The Pornographer Diaries

15. Tits? Out!

Another Monday. Another week.

People were always telling me how much they’d look forward to Mondays if they were in my shoes. Mondays meant the start of another working week and everyone knew the sort of crazy-ass job I had.

Boy, I tell you.

Girl copy. That’s what I was writing. A few slutty dirty quotes to go next to the pictures in the magazine.

‘I want it hard and I want it now. Spunk on my tits and I’ll lick it off. Wouldn’t you like to see me do that?’ etc.

Stuart had given up any notion of journalistic accuracy so they were all down to my imagination.

‘Just write whatever you think they’d be saying if you were there with them,’ he told me.

So I did.

‘Urghhh!’

‘Go away.’

‘Not if you were the last man on Earth.’

‘Please, try to understand, I really want to have sex with you, but I love my husband so I can’t. Sorry.’

They all got typed in and deleted over the next few hours as I struggled to come up with anything genuinely sexy. Not the sort of job you want when you haven’t had it in ages and you’re desperately trying not to think about sex. What misery!

In two hours, I think I got four sentences written before I gave myself the rest of the morning off and went to talk to Paddy and Matt.

‘Hey, here he is. What happened to you the other night? Did you get hold of that bird I saw you chatting up?’ Paddy asked.

‘No. I didn’t,’ I replied.

‘Oh, you should’ve man, she was cute.’

‘Are you talking about Samantha? Short hair? Freckly bird?’ Matt asked. ‘She’s meant to be a right dirty bitch.’

‘How do you know that?’ Paddy asked.

‘My mate told me. Reckons she’s a right shag monster. Loves it. Her bedpost is just a pile of sawdust these days. She was the one I was telling you about that sucked off her boss every night for a year and got a junior partnership out of it. She’s a solicitor. Can’t get enough of it, apparently’

‘Oh yeah, I remember. Oh, that was her, was it? Ohhh,’ Paddy mused. ‘Oh yeah, she’s a bit of all right, she is. You should’ve steamed in there, God’.’

And there had been me thinking I couldn’t feel any worse about myself. Just goes to show, you should never underestimate the power of your mates to make you feel even shitter about yourself than you thought. What a day I was having.

‘We had a chat but…’ I said, ‘… well, she weren’t exactly crazy about our chosen profession, shall we just say. Got the old “exploiting women” bit chucked in my face.’

‘Ohh,’ Paddy nodded, understanding. ‘I’ve had that before. You can never win those arguments so it’s not even worth bothering. Just agree and walk away. I mean, boo-fucking-hoo, so what? If she don’t like it, why don’t she just go and live in fucking Russia,’ he said, wringing mock tears from his eyes. ‘What was it you said she did, Matt? A solicitor? They’re the biggest fucking exploiters of the lot, so that just goes to show what she knows. No, she was probably just spoiling for a fight and you took the bait. In future, when some bird accuses you of exploiting women just tell her to shut up and get her tits out.’

‘That’ll go down well.’

‘It’s not meant to go down well. It’s meant to get her to either shut up or get her tits out,’ he replied.

‘I don’t get it, how can she be a feminist and a shag monster?” I asked.

‘Feminists like sex too,’ Paddy said. ‘Probably more than most, if you know what I mean, as long as they’re the ones calling the shots. Probably.’

‘I don’t think we do exploit birds,’ Matt ventured. ‘All our models always look great, few old howlers but no one can help that, not even them. They’re always tarted up and made to look nice and shot just right so that they look on top of their game. Any bird would love to look like the sorts we publish. I reckon we do all right by them. Personally, I can’t see how anyone can say what we do is exploitative in the slightest.’

*

‘Naked tennis,’ Stuart suggested.

Wimbledon was on the way and it was about this time of the year that every bongo mag in the country turned its thoughts towards getting an unconvincing Anna Kournikova porn-a-like to do herself with her racquet (under the obligatory unchanging headline ‘New Balls Please’).

‘Didn’t we have that last year with Tanya?’ I asked.

