Chapter 5
On arriving in New York I took a room in a dingy midtown hotel, intent on saving as much money as I possibly could. In my utter inexperience I did not realize I was in a hot hustling precinct until that night when I walked from Broadway west to the sooty brownstone with a bag full of groceries. In the space of two blocks I was propositioned four times. The ratio was three slick-looking studs to one hard as nails dyke. At first I was offended, but then looked upon these passes as something of a compliment. Once behind my bolted door, however, the street life did not seem to end downstairs. The noises that came from the room next to mine kept me awake most of the night. I re-read the trade papers I had bought earlier in the day in an effort to concentrate on something other than the sounds of weird sex in the adjoining flat. When I turned my light off for the fifth time and turned over in my lumpy bed I couldn't help noticing a dart of light through the crack of an unused, locked door. Finally my curiosity was overwhelming and I stole over to the old wooden door "to make certain it was locked," I rationalized.
I peeked through the crack between the jamb and the door and saw an Oriental sailor hoisting his white blouse over his head while a black as coal whore lounged naked on the bed with a bored expression. She spread her legs and a red gash of pussy invited the sailor aboard. He unbuttoned his bellbottoms and sailed them across the room.
"Banzai!" He giggled and his fingers cupped her ashen breasts.
"You come fo' to plqy or fuck," she asked slightly annoyed.
The sailor's unchanged smile told he didn't understand a word she said. Her long nailed fingers caught his flaccid rod and she squeezed htm into an erection as though pumping up a blood pressure counter. I wonder why I was watching this routine and almost boring exhibition, but I stayed glued to the vantage point The girl guided his rigid rod into her cunt and the sailor took off like a putt-putting tin lizzie. His slim hips jerked with a staccato rhythm and he shimmied his piece to and fro in her well-worn vagina. The display became incredible for the sailor never let up with his shuddering action that whipped his rod crazily in her box. I realized that the whore was no longer lying placidly, for his incessant rhythm churned her sex into a fantastic sexual stimulation. Her taloned fingers ripped into his back while his talented probe shook the dickens out of her pussy.
"Jesus!" Her voice cracked, but the sailor continued to submarine through with his shaky shaft. The girl was now clawing the air and her mouth was agape with intense pleasure. Strangled gasps and cries for more came gurgling from her mouth and her pink tongue waggled stupidly.
The sailor suddenly pulled up short and then slammed his prick all the way to her womb. The girl jumped with the feeling. But he wound up his body and crashed in again. The shuddering action was replaced with this broad stroking as he plied his rod as deep into her belly as it could go. The girl grasped the sheets in her clenched fists while her inscrutable client rammed his load home.
My own pussy was secreting madly as I watched and I couldn't help slipping my fingers inside to ease the ache that built up. How I wished I was the dark-jugged chick writhing at the end of the Oriental's sword.
With every slashing thrust in the other room I played my fingers deeper into myself until I was doubled over with lust. With an amazing shriek in the next room both their bodies stiffened and we all three came at once. My fingers were sticky with my self-ignited explosion. If this wasn't an exercise in brotherhood, nothing was. We did all actually come at once. But I was miserable and found bringing myself off a far cry from the real thing that occurred not ten feet from my vantage point. I went to bed immediately and clenched my ears to blot out my enterprising neighbors in the next room.
My chance for some real fulfillment came sooner than I expected. The next day I went to have some publicity pictures taken for my resume. Mischa had briefed me on getting the necessary tools for the endless rounds I would have to make. In the photographer's waiting room I met a swishy sounding actor who also was going to have new shots made.
Bruce Jorgenson was an exciting man to look at, but I felt very safe when he girlishly waved a limp wrist and said hello. We had a charming conversation in which he mother-henned about how to break into the theatre. I thought for certain he was one of those sweet homosexuals who are truly nice people and very eager to help.
"Cmon over to Equity, and see if there are any calls, darlin'," he singsonged.
I gratefully accompanied him over to the Actor's Equity office on Forty-Sixth Street to get a glimpse at the inner sanctum of all out of work actors (and we abound).
"S-man-tha Beau-neau," Bruce introduced in his perfect imitation of Bette Davis.
Two actors smiled and said hello, casting an appraising look my way, then returned to the callboard to see if there was anything they could go up for.
"Don't bother with Sal Carpani. He's just interested in your bod, and a lousy director at that," Bruce said noticing a call for chorus boys in a new musical.
