Chapter 12
Even Jack Beauchamp's projection room was a very sexy spot. It was the size of a very large living room and furnished with five solidly shaped, luxurious, couches. I wondered if these couches were used as hump-props by the horny actors in his films. Everything was covered in a neutral smooth velvet. Jack showed me how he could change the color of everything in the room by manipulating what he called a light-mixer. He left the room bathed in rosy pink, which I liked because it matched my exposed nipples.
He threaded a couple of reels into his projection machines and began to ramble on into a long discussion about his works of art and how he got started in the business. I draped my titties as tantalizingly as possible as I settled down on one of the couches while Jack talked on. I made sounds of interest and approval and shifted my titties to vary the view whenever he looked my way.
What it boiled down to was that he'd originally started out making "underground" movies -"underground" being a term applied to movies without any plot made by amateurs who hate New York. He'd made his movies in Hollywood and, notwith standing that he hated New York, had dashed out to the East Coast to show them to the New York Studios in order to impress them and get a job.
Instead they'd laughed at him and tossed him and his experimental movies out the door. Out of several doors, apparently.
This had made him real bitter. He decided to go over some heads and appeal directly to the big shots in New York, by which I mean he rented a big hall and started showing his "underground" movies. Only nobody came to see them, not even when he started letting people in for nothing and giving away free popcorn. That really made him bitter.
"I realized I'd been casting pearls before swine," he told me. "And that New York was right in showing trashy movies full of sex and sadism. Because that was what most people wanted."
"You bet," I said. "Me, I like those historical pictures full of naked slave girls and where lots of people get chopped up by swords and run over by chariots -and religious movies, with naked slave girls and people getting chopped up by swords and ... , I broke off as he started to pull loose his belt.
"I decided," he went on, threading his belt back into his trousers, "that if I was going to produce cinematic trash, I might as well produce honest trash -not merely hint at sex and sadism, but depict real fucking and real brutality and obscene perversion. In short I decided to make dir -stag movies."
"What a masterful decision," I said. "Uh, how did you get started?"
"Through luck and family connections, I was able to apprentice myself to my uncle, a producer I shall refer to simply as J.B. He was then producing stag movies on a near assembly-line basis here in New York. He frowned. "For a long time my work was a dull, routine nature -recruiting voluptuous, shameless sex-pots; helping them out of their clothes; warming up their pussies before the shooting sessions with a hot dick massage . . . Dull, non-creative work. And sometimes, heavily made up or masked, I consented to play minor hump roles in my uncles, uh, dramas. Mine was always a small part, however."
I said, "I don't think your part is so -"I broke off as he started to finger his belt buckle again.
"Finally, however, my uncle gave up making stag movies and departed for Hong Kong, or some such foolish place to make a feature movie. Suddenly I was on my own -but with know, how, now
-plus some working capital acquired by careful saving and judicious blackmail. I decided to make my own dir -stag movies."
"And what a great day that was for the American cinema," I said, tossing my titties, on account of I figured he'd appreciate my saying something like that.
"Thank you. It was then, when I stood on the very threshold of my career, that I formulated the principles that have led critics to call me the Truffout or Richardson, of my chosen field. In a burst of creative energy unequalled since Shakespeare's day, I turned out pussy masterpiece after masterpiece La Dolce Schmoozy, All Last Year on Maria, The Professional Call Girl, How It Happened to my Baby June, Song of Goosing, The Lecherousness of the Long Distance Swimmer, Three Men on a Whore
-real pussy masterpieces all."
I nodded respectfully. "What was the secret of your success?"
"Talent, mostly," said Jack, shrugging his shoulders a modest quarter of an inch. "But also the fact that I realized that stag movies -unlike the men's magazines -had not moved with the times.
Until I entered the field, most stag movies were well, you know what they were like."
"No," I said. "What were the old pussy-pictures like?"
He lit a cigarette and let smoke plume out through his nostrils. "Cheap, vulgar and trashy. They had titles like, The Butler Fucked It, or Mimi Had Her Prick On The Picnic, or The Salesman's Suck Off. And they lived up to their titles. Vulgar, leering twat-peddlers entertained vulgar leering men. No art, no subtlety at all. Here -I'll show you an example."
