Angel Lost in the Dar

I didn’t realize it at the time, but when Helen walked out of the room our lives had changed. She was true to her promise and we never did anything like it again. She ALLOWED me the opportunity to make love to her from time to time, but now it was always when SHE wanted it and on HER terms. Every time it happened we both seemed tentative and self-conscious. It was the memories of what happened that night that had driven us apart. I remembered the wild and uninhibited woman that she could be when she let herself go, and she remembered the dirty, wanton slut that she could be if she didn’t constantly hold herself in check. It was a perfect stalemate, and there seemed to be no way to resolve our differences. Soon we began the slow process of drawing away from each other. We began crawling away from the center of the bell shaped curve, her to her side and me to mine. The crawling away became a walk and the walk soon became a run It didn’t take long to develop into a gallop.

We slept in the same bed as before and we talked civilly. We went about our lives in the same manner we always had, and we even enjoyed each other’s company. As long as the subject of sex wasn’t mentioned everything seemed normal. The kids never knew our problems nor did our friends. On the outside nothing seemed to have changed, but on the inside everything seemed dead, or at least dying. There was many a night I lay in bed next to her thinking about sex and longing to turn her way and put my arms around her, to talk to her, to cuddle with her, to feel her naked body next to mine, to make love to her, to fuck her; anything, everything, most of all something, something that would make everything OK again. But I never did. Instead I would lay there beside her, my back to hers and hers to mine, and rather than interrupt her sleep only to face rejection and ridicule I would pretend to be asleep while I quietly masturbated. As the years went on my nighttime erections became less and less frequently, and before long my sexual needs, like Helen’s, evaporated into nothingness. Don’t get me wrong, I still thought about sex, but there was no physical reaction whatsoever. My mind still worked but my body didn’t. As best I can recall I had my last erection in 1996.

Helen was diagnosed with lung cancer in October of 1997 and she died August 2 of 1998. She had never smoked until she married me, and I felt a little guilty over her death, but only a little. I’m a firm believer that a person should take responsibility for his or her own actions. She had made that choice herself, and I don’t think I could have stopped her had I tried.

They say that whatever goes around, comes around, and three weeks before her death I was diagnosed with emphysema. Maybe one of these days I’ll take responsibility for my OWN actions and finally quit. I haven’t yet.

*********

Fast forward again, if you will, another year. It’s now the summer of 1999 and my adventures (and misadventures) with Angel are about to begin. She’s the one this story is about, and what I have been telling you so far has only been background. I felt obliged to tell you how I got to be who I am now. Had I not, the story might wouldn’t have meaning. I suppose some of you have found that you don’t really like me, but that’s OK. There are traits about me that I don’t like either, but I was determined to show myself warts and all. It wouldn’t be fair of me to tell you about Angel, exhibitionist par excellent, without having the nerve to expose at least a little of myself.

It was strange the way I met Angel. She lives (or maybe lived, since I haven’t had contact with her for over a year) only a few miles from me, yet as far as I know I had never seen her before the day she showed up on my doorstep. I know I would have remembered her. She was there because I had put an advertisement in the newspaper for a model and of those that responded she was the one I hired.

The ad was worded as follows:

WANTED:

Liberal thinking woman 18 – 35 for non-pornographic

video project. Nudity required. Good looks not as important a fun

attitude. This is NOT a sex ad! Call Tom @ 555-4567

The idea had been inspired by an article I read in one of those underground newspapers that are sold in racks along Hollywood Blvd. It purported to be an interview with an ex-porno actress who had recently opened a studio on Santa Monica Blvd in Hollywood where, for an hourly fee, amateur photographers and filmmakers (i.e. anyone who had the $$$’s and who had tired of sticking them a strippers G-strings) could hire a model, rent both film and camera, and get their rocks off by watching a beautiful girl spread their legs in a more private way than you could find at a ‘gentleman’s’ club. According to the “article” the “models” were “more than willing” to have their image taken in “any position” the “photographer” needed to create his art. The only caveat was that no “sexual activity” between “artist” and “model” would be allowed. Money is always money, however, so it stood to reason that if an ex-porno actress was posing for a horny man who felt no guilt over lying about his artistic talents the sexual activity that wasn’t allowed probably was. From a legal standpoint I suppose they had to mention that in the interview to throw the police off track.

I was never really tempted to check the place out since 1) I was impotent, 2) I had never been one to visit prostitutes, and 3) what floated my bubble was to see women acting out the wildness of their freedom rather than performing the requirements of their profession. Being with a woman who publicly bared her breasts for fun was far more erotic to me than being with a whore who needed to fuck in order to survive. Sometimes I wondered whether it was actually the nudity that turned me on or the pleasure I derived from watching girls enjoy themselves. The whole idea of pretending to be a serious artist so I could hire a girl who would then pretend to be my model all so the police could pretend that we were 100 per cent legitimate and not engaged in anything illegal struck me as a particularly hilarious scenario since I couldn’t get Junior to grow any bigger than my thumb even if I tried. The article did, however, give me an idea for the ad and the more I thought about it, the better it sounded. Some nights I would lie in bed and simply think about the various scenarios that were possible. The beaches, the mountains, the desert, all were within an hour’s driving distance. There was no shortage of places where we could go to experiment with a little friendly streaking, flashing, flirting, teasing and other creative ways of demonstrating her playful nature. My camera and her boldness could create a most enjoyable experience. As long as she was willing to have fun I would have fun, and for THAT I would be willing to spend money.