‘Ah yeah, but that was in the studio. I’m talking about going down to an actual tennis court and doing an on-location two-girl shoot. It’ll be a laugh. Get a few opening shots of them playing tennis first of all, then do all the usual close-up stuff with them sucking each other’s tits through the nets and whacking each other’s arses with their bats. What do you think?’

‘Well I don’t know art, but I know what I like.’

‘Good because you’re organising it. Get a couple of girls for Thursday, make sure they’re stunners, not the usual old pigs you keep booking, and find us a tennis court we can use.’

‘A tennis court?’

‘Yeah, and it’s got to be outdoors. I’ll get the photographer. You find us the girls and a location. Right, let’s get cracking.’

The girls were easy. Out of sheer laziness I just booked Tanya again. She was our regular girl after all, popular with the readers and always up for the work. I’d got to know her quite well from various shoots and from chatting to her on the phone and she’d become my archetype porn model. Stunningly attractive, fit as a ballerina, supple, flexible, with flawless skin and long slender dancer’s legs, and about as interesting as a glass of water. I don’t mean that in a cruel way, she was a lovely girl and all and I liked her a lot, but it’s just that she had only one topic of conversation – herself. In all the time I’d known her I don’t think she’d ever asked me even one question (other than how much and when do I get the cheque?) yet she’d regaled me for hours on end about clubbing in the swankiest nightspots of Soho or Ibiza, dancing on music videos, flying out to the Middle-East with eleven other girls to entertain (suck off and get bummed by) some Saudi billionaires and generally behaving outrageous, whacky and mad.

Okay, sure she had an interesting life but telling me about it for six hours without pausing for breath and showing not even the slightest interest in mine only rubbed my nose in it.

Still, she was a sight for sore knobs and I didn’t half fancy her (with the sound turned down). She once told me that she’d do anything for money, absolutely anything, no inhibitions. I think she was just trying to impress me by being outrageous, whacky and mad, but if ever I win the lottery I’m going to make her eat her words... as well as the contents of my conkers.

The other girl I booked was Cindy, a stunning bubbly blonde with a thick West Country accent that always got me thinking about Dairylea and farmers’ daughters. She was sweet as a button and incredibly cute and I had several dozen jpegs of her on my computer with her face covered in something that wasn’t Dairylea.

Both girls were consummate pros and both were up for shooting outdoors in public if I could just find a court.

This proved to be the stumbling block. I tried a number of lawn tennis clubs but all of them balked at the thought of pornographers soiling their sacred turf. So I set my sights a little lower and tried a few athletics clubs, only to meet with similar objections. I tried colleges, local authorities and even a few hotels, anyone who might let us shoot on their court, all to no avail. No one wanted anything to do with us.

I found this decidedly odd. If I had a tennis court and someone wanted to use it for a porn shoot, I couldn’t see that I’d have a problem with it. Just as long as I could sit there quietly and watch, and maybe say hello to the girls at some point in a creepy weirdo way, then what was the problem?

No joy though. It got to Wednesday night and I still hadn’t found anywhere. If I couldn’t find somewhere before the next morning then the whole thing would have to be cancelled and I’d get the blame. This wasn’t something I’d be allowed to forget so it was time to take desperate measures.

*

‘Okay, you’ve got somewhere?’ Stuart asked. ‘Thank fuck for that. Where is it?’

‘It’s down in Tooting, on the Common. They’re a long way from the road and it’s a school day so there shouldn’t be too many people about, but we might have to, you know, whip them off, snap snap snap, put them back on and be a bit careful.’

‘You can see them from the Common?’ Stuart asked.

‘Yeah, well there’s a wire fence all around but yeah. Sorry, but it’s the best I could get, I couldn’t get anywhere else. What do you reckon?’

Stuart thought about it for a moment. We were sat around Howard’s studio while the girls went through make-up. Both had their hair up in curlers and fags dangling between their rich scarlet lips. Each wore a little white tennis outfit, bobby socks and pumps, but neither sported knickers. They really looked the business and were in playful high spirits. Tanya kept on flashing me her privates while Cindy repeatedly reached around and grabbed the front of my jeans every time I walked by to see if I had a hard-on.

