Wisconsin

One summer in the late aughties, I found myself bumming around Madison, Wisconsin, trying to write a novel. As August rolled around, I'd worn out my welcome couch-surfing, and the friends I was staying with suggested I kick in something for rent. I scoured the State Journal for some kind of work. In the classifieds, I found a help wanted ad for a grip on a film crew.

I was surprised, as I had no idea that people made films in Wisconsin. I phoned the number listed and they called me in for an interview. I went down to a tiny office in some low-rent office space and met briefly with a proto-hipster in plaid with pointy glasses. He looked like an arthouse director. Once again, I was surprised. I didn't know Wisconsin had an arthouse scene. The director hired me on the spot.

The first shoot would be the very next day at a farm outside of town. I carpooled with the camera guy and the sound man, scruffy dudes in jean jackets who weren't conversationalists. In retrospect, I suppose nothing more needed to be said.

We pulled into the farmyard, and there were naked people walking around. They paraded through the shady yard proud as hippies, but you didn't need a zoom lens to tell they weren't hippies. The women were pneumatic and blond. The guy, a hotshot with sideburns and tanlines, still had on his backwards cap and his shades. A photographer, pretty in a much more traditional way, was taking pictures of them in suggestive poses.

I wasn't particularly surprised it was a porno movie. It explained why I'd been hired with no prior experience. I had no idea that Wisconsin had a porn industry, but it still made more sense than having an arthouse scene.

As soon as we got out of the car, the director started yelling at us for being late. I was tasked with unloading some camera equipment from the trunk. I helped the camera and sound guys unpack, and then they set everything up.

Meanwhile, the performers put their swimwear back on, the women their tiny, sequined bikinis, the male his dragon-print board shorts. The women chatted and picked lint off their coppery bodies as they waited around, looking mostly disinterested. The younger woman was thirty-something, strawberry blond with big heaving mortar shell breasts that were probably fake. The other was older, late thirties or perhaps even forty, and blonder with globular breasts that were definitely fake. From their conversation, I gleaned that they were dancers, the younger one in Eau Claire, the older one in Green Bay. They barely acknowledged the guy, who stood with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his shorts.

After he'd finished getting an exterior shot of a milk silo, the director called places and the women turned on beaming smiles. The director called action and the two women converged upon the hotshot guy, right there on the lawn. There was no dialogue, no setup, and no premise, only cooing and groping. The women stroked and caressed the front of the guy's pants, and the guy moved his hands between the four breasts covered in tiny swatches of sequined cloth.

"Okay," the director instructed. "Holly, take out your left tit. Heather, take out your right. Okay, now take out his dick."

Heather, who was the younger of the two women, pulled down the hotshot's shorts. Holly, who was the older one, pulled the guys gaining erection up from his testicles and admired it with a saucy smile betraying wizened mischief. She gave some indication of her age, but she wasn't without her charms. Her face looked as if it had sustained just enough surgical enhancement to delineate some legitimate appeal beneath those prim, near-white bangs. Heather, meanwhile, had at least a modicum of hale, good-natured prettiness. Both women pressed their smiles against the penis in front of them, and placed kisses along its lengthening span. At the very tip of the glans, they met in a kiss of their own.

"Okay great," the director said. "Now Jared, really sell the feel."

Jared nodded and then his mouth dropped open, his eyes went shut. He let his eyelids flutter in beatific rapture.

Holly enhaled his penis. She worked her mouth upon it, then drew back and passed it to Heather. Heather slid her mouth down the edges before putting her whole mouth over it. She couldn't get down all the way, though. Jared's length was estimable.

After the blowjob, the women stripped off their bikinis and shoved Jared back onto the grass. Holly held Jared's cock steady while Heather eased herself down atop it. Taking to her knees, prominent backside pressed toward his face, she gripped his calves and then began to thrust down on his cock. The cameraman hurried in to get the prime shot of her ass beating down on Jared's abdomen. Meanwhile, Holly caressed her back, smiling her wispy, seasoned grin. Heather shuddered, paused, and then began making out with Holly. Holly played with Heather's breasts, then eased her off. Holly squatted down on Jared, her long, tawny legs straining valiantly, and then plugged Jared's cock into herself. Up and down, her buttocks beat against his adomen, but she pulled up carefully, always careful to prolong the visual of the cock inset in her prim pussy. Soon enough, she knelt down on Jared as Heather had, circling that tawny, lean cylinder of abdomen, casting her face up to the sky.

