The Mammoth Book of International Erotica

And the Woman stayed forever.

And it was real.

It is real.

Because I say it is.

She and I are the word made flesh. Make the word flesh.

Because I say so.

MOBIUS STRIPPER by Bana Witt

1 Hot Nazis

I was riding on the 7 Haight bus to my massage job downtown when I sat down next to a thin friendly blonde girl. She was on her way to the clap clinic. She said she had clap of the throat. She might have gotten it from a girl she had worked with on a porno film. I had never met anyone who’d done porn before, or even seen any for that matter. She said she was working for these really nice guys called the Mitchell Brothers and told me just to call their theater if I wanted to work.

I was very excited by the idea. I had just started to get into S amp;M: having boyfriends who liked to tie me up or spank me, biting hard, doing things that left marks and looking at my own marks after a long night. I thought I was about as kinky and decadent as anyone. I called after thinking about it for a few days. I went to an interview at the O’Farrell Theater and was confused by the incredible similarity between the two brothers. They were fine- boned, relatively small men, with a way of making the bizarre seem totally routine. The older brother was Jim, the younger, Artie. They asked me if I’d ever done this sort of work before and I said no, but that I was a masochist and loved to be beaten and they could really do it if they wanted. There was a list of other things they asked if I would do. I said yes to them all. They told me they were going to do a series of short, very hardcore films called Ultra Core.

A few days later I went to a large brick building in the Tenderloin. It’s across from Hyde Street Studios now. I was overweight and not nearly as flashy as the other women, but much more enthusiastic. They had this outrageously beautiful makeup woman who was also from Fresno. Years later she would fall in love with my friend Patty at my wedding.

The title of the film was Hot Nazis and I was to play a lesbian Jew. I was very impressed when I heard Michael Bloomfield was writing the music. There were no scripts.

One room was a reproduction of a bleak concrete bunker. At one end was a large radio. On the wall to the left was a barbed wire cage filled with straw and bones, fresh bones from cattle legs. There was a large wiry German shepherd gnawing on one of the bones. Myself and a girl named Virginia were to be in the cage. I took her aside to find out if she really liked women. She did. She had done a lot of this work before. We were given torn thermal underwear to wear and smudged up a little. The first scene to be shot was of us getting it on in the straw. I had no idea having an audience would get me off so much. Virgina knew the ropes and nothing was faked. I was pretty submissive. She gave ferocious head and finger fucked me until I screamed.

The crew applauded our first scene. Then Artie (in retrospect I know it was Artie) asked me if I would fuck the dog. It boggled my mind. I wanted to be a trooper, but the dog! I declined and Virgina attempted to get the dog aroused. The dog growled. They left him alone.

The rest of the action focused around a tall gaunt man named Vernon, who played head Nazi and his girlfriend Enjil, a beautiful Nordic woman. There were several men playing Gestapo guards and a woman with dark hair named Monique. They did some scenes of the guards fucking one another and the girls, and then it was my turn again. I was to be held down on a table and screwed by Vernon. Everyone was doing hits off a full bottle of liquid amyl nitrate. I was lying on my back and he started out by running a riding crop across my body. Slowly he began tapping it on the insides of my thighs. He hit harder and harder, at which point my girlfriend was supposed to pull him off and he was to continue by screwing me. Only he wouldn’t stop whipping me. Every time he lifted the crop there would be a bright new red stripe on my body. She tried to pull him off and he pushed her into the barbed wire that was wrapped around the cage. He returned to continue beating me now for real. He was laying the whip into my very white skin as hard as he could. Finally Virginia yelled “CUT!” to the cameramen. They realized we weren’t just acting and subdued Vernon. In the film the welts were unbelievable. Virginia’s leg bled real blood from the barbed wire.

They wanted just one final insertion shot on the table. I lay down, face up. I asked Monique for a hit of the amyl nitrate. She tilted the bottle and poured the whole thing up my nose and into my eyes. The burning was unbelievable. I jumped up screaming, and then I started rushing. It was like I’d shot speed and jumped off a cliff at the same time. Everything was buzzing and my ears were ringing and I couldn’t get my breath. Jim had gotten water and was flushing my face with it. I knew I was going to have a seizure. I knew I was going to be blind. I knew I should go to the hospital. It was the most total, complete panic I’ve ever had.

In the space adjacent to the Hot Nazis set was a room with an elaborate bed. It had been used in a scene from the brothers’ film, Sodom and Gomorrah. I lay there for a long time while they continued to shoot the movie. I finally realized I wasn’t going to die, that I was a lesbian Jew in a storage building in the Tenderloin of San Francisco. Artie came in to see how I was. We had sex for the first time and I finally felt the cord being cut from the tule fog and tract houses that had been my home.

2 Dabbling in S amp;M

I never have liked going nude. I have rarely been thin enough to be proud of my body. I’m thick through the waist. I have almost no tits. I have great confidence in my face and legs, but as far as my torso is concerned, I would just as soon leave it covered up. I’ve had a few boyfriends who were very comfortable nude.

I also get cold very easily, but I just don’t like people to look at my naked body. It’s not shyness. It is simply that I feel I cannot pass muster. I’ve been with and around so many beautiful sexy women, it has left me humble in that regard. A lot of men like to look at your body, like when you’re walking across the room. That bothers me. I never felt confident unless I was actually making body contact. I knew I was better at the tactile than the visual.

I think my hating to be nude in front of people is why I got off so much on the movies. I got off from proving how hot I was, if not pretty, and because of the adrenaline from being terrified. I was lucky they didn’t require any acting. I was way too scared to think clearly, but it made the sex great. The best part came afterwards, rehashing the films in my mind. I would be in retrospective bliss for weeks after a shoot.

When I was twenty-two I made up a list of everyone I could recall having had sex with. It was nearly two hundred people in length. Apparently I was active before the AIDS epidemic. I was unbelievably lucky on that one. Only two of them were real tricks, everything else was in films or for recreation.

Late in 1975 I answered an ad in one of the sex magazines that said they were looking for nude bondage models. It sounded like good, non-boring work. I called and talked to a man who seemed pretty lucid and straightforward. His name was Ron Reynolds or something close to that. Anyway, his initials were R.R. He had a little S amp;M Victorian in Oakland. I remember I’d never ridden BART, the local subway system, and I rode BART over from San Francisco. He picked me up in a stationwagon that smelled like a dog. He dressed like he sold cars, and seemed very gentle and polite. He wore very thick glasses with black frames that made his eyes look intense and maybe a little psychotic, but not enough to make me uncomfortable.

We drove to his house and I could still smell the dog. The place was divided into different torture rooms, with women attending them who dressed in leather, looked cold and unforgiving, and did domination scenes with men. There was never any standard sex. And this Ron guy was that way with me. Everyone I had done nude modeling for at that point had tried to fuck me, but he didn’t try. It seems when sadists and masochists really become purist,