I knew what I had all right. I tried to conceal it by busying myself with the liquor supply again.
“Tonight was my debut, you know,” I offered shyly, to my leading lady.
“No kiddin'!” Davey interposed. Why the fuck did I have to go and invite Davey!
“Were you nervous your first time out, Fran?”
Fran giggled. “I was too busy to be nervous. I was the only girl in a cast of thousands-it seemed like thousands. Alec called it The Baby-Layer. What a god-awful title. See, I played a babysitter. Babysitter, baby-layer. We shot that right out in the suburbs of St. Louis, in the cutest little frame house. Alec rented it just for the evening. The house and the owner and the baby.”
“The house and the owner and the baby?”
“Yes,” Fran explained, “the whole cast was non-professional. The owner of the house took part in the production. I think he was a widower or his wife was away that night. And he lent us the baby because a baby was essential since I played a babysitter. Anyway, he wasn't really a baby; he looked about seven, maybe eight.
“Alec was very clever. He didn't have too much cash then. So he got together a group of guys who were going out whoring. He told them if they'd help him out, he'd help them out, and it wouldn't cost them a penny. Sometimes it's better to use amateurs, they're more realistic in the clinch.
“I put the kid to bed, then I went down to the living room. I was supposed to be sort of restless, alone in the house with nothing to do. I sat on the couch with my legs up, rubbing my thighs together. You know-the horny heroine bit.
“Then came the invasion. The men were supposed to be a motorcycle gang, looking for gas or something. They burst into the living room, lugging in a Honda for realism. And of course I had to take them on, one after another.” Fran yawned artistically. “It's the basic plot, nothing imaginative, but it was wonderful training for a beginner. And the fellows were all considerate. They didn't try any tricks. No more than two at a time. The finale was adorable-”
A deep-throated growl from Davey interrupted Fran's narrative. Shocking manners. Or perhaps he'd heard the story before. I turned to the lady, dripping gallantry to counteract the caveman's boorish behavior. “What was the adorable finale, honey? Close-ups of your cunt?”
“Oh, no,” Fran answered, seriously. “Alec had done the close-ups much earlier. For the finale I was stretched out on the living room floor, alone again, after the gang was through with me. Then the little boy I was sitting for crept in. He looked so cute, his pajamas falling, his little prick hanging out. You should have heard Alec direct him. Why, the boy's own father couldn't have been more impatient. He tried to get the kid to mount me. But at that age boys are clumsy-American boys, I mean. So I sucked it for him.
“I love to go down on little boys,” Fran admitted, without gushing or blushing. “They're adorable. They're-”
Davey displayed even worse manners. Indecorously and indiscreetly, he provided a further diversion. Halting the speaker by making speech impossible. Davey's pajamas weren't falling. Wide-open, but not falling. He looked more aggressive than adorable. The most timid bank clerk looks aggressive when getting his prick licked, unless he's imbibing one simultaneously. Evidently, Fran found the brute adorable. She kept sucking.
Davey was the first to break away. He covered his bone with an acre of striped pajama pants and actually simpered. Now I was glowering. I judged it best to ignore the entire disgraceful episode since I hadn't been invited to participate. Gnashing my teeth when no one was looking, I said, “I'm glad your first performance went smoothly.”
“No complaints,” Fran agreed. “Though when the shooting was over, the owner of the house started to get obnoxious. That's my pet peeve. Ugh!” She hunched her slim shoulders and wriggled her nose in disdain. “When a guy thinks just because we've acted together he has special privileges.”
Warning received and duly noted! But that bastard Davey seemed to be under the impression that he had special privileges. From what I'd just witnessed, Fran was laboring under the very same delusion. I let it slide. They were my guests, right? Still, I couldn't feel real hostlike toward Davey. It hurt me to see the pervert smirking back in his corner.
“What about you, Davey? What did you do when you started out in the biz? Multiple suck jobs?”
He reminded me of Matt. Like my buddy at the cabin, he had such a sunny disposition. Davey was never more polite than when he was being insulted. The fact that the insults were way over his noggin accounted for only part of his good humor. Underneath the grisly exterior, in spite of his lack of social acumen, Davey was a thoroughly good guy. Aware of this for the first time, I was tempted to pat the lug's shoulder. But I avoided all equivocal gestures. Not with that cock!
Apparently the gentleman was engrossed in recalling the details of his premiere porno appearance. Before I pulled out paper and pencil to prod his memory, he spoke up. “Wuzn't a single suck job in the whole shootin' match.” Unexpectedly, he turned to the lady for confirmation. “Wuz there, Fran?”
Fran murmured an answer. I wasn't paying attention; the significance of Davey's query had dawned on me. “Did you play in Davey's first porno?” I blurted.
Fran threw out a careless affirmative. Davey was more eloquent. “You bet your broad butt she played in it. Fran's been in every fuckin' movie I ever made, 'cept Browned in the Barracks. That wuz all guys,” he added, quite unnecessarily.
Fran looked the way I want my wife to look on our honeymoon. Ready to die for the cock that was teasing her. Sounding as if she meant it, she poured out the magic words from the vortex of her delirium. “Now, Davey! Now! Fuck me!”
No millimeter by millimeter pussyfooting. Davey slammed his erection into the furry slot and started hammering. He slid so haphazardly into the saddle-moved so fast-that I wasn't sure he was truly in her till he was halfway over the hill and she was screeching in ecstasy.
If this was a test of staying power, Davey failed dismally. Ninety seconds later he rolled off her. I wouldn't say he'd flunked, though. Not with the echoes of Fran's mewing ringing in my ears. Mewing! All it takes is the right tomcat.
Fran smiled at me affectionately.
“I thought you don't like a fella to take special privileges after the shooting is over.”
“It's different with Davey and me,” Fran said, after a moment. “We're like brother and sister.”
“Like brother and sister, huh?”
“Why shouldn't we be like a fuckin'brother and sister?” Davey, the helpful purveyor of miscellaneous information, grunted. “Wears brother and sister.”
XV
Incest is sinful only when those who benefit most directly start to talk about it. There's no more compulsive chatterer than a girl fresh from fucking her brother, uncle, first cousin, poppa, or grandpa. That's why so many hard-working, hard-screwing fathers are right this minute planning prison riots. Men are almost as talkative, being naturally boastful. One glaring exception is the son who balls his mother-regularly or on a single impetuous occasion. I never yet heard a live-action motherfucker declare himself.
When Davey blurted out the awful truth, Fran laughed nervously. Batting her eyelashes at low speed, she whispered, “I guess you think I'm terrible, Doug.”
“I don't think you're terrible. I think you're kinda cute.” I spoke jauntily, but I was as nervous as Fran, or more so. Davey-just Davey-was bad enough. Davey the Number One Brother and Lover was a formidable rival. “I have nothing against incest,” I assured the sere wed-up siblings. “Some of my best friends are perver-perverse in their inclinations.”
Fran stretched contentedly. “I'm glad you're not like some strait-laced motherfuckers. We can talk to you. You're one of us.”