copies from New York was a Maffia fellow, nice, whom Carlo asked me to entertain. He was funny. I was introduced to him as one of the clerical help and I found out why. He was moralistic. He told me, while he was lying atop me with his cock going soft after giving me an inexpert but rather vigorous ride, 'You know, those chicks that do the movies, I wouldn't like going to bed with one of them.' 'Why not?' I asked, all innocence.
'Well, you know,' he said. 'Too many ruts in that road for me.'
He meant he didn't want merchandise which had been used too mu.ch. He told me that I was a sweet girl and I told him, 'I hope you don't think I do this sort of thing all the time.' 'Oh, no,' he said.
'I mean, you're the first man I've been to bed with since my poor husband died two years ago.'
And the poor stoop believed me. He said that he could believe it because I was so passionate.
I liked watching my films. I have to this day a complete set of them. My favorite is the one in which I am lying on a satin sheet, my left arm at my side, my eyes closed, my mouth open in an expression of sex, my right hand guiding this beautiful, long, hard, big cock into my busy pen. That's the shot I had blown up and hanged on my bedroom wall. I mean, my private bedroom, where I go alone. There's another one for company. I think it shows me as I truly am, a beautiful girl who was made for sex.
In other films I was played with, with shots of big, male hands on my cunt, fingers thrusting into me. I was kissed, chewed, eaten. I ale, kissed, chewed. I was fucked from the top, from the bottom, from the back, from the sides, from any angle which gave the cameras a good view of cock going into cunt. That's the main rule in ordinary sex films, give the paying customer a lot of shots of cock going into cunt. That's what it's all about.
I've seen some of the competition. Some of them are very, very lousy. You don't get good views of the cock-cunt bit. All you get is pissy little pots on the men and the women trying to look sexy with some ungodly kind of underwear and in stripping off their clothes. All you've got to do to make a dollar in the stag film business is show cocks going into cunts. We proved that. My cut of the business, over a five-year period, was around a hundred thousand bucks. Our films were such a success because they had clean-cut people in them. Me, and I'm beautiful, trim, clean, healthy, wholesome. Others perhaps not quite so attractive, but no pigs and no druggies and bums. Every man in our films had a hard-on. None of this stuffing a soft cock up against a cunt and calling it sex.
Our Lesbian films were fantastically successful because little Doris and I used all our charms and turned each other on. When you see a close-up of our faces when we're supposed to be coming, we are. That's true about any of it. And that seemed to be the main thing that impressed everyone about me. I mean, when I come, my face gets this expression which can be pain or joy, but it's a strained, intense, beautiful, odd look which goes on and grows as I get closer and then, when I come, you could tell, even if you didn't know what I was doing, because my look when I come is eternal woman.
We did a few gang-bang things, which were O.K., but my favorites were the ones we shot with the three stooges. That way I had a hard cock available all the time. While I was working on one, the other two were taking vitamin E and frigging and thinking sexy thoughts to get hard again. So we shot everything which featured a woman and one or more men with dispatch and I got my rocks off with regularity. I had a thousand comes there under the lights of Carlo's studio, I'd guess, and every one was a beauty and every one was recorded for posterity.'And one of them came in very handy after Carlo, bless his heart, got shot by an irate Roman husband who caught him in bed with both wife and daughter, eating one and frigging the other wildly with his lovely, now dead cock.
I'll always remember Carlo. He started me on my real career, acting. It was a humble beginning, I'll admit, making stag films, but it got me my gilt-edged break.
I have something to remember Carlo by, too. It's a specialty film we did with the whip and boots bit I was spectacular in black leather and high heeled boots and I beat old Carlo's ass royally for the cameras and he came like mount Versuvious for the sado buyers of a film which sold for one thousand bucks a Super-8 color copy. Poor Carlo. He got done in just as things were picking up for him. A victim of what he said was his last remaining sexual ambition, to diddle a mother and a daughter at the same time. The mother wasn't even sexy, fat and dumpy, and the kid was just tiny, about fifteen, I'd guess. I got the details from a friendly Roman policeman who'd investigated the case and he said that the irate husband came in just as Carlo had done in the daughter, after leaving pecker tracks in the fat mama's cunt. So he'd pumped out two loads of come just before he died and he died happy, I guess.
