I want to impress my classy new girlfriend with my “too cool for school” Brooklyn savoir-faire. So, I take her to a 42nd Street bughouse to see the movie Caligula produced by the skin magazine Penthouse. It’s a credible version of the story interspersed with scenes of incredible sex and it’s the only XXX movie to star John Gielgud and Helen Mirren. There is a Black gentleman sitting directly behind us. He is actively engaged with the film and adds a running critique to the on-screen action. When Malcolm McDowell coats his arm with lard and “fists” a kitchen slave, our critic leans forward and informs us that, “Dese Romans are some sick muthafuckas.” When a Centurion has his penis sliced off and thrown to the dogs, the Black gent jumps up whilst grabbing his crotch and informs the entire audience, “Damn, I could feel dat shit.”
One greasy night, I find myself at a porn-industry party at Eddie and Jett’s. The guest list is a veritable “Who’s Who” of degeneracy – gay and straight. (“Hey, isn’t that Harry Reems talking to Jack Wrangler?”) And, the badinage is scintillating. (“Even her crabs have herpes!”) But, I take a break from the shop talk to catch some cable in the bedroom. That’s where Jett corners me –
“Whatcha watchin’? Hey, you’re a good-lookin’ guy.”
Uh oh! Where have I heard that before?
“Ya know, the adult film producers wanna use you hippie-type guys. Ya wanna try making a porn movie?”
“Oh Jeez, I dunno…”
“I caught you lookin’ at Sandy. Ya wanna do a movie with her?”
“I dunno know if I could do it. I mean, I never…”
“You’d get paid to fuck all the girls at this party. How ’bout it?”
“Jeez, Eddie’s sister would kill me.”
“You could fuck me and neither of ’em would know. I gotta friend downstairs. We could make a quickie-loop right now to see if you like it.”
On my way to meet Shmuel, I decide to cast my fate to the winds and become a total voluptuary. I will splurge my last dollar on a donut and coffee in a pigsty way East on 14th Street. I’ve always hated 14th Street and Columbus Circle and that pedestrian-tunnel that runs under 42nd Street and Shepherd’s Bush in London and all of Los Angeles. Certain places give me nausea and make me break out in intense psychic hives. 14th Street is the worst of the worst. But, I’m there and I’m hungry so I plunk down my buck, pour flyspecked sugar into my plastic cup and dunk my stale donut into the greasy brown fluid that passes for coffee. This is when the young woman sitting next to me asks if I’d like to fuck her on film. I’m tellin’ ya, in ’70s Manhattan, an actor on his uppers can’t even enjoy a cup o’ Joe with a sinker without being offered porn stardom.
The gal in question is kinda chubby but kinda cute with an impressive full head of brunette ringlets. She speaks in a heavily slurred Greek accent – heavily slurred because she is heavily stoned and falling off her stool.