"Switch!" the director yelled.

After that, all three stood up, Jared brushing off his back, the girls wiping their knees. The girls steadied each other with an embrace, and Heather pressed out her shapely ass. Jared slid into her from behind. Holly stood with legs at full span, kissing Heather's breasts passionately, but also bracing her at the same time. Jared pistoned manically into her. He fucked with his top lip tucked. On more than one ocassion, Heather stumbled. Holly was quick to grip her firmly, keeping her on her feet.

You had to hand it to Jared. He looked like a bit of a choch, but the man could fuck. His pace seemed only to gain, and soon the spirit moved Heather to lower herself to the grass. On all fours, she kept her ass pressed out pronouncedly, and Holly followed suit. From a deep lunge position, Jared kept pounding at Heather, then moved to Holly. All the while, the two women made out. It was very busy, but very erotic, a beautiful, pastoral fuck scene.

And then it just wasn't. Jared pulled out and pulled back, dick slipping out after him and slapping against his thigh. There it lay, heavy but not hard.

"Fuck!" he called out.

"Oh Jesus," the director muttered. "Cut, cut, cut. You told me this wasn't going to be a problem again, Jared. Now get it back. It's getting dark out here."

Jared began pulling at his genitals. The women looked back over their shoulders, bored again. Jared yanked, tugged, pounded and pulled, but he couldn't get hard. There are fewer things I have seen that are more steeped in pathos than a man furiously jacking off his own flaccid cock. The women were sitting now. They exchanged impatient glances. 

"Okay," the director said. "We'll roll again. Girls, get in close. When you get hard, Jared, we'll do the pop shot right then and there, okay. Closer, girls. Help him."

Holly and Heather kissed at Jared's cock. They too yanked, tugged, pounded and pulled, but Jared just wouldn't firm up.

"Goddamit!" the director said. "We're losing the light. Jared, get the fuck out of the shot."

Jared looked wounded. He pushed away from the girls, grabbing his limp dick. He kicked at the dirt as he walked away, fist resuming it's pumping action almost involuntarily.

"Okay," the director said, standing up. "Billy, come over here." He was looking at the camera guy. He turned to the sound guy. "Steve, you too." He skipped over the pretty photographer, and then he looked at me. "And you," he said. "All of you. Take off your pants."

"What?" I asked. Steve and Billy looked less surprised. Steve was even unbuckling his belt.

"Take off your pants."

"N-no way," I said.

"You want your paycheck? Take off your pants."

He wasn't looking at me, though. He was looking at Steve, who was taking down his shorts. He nodded.

"My compliments," he said to Steve. "Just about the right size, but too little manscaping. Now Billy?"

"Just a second," Billy said, tugging down his underwear, which was almost as white as his shapeless thighs. "Here."

Out dangled a very impressive dick.

"Congratulations," the director said. "But that's too big. I can only imagine how big it is when it's fully hard. Now that leaves you."

He was looking at me again.

"Take off your pants, bud."

I did what the director told me to do. He nodded.

"This," he said, "is what I'm looking for. You're a dead ringer for Jared here...when he can actually keep it up."

This last part was directed at Jared for his benefit. Jared didn't look over. The director turned back to me.

"And you look like you're more than ready to go. This is great."

"What?"

"Do you watch baseball, bud?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know the merits of a good pinch hitter."

"Y-yeah."

"Then this is your call," the director said. He pointed out to the women, who were standing now, arms crossed below their implants, shifting weight from foot to foot, looking out into the distance. "You're going in."

"I-I..."

"You're gonna say no? This is the American dream, buddy, pinch hitting in the World Series, on the biggest stage. Now go do it. There's fifty bucks extra in it for you. Or nothing. NOW TAKE OFF YOUR GLASSES, TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES AND GET IN BEFORE WE LOSE ALL THE LIGHT!"

