Fat Jimmy pipes up, “You was about to do that thing on him, Miss June.”
June beamed at him. “Yes, I surely was. Thank you, Jimmy.” And she bent down over me again. I could feel her lips slipping over my…
It was the doorbell, this time, and this time it was June what started cussin’. Not because I didn’t want to, but I was busy biting my forearm through to the bone. June stormed right over to the door, naked as a jaybird, threw it open, and yelled, “Henry, if you don’t AAAAAAGH!” She slammed the door shut and dove behind the recliner, trying to cover herself with the slipcover.
I sez, “Baby, what is it? Delivery? Girl scouts? Them God people?”
“Garden club.”
It was, too. They started cooing in the winders, “Junie?” “Is we interruptin’?” “We wanted to see how the movie’s coming along.” “Looks like you’re losing your tan early this year, June.” “Who-all’s in there? Can we come in?” “You gonna take it up the bee-hind, Junie?” “Don’t let him get in your bee-hind, June, that’s the devil’s work!”
June stood up behind the recliner and gave me a sad look, and Fat Jimmy lowered his camera and looked away. She sez, “I’m real sorry honey, Jimmy, but I cain’t do this,” and she grabbed her dress and ran upstairs. Me, I just sat there on the couch, my co-star floppin’ over on my leg and wonderin’ what happened, while outside five old ladies tried to offer porno advice through the mail slot.
Henry showed up later that afternoon, angry and hurt because he had heard that we let the Garden Club watch. He wasn’t any happier when we told him the truth. “Now what am I gonna do? I’m ruined,” he sez. “I even bought one of them dee-rector’s chairs at K-Mart, and now I gotta take it back.” He sighed a deep sigh. “My dream is over.”
June had come back downstairs, dressed and neat and calm, and made Fat Jimmy give her the tapes he made. “I’m real sorry, everybody. But while I really don’t have anything against helping you make your porno movie, I cain’t bear the thought of everyone in town thinkin’ I’m a slut.” I started to say something but she shushed me and sez, “Yeah, Ollie, they do. For three days I hain’t been able to walk down the street without someone askin’ me if’n I swallered or let it dribble. They just won’t shut up about it, and I think I would go plumb crazy if everyone in town knew all about what I did and how I acted and what I sounded like. I’d never hear the end of it. I’m sorry about your dream, Henry.”
Henry stood up, bowed to June, and sez, “Miss June, there is nothing in the world so important to me that’s worth your dignity or your reputation. I will go on searchin’ for someone else to be in my movie, because that way I can keep you as my friend.” Well I’ll tell you, that was the purtiest thing anybody’s ever heard Henry Vanderkin say, and Junie just fell all over him because of it. Fat Jimmy chimed in and said him too, and got a kiss on the cheek. They packed up the equipment and left, which left me and June settin’ on the couch alone. We sat there for a long time, just settin’, until it got dark.
Next mornin’ at church everyone seemed to be buzzin’ about somethin’ that we weren’t privy to. Lots of little groups of people would mutter back and forth, and then look over at us, and then split up and reform into different little groups and mutter some more. Me and Junie just stared straight ahead the whole time and paid more attention to the Sunday sermon than I think we ever have. I even remember parts of it. I stroked Junie’s arm and whispered to her to try and settle her down, but I could feel her getting’ her dander up and knowin’ her as I do I was afraid of where it’d let fly.
When we left the service, we walked out of the chapel into a crowd scene. Pretty near the entire town of Hinch Hill, population 2,316 last census, was a’waitin’ for us outside. Me and Junie stopped and looked around, and Margaret Kempsey (you know, the librarian? ) stepped forward.
“Oliver, June, we all want you to know that we’re sorry for the way we acted. Henry done told us what you said, and we’re real sorry you got the impression you did.”
Wilhemina pushed her way out in front of us and sez, “That’s right! And we’re not looking down on you for wantin’ to be in a ee-rotic movie! I dunno about everybody else, but I’m… I’m kinda jealous. I’d love for millions of men to want to touch me.”
Junie’s Garden Club ladies all gathered around her like hens. “We’re so very sorry, dear!” “That’s right!” “We support our members in all their endeavors, no matter what branch of the arts they choose!” “Just don’t let him get in your bee-hind, that’s all I’m saying…” “You go, dearie. We’re right here with you.”
Everybody else just sorta crowded around and let us know in no uncertain terms that any kinda porno movie we wanted to make was all right with them, and me and Junie laughed and cried and hugged everybody we could get to. It was a beautiful moment, and one I’d like to see on a greetin’ card, it was that good. Finally Granny Hopkins stepped out of the crowd and hugged June and said, “Junie, you always was the brightest star in this town. You go make us proud.”
June looks up over the crowd and spots Henry standing under a tree, looking proud fit to bust. “Henry,” she sings out, “git over here! We got us a porno to make!” Everybody cheered and picked us up over their shoulders and marched us around the churchyard three times afore they let us down next to our truck. Junie had that fierce-hungry-loving look in her eyes again, and they gave me great hopes for the immediate future. Henry and Fat Jimmy and Tollie and the Judge pulled up alongside, and we all drove back to the barn in high style a’tootin’ our horns while the crowd kept on cheering behind us.
