#2: Where the Wild Roses Grow

[00:00:05] Speaker A: God, I'm so nervous. My name is Maisie Kurtz, and I want to be a star. Not just the kind that twinkles and fades, but the kind that burns so bright people want to look away but can't. All I know is that I want to get out of this town. Hickory Bend. It clings to you like a bad reputation. It whispers your name even when you're not listening. The same diner booths, the same creaky floorboards. The same people wearing the same tired expressions like they're waiting in line for the end of the world. It's depressing, really. And I hate it. I hate it here. I can feel it dragging me down. I wasn't meant to pour coffee refills and pretend I care about gas station gossip. I have bigger plans, greater ambitions. The kind of fame that makes ex boyfriends regret everything. I just need a way out. A ticket, a break. Something. [00:01:12] Speaker B: My God, that was fucking perfect. [00:01:15] Speaker A: Okay, stop the tape. [00:01:53] Speaker C: How do I turn this thing on? Bo asked, turning the camcorder over in his hands like it was an artifact from another world. Maisie chuckled, a low, knowing sound. Give it here, she said, yanking the camera from his grip with the same force she used to pop the tab on a soda can. A quick flick of her thumb and the red light blinked to life. She set it down on a tree stump, angling it just so. This is stupid, bo muttered. What if someone comes along and sees us? Maisie smirked, pulling her hair into a loose knot. No one comes out this far. Beau hesitated. Then, with the quiet resignation of a man who had already lost this argument, he peeled off his shirt. He his skin, winter pale, bristled with the shock of morning air. He stood just over six feet, built like a man who knew his way around a weight rack. Thick arms, broad shoulders, the kind of body that took work and wasn't shy about showing it. He carried himself with a quiet, effortless confidence, the kind that came from knowing he looked good. His face, freshly shaved, still held the ghost of a smirk, a hint of boyish charm that softened his sharp edges. And his hair. His damn perfect hair. Dark brown, short on the sides, just enough on top to run a hand through when the moment called for it. A gust of wind rolled through and his breath hitched, nipples betraying him with a sharp, involuntary salute. Maisie glanced at him, one eyebrow cocked. Jesus, Bo, she teased, rubbing her arms for warmth. Gonna cut glass with those things. He scowled. Shut up. Maisie walked back to the truck, her breath curling in the crisp morning air. She was slender, with straight blonde hair that carried the memory of waves never quite settling one way or the other. Her frame was delicate but not fragile, her movements easy like someone who never had to rush. She had a perky chest and a backside that Goldilocks herself would have called just right. Not too much, not too little. Perfectly balanced. The old pickup truck sat where they left it, black paint faded to a dull charcoal, the body peppered with rust freckles. It had been her granddad's once, long before she was born. She tugged open the creaky door, reached across the worn out bench seat, and grabbed the blue throw blanket rolled up in the front. The fabric was soft but smelled faintly of dust and engine grease. She liked that. It made everything feel real. Turning back, she stepped carefully over the tangle of roots and dead leaves, the forest floor snapping beneath her bare feet. She found a patch of earth just wide enough, just soft enough. She unfurled the blanket with a flick of her wrists, the fabric billowing before settling onto the ground. Maisie didn't hesitate. She slid off her clothing, tossing them into a careless pile beside the blanket, her skin prickling against the morning chill, and stretched herself out on the makeshift bed. The blanket wasn't thick enough to keep out the cold, but she didn't mind. She exhaled and waited. Why not do this inside somewhere? Beau proclaimed, sliding off his pants, his voice carrying just enough edge to make it clear he was questioning more than just location. He turned, scanning the tree line. Careful. Almost too careful, making sure no one was lurking beyond sight. But why would there be? It was early morning, miles away from anything resembling civilization. Just a lonely clearing. A patchy stretch of grass curled along the edge of Foxfire River. Maisie, unfazed, lay stretched out on the blanket, arms folded behind her head, watching him with the vague amusement of a cat watching a nervous bird. Inside's boring, she said simply. Inside's warm, beau shot back. Maisie smirked. So as hell. But I don't see you rushing to visit. Bo exhaled sharply, rubbing his arms against the cold. The morning air had a weight to it, like the land hadn't quite woken up yet. Even the birds were quiet. You ever think this place is, I don't know. Something off about it? Everything's a little off if you stare at it long enough, she mused. Beau scoffed. That's supposed to be deep. Maisie grinned. Depends how deep the river goes. [00:06:45] Speaker B: Bo opened his mouth, then shut it, a twinge of something unreadable in his expression. He had a bad feeling, one of those gnawing little instincts that started in the gut and worked their way up, whispering, maybe we shouldn't be here. [00:07:01] Speaker C: Maisie didn't get those feelings, or if she did, she ignored them. She sat up, crossing her legs, tilting her head at him. Seriously, what's with you? You think the trees are gonna tattle? [00:07:16] Speaker B: Bo hesitated, eyes flicking toward the river one last time. The water looked different now. Darker, more wear. But maybe that was just his own nerves screwing with him. He took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders, and shimmied off his underwear, kicking it aside like he wasn't standing bare assed in a freezing clearing with a camera rolling. He walked toward Maisie, doing his best to stir something in himself, but his body was more concerned with the cold than his libido. Maisie giggled, biting her lip. Beau frowned. What's so funny? Maisie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, still smirking. How are we supposed to be famous if you're not