Laura Meets Jeffrey

by Jeffrey Michelson

  After getting five dollars in quarters I choose a booth with one hole. Laura and I squeeze into the narrow stall and start kissing standing up. Our shoes make squishy noises.

  I feed some quarters into the slot. To my delight an attractive blonde on her knees stretching her mouth to suck two big black cocks at the same time appears on the white cardboard on the back of the door that serves as a screen. Ah! The perfect ambient visual!

  I feel something poke my leg and look down to see a large cock sliding through the wall. I put Laura’s hand on it. Her eyes smile. I sit down on the little bench at the rear of the booth and by the flickering light of the movie watch Laura hunch down like a primitive cave woman on the soles of her shoes.

  She watches my eyes watching hers, her head on the other side of the cock between us. She ever so slowly puts out her long tongue and licks it. The cock responds with a wiggle and a stretch and Laura moves around in front of it, facing it, and slowly works it all the way into her mouth. God! She is hotter than any porn movie I’ve ever seen! And she is live! And mine!

  I unzip and start playing with myself and drop more quarters so I can watch Laura by the light of the porn. She holds onto the guest cock with one hand, moves toward me and buries her face in my lap. She goes back and forth between cocks until she sucks the mystery dick to completion as muffled moans of joy seep through the plywood wall. Laura turns, opens her mouth to show me her viscous trophy, exaggerates the motions of swirling it around, and finally, with an audible gulp, swallows it. “Thank you, Jeffrey,” she says, hugging me.

  Laura stands up. She slides out of her panties and lifting her miniskirt sits on my stiffness. As she rides up and down we hear sounds from next door: The mystery dick leaves and another is getting ready to take its place. I tell Laura how to invite the new one in by wiggling her fingers through the hole and soon another cock, smaller and already standing at attention awaits her review.

  She bends down to suck it and I move her off me so she can concentrate on the little soldier. She asks me to finger her while she sucks. Soon she displays a new mouthful of spunk.

  More noise from the changing of the guards and, seconds later, a monster, semi-hard and already half the size of a kosher salami, lumbers through the wall. Laura rubs the horsedick back and forth and stretches it out till it grows harder and longer, ten inches of massive dick, as big as any I’ve ever seen live. I ask her if she wants to fuck it.

  She bends over with her ass facing the cock and works it into her pussy. I love it. She is an animal and she is mine! I tell her to pull away. She obeys without hesitation and I turn her around to face the cock now bobbing blindly.

  I squeeze behind her in the narrow booth and lift her up. I tell her to climb the wall with her feet as I hold her, till her shoes are above our heads and her back is nearly parallel to the floor. She is light, I am adrenaline strong and the booth is so narrow I am pressed against the wall. I guide her pussy back to the big cock, and she uses her hands to push the thing back in. I hold her up as she fucks, rocking her back and forth. I look down between her legs and watch the cock fuck my baby’s pussy.

  Laura says she feels the cock starting to come. She stretches her head up to kiss me and cries softly, “For you Jeffrey, I swear this is for you,” and climaxes in response to the pulsing pumping of the huge dick.

  I move her harder until her moans and the ones from the horsedick’s booth die down. I am exhausted. Laura’s pussy is flat against the hole in the wall and the huge cock is still pushed inside her. She presses against the wall just enough to give her space to pet the penis and slowly move in and out on it.

  “Glory holes!” Laura gushes, “oh my God, I loved it! I thought that was really, really, really incredibly exciting! Cocks coming through the wall! So wonderful. So decadent! I still think about it a lot. It was a ton of fun! It was just so out there!! It’s a girl’s dream come true!”

  She pushes her feet against the wall, pulls back and slides off the cock. It drools come and hangs there limp. I balance her as she puts her feet on the floor. The cock withdraws and disappears.

  “Jeffrey, I love you, baby,” she smiles as she sticks her hand in her pussy and tastes the big dick’s delivery, “what do you want me to do for you? Thank you for taking me here and letting me fuck another cock in front of you. You proved your love for me, Jeffrey; I’ll do anything you want. You own me. Let me give you my tits,” she whimpers as she lifts her top and pinches her huge nipples so hard she winces.