"Please do," I urged, while he fiddled with his projector.
Then he snapped out the lights and a flickering title came on the screen. The Salesman's Suck Off, it read. I waited expectantly for the credits. No credits. Just the action. And what action.
The first shot was of a young fat-assed girl climbing naked out of bed. A title came on the screen: The Salesman's Daughter Awakes to a New Day -and Night.
"Not even a soundtrack," said Jack scornfully.
I ignored him and watched the screen, breathing heavily with anticipation.
The Salesman's Daughter climbed out of bed and stood smiling vacantly at the camera while she yawned and scratched her bush -and the camera moved slowly up and down her naked cunny and teats. She was certainly fat -boobs the size of watermelons, a big middle, and fantastically full thighs. After the camera had moved all the way up and down the front side of her body, she winked, turned around --and the camera moved up and down her ass.
"Poor camera work," scoffed Jack from the chair beside me.
"Well, it seems to be in sharp focus to me," I said. "You can see her ass-cheeks jiggling up and down quite plainly. She must be bouncing on the soles of her feet."
Jack ignored me. On the screen came a close-up of a fist knocking on a door. A title: Knoek, knock, A close-up of the Salesman's daughter's face. A title: Oh, goody. The first farmer of the day! I must give him a warm welcome. A close-up of the Salesman's Daughter's left eye, winking. Title: A very warm welcome!
"Bah!" said Jack.
"Hot damn!" I said, but very quietly.
The next shot was of the Salesman's Daughter -still naked -opening the door and dragging in a short, funny-looking little man in dungarees. He was wearing a straw sun-hat, a goatee, and a lecherous expression.
Another close-up of the Salesman's Daughter leering and winking. Title: Let me help you out of your hot clothes! A confused montage of female hands moving over a clothed male body. Then a two-shot of the naked Salesman's Daughter staring and drooling at the short, funny-looking farmer now naked-cocked himself save for his goatee and his sun-hat.
A close-up of the Salesman's Daughter, winking and leering up a storm. Title: I could go for that dick of yours big! A close-up of the farmer. Title: Likewise!
After that the fun started. At least, I figured it was fun -on account of all the wonderfully depraved things the Salesman's Daughter and the farmer started doing to each other. Jack, on the other hand, kept snorting and scoffing and saying things like artistically unsuitable and deplorably repetitious, and so on.
Me, I just kept my eyes glued on the screen, where the Salesman's Daughter was urging the farmer to hurry back with white creamy come-juice dripping from her thick lips. He seemed too pooped to understand her. Even if she was sprawled naked and leering on her back, while he was more or less sitting astride her stomach. Finally she grasped his dong -damn, it was obviously an old print we were watching, and none too clear -it was hard to see just what she was doing to his balls. And she was urging him to thrust his gradually stiffening pecker between her big, fat, rounded breasts which she was pressing close together with her hands.
He obliged. Now his rigid tool was moving back and forth, back and forth between her quivering breasts while she twisted and writhed and squirmed her big fat ass in ecstasy. Back and forth went his pecker, back and forth, faster and faster until "Wow!" I gasped. His hot come seemed to spurt right into the camera lens.
"Bah!" said Jack.
Title: Bingo!
Then came a close-up of two more male fists knocking on the door. The Salesman's Daughter opened the door. Two farmers this time. The Salesman's Daughter stripped them right down and made them feel at home. She made them feel just about everything including her black, yawning asshole! While she did likewise. Then she settled down to making them feel really happy. Both at once. In a very ingenious fashion, she rotated her ass while skewered on the two stiff dongs, one in her cunny and one in her rectum.
After that the action got kind of confused as more and more farmers' cocks started getting into the act -with the Salesman's Daughter. Then three more naked pussy-slingers arrived, milkmaids, most likely, and everybody piled onto the bed and a penis was shoved into a juicy vagina, a cock spurted into a sucking mouth, a mouth was licking a pair of very prominent vaginal walls and clitoris, and then the camera moved in again and again for close-ups of cock-heads spurting orgasmi* ball-juice.
Then the screen went black and a title came on: The End.
