A Night at the Movies
Daddy X
I could mention a hotel window I know in Verona. But all that would do is inspire me to sing opera. While I’ve never been good at singing, or particularly fond of opera, I am fond of sex. Yum. Not that I wouldn’t want to have sex in Verona while hanging (banging?) out a window. Singing.
But never mind all that. I found an inspiration much closer to home.
On June 6, I attended an evening at the San Francisco Center for Sex and Culture, promoted by M. Christian through his involvement in Digital Parchment Services. Quite inspiring. The speaker that night, Chris’s partner in the project, was Jean Marie Stine who worked for the sex film industry in the 60’s and 70’s. Her droll delivery and wry sense of humor was both entertaining and enlightening.
Most of William (Bill) Rotsler’s films were, compared to today’s standards, soft-core, featuring simulated sex. Although he did some hard core stuff toward the end of his movie career, he was known more for the simulated variety. There were no home computers and VCR tapes were just being developed; so if anyone saw his films, they likely saw them at porn houses. At that time it was all considered transgressive.
Rotsler was more than a filmmaker, proficient at many things, a true renaissance man. One of his many mainstream accomplishments was the novelization of the film “Arachnophobia”. His stories won five Hugo awards. His sculpture occupies public space in Los Angeles and he designed the Nebula Award trophies.
Watching sex films featuring all those cute hippie chicks who I fell in love with back in the day makes me want to have sex. Or at least to write about it, given I can’t always find a willing partner at this age. (Thank goodness Momma X still comes across :>)
So, here’s a flasher inspired by that night at the (smut) movies:
Half Masked
What if Eleanor’s father sees the film? Or one of his lowlife relatives? Even if she didn’t actually go all the way.
“If you keep refusing to fuck,” said the flustered director, “lose the mask. I’m not paying for that sweet face unless it’s covered in jizz.”
“I’ll still suck somebody off. Maybe just a half-mask. We could go with a New Orleans theme. Mardi Gras. I’ll wear pasties and a feathered merkin.
“Sounds like a cool outfit, sweetcakes. But what about the money shot? Producer wants semen in those pretty eyebrows.”
“Shit. Do I hafta?”
“That or fuck. Plus—take a look at who you’d have to blow.”
“Oh my god. He’s old!”
“Hah! Wouldn’t you rather fuck? At least you’d get somebody more your age.”
The grizzled derelict shuffled up in a collapsed hat, his limp, pasty cock hanging visible between the flaps of a stained overcoat. “Suck on this baby-” he muttered.
“So why does he get to wear a mask?”
“Not the same, honey,” said the director. “Robber’s mask looks creepier, and nobody’s gooping up his face.”
“Eccchh.”
“Now take it off!”
“Him first. I can’t wear a mask, neither does he.”
“Okay—take it off, Herman.”
“...Uncle Herman?”
#
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Read 5 Time Hugo Winner William Rotsler's Patron Of The Arts ($2.99 - Free on Amazon Unlimited) and The Far Frontier ($2.99)
Read 5 Time Hugo Winner William Rotsler's Patron Of The Arts ($2.99 - Free on Amazon Unlimited) and The Far Frontier ($2.99)
