The Sex Film

Ted Samuelson was a trifle bored.

At the age of sixty-four, he was one year from mandatory retirement as a professor of journalism at a state university in Ohio. Having been divorced by his wife nearly a dozen years ago, he'd thrown himself back into the dating life, relishing his role as a "silver fox" who would wine and dine ladies in their forties, fifties, and sixties with the ultimate objective of luring them into his (or their) bed. But, even though he had kept fit, boasting a lean, wiry frame and a shock of white hair, he was beginning to find the sheer time, effort, and money spent in wooing these overly intellectual, overly cautious middle-aged ladies increasingly tiresome. He was certainly not looking for a replacement for his wife of twenty-odd years, but now even the seemingly entertaining avocation of "playing the field" was giving way to the law of diminishing returns.

And so he took to watching porn.

He was astounded to find how much porn was freely available on the Internet today. And this porn was far different from the fairly tame, stodgy sex films of the 1970s, which he had sampled as best he could in his teens and twenties. Most of the films were short, and they covered such an incredible range of subject-matter that you could actually search for some genre (or, more specifically, fetish) that you found particularly stimulating. And the level of specificity was astonishing: you could find hundreds, perhaps thousands, of films, ranging from two minutes to an hour, where, say, "Asian father-daughter anal sex" was portrayed. (No doubt the actors in these films weren't actually fathers and daughters, but it was fun to pretend they were.) And he wasn't even thinking of all the amateur films—mostly crude but occasionally striking cellphone videos—that had been uploaded by raunchy couples or individuals.

It was when he discovered a wealth of "young-old" porn that Ted began to wonder...

A large number of these films depicted elderly—or, in some cases, actually old (and sometimes rather repulsive)—men getting it on with teenagers who were presumably eighteen or older, but were sometimes made up to look younger. Ted developed an appalled fascination with such films.

The question that flitted through Ted's mind was:

How does one get to act in such a film?

Surely these people weren't "porn stars" on the level of the Linda Lovelaces or Ron Jeremys of the past. They seemed to be just ordinary guys and gals who somehow got chosen for these films, many of them pretty rudimentary in terms of their production values. The sets were minimal, and there was no plot or storyline whatsoever. It was just raw sex, with the title of the clip serving as the plot line (say, "Grandpa punishes granddaughter in her bedroom").

But the question remained: where the hell were these films produced, and how did you get signed up for them? Ted would love to be featured in one of them: the idea of getting paid (even if it was a token sum) for fucking some tasty college girl was becoming more and more exciting. He frankly didn't care if his university found out about his appearance in such a film: he could just retire early and live off of his investments.

So, being a professor, he did some research—and, to his amazement, found that a production company (if it could be called that) appeared to be based in the very next town. He managed to get a phone number; and, when he called, he briefly described his interest in the venture.

His whole body tingled when some woman (yes, a woman!) blandly said, "Sure, come on over. We'll give you a shot." She gave him an address and set up an appointment for the very next day.

Ted had to make sure to keep his nerves in check. He had no idea what to expect. Would he actually have to go through some kind of audition? He felt that one thing was in his favor: he had incredible stamina.

The fact is that, ever since his mid-forties, he had found it more and more difficult to come. It wasn't that he couldn't get hard; that was still pretty easy, and he didn't require pills to bring that about. But it usually took him forty-five minutes, even a full hour, to actually ejaculate, even after lots of foreplay and penetration of every one of those middle-aged ladies' orifices (mouth, pussy, and—if allowed—anus). In fact, several of these ladies had found tussling with him in bed so wearying that they didn't come back for a second round.

Ted chuckled. The very thing that had proved awkward during his recent courting days might actually be a benefit if he began a new career—or sideline—as a porn actor. Surely one of the chief talents that producers would be looking for was endurance.

Of course, the prospect of fucking some luscious twentysomething might make him come faster—but he suspected he could still hold out for quite a spell. Anyway, that was a bridge he'd have to cross later.

Ted found his palms sweating when he opened the nondescript door of the production company—housed in a dreary strip mall—where he'd been asked to show up. A bored-looking woman, no doubt the one he'd spoken to on the phone, greeted him with a notable lack of interest. When he announced himself (he'd given his real name—the idea of coming up with some porn pseudonym was too ridiculous for words), she looked down at a piece of paper on a clipboard and, after a few minutes, waved her hand vaguely down a dark corridor and said, "Over there."