What happened? Well, about a week later Wilbur and Dolly Sue Tubbs showed up, still holding on tight to one another and looking all starry-eyed and in love. Still are, and now there’s a little Tubbs on its way. They gonna call it John Holmes Tubbs, if’n it’s a boy, and Linda Lovelace Tubbs if’n it’s a girl. Call me sentimental, but I think it’s fittin’.
Our movie come out, called “Mountain Maids,” and became a minor sensation amongst the smut-lovin’ crowd even though there wasn’t a single mountain appearing in the whole thing. Ay-dult Video Reviews gave us four A’s, and Dolly Sue got more offers from other movie companies than you can shake a stick at. One reviewer called her “the wildest thing to hit California since the Great Quake, and twice as exciting.” She turned ‘em all down, sayin’ she was retired from the bizness. Henry still has hopes he can coax her back for a reunion tape.
Henry did in fact did use the money to start up a production company for home-made mountain movies; he called it “Chicken-Fried Porn.” He bought his own camera and some lights, put Fat Jimmy on the payroll and even paid one of the Thomas kids to build him up a web site. He’s hopin’ to put out at least ten titles a year, so he tells me, and he wants me to whomp out some more scripts. I don’t know why, he ain’t touched the first one yet. Either way, it looks like Hinch Hill finally has an industry to call its own. Already Henry’s got more new local porno stars than he knows what to do with and he’s taken to walking around town wearing a white seersucker suit and wraparound sunglasses. I think he’s got himself a ways to go afore he’ll be mistaken for that Orson Wells, but around here he looks real Hollywood.
Me and Junie are together and always will be. She was surprised and real flattered she got nominated for “Best New Talent” over Dolly Sue, but we both think that Henry was robbed over not gettin’ nominated for “Best Non-Sex Performance” (we left that part in where he was outside a’whinin’ and bitchin’ that first time, and the part later on he got his feet tangled up in June’s undies and whanged his head off the coffee table). Henry’s already asked us to do the sequel, so we’re starting to walk a little every day and swim more to tone up a little. Once you’re a star, you got certain responsibilities.
Oh, how did our scene go? Well friend, I reckon you should just go buy it and find out, you think?
-------------------------
Afterword
For those sick, sick
people who are interested in such things (or who think that the more pages of original stuff, the better the value), here’s some thoughts about all the weird crap you just read.
Found: One Dildo
Based on a true story. Seriously.
Are You Sexy Enough?
Written early on in Hoot Island history because all the newsstand magazines had sexually explicit, neurosis-inducing quizzes designed specifically to make their readers feel wholly inadequate and in scrambling need of those same magazines’ sage sexual advice, and we felt left out. Sadly, it turned out that Hoot Island’s readership was a self-selecting bunch of informed sexual dynamos, which is great for society in general but lousy for advertising campaigns, so we had to make do with funny sex.
How Was Your Service?
An actual conversation, as near as I could remember it. It would be more accurate but she gets really annoyed at me when I take notes in bed, especially when I start correlating my data, making charts and calling in control groups.
An Unsigned Love Letter Stuffed in a Locker
This has gone through several name changes and is one of the two strangest things I’ve ever written (the other being a hilarious x-rated X-Files parody that I’m not stupid enough to reprint here, as I have a keen interest in keeping my own house), both of which were written with my heterosexual life-mate Dave adding every other line. I’m taking the byline, though, so nyah.
Make Mine Vanilla
Written after some friends complained they just didn’t feel perverted anymore, what with bondage gear being sold in the mall and piercing parties popping up in the local Kiwanis clubs.
Self-Paced Course
Written just so I could give a character a rubber vagina. I’ve always wanted to.
ASK MISS DILDO
Self-explanatory, really. What’s funny about this one-shot article is how many e-mails I continue to get, years later, addressed to her.
Sex in the Suburbs
It’s a lot easier to parody pop culture than it is to create something true and insightful, and I’m an easy-going kind of guy. My only problem is when pop culture comes up with something so tacky and ridiculous that a parody is almost impossible, i.e. the FOX network.
Valentine’s For One
While I admire and recommend Betty Dodson’s classic how-to manual Sex for One: The Joy of Self-Loving, I couldn’t help noticing it skipped the romantic side of the relationship. Every loving relationship needs a romantic side.
Sex au Jus
Originally written for an erotic short story collection called Meat: Tales of Lust, Appetite, and 100% Grade A Beef from Suspect Thoughts Press. I got the request to let it be a featured story on Erotica-Readers.com the same day I got the rejection letter from the anthology, which caused an interesting sort of flattered anguish that I’ve yet to duplicate.
How to Bag a Supermodel
Another of the many “how-to” articles for which Hoot Island is known and feared the world over. It works, though.