Very gingerly, I took off everything I had on. I couldn't look at the girls. I didn't know if they were looking at me. I had my glasses off. I walked over toward the flesh-colored blur, following my erection. It was weird to feel the onrushing air on my erect dick as I walked. When I got close enough to bring the women's faces into focus, they proved to be expressionless.

"Relax, kid," the director yelled. "All I need is a money shot. No one's gonna see your face. Billy, go in close on his dick and their faces. We don't want that ugly hint of gut to get in the way. Okay, action!"

The smiles reappeared on the women's faces, and they grabbed for my dick. Heather seized my free hand and placed it on her left breast. Holly smiled up at me, eyes intent, snarling sexual provocations under her breath.

"Give us that come you fucking stud. Right on our faces. Right on our big tits."

Heather enveloped my cock with her mouth, hammered down hard on the shaft, her mop of blond hair shimmying, her pushed-up sunglasses quivering atop. The movement of her mouth and tongue, all of it was professional. I felt enraptured, breakers of pleasure surging down into my legs, up into my torso. I had to fight my erection free, lest I come into the depths of her mouth and out of the camera's hungry eye. But before the string of saliva between her lips and my glans could break, Holly caught my cock between in her lips, and, with impressive neck strength, began to bear down on it. Her tongue work was even better. And her eyes met mine. They were an unyielding green, and they seared through me with their eros and their expectation. I had to pull my glance away, shifting it to Heather whose blue eyes were looking up at me the same expectant way. I could hold it no more. I gasped, gripped the base of my cock, and freed it from Holly's hot mouth.

"I'm gonna come!" I declared, rather predictably.

With one defintive pump of my fist, the come surged down and out onto Holly's pink lips and sharpened nose, onto Heather closed eyes and eyelids and red lips, onto Holly's white, choppy bangs and onto Heather's hairline and sunglasses and pearly smile, and it kept coming, onto Holly's chin and onto her big round breasts, dotting the puffy areola, and onto Heather's sharp nipples, one bead dissected precisely by the left nip into two drops running down either side.

My knees weakened and my body sank. I slumped forward, and the women kissed at my bared thighs.

"And cut!" The director said. "That's a wrap."

The girls smiles collapsed. They pulled back from my thighs in unison and headed directly over to the pretty photographer, who was brandishing towels. Meanwhile, I was frozen where I stood, yet on the verge of collapse, gripping my wet, wilting cock.

"Great work, bud!" The director was saying. "You hit it out of the park, you hit the mother lode. That was amazing. So amazing I'm almost curious to see how you fuck."

I looked over at him.

"But not that curious. You'd have to lose the gut and get some tone in the thighs. Not everybody can be a slugger."

Eventually, the photographer was kind enough to bring me my clothes. I wanted to say something to Jared, because it sort of felt like I'd sandbagged him, but then he was slamming the driver's door of his Celica and spinning out of the yard. I wanted to say something to Holly and Heather, too, something like thank you or sorry or maybe both, but the photographer told me they'd already gone into the house to have a shower.

Steve and Billy needed me to help them with the camera cases. On rubbery legs, I managed to get everything into the trunk. The car ride home was even quieter than on the way up.

I got my check in the mail a couple days later. I cashed it and then I quit. I'd spent enough time and effort in the Wisconsin porn scene. I didn't want anything more to do with it.

I never saw the DVD I helped make at the farm on that warm Wisconsin afternoon. I never wanted to, at least not for about ten years. But times change, and nostalgia is a weird thing. Now porn isn't on DVDs so much anymore. It's on streaming sites, and all kinds of people do it. It's a grassroots thing. Doing porn still might not exactly be on par with rehabilitating the homeless or doing ALS research, but it's no longer something a person can't come back from. Between jacking off and girlfriends who were into it, I've watched so many people do sexual things on camera, I sort of want to see what I look like doing it. So once the urge is purged, either hers or mine, I keep sifting through the streaming sites, seeing what I can find. Maybe at the end of the search, buried deep in all the porn, there'll be an old, grainy DVD rip with an 16:9 aspect ratio where a hotshot choch gives it to two weatherbeaten blond Wisconsin strippers in a farmyard before finally turning into me, or a least my pinch-hitting stunt cock. 
     The search continues.