He wasn't sure where he was going, but somewhere in the distance he thought he heard sounds of grunts and moans. He must have come to the right place! One door along the corridor was open, and two young guys—probably in their late twenties—were chewing the fat. When Ted poked his head into the room and introduced himself, they urged him to come on in.

"You're Ted Samuelson?" one of the guys said.

"That's right," he answered.

The guy looked him up and down, appearing to like what he saw. "I'm Jason, and this is Henry," he said, nodding to the man sitting to his left. "So you want to do some young-old films?"

"That would be swell." He cursed himself for the silly locution—it made him sound like some rube from the Midwest.

"How big is your cock?" Jason said bluntly.

A flush passed through Ted. "About eight inches, I think. I've never actually measured it."

Henry eyed him keenly. "You're not exaggerating, are you, guy?"

"You want to see it?" Ted said boldly. He was far from hard, but he thought he could achieve erection fairly quickly.

Jason held up a hand. "That's okay, Ted. We believe you. How—"

"Let me add that I have incredible stamina."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning I can stay hard for a long, long time without coming."

Both men seemed impressed. "You don't say?" said Jason.

"I do say."

"Well, you look like you're in pretty good shape. No heart problems? No diabetes? Nothing like that?"

"Nothing like that at all."

"No, um, diseases down there? Tell us the truth, now."

"Lord, no!"

"Okay." Jason himself now consulted a paper on a clipboard. "You want to do something right now?"

Ted was dumbfounded. "What? What? You mean, right this minute?"

"Yeah, sure," Jason said in an utterly blasé tone. "We have a nice little piece for you. She just came in."

"Shouldn't I sign a contract, or something?"

"You can sign one after your... performance. We pay a flat fee of five hundred dollars for each film; we keep all rights. That's not a problem for you, is it?"

"Not a bit."

Henry again squinted at him. "You're not married, are you? We really don't care for married guys—unless they want to bring their wives into the act."

"Not married—not anymore."

"Okay, fine," Jason said. "I'll take you to the set."

The three of them walked further down that same dark corridor, which eventually led to a series of rooms that were made up to look like bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and other parts of a house. Ted wryly considered that every room in a house could potentially be the setting for a sexual encounter, and this company seemed prepared to utilize each of them for interesting films. There was one closed door off to the side, and Jason pointed to it, saying: "That's your—well, let's call it your

undressing

room, if you get my meaning."

Ted gave a start. "You mean—I'm to come out naked?"

"Got it in one, Sherlock."

Ted headed to the room and closed the door. It was incredibly small, and didn't have much except some hooks on the walls and on the back of the door. No table, desk, or even a mirror.

I guess there's no makeup girl to make me look nice!

He quickly undressed and emerged. For all his sexual experience over the decades, he was a bit self-conscious revealing his nudity to men. But both Jason and Henry looked at him blandly, giving only a slight nod to his large and rapidly engorging member.

But then Ted caught sight of a girl.

She looked awfully young, and she was naked too. But she didn't seem to have the slightest concern about anyone seeing her in her birthday suit, chatting up Jason and Henry as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. But when she saw Ted tentatively approaching the group, she said:

"Well, will you look at that? Is that my partner?"

"Yeah, babe," Henry said. "Just hired."

The girl looked him up and down with apparent approval. "Not bad at all for my supposed grandpa." She was staring fixedly at his cock—and that sensitive organ couldn't help quivering at the attention.

She herself was quite petite (no more than five foot four), with smallish breasts (Ted estimated them as 32B), narrow hips, and fairly slender thighs and calves. She had a nice round butt, though, which Ted—always partial to that part of a woman's anatomy—admired enthusiastically. She—or someone—had arranged her hair in pigtails.

"Pleased to meetcha," she said, extending a hand.

Ted shook it like a zombie, muttering, "Same here." The idea that he would soon be bopping this teenager was something he had difficulty taking in.

He sidled over to Jason and said, "Are you sure this girl's eighteen or older?"