  “Give them to me,” I order. She bends down putting her nipples in my hands. I squeeze hard, digging in my nails. She kisses me murmuring, “Thank you. Thank you for wanting me. Now please fuck my pussy.”

  My whole body is a hard-on. I stand up, lean back against the bench, point her toward the door, bend her over, guide myself in and slide into her wetness. I move with the determination and single purpose of a drill press, pumping away until I add my juice to her collection, alive—live, breathing, actually here—in the middle of the hottest, dirtiest porn film ever.

  We put on our clothes. I hear men shoving each other outside the booth next-door, jockeying for the hole position.

  “Tell me what to do next. Tell me to do things for you.” Laura seems more stoned than before, as if decadence itself is a drug. We are about to leave and I’m almost out of quarters when another mystery dick juts through the hole waving up and down, begging like a dog.

  She looks at me, smiles, and reaches down and starts jerking it off while we kiss. When she feels it start to come she bends down to suck it and just before it shoots—she pulls back and it squirts all over her face. The film is running through the credits so the light is bright and like a strobe. I see the come shoot out and appear frozen in midair on the way to her face. Next flicker a second later and it is on her face. Next good light, after a patch of darkness her face is lathered with come. I never in my life saw anyone come that much.

  She stands up with spunk all over her face. I wipe it off with my shirt and kiss her. I love her. We are two sides of the same coin.

  As we leave there is a line of single guys still waiting outside the booth next to ours. There is even a couple, and Laura asks me if I want to play peephole with them. I tell her I don’t, though they are a rare lucky find. The girl is short, skinny-sexy, definitely wasted and has that trampy country shiksa look I adore. The guy, a biker wearing the colors of the toughest local gang, wants to trade and fingers his slut under her short skirt as a sales pitch; I can see she’s without proper undergarments. He also exposes her small breasts as a way of beckoning me to take her for a test ride, but I am fixed on Laura. I want to go home and fuck her in a bed. I tell them we have to go. I apologize to the couple sincerely in case I am ever single again in my life, still living in the country and still going to adult bookstores.

  Three guys say, “Thank you,” as they escort us toward the front of the store. Just as we exit, the back room breaks out in whistles and applause.

  “What was nice about doing it in adult bookstores,” Laura remembers, “was that Jeffrey always made sure that I wanted to do it. And of course, I always did, ha, ha, ha!”

  We go home, fuck and do drugs all night. I make her talk about what she had done over and over again and draw new erotic energy with each new detail. She is my three dimensional porn star.

  16

  Soft-core and hard-core masturbators

  Here’s the difference between Hard-core and Soft-core Masturbators:

  Some men, given a choice between jerking off to a hot beautiful naked girl in a soft-core magazine like Playboy, Penthouse, or Hustler, and a hard-core, full-penetration shoot with an equally sexy girl plus a man or two or five, will choose to jerk off to the single girl. These men are the Soft-core Masturbators. They don’t like the intrusion of another man. Soft-core Masturbators buy what are called Single-Girl videos and Two-Girl videos and shy away from Boy/Girl and Group. These guys need to fantasize about themselves as the central character with the
girl/or girls. Another man in the picture is a threat or at the very least distracting.

  The type of man uncomfortable with hard core usually doesn’t go to orgies because he couldn’t stand seeing his wife or girlfriend in carnal pursuits.

  On the other hand, we Hard-core Masturbators (who can, I suppose, under duress, jerk off to a Single Girl if that is what we are stuck with) prefer to see another man in the picture because we are not the center of the fantasy. The girl is.

  We watch Boy/Girl, Group, and Gangbang. In most instances, each of these videos begins with or skips foreplay, immediately goes to oral, then fucking, then anal, then the cum shot. We like to see the girl getting fucked, preferably by more than one man at a time.