CHAPTER NINE
I keep a sexual diary. I started it during my year as Miss One World. There were times when we'd be traveling and there's nothing more boring than riding from, say, Japan to England on even the most luxurious jet It's just long hours of doing nothing, so I started keeping the journal to pass the time. I'd stopped drinking by that time, finding that it added unwanted ounces, so I couldn't do the martini bit all the way across the oceans and the continents.
I began by trying to remember my early life. Went back to the days when I played with myself. Days when I lost my virginity, found the joy of sex with Ruf, did the incest bit with poor old Juby. Oh, incidentally, I sent Juby a letter when I started getting my money from the films we did in Rome and told him that if he'd take care of my mdrn and be good to her I'd send him enough money so that he wouldn't have to steal water pumps anymore. I started with a couple of hundred a month and then, later on, I had more to send, so Juby and my mother moved into a new twelve-foot wide mobile home with air conditioning, and the last time I went down Juby had gone mod, buying those flare slacks and shaving regularly and I'll be damned if the old sonofabitch wasn't out chasing young chicks.
My big brother Sam got into a fight in a honky-tonk in the next county and got shot seven times. It did him in. Six he could have taken, because the first six were in non-vital places, but the seventh got him in the liver and he didn't make it. I didn't mind Juby chasing chicks, so long as he chased the ones who liked being caught. But I told him if he got into trouble he was on his own, that I'd put mother in a home and stop his allowance, so he was careful.
The real kick was when I went home and found him shagging around in turtle-necks and bell bottoms and was a pissed young lady until I went home one day in the middle of the afternoon when I was supposed to be in the next town and caught my dear, chubby old mom in bed with this nice elderly gentleman from down the road. She was put out and ashamed until I said, 'Mom, do you enjoy it?'
She smiled sheepishly and said, 'Honey, he does the naughtiest things and it makes me feel just wonderful. You know, with your daddy, I didn't really know what sex was.'
So Juby was getting his kicks and my mom was getting hers with this nice elderly gentleman and old Ruf had latched onto an Italian countessa or some shit and was living the life of a playboy flitting all over Europe.
Those years get all mixed up in my mind. Things began to move fast after Carlo got killed. It looked bad for a while, because Carlo's main movie studio was all in debt and it was taken over by the Italian movie establishment and the man who moved in was a cold-hearted sonofabitch. His name was Roberto Cartechelli. He was forty-five, dapper, a conservative in view, both financially and politically, and he looked at me as if I were just so much meat when I went to him and asked him if he were going to live up to Carlo's contract with me and star me in Passion's Queen.
I was twenty-one years old. With the money I had been earning from the sex films I'd bought a knock-out wardrobe, took drama lessons, kept myself in shape by going regularly to a health farm for exercise and organic foods. I was a regular customer at the finest hairdresser's in Rome. I was a girl with obvious class, for I'd taken Italian lessons and English lessons. (You might not think so from the style of my writing, but I've taken pains to write as I used to think.) I was ready for Passion's Queen.
'Ah, Miss McRae,' Cartechelli said, 'as you know, this picture is an ambitious undertaking. The sets alone would cost much money. And we, frankly, hesitate to risk such a large investment on an unknown actress.'
I knew that I could handle the part. But I could see that merely talking to Cartechelli would not do the trick. I'd read and reread the lines of the screen play and I knew them by heart
The picture was about Marie Antoinette. But it was not just another historical show piece, it was an adult study of Marie's life, and as you probably know, Marie Antoinette was a sexual being. That was why I was sure