I wondered how long it would take me to find out about the ins and outs of show business from the worm's eye view. Bruce was friendly and seemed knowledgeable and so I was happy to tag along when the three actors invited me for lunch. Over some beers one of the other fellows suggested that if I needed some quick money there was a nudie movie being shot later that week. I said no thanks, not yet at any rate.
When the other two actors left, Bruce brought up the subject again. "Listen, I have a friend who wrote a scenario for someone just like you. I mean, physically you fit the description of the lead chick."
He spoke enthusiastically and so I agreed to at least read the part.
He made a phone call and returned beaming. "Antly's at his loft. Come on over now if you don't have any plans."
Bruce had been most gentlemanlike and so I accepted his invitation without hesitation. We caught a cab and dashed through the scariest traffic I'd ever been in. In a section of the city that was more warehouse than residential, the taxi stopped and Bruce and I got out. He ushered me up a flight of narrow stairs to an artist's loft and Antly Bigelow swung the door open. Photographic equipment was strewn all around the huge loft and arty looking stills were tacked on white pegboard partitions that filled his quarters.
Antly was as young as Bruce with a sunlamp tan and flowing locks of straw colored hair.
"Come on in," he smiled and Bruce and I made ourselves at home. "Brucie said you were interested in reading for "The Great Thunderpussy.'"
"The Great what!" I heard myself say.
"Thunder-pussy," he enunciated as though talking to a numbskull. "It's an adventure story about the queen of the Cat People meeting up with the king of the Bat People."
"Isn't it far-out?" Bruce giggled.
I was wondering what I had gotten myself into when Antly Bigelow set the scene. "Queen Titania Thunderpussy is discovered in her royal bedroom eating some grapes and being attended by this stud who's waving a fan over her."
Antly lifted my legs onto the divan and Bruce began waving the script over me like some Mid-Eastern eunuch.
"When in comes King Basel of the Bat People," Antly narrated, unsnapping his belt buckle, and dropping his pants.
I was about to jump up and find the nearest exit when Bruce got into the act
"You shall not touch my lady," Bruce roared with a ridiculous declaiming style. He undid his tight fitting bellbottoms and thrust himself between Antly and myself. With one swift motion Antly skimmed Brace's togs and swirled him around. Bruce fell on me and Antly fell on Bruce. Before I realized what was happening, I felt Bruce tearing at my panties.
"I'll run you through!" Antly shouted and he plunged his immense rod into Brace's rear end.
Antly pumped with a will and the combined weight of the two gay boys pinned me helplessly on the divan.
Brace's pelvis was between my legs and seconds later his hard thick prick crushed against my muff. Antly drove in mercilessly and Bruce's rod expanded until it crept inexorably into my pussy. My skirt was pulled over my waist and I was screwed with the bumpiest action I'd ever endured.
At first I tried fighting back, but the powerful thrusts of both men made my efforts ridiculous. I soon marveled at the amazing coordination they effected, and my pussy was ablaze with stimulation. Bruce, who I had taken for a sweet fag and nothing more, was one of the most thorough lovers I would ever have. His thick steaming rod seemed to become bigger and bigger inside of me and as he crashed against my uterus again and again I wanted it never to leave. All good things must come to an end, however, and so did this one, first with Antly grunting his crisis in Bruce's behind and like a chain reaction, Bruce coming insanely in my stuffed cunny. I came in the next instant and spattered Bruce's thick penis with my own feminine honey.
"That's how "The Great Thunderpussy' opens," Antly said wiping his dripping rod on a towel.
"How do you like it so far," Bruce asked still planted firmly in my wetness.
"What happens in the second reel," I wondered aloud while kneading his taut buttocks. "Mr. Director?" Bruce queried. "Queen Titania Thunderpussy takes a lunch break," Antly said climbing over Bruce's neck and shoving his partially erected peter against my mouth. There was no way to avoid it and Bruce jostling his sticky spear in my cunny only stimulated my appetite. I opened wide and sucked Antly's rod between my lips. Below Bruce undulated gently and my pussy bristled. Antly pumped with the same rhythm in my mouth and I was in seventh heaven, stuffed with a total of fifteen inches of thick cock and about equally divided between the two guys. Bruce increased his strokes and my fingers crept into his still slick anus. I probed more deeply and I heard him moan with pleasure. He increased his tempo and so did Antly, knocking my head into the pillow with his pummeling prick. My pubis was a quivering mass of sensating jelly. Bruce's rod continued to stir in my juices and I was out of my mind with feeling. I sucked and chewed on Antly and I felt his glans jerk with a blast of come that filled my mouth.