"Yes, yes," Jason said impatiently. "Perfectly legal. We're a straight-up operation here. You wanna see her driver's license?"

"No, no, I trust you."

Henry led the two "stars" to the threshold of a bedroom.

"Okay, here's the scenario," he said. "Marge here will be sleeping. Maybe she's not entirely covered by the blanket. You're her granddad, and you look in on her, see that she's naked, and come in yourself. First you just pull the blanket away so that everyone can see her, then you start doing stuff."

"What stuff?" Ted said.

"Well, you don't go right into her. You gotta go slow—tease the audience, you know? Maybe you rub your cock over her butt, or something. Or you take her hand and make it grab your dick. Remember, she's supposed to be sleeping, so she doesn't know what's going on. Then, eventually, you put her on her back, spread her legs, and lick her so she's wet. We have a specialty in showing wet pussies."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Then, finally, you go into her."

"Does she wake up?"

"No, she'll still be sleeping. But you know how it is: a woman's body kind of naturally gets into fucking position when a guy is in her, so she'll wrap her legs around you and maybe even throw her arms around you. You can try all sorts of different positions. Just make sure the camera sees you going in and out of her. You could even go into her butt."

"I've already lubed myself, guy," Marge added helpfully.

"And she's supposed to be sleeping all this time? But that's ridiculous! No woman would—"

"Ted," Jason explained wearily, "this is all a fantasy. Guys don't care whether this kind of thing would actually happen in the real world or not. They

want

it to happen, and they want to see it happen. That's what we're here for."

"Okay, if you say so."

"Remember," Henry added, "go slow. We want to milk this for as long as we can. If we can string this along for an hour or so, that would be great. We can then edit the film and post it in all different lengths, from a couple minutes to nearly the full hour."

"I think," Ted said smugly, "I can last a full hour."

"Twenty bucks says you can't!" Marge snapped, with a wide grin on her face.

"Missy, you're going to lose that bet."

And she did.

It took Ted a little while to get comfortable with the whole business—but he tried to pretend that he actually was Marge's grandfather (that's what actors do, don't they?) and soon got into the spirit of things. After entering the room where Marge was "sleeping," he carefully pulled back the blanket to expose her nudity, making sure not to look at the hand-held camera (operated by Henry), even though it was occasionally only inches from him—and from Marge. She had been lying on her side, and the camera (and Ted's eyes) drank in her exquisite beauty, especially those small but heavenly breasts and the curve of her hips and bottom.

Then Ted rubbed his cock against Marge's ass. This first contact with a woman he'd only met a few minutes ago was exhilarating, and he actually let out a moan. He didn't know if he should have done that, but Jason, off to the side, nodded vigorously in approval. Then, as instructed, he took one of Marge's little hands and wrapped it around his cock. She kept her eyes firmly closed, but the hand grasped his member just as firmly. What a feeling! That hand was a little warm and sweaty, and he moved it up and down his cock as the camera zoomed in for a close-up.

Then he rolled her over onto her back, opened her legs, and saw her pussy for the first time. It was nearly hairless (whether naturally or from artful shaving, he didn't know), and the labia parted of their own accord, already slightly damp. Ted knelt down and gazed at the crevice exposed to his gaze, taking in the heady aroma of her sex. Then he began licking, not caring that the camera was inches from his face.

Marge's pussy got wet in a hurry, actually leaking some of its juices onto the sheet under her. He very much enjoyed this act and, in addition to using his tongue and lips to good effect, also grabbed her butt with two hands and got a good sense of its firm, cushiony curves. Sometimes he reached up to squeeze those cute little breasts. But it was to her pussy that he devoted most of his attention; and, although she kept her eyes tightly closed, seemed to respond with groans and sighs that eventually led to a sort of choking sound—and then her legs started to shake, and her tongue protruded from her mouth. She was having an orgasm!—or putting on a really good imitation of one.

That was great, but he didn't think he could wait much longer in moving on to the main event. Even though he was sure Marge was no virgin, her vagina was still quite tight and warm. He didn't actually drape his body over her, as he usually did during sex; instead, he held himself up by his extended arms while the camera took in the sight of his cock plunging in and out of her. Marge's eyes remained closed, but she was now emitting little high-pitched (and purportedly girlish) moans from a slightly opened mouth. Her legs did wrap themselves around his hips, as if reacting instinctively to his penetration of her.