Jack snapped on the lights. "Awful, wasn't it?"
"Uhm yes," I said, after I'd stopepd panting and licking my lips.
"And why was it awful?" asked Jack. He began counting off on his fingers. "Crude camera work. Crude lighting. Crude actors. No plot. No continuity. But above all, a basic vulgarity -a vulgar excess of prick and pussy interacting."
Well, personally I felt that vulgar fucking like I just saw was kind of fun -but I didn't say so aloud.
"Now," said Jack, "take a look at one of my efforts and see -crude and formative though it is -how vastly superior it is to The Salesman's Daughter."
He snapped out the lights. A burst of pastoraltype music filled the room and a title came on the screen: Nude Interlude, said the title. Another burst of music, and then another title, the credits: THE GIRL -Herself .... THE BOY -Himself . . . OTHERS -Themselves.
How stupid, I thought. Aloud I said, "How artistic."
"Thank you," said Jack.
The titles faded to a technicolor shot of the sun coming up over a bunch of fields. Then a shot of a cottage at dawn. The camera moved in closer and closer on the cottage, right up to a window and then through the window until it was focussed on a bed. A bed in which lay a young, innocent-looking teen-age girl. In a nightgown.
"Hey," I said, "If this is a cunt movie, how come she isn't stark naked?"
"Shhh!" said Jack.
I looked back at the screen. The girl was asleep, her titties rising and falling slowly, her eyes closed. The camera moved in closer. She was fully covered, all right, but I had to admit that the nightgown she was wearing was thin enough and transparent enough so that you could see her nipples and the down on her bush.
On the soundtrack came the sound of a cock crowing. The girl started, opened her eyes and sat up. She was stacked, all right. The girl blinked, then turned her head. A close up of a note resting on a nearby table. Be a good girl while I'm away on the road, read the note, be back in a day or two. (Signed) Your Father.
"She's the Salesman's Daughter, eh?" I asked.
"Shh!" said Jack.
A close-up of the girl, suddenly thoughtful. Her lips didn't move, but on the soundtrack came the sound of a girl's voice saying softly, Alone! Alone tor a full day and night! And with -with Michael only half a mile away!
"How come her lips aren't moving?" I asked.
"Shh!" said Jack. "The camera is recording her thoughts, not her words."
"Oh," I said.
The girl's big, blue, innocent-looking eyes flashed -and she turned her head. A close-up of what she was looking at: a photograph of a teenage boy in blue jeans with a big cock and ball bulge in his crotch. On the soundtrack the girl's voice said, Michael!
The screen dissolved to a shot of a different farmhouse. Again the camera moved in closer and closer, right through a window. Now we were in another bedroom. And lying on the bed was a teenage boy. Michael. His eyes were open and kind of gleaming. His lips didn't move, but on the soundtrack his voice said, Monday. And Ruth's father will be away for a full day and a night!
He turned his head. A close-up of a photograph on a bedside table. Of Ruth. With her clothes on.
A close-up of the boy's eyes gleaming. Ruth! said his voice on the sound track, how I wish I knew her -more intimately! Another close-up of Ruth's photograph. And all of a sudden the photograph blurred -and then dissolved into a living photograph of Ruth stark naked, her titties and gorgeously bushed slit seeming to yawn.
A close-up of Michael, shuddering and closing his eyes tight. / mustn't think such wicked things! said his voice, I simply mustn't.
I stifled a yawn. "When does the action start?" I asked.
"Shhh!" said Jack.
A close-up of Ruth's eyes gleaming. Michael! said her voice, how I wish I knew him -more intimately! She turned her head. A close-up of the photograph of Michael. It blurred. Now Michael was stark naked. His thick, rigid prick was thrust out eagerly . . .
A close-up of Ruth; eyes shut and shuddering. Her voice: / mustn't think of such wicked things I mustn't!
I stifled another yawn. Things sure moved slowly in Jack's artistic-type dir -stag movies.
Another close-up of Michael, lying in bed thinking. On the soundtrack his voice said: I must think only pure things about her -after all, she may one day be my bride . . .