POV
I wrote a column comparing Romance Novels vs. Porn (they’re a lot more alike than you’d think, although the romance covers tend to have fewer mentions of “Hot and Horny Neighbors”) and while I was writing it, this is what else came out.
Chapter and Perverse
Originally appeared as an article for CleanSheets.com and was reprinted in their anthology book, From Porn to Poetry (Samba Mountain Press, 2001). I feel so damn literary I feel like smoking a dog while standing next to a big pipe, or something. The version that appears here has been enlarged somewhat.
Jim Jackson, Clitoris Hunter
Oddly enough, this was written before I started watching the show it’s based on. It shows. For anyone keeping score this is also the only thing I’ve ever written that includes non-consensual sex (of a sort), but I think it works. I want to see it filmed, or performed live, ideally in outdoor theater.
MOOP BEEP BEEP, My Baby
I’ve gotten the stock writer’s question: “Where do you get your ideas?” And I’ve given the stock writer’s answers: “K-Mart.” “Stealing them from smaller, weaker writers.” “Alka Seltzer suppositories. No, really.” The reality is that I get them while driving. Nothing like long highway drives with nothing but a commercial-heavy radio station keeping you company to get those creative juices flowing. This came to me all of a piece and I had to steer with my knee while I wrote it down while trying not to plow into the Chevy Tracker in front of me. Take it as a warning: I’m prepared to let others on the road suffer for my art.
6 Nights of CRRRRRRAPPY Sex
The book 101 Nights of Grrreat Sex by Laura Corn sat on a shelf in our upstairs bathroom for about three months. It occurred to me that with the number of Make Your Love Life Even Better Than It Realistically Can Be books out there, there was a real danger of everyone becoming so preternaturally skilled at the amatory arts that the whole sticky business would become boring. And that means there’s a market opening coming along, which I am prepared to plug.
Do You Want to Play “Questions?”
Does this need explanation? Would you believe it if I told you?
Happy Fucking Easter
I’ve gotten quite a few questions over the years asking how autobiographical my stories are, and all I can say is: I love reading mail.
Are You and Your Genitals Sexually Compatible?
In 2000 I was contacted to write monthly articles for a new magazine, Xtreme, which was supposed to be sort of a British version of Maxim, which is sort of an American version of FHM. This quiz appeared in their first issue, right after an ad for Lap Dance UK and right before an interview with Mistress Steelfist, a dominatrix who used her martial arts skills to beat the crap out of her paying customers. I’m afraid I must have brought the tone of the magazine down; there was never a second issue.
Truth in Seduction
A one-act playlet written from the point of view of someone who skipped the dating scene entirely.
Gender Bending
I’m willing to bet I could start up encounter groups to do this sort of thing and charge thousands of dollars a pop. If people are willing to pay to crawl out of a giant inflatable vagina, half-suffocated and exhausted, they’d pay for this.
You May Now Kiss the Brides
Written for Clean Sheets when I was editing their non-fiction section and desperately needed an article before deadline. Vermont had just voted to allow civil unions; this seemed to be the obvious next step. Come to think of it, “desperation in the face of deadline” also explains everything I’ve ever written. And my honeymoon.
Take the Bukkake Challenge!
Saw a commercial one night, started giggling hysterically and reaching blindly for the keyboard. My family is used to this.
Stop Saying “Sucks”
This is a personal crusade that I feel strongly about. As soon as I get matching funds I plan to start running PSAs on radio and television to go along with my comprehensive billboard and bus stop sign campaign. Next will be the handouts in high schools. Look for it to be a hot-button topic in this year’s elections!
Boutique Encounter, or Why I Hate Writing in Second Person
Every writing manual will tell you to avoid writing in second person. This is why.
The Perils of Being a Sex Writer
The best part about writing funny articles for other web sites (this was another Clean Sheets article) is that I can wait a few months and use them as columns on my site when I’m too lazy to write a new one. I can even put them in books!
A Tall Tail
You’ve already seen the explanation for this one. All I can add is that the entire time I was writing it, I was cackling with glee at what Raymond’s face would look like when he read it, completely failing to consider the inevitable retaliation. I’m still not ready to talk about that yet.
World’s Greatest Gang Bang IV
This was written with the intention of performing it as an audio recording, with sound effects and ev
erything, but fell through due to a lousy PC sound card. Someday…
MY PENIS IS…
Can’t you see this on a poster? With Ziggy looking happily into his shorts? Some days I can’t see anything else.
Guess Your Fetish
Written after I found a copy of Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices by Brenda Love, which I highly recommend as great reading material for long bus rides or while waiting to appear before a Senate sub-committee.
Porn Drinking Game
Well, someone had to write one. With the help of CafePress.com I even made a ceramic stein with the rules printed on the sides, and as soon as I decide to take up drinking I’m gonna be all set.
All We Want for Christmas Is…
Yeah, it’s a joke. Ha ha! What a lark! Ha ha ha! No one would ever be that desperate for oral sex, ha ha! Just… read it again? Please?
Giggling Into the Pillow Page 21