliminary, establishing shots, Matt suggested that we do a few with me on my knees with the machete at my throat, like Jason had come up from behind and caught me off guard.
It was the closest that my co-star and I had been thus far, and when he stepped behind me, bringing his weapon around my collar bone and gently pulling my head back against him, my heart gave a quick, excited flutter.
“Oh, yes,” Matt said. “That looks great. Hon, can you kinda look up at him?”
I tilted my head back, finding that blank mask hanging over me like a moon in the black sky. He lowered the blade and the flat edge of it passed gently over the curve of my breasts, sending a sudden, electric chill through me and making me gasp. I’m not sure that Matt caught it, but Jason appeared to, tilting his head knowingly. One of the first real reactions I’d gotten out of him yet.
“Turn towards him a little? Maybe like you’re begging for mercy?”
I did as my husband directed, and saw something that sent a delicious throb radiating out from my clit, nearly making me gasp. It appeared that I wasn’t the only one getting turned on. Jason was sporting a noticeable bulge in his dirty, torn costume. My state of arousal, which had already been steadily climbing, suddenly rocketed up several notches. I realized after a few seconds that I’d been staring, biting my lip, and made myself look up, trying to remind myself to be professional and that, oh, by the way, my husband is standing literally a few feet away.