The taste of his manstuff was so exhilarating I jammed my fingers into Bruce's ass and sent him on a prolonged pumping spasm that seemed to tear my pussy apart My channel was like an octopus' tentacles with dozens of suction cups that grappled his rod as he drove through. He hit me once and I arched with the ecstatic jolt. His dam broke and another stream of come shot through my vagina. He stayed spent but stiff and I wriggled my hips to feel and friction against his thickness. With one last writhing twist I came with the force of a ten megaton bomb and my own brand of shrapnel seemed to knife through my interior.
If this was a screen test I passed with flying colors. For I saw all the colors of the rainbow with that last orgasm. I lay in the afterglow with both of these studs still planted in me for an eternity, it seemed. A delightful, enchanted eternity.
"Wanna find out what happens next," Antly asked finally.
"Another time," I gasped as my double play combination pulled their respective joints out of me. I could hardly move, but the sticky sweetness in my mouth and muff felt delicious.
After a wobbly walk to the bathroom I felt I had better leave these A.C.-D.C. boys to their own devices and confine myself to my reasons for corning to New York.
We three kissed each other goodbye and I told them that if I was interested in finding out what happens next to Queen Titania I would be sure to give them a call.
Besides getting a rip-roaring good time out of my brief association with Bruce and Antly, I rapidly learned not to judge a book by its proverbial cover. Bruce packed more satisfaction behind his fly than a dozen masculine-seeming guys I know.
When my pictures came back and a doctored up resume culled mostly from my workshop scenes for Mischa was duplicated I was ready to start making some rounds. I had steeled myself against expecting too much the first few weeks out, particularly since I didn't have an Equity card. I ran down the four or five calls that were posted in the trade papers that week and gingerly tried the water. It was decidedly cold I soon found out. The most interesting thing was running into other actors whom I had seen at other interviews. There is an ever shifting population of people, I learned, who manage to get to open calls for shows a full hour before they are scheduled to begin. This doesn't help them get parts a whole lot, but they do avoid waiting long hours with a hundred other aspiring, perspiring actors who want a chance to do their stuff for a director too.
By my third week, I was down in the dumps and about ready to place a call to friends Bruce and Antly for another lively afternoon for the sheer change of pace when I was cast in a showcase production of a new play in an off-off Broadway house in the East Village. I was ecstatic with the news. At least I would be doing something besides sitting in my dingy diggings and listening to Flobelle Marsh turn her tricks next door.
Peter Brand was the first director I had worked with besides Mischa and his radiation of experience and full knowledge of the experimental theatre scene in New York provided me with a good opportunity for the future. The play was not so good, nor was my role, little more than a sexual presence who breathed "Good morning, your supreme ballship," to a munitions manufacturer who engineers countries into declaring war on each other. But I was working (if not for money), and when the show went on I would at least be seen.
"Come on home with me and well run lines," Peter said offhandedly at the conclusion of a rehearsal.
I said okay, and we bused across town to his Greenwich Village apartment. Peter was a silent, pipe-smoking fellow with extraordinarily ordinary looks; He was forever intent on his work and I was certain he looked on me as simply another actor, part of an ensemble.
"Sit down. Take your clothes off," he said evenly as soon as we were in his apartment "Excuse me?" I mumbled. "Then stand. But take your clothes off."
"Why?"
"Because I want to touch your naked body," he said in conversational tones.
I was at a loss for words and dumbfounded to hear Peter speak so. But I found myself doing just what he suggested. Automatically my fingers unsnapped my skirt and I nearly unzipped the damn thing before I stopped myself.
"Now say the line 'Good morning, your ballship.'" Peter directed.
"What?" I asked thoroughly confused.
"You're just reading the line in answer to a cue the way you're doing it now. And the author's uptight I told him we'd squeeze some life into it"
"Well, how do you want it read," I said angrily.
"Without your clothes."
"Are you going to change this into a nudie?"
"No," he replied and I was perplexed beyond belief. With a shrug and perhaps a bit of a challenge, I ripped my garments off and stood naked before him.