taking this seriously? Beau snorted. Famous? Me? I'm only doing this because it's your dream. She leaned back on her hands, letting the early morning light hit her face like a spotlight. I want to be a star, Bo. Make something of myself. Get out of this damn town. He rolled his eyes. Well then, I don't know. Maybe you should play with yourself. Or find some other chump to go along with it. Maisie just smiled, slow and knowing. They don't all have your talent. Bo glanced down at himself, sighing. Even unaroused and in the unforgiving grip of a chilly January morning, he was still impressive. And, he knew, was something in his life that he took pride in. A monument to genetics and arrogance. He smirked, and with an almost lazy confidence, he gave it a swing in front of Maisie's face, as if to say, behold. Maisie reached for him, trailing her fingers up his thigh. Come on, she cooed, voice playful but insistent. Give the people what they want. He scoffed. The people? Don't you mean a couple of creeps at shady video stores? A fan base, she corrected. A devoted following. Bo exhaled, shaking his head. The things he did for this girl. He dropped to his knees on the blanket, the fabric rough against his skin, damp from the cold earth beneath. Then his focus shifted, his lips brushing against the curve of Maisie's neck. Her skin smelled like drugstore vanilla and river mist, both a blend of cheap sweetness and something untamed. He felt her shiver, not from the cold but from him. Encouraged, he trailed lower, mouth skimming the hollow of her throat, the gentle rise of her collarbone. Maisie let out a soft moan, breath hitching just enough to make him feel it. That did it. Any hesitation, any lingering thoughts about being naked in a clearing miles from civilization in front of a blinking red light evaporated. He still had reservations, sure, but Bo was a man who knew how to please a woman, and something about her sounds, small, breathy, needy, triggered something in him. His body responded before his brain could second guess it. A full, unmistakable erection, right there on camera in the woods on the banks of Foxfire river on a cold, cold morning. [00:10:48] Speaker C: Maisie tilted her head back, eyes gleaming with amusement. Well, look at that. [00:10:55] Speaker B: Beau smirked, running a hand down her side. You gonna keep talking or put that mouth to better use? She giggled, dragging her nails lightly over his shoulders. Now that's the attitude of a star. Within a moment, he was inside her at first, a slow push, his body settling against hers like something inevitable, the cold morning air clashing with the heat between them. Maisie gasped, fingers curling into the blanket, her back arching just slightly. Her moans came in soft, breathy bursts, her head tilting back, eyes rolling beneath fluttering lids. Bo watched her, studied her. Was it for him or for the camera? Hard to tell. Maisie had a way of making everything feel like a performance, every laugh, every look, every sigh curated for the moment, for the audience. Even if that audience was just him at the moment. Maybe that was what he liked about her, or maybe it was what unsettled him. Either way, he didn't care. He grabbed her hips, adjusting, sinking deeper. Maisie let out a sharp gasp, her body pressing against his, and for a fleeting second he thought this sound, this reaction, was real. Not for the camera, not for anyone else. Just for him. The thought sent a charge through him, something primal, something territorial. The camera's lens continued to capture them. After a moment, Maisie shifted, fluid and unhurried, rolling onto all fours. The movement was effortless, like she'd done this a thousand times before. She arched her back just enough, her bare skin catching the early morning light, and tilted her head to the side, peering at him over her shoulder with a lazy, knowing smirk. Deeper, she murmured. I want to feel every inch. Beau pushed a heavy breath through his nostrils, and then he thrust, a sharper moan this time, something different, more guttural, more euphoric, not the playful teasing sound she made when she wanted to put on a show. This was instinctual, real. Or at least it felt real. His breath steadied, muscles tensing, a low groan slipping past his lips. I'm close, he muttered, voice rough, ragged. Maisie pulled away, slow, like a woman who already knew how this scene would play out. She sank back onto the blanket, resting on her knees, her face just inches from him, eyes heavy, lidded, expectant. Bo took himself in hand. A few sharp shuddering strokes and then release, heat spilling across her face. Maisie didn't flinch, didn't shy away. She welcomed it, let it linger, let it trail in slow, glistening paths. A flick of her tongue, a satisfied hum as she caught the taste of him. She grinned. Now that's a performance. Beau exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair, half laughing, half breathless. The air between them was thick, charged, the moment stretching long and languid. The camera whirred, still recording. The river murmured in the distance, and somewhere beyond the trees, something caught his eyes on the banks of the Foxfire River. Maisie caught the shift in Beau's expression, his brow pinched, lips slightly parted, a look caught somewhere between confusion and something darker. She turned, following his gaze, her smirk fading. What is it? She asked, voice softer now, edged with something that wasn't quite fear but was close enough to touch. Beau didn't answer right away. He blinked, adjusting his focus, his breath still uneven. He was standing now, bare and raw in the cold morning air, remnants of their moment still trailing down his skin, almost forgotten. I don't know, he muttered, hesitation creeping into his voice. It kinda looks like a body. The words settled between them like a stone dropped in deep water. Maisie stiffened. The forest silent before felt too silent now, the kind of silence that swallowed sound instead of holding it. The camera's red light still blinked, steady and unbothered, recording everything. The river stretched out before them, dark and sluggish, his surface smooth as glass, but near the bank, caught between the reeds, something pale, something human.