  We Hard-core guys appear to be more mystified by the other gender, more curious, more driven than the Soft-core Masturbator.

  What sets Laura and a few others like Erika the Cum Junky apart from the rest of the women in the world is more than just their pre-qualifying overactive libido. These are the women we super horny Hard-core Masturbator men fantasize about, whom we dream of meeting, and more important: They are the women we driven men think we would be if we were women.

  In a strange testosteronic way, although they are ultimate female icons, they are in fact masculinized in their sex attitudes and we men identify with them on a subconscious level.

  The mystery dick bookstore experience was sex at its most primitive. The fundament. No names. No faces. Just disenfranchised cocks. Men in their essence, performing their only necessary evolutionary function. Having Laura pleasure isolated penises of unknown horny men was my erotic noblesse oblige and cut to the quick of my erotic psyche. It was dirtier than porn. I couldn’t wait to do it again.

  17

  Laura quits the whorehouse, shaves her legs, and becomes a model

  Autumn 1980

  Back in New York City on Monday after the bookstore sex, Laura quits the whorehouse. Liz calls me, happy that Laura and I have fallen in love, pissed I’ve taken away one of her best girls. Liz says that if Laura ever wants her job back she’s welcome to it. As a going-away gift Liz gives Laura the answering service number of two of Laura’s biggest fans, rich men always good for $200 tips.

  “As I said, I thought there was a certain nobility in being a whore,” Laura explains, “but other people didn’t. And after being at the whorehouse for a few months, the disrespect started showing up. Most johns don’t respect whores, nobody respects whores.

  “I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s illegal, I don’t know…

  “I mean, most johns were polite to me—but they didn’t talk to me like a woman; they talked to me like a commodity.

  “Oftentimes they’d say, “Why is a beautiful, capable woman like you here?

  “I’d say, ‘Why wouldn’t I be here?’

  “They’d say, ‘Because this is a horrible job!’

  “I grew up so naïve. I found out it is not a noble profession. And as it wore on, everything had to be secret all the time—it got really tiring. So once I had that $10,000 paid off, I quit the whorehouse when Jeffrey suggested it.

  “I didn’t stop having sex with lots of men after I left,” Laura laughs, “I had more and more sex, but I stopped getting money for a lot of it. I had as much sex as possible. That’s what I wanted. That’s why I was with Jeffrey. I wanted as much sex as I could get and I never met a man more sexual than Jeffrey. He could fuck a lot, he let me fuck clients and he’d get me lots of other men to fuck. It was perfect. Most of the fucking I did for free but I still got money for some of it because I kept a bunch of clients and they would refer me to other clients. I loved it all. Paid or free, sex is sex. I just wanted as much sex as possible.”

  Over the next few weeks, as the season changes to fall, Laura and I are no different from thousands of happy couples in the early ’80s. We settle into a routine of Tuesday through Friday in the Big Apple and long weekends in the country. Laura continues to do too much cocaine.

  I am completely in love with Laura. Just getting up from the sofa she moves as smooth as jazz ballet. She is a star in every room she enters and at any party if I look for the largest crowd she’s in the center. When she talks it is melodic poetry that bathes me in images and metaphors. She doesn’t just want to garden, she wants to plant a “storybook garden.” She never just cooks a meal, every dish is something special. Even when she throws together what looks like a random selection from her hippie wardrobe of jeans and frilly shirts, she looks like a professional stylist dresses her.

  Being thin and 5'8" helps but it’s more than that. She walks with confidence. She is a tall beautiful brunette princess with a flower power smile and heart full of peace and love. Even though Laura is beyond sexy, she’s so sweet that women, contrary to the way their impulses and prejudices often move them, are not threatened by her. In a movie she could play the lead romantic role or the funky best friend.

  When she dances she moves like her bones are liquid, and her grace is just shy of being misconstrued as a religious ceremony or Asian calisthenics.

  Her home base is being happy and her default facial expression is a smile and people return the favor because when she talks to them it makes them feel better.