‘If the girls are happy to go for it, then we’ll do it, but you’ve got to take full responsibility, Godfrey. We keep the name of the mag out of it, don’t mention it to anyone in case we get sued, and if anyone asks, you’re in charge. All right?’

I said it was, but what else was I going to do?

‘Okay then, let’s load up the car and get moving.’

*

The drive down to Tooting was unbearable. I’d sat in-between the girls in the back, thinking it would be a nice place to spend a half hour car journey but they’d teased me so much that I was almost reduced to tears with frustration by the time we got to the Common. I’ve heard it said that girls can smell desperation. Well, I must’ve reeked of the stuff because they didn’t let up for a minute, flashing me their bits, asking me to touch their knockers, trying to undo my jeans and get at my old fella, everything. Seriously, I’m in the back and Tanya’s holding my arms while Cindy’s unbuttoning my flies and shoving her hand inside and all I can do is try and fight them off before they have my pants around my knees.

Stuart was in the front and none too happy about all this horseplay going on in the back but what could I do? Seriously, I spent most of the journey fighting them off, a la George Formby. It was something of a relief when we finally parked up and I could put some distance between them and my boxers.

‘These them?’ Stuart asked, staring across at a row of tennis courts.

‘Yeah. Come on, we’ve got to go and see the man up in the hut before we start. Make sure everything’s still kosher,’ I told him, so we left Howard and the girls to bring up all the stuff. There wasn’t much of it; a camera, a camera bag with rolls of film, a couple of tennis racquets and some strawberries and cream. Get the picture?

‘I’ve booked all the courts for an hour, just for a little more privacy, but I also said we’d give this upstanding gentleman £50 for his troubles,’ I explained, introducing Stuart to this mental stoner who took the money for the tennis courts.

‘Yea’, that’s fiddy quid in cash, I don’t take no cheques, ahhhight?’ the gentleman added, wiping his hands down the front of his jumper. ‘Come on, come on! Yeah, gi’ dat to me, gi’ dit ere, ahhhight.’

Stuart handed over the money, then gave us all a good laugh by asking for a receipt. The stoner looked at him for a second, trying to work out whether he was serious or not, then tore a page out of a blank notebook and wrote £150 on it.

‘Dere, dat’s fa you, I made it fa a ton more so’s you’s can gets more money, ahhhight? You wants annuver wun? I can rites you one fa a million quid if you likes. Makes you rich.’ And he did just that. He ripped another sheet of paper out and scribbled on it ‘£100000 – a milloin pounds (sic)’ and stuffed it in Stuart’s hand. ‘If you get that, haff of it’s mine, ahhhight?’

‘Yes, well, okay. Come on, let’s get cracking.’

Howard clipped together his camera and flash and shot off a few Polaroids, close-up and from afar, to gauge the lighting, but it was a beautifully clear and sunny morning so not much adjustment was needed.

‘Alright, we’ve got an hour so let’s get this done and get down the pub,’ Stuart said, and we set to work putting the girls through their poses. All the horseplay went out the window now that we were under the clock, and we were able to snap off two rolls of intro and possible cover shots in no time at all.

‘Okay, now both of you to the net and kissing. Yeah, that’s it.’ SNAP. ‘Okay, Cindy, you lean right over the net so we can see your bum.’ SNAP. ‘Okay, Howard get underneath them, that’s it down on the ground and you two stand over him so that he’s shooting up your skirts.’ SNAP. ‘That’s good, now let’s do that one with pink.’ SNAP SNAP SNAP.

The Common was pretty deserted so our little show went largely unnoticed. Two teenage truants who picked the day to end all days to bunk off school (but would never be believed by any of their friends in a million years), an old man and his Labrador, a couple of council labourers and a motorcycle courier were the extent of our audience. Them and, of course, our stoner attendant who kept on trying to pass me a big fat joint every time I wandered too near him. To anyone else who might’ve walked past, there was superficially nothing out of the ordinary. The girls still had their outfits on so the only obvious give-aways that something was amiss were the fact that a) they were absolute pin-up stunners; b) there was some bloke photographing their arses and; c) they were quite unbelievably shit at tennis.