The screen dissolved into a picture of Ruth in a bridal costume while the soundtrack played Here Comes the Bride ... I was about to stifle another yawn, when all of a sudden the camera pulled back
-and wow! Ruth was dressed in a modest, veiled, bridal costume all right -but only from the waist up. From the waist down she was pussy-naked. She began to twitch her bare ass from side to side in tune with the Wedding March. Then she started doing bumps and grinds, all the while looking demure and virginal from the waist up.
A close-up of Michael clapping his hands to his eyes.
Then a slow dissolve to Ruth, lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. On the sound track her voice said: I mustn't think lewd thoughts about Michael. After all, he may one day be my bridegroom . . . A dissolve to a close-up of Michael in wedding clothes. The camera pulled back. Sure enough, Michael was naked from the waist down. And boy, did he ever have a real man-sized flagpole, knobby head and all! He began doing a kind of masculine grind, his stiff tool and big nuts waving in a close-up.
A close-up of Ruth, shuddering with shame. 7 mustn't think such lewd things! said her voice on the soundtrack. 7 simply mustn't!
To Jack I said, "If they're both lying in bed thinking lewd things about the other, why don't they get together and start doing the humping they want?"
"Because," snarled Jack, "this is an artistic dir
-stag movie. In real life, they would both be too inhibited to do any actual promiscuous screwing. Hence, in my movie, they don't do any fucking except in their thoughts."
"Oh," I said, stifling another yawn. A close-up of Michael, thinking again. His voice: What will happen on the night I make her my bride? Will she cringe away from me? -a fuzzy dissolve to a shot of Ruth cringing in the corner of a bed, the sheets pulled up to her neck or will she act like the abandoned hussy I hope she is, deep down?
A close up of Ruth sprawled naked and leering on a bed. A black velvet-covered bed, yet. She had very white skin to begin with, did Ruth, and the black velvet she was sprawled on made her flesh look even whiter -like a life-size statue out of snow. Squirming, writhing snow. The only spots of color the camera picked up were her glistening outer cunt lips with the little coral head of her clitoris peeping out and her nipples -bright splashes of crimson.
The camera was right at the foot of the bed, and as she smiled and beckoned it moved in closer and closer, traveling slowly up her body until her breasts filled the screen, looking like two gigantic, lusty snow covered mountains -each with a red lighthouse, her jutting nipples on the summit.
Closer and closer the camera moved in until finally just one breast filled the screen. Suddenly a huge male hand came out of nowhere and grabbed the breast, the fingers sinking deep into the white, quivering resilient flesh and tweaking the cherryred nipple.
Hot damn, I thought, now we're going to see some action. I was wrong. I had to wait almost ten minutes before any real action began. In between, the camera kept cutting back and forth between Michael and Ruth, lying fully clothed in separate farmhouses and continually clapping their hands to their eyes and telling themselves they shouldn't think such wicked thoughts. There were some sexy shots, like of Ruth's ass filling the screen while Michael's hand slid up and down it, kneading and fondling the ripest parts and shoving his forefinger up her asshole right to his knuckles -and likewise shots of his hand darting two fingers between her moist vaginal labia and finger-fucking the wet orifice. It also had a shot of him tonguing her twat.
But it was too disconnected and, well, arty to be really sexy. And even when they finally started the final fuck-climax it was in a tame sort of fashion.
"Could use a little zing -but that was great, just divine!" I added hastily. Where did this guy Beauchamp get his pussy picture reputation from? What I had just seen was more fitting for a boy scout barbecue than a grown-up stag.
"The public wasn't ready for the pure art of films like that, so I started in with what I call my realistic subjects," Jack continued, switching off the lights and starting a new film.
The very first scene of this one brought me drooling to the edge of my seat. Called, Once Upon a Honeymoon, it opened in a hotel room with an attractive girl and a virile, handsome young man already stripped down to their underwear and going further. Their screwing was very natural, from fumbling insertion of his fair-sized cock into her virginal crack, to her pierced cherry and their final semen-showered orgasm. Her pussy even bled a little ... I felt like a female Peeping Tom as the action continued, showing how different couples fucked on the honeymoon bed. And it followed through all the way, down to the last minute detail ... as the last limp dick slid out of the last wet female love cavern.