  I arrange my business meetings with Laura present so I have a better chance of closing. When I walk into a room to meet male clients and I am accompanied by a tall gorgeous woman, it’s a leg up. I am the Indian brave with many scalps on my belt. Female clients might resent my arm candy, but men are pigs and respect a man who sports hot pussy. Men assume I am rich or have a huge penis or both, which in my case are two misconceptions that work in my favor.

  All Laura has to do is smile, feign interest and look at me with adoration. She doesn’t even have to talk except to say hello and goodbye. When she opens her mouth and constructive, creative concepts come out, she rises so many notches above bimbo that even female clients can’t dismiss her or dis me. And to men, I am below Japanese emperor status but above that of an unemployed TV action hero from a long running but now cancelled series.

  Laura is terrific at drawing storyboards, critiquing my designs and coming up with her own creative concepts, some preferable to mine. At video shoots she styles the sets, wrangles the actors and outshines the other production assistants. No one suspects she is a whore. An arty hippie? Yes. A beautiful girlfriend? Yes. A whore? No way. She is the last person you would cast as a prostitute unless you were casting against type.

  In October, Laura goes to her friend Lindsey’s wedding. A well-known fashion model, Lindsey is marrying an up-and-coming actor. Neither Lindsey nor any of the Bucks County crowd know of Laura’s demimonde life. At the reception, the owner of Lindsey’s modeling agency walks up to Laura and says, “My, you’re pretty. Who are you with?”

  “I’m with Jeffrey but he’s not here,” says Laura.

  “No. I mean what modeling agency are you with?”

  “Modeling agency? None.”

  “Well, now you’re with us. Come see me Monday morning and I’ll get you started.”

  To get ready for Monday, and with Lindsey on her honeymoon, Laura goes to see another one of her friends, a girly girl, who helps Laura shave her legs for the first time in ten years. She also gives Laura a remedial lesson in make up, and sends her out with a shopping list of cosmetics. Up to this point Laura’s make-up kit is some mascara and two shades of lipstick.

  Monday, in New York City, the head of the agency sets up Laura with photographers so Laura can build a portfolio. The camera sees her halfway between Botticelli and Giacometti.

  High fashion models, she learns, need to be beautiful and symmetrical but also bland so the clothes don’t have to fight for the spotlight. I guess that clothing designers want a face that looks like it stopped developing somewhere in the first or second trimester, as if ontogeny, facially anyway, didn’t fully recapitulate phylogeny. They want girls who look like embryos.

  Laura isn’t just pretty, she’s sexy and full of char
acter and it limits her value, at least at a high fashion agency. However, within a few weeks and twenty-five go-sees, she gets her first paying job modeling lingerie, which appears to be the only kind of job available to her. It’s the kind of modeling that best suits her personality as well as her face.

  Laura asks me to come by and pick her up at the shoot. When I get there, they’re running late. I’m told to wait in the kitchen of the huge photo studio and help myself to coffee and snacks. The place is buzzing with models, dressers, photo assistants, hair and makeup people, a caterer and lots of young people with clipboards and/or duct tape. I don’t see Laura anywhere.

  A giant glamour goddess with huge teased hair walks toward me. She looks familiar but I can’t place her. Maybe she’s famous. She kisses me on the cheek and says that she’ll be ready to go soon. For three one hundredths of a second I don’t recognize that this giant is Laura in dramatic make-up and heels.

  Usually a few inches shorter than me, she now stands a few inches taller. In addition to the theatrical makeup, she has something else I never saw on her—a hairdo. Her natural wavy hair is now wild and huge and looks like she just stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

  “I’m taking all this stuff off and I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” she says.

  “Please don’t take it off,” I beg. “I love it. I want to make love to you this way.” It’s the first time I ever say “make love” instead of “fuck” to her.

  “Sure,” she smiles with a small rise of one of her lush eyebrows.

  Since the shoes are props we buy her a pair of high heels on the way home. We care less about what they look like than how much taller than me they make her. We make love and/or fuck, with her shoes on, till nearly all her makeup is on the sheets or me.