"The line actually is, 'Good morning, your supreme ballship!' " I spat venomously.
"Hmmm," he hummed without commitment and he placed one hand on my breast
"Again," he commanded.
"Good morning, your supreme ballship," I croaked hoarsely.
His hand went to my muff and I felt his index finger creep into my tightly clamped slot "Once more."
I tried the line again, flushing furiously and he squeezed my clit, which was now pounding with tension.
"Good morning, your supreme ballship," I gasped as a flurry of sexual stimulation fluttered below.
"Perfect," he smiled taking his pipe out of his mouth. "Now let's go to bed."
I was dazed, but pussy was crying to be fed and I could hardly wait to do it. We strolled into his bedroom, Peter with one hand cradling my quivering tit and the other unbuttoning his shirt. If his fully dressed physical appearance was ordinary, his sexual equipment was a far cry from that. He hauled out the thickest shaft of cock I had ever seen.
"Don't let Fatty over here scare you," Peter laughed observing my wide-eyed stare. But my heart was suddenly in my mouth, wondering who was going to help cram that rod into my thirsting cunny.
"You're sure there's only one of you," I asked trying to relax.
"If we need some help I'll invite the neighbors in."
"No thank you," I retorted, wondering if he was serious. But my eyes were glued to his double thick peter that looked like the muzzle of a shot gun.
"Then what are we waiting for," my host asked and I tried to wrap my fingers around his immense manhood just to see if I could do it. I was downright dubious that I could accommodate what he had to offer.
"There's only one way to find out," Peter said reading my mind. He spread my legs-and slipped a probing finger into my hot but tight notch. I shut my eyes and felt his steady penetration. My glutinous walls were sucking at his finger and tiny taps were turned on inside of me. I began to lubricate and my muscles relaxed and savored his teasing finger. Now I could have welcomed a locomotive through my vagina. Instead his fingers incessantly corkscrewed around and I bit my lips with snapping stimulation.
"O.K., I'm fine," I gasped grinding my thighs to invite his monster prick in.
"Just making sure," he said coolly continuing to widen my gap. My swollen sex would have poured out into his hand if he didn't get down to business. He brought his dripping fingers to my mouth and I poked my tongue at my own taste. His tongue touched mine and we both made a canape of his finger. Our lust was exploding and for the second I wasn't even aware that his swollen glans had penetrated into my honey cunt.
I sure was the next moment though, when he jerked and his fleshy pile driver jammed through into my spasming vagina. I had never been so tightly packed in my entire life and my breath caught with the excitement.
"You O.K.?" Peter asked.
"To put it mildly," I hissed while my pussy sucked greedily on his load. O.K.? I was the okayest of my twenty-one years. I laid claim to his weapon and resolved to never let go. With every jiggling movement Peter made my pussy scream with delirious pleasure.
All the darns of the world had burst in my cranny and I was being plugged with the biggest thrill of my life. He rode atop me gently at first and then began to increase his friction with a steady pace. His mouth plastered mine with wet sloppy kisses and he twisted his serpentine rod with wild abandon. I was crying with joy and humping back for the thrill of his wide pulsing penis. We both went insane in the next moment and he tore through me with saber slashes that made me weak with excitement The groaning bed was going to collapse any moment I was sure, and so I gave it all back to him, swiveling my hips and squeezing my muscles against the neck of his galloping joint.
He hit me repeatedly and my insides swelled with the most fulfilling climax I had ever reached. It seemed to go on forever and I savored every moment of it while my juices gushed against his exploding phallus.
When Peter's dam burst in my pussy the next moment it was as though a tide of molten lead had exploded. His hot sticky sauce was enough to wash me into another crisis and his iron thick beam continued to plumb me into a second coming. After the second blast we rested in position and I could only marvel at his staying power.
"You're somethin' else," I said when I finally had breath enough.
"Now deliver the line again," he said in his capacity to constantly amaze me.
"GOOD MORNING, YOUR SUPREME BALLSHIP!"
"Right on," he smiled.
"Don't you ever stop talking shop?"
"Never," Peter replied curtly, planting a butterfly kiss on my cheek with one fluttering eyelash.
"What else are you directing," I asked after a long silence.
He chuckled. "Well see."
The next long silence lasted eight hours. In the morning I made him breakfast, but not until I gave him my line.
"You do it like that on stage and we've got a show," he said.