‘Here mate, what are you doing this for?’ one of the kids shouted over.

‘Because we love tennis,’ Stuart told him. ‘Why aren’t you at school?’

‘Er… it’s half term,’ he replied, standing there in school uniform with a satchel slung over his back. ‘Are they going to get their tits out or what?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but you’re only allowed to stay and watch if you’ve done your homework,’ Stuart told them.

‘We have,’ they lied, making everyone except the old man and his dog laugh.

I was just starting to think we might even get away with this and do all we needed to do without attracting any unnecessary attention when all of a sudden, motorcycle couriers started pouring in from every conceivable angle. Word had got out; ‘Forget your deliveries and get your arses down to Tooting Common, there’s a porn shoot going on at the tennis courts.’

‘We’d better get this done and fast before someone starts selling tickets,’ Stuart said. ‘Get the girls stripped off and do two rolls of fully naked shots and we can blow them up if need be, but I think we want to be on our way within twenty minutes.’

Before long there were three dozen assorted bikers and passers-by squashed against the fence watching us work, yet it didn’t seem to bother the girls one bit. I asked them if they’d be willing to strip out of their dresses for the fully nude shots, expecting them to knock me back, but the girls didn’t hesitate. A huge cheer went up as their dresses hit the deck and even the old man suddenly started cheering. The girls turned and posed for the audience, teasing them the same way they’d teased me in the car on the way down. They started kissing and stroking each other erotically, just yards from a swarming mass of excited testosterone.

‘Get some of this,’ I urged Howard. ‘Quick, take some pictures. Get the crowd in, this is fucking dynamite.’

The stoner behind Stuart started howling loudly as the girls got funky with each other. Howard knelt here, there and everywhere as he snapped off close-ups of Tanya and Cindy doing the business. And it looked convincing to me, I can tell you that. No more prompting was needed as suddenly I couldn’t tell where simulation ended and real sex began. If anything, we had to calm them down to get shots we could use.

‘Move your hand, pull your fingers out.’ SNAP. ‘Okay, lift your legs a little so you’re not actually on her face.’ SNAP.

One of the bikers looked over at me, a tough, tattooed meat-head on a Yamaha, and said something I’d heard dozens and dozens of times before.

‘Man, you’ve got the best job in the world, you have!’

And you know what, at this precise moment in time, there was no arguing with him. It was a lovely sunny day, I was outdoors, I had two beautiful girls at my feet and the total respect of every biker within a hundred yards of me. Days like these are few and far between. You need to fully appreciate them while you can.

‘Hey Godfrey, want to join us?’ Cindy said, lifting her head out of Tanya’s crotch and looking me right in the eye.

‘Yeah, come on Godfrey, get your cock inside me right now,’ Tanya urged.

The rapidly swelling crowd (and by that I don’t mean their numbers either) cheered for all they were worth and suddenly started chanting my name. Stuart quick-stepped it over and told me to calm the girls down otherwise things were going to get really messy really quickly.

‘How much more do we need?’ I asked.

‘Just a couple more shots. Give them their racquets and do one more roll then we’re out of here,’ Stuart said, then looked at the crowd and added, ‘if they let us.’

We urged Howard on and managed to temper the girls’ behaviour despite the adoration. My mind couldn’t help but turn to my Femmy solicitor mate Samantha and wonder what she’d say if she could see me now. I didn’t know, but I wasn’t sure her opinion of me would’ve improved much.

With all the cheering and catcalls going on we didn’t hear it at first. It was way off in the background, just one more noise in the traffic, something you hear every day in London and don’t think twice about. The trouble was, it was growing louder and louder and it was coming our way.

‘Shit! Police!’ Stuart shouted and we all froze. The siren was turning into the Common and only a matter of yards away as we all suddenly ran around like headless chickens.