For a time Ted wondered whether he could last as long as he'd boasted to his employers: for decades he'd copulated with women of his own age whose pussies were somewhat loose from a fair amount of sexual activity, not to mention the birth of the occasional child. But, after an initial fear that he might come in a matter of minutes, he got into a good rhythm and became confident that his stamina would be exactly what he'd told Jason and Henry it was.

At one point he did turn her over and enter her bottom. Although he usually liked the woman to be in doggie-style position for this act (assuming, of course, that the woman in question even permitted him to do it—a fair number of them were squeamish about it, and several had expressed indignation at the very thought of it), he recognized that the absurd fantasy that his "granddaughter" was still asleep meant that she would have to remain flat on her stomach, her eyes serenely closed—although, as he made his first foray into her butt, she artfully frowned a little, as if feeling just a wee bit of pain in the procedure. (Later he discovered that there was a whole subgenre of porn films devoted to "anal pain"—or, to use a horrible slang term, "painal.")

As he got close to his culmination, Jason whispered intently from a corner of the room: "We wanna see the cumshot, Ted! Pull out and come in her mouth!"

Ted did as ordered. Withdrawing, he scooted up and, rolling Marge over again onto her back, pumped himself with his hand. Marge obligingly opened her mouth (her eyes remaining closed) as the camera came close to her face. And then he exploded, sending several thick streams of his emission right into Marge's mouth, landing hotly on her tongue and sometimes spattering her all over her face—cheeks, nose, eyes, forehead. It seemed to go on for minutes, although probably it was only about fifteen or twenty seconds. It was certainly one of the most thunderous orgasms he'd ever had.

The whole episode had taken nearly seventy-five minutes.

"That was fabulous, Ted!" Jason cried.

"Yeah, one of the best cumshots I've seen in a while!" Henry chimed in.

"And you have all the endurance you said you had."

Marge, smacking her lips, added, "Gotta take my hat off to you, Grandpa. I haven't had such a load of come in my mouth in many a day."

"I gotta get this right into production," Henry said, walking off, followed by Jason.

Left alone with his "co-star," Ted suddenly got a little bashful, especially since they were both standing around naked. He eyed her shyly and said: "How old are you, really?"

"Nineteen," she said. "Just about to start sophomore year at the college." This was late August, and the fall semester would start in a week or so. "Don't pay any attention to these," she went on, flicking her pigtails derisively. "The guys just made me up to look this way, for obvious reasons. I don't usually wear my hair like this."

"Have you done a lot of these films?"

"Some. Not all that many. They're fun, and they're easy. Gives me some nice dough for clothes and cosmetics and stuff."

Marge was about to walk off, presumably to tidy herself up and put her clothes back on, when Ted said: "Say, did you really come when I was...?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, you think I was faking? Not a chance, bud! You really rung my bell. That tongue of yours is a national treasure."

Ted blushed at the compliment. "Well, gee, thanks."

"I hope we can hook up again sometime—on camera, that is."

"That would be great. Um, are you heading back to campus?"

"Sure."

"Can I offer you a ride?"

"What a gentleman you are! I won't say no."

So he took her back to her dorm, then went home.

*

When Ted walked into his Fundamentals of Journalism class (mostly for freshmen and sophomores), he did a double-take at once.

There was Marge—which, in fact, turned out not to be her real name—sitting in the front row, grinning slyly at him.

How he got through that class, he never knew. He did everything he could to avoid Marge's gaze, but once in a while he couldn't help giving her a glance—and he suspected that he had a kind of deer-in-the-headlights look when he did so. After class, he all but ran out of the room and back to the safety of his office in the Journalism Department.

But a few minutes later, Marge sauntered in and plopped herself down in the chair next to his desk.

"Jesus Christ, Marge!" he cried, even though he knew her real name was Frances Burton. "What were you doing in that class? Did you recognize me when we were, um, filming?"

"Nope," she said blandly. "But I was actually looking to take a journalism class, and your image popped right up on the university website. So I said, 'Well, this should be fun. Imagine being taught by a guy who's just f—'"