Stuart and Howard were at the top of their game and out of the courts and halfway to the car before I knew where my arse was.

‘Holy shit! Quick Cindy, Tanya, quick, come on!’ I urged the girls, grabbing their dresses and bundling them butt-naked out of the courts and after the others. We sprinted across the grass and towards the car with one last cheer echoing in our ears before it was drowned out by the siren.

‘Let’s go, let’s go,’ I shouted as I ran between the girls. My mind was racing as fast as I was but oddly enough it wasn’t with panic. Despite everything else that was going on around me, all I kept thinking was I wished some of my mates could’ve seen me now. As it was, I would be dining out on this anecdote for the rest of my life but an eyewitness or two would’ve been great.

‘Stop, Police!’ someone shouted behind us, but we were way out in front and only fifty yards from the safety of the car. Ten more seconds and we’d be piling in the back and away. But suddenly we had even further to run as there were fifty-five yards between us and the car; then suddenly sixty, then seventy, then eighty, then ninety, then a hundred yards and then it was gone, disappeared off around a corner and gone.

They’d abandoned us. The utter utter bastards had abandoned us.

‘What do we do now?’ Cindy yelled, the confidence suddenly missing from her sweet West Country voice.

‘Keep running or get nicked,’ I shouted back and pointed towards the other side of the Common and a narrow alleyway leading into a housing estate. ‘That way. If we can just find somewhere to hold up a minute, you can put your dresses back on and we can at least blend in a bit better.’

Yeah, two absolute stunners, wearing the skimpiest tennis dresses, walking down Tooting High Street. I was sure no one was going to bat an eyelid at us.

I looked back around for the briefest of seconds and was lifted to see that one of the coppers had given up chasing us and was heading back to the car. We had a generous lead over the other one and I reckoned we could lose her in the labyrinth of back streets and alleyways around the estate long enough, at least, for the girls to get dressed again.

Dog walkers and joggers stopped in their tracks as the three of us ran past like an Electric Blue version of Benny Hill. As we approached the main road, I was half-hoping for one of those comedy pile-ups that you got in the movies, something to distract the attention the police with, but nothing like that happened.

We charged across the road to a chorus of cheers and beeps and made it into the alleyway.

‘Come on, this way,’ I said, dragging the girls around a series of twists and turns, over a fence or two and into one of those electric generator areas. We ducked down behind the gate and tried to catch our breath.

The girls were sweaty, naked and excited and I was suddenly all alone with them. Tanya couldn’t stop giggling and I had to put a hand across her mouth to shut her up as the policewoman ran past behind the fence. We waited a few nerve-jangling moments for the danger to pass and were relieved when it finally did.

‘My heart is thumping,’ Cindy whispered, holding a hand to her heaving breasts.

‘Mine too,’ Tanya agreed. ‘I haven’t had this much fun in ages.’

The girls might’ve been loving the thrill of it all but I was more concerned with how we were going to get ourselves out of this mess.

‘Here, here’s your dresses, put them on,’ I told them. ‘We’re not too far from Tooting Bec. There’s a couple of pubs down there, we’ll duck into the nearest one, have a quick drink and phone a cab. My place isn’t too far from here and I can sort you both out with some clothes and cash to see you home. Agreed?’

‘Ooh Godfrey, you’re our hero,’ Tanya purred, both of them giggling in unison. ‘But before we go anywhere, I think there’s one very important thing we need to do first, right Cin’?’

‘Yeah. Let’s do it,’ Cindy grinned.

‘What? What are you talking about?’ I asked in confusion.

‘A little unfinished business,’ Cindy whispered in my ear as she unbuttoned my jeans and slipped her hand inside. This time, I didn’t try to stop her.

‘Oh, I see,’ I said, my heart smashing violently against the inside of my chest.

Tanya pulled my jeans and boxers down and then together, while hiding behind a fence and on the run from the police, two naked porn stunners gave me the best damn blow-job of my entire life.

Finally, I felt like a real pornographer.