The next morning I went over my options. I knew that the project wouldn’t be inexpensive (even though they might have fun doing it, girls didn’t usually get naked for free unless they were drunk out of their mind or in love) so it was now a simple matter of deciding how much I would need spend and how I would spend it. Even though I was worth nearly two million dollars (on paper) money was still a consideration, but with Helen out of the picture and the kids now on their own and doing well (OK, doing SEMI-well) what else did I need the money for except for my own pleasure?

In the end I decided that one model for a number of days was better than a number of models each for a day. It would give me the opportunity to get to know her and, by extension, get the most out of her assets while avoiding her shortcomings. In the best-case scenario she could even become a valuable assistant. She could help in the planning process by suggesting places to go, things to wear, scenarios to act out, and other matters I might otherwise overlook. In the beginning only she would know what her assets were and what she was most comfortable with, and the knowledge would make for a more enjoyable experience for us both. I figured that $300 per day would be a sufficient amount to pay, and to sweeten the pot I would guarantee her work for twenty days. Twenty days at $300 per day came to $6000 dollars, and taking into account expenses (video camera, tape, gasoline for the car, admissions to public events, food and drink, exotic/erotic clothing, etc) I could easily do the whole thing for less than $10,000. That wasn’t bad at all. Helen and I had spent that much on our vacation to Paris and this promised to be much more fun.

That night I wrote the ad and in the morning I called the paper and told them run it.

**********

It was two weeks to the day when I received the first response. It was a Thursday night and it came in the way of a message on my phone recorder. Two weeks was a long time and I had almost decided to pull the ad, but she had left her name and phone number so I called, hoping that our conversation would fire up my imagination again Her name was Molly, and after exchanging pleasantries we got down to business. When the subject of money came up I told her I would pay her $300 per day with a guarantee of 20 days. I think I offended her. Disdainfully she informed me the last shoot she was on paid her $1500 per day and it was finished in 4 days. I’m quick at math and immediately realized that she had made as much money in those four days as I was offering for twenty. There were undoubtedly assassins running around somewhere that would perform whacks for that kind of money.

I tried to tippy-toe carefully around the subject of money by emphasizing the R rated nature of my interests but not for a moment did I really think it would do much good. When the subject came up again I decided to generously increase my offer to $500 per day. She said that she couldn’t possibly accept such a low figure, but she would entertain offers of less than $2000 if I were to give her a written contract stipulating that she wouldn’t be asked to take it up the ass or swallow cum.

I laughed out loud and then told her there was no way I could afford more than $500 per day.

She laughed out loud and then hung up the phone without even bothering to say goodbye.

I added her number to my Rolodex file in case I ever wanted to hire her for fifteen minutes.

Ten minutes later I was in hysterics again when I fantasized a scenario of the two of us going to court over breech of contract.

*********

Like I said earlier, after two weeks I had almost given up hope of getting any responses, so I was floored when I arrived home from work on Friday night and found another message on my machine. Her name was Cheryl and within minutes I knew that I wasn’t going to hire her. She couldn’t shut up about all the nasty things she had done in the past. She spoke so fast and her tales were so rambling and incredibly perverted that I suspected she was either on drugs or pulling my leg. When she got to the part where she fucked a dwarf that she had met at a Bingo Parlor I interrupted and informed her that I had already selected a model for the shoot. She was very disappointed because she really, really, REALLY liked getting naked.

Like I had done with Molly’s I filed her number in my Rolodex. Who knew? She might go into rehab some day and be worth hiring after she was cured.

***********

On Saturday morning I received another. It was like a feast after a famine. Her name was Karen and she was more to my liking. She was only twenty years old. I remembered Molly’s derisive laughter so I kept the rate at $500 per day. When Karen quickly accepted the amount I was so surprised that I ended up forgetting to mention that it would be done in public settings. I remembered mentioning in passing that most of the work would be done outside but that was the extent of it. Maybe she was kissing up to me to get the job, but when she told how wonderful it sounded on the phone and that she was dying to meet me in person, I took it all in stride and didn’t hold it against her one bit. I immediately made an appointment for her to come by on Monday morning at 10 AM. Having never conducted an interview of this nature I didn’t know the protocol, but I did have the presence of mind to tell her that I needed to take a short videotape of her in the nude and have her accompany me on a short field trip to determine whether she would be right for the type of video I was interested in taking. I certainly didn’t want her to get the impression that I was just a horny old man that wanted to see chicks naked for free, so I quickly added that I would pay her $100 for coming to the interview and accompanying me on the field trip. She quickly agreed to those demands.

I spent the rest of the morning at the mall purchasing a video camera as well as ten blank tapes, and for most of the afternoon I experimented with it. I certainly didn’t want to appear as a complete novice. By dinnertime I had learned enough to make a fairly decent tape. I had learned to keep everything in focus at least6 most of the time, and there were fewer and fewer shots of feet to contend with. I had also corrected my impulse to zoom in and out on objects just for the hell of it. As long as I remembered to take off the lens caps each time I turned on the camera it would be fairly easy to convince them that I was, at the least, an amateur professional.

After dinner was over I went to the bedroom closet and with the help of a pair of scissors I modified an old pair of Levi’s that had been hanging there for years. I started by cutting off the legs and then proceeded to rip them up the sides. I did it slowly and methodically, resisting the temptation to cut away too much too soon. Instead I inspected and re-inspected my shrinking masterpiece after each rip, cut and tear. When I was through, the rips up the side went almost to the belt line, the legs were cut off high enough so that the sides of the pockets hung out, and the strap between her legs was exactly that, a strap and nothing more. L’il Abner would have gladly lost the next Sadie Hawkins Day race if he seen Daisy May running after him wearing a pair like these. As an afterthought I went through the boxes of Helen’s old clothes and found the same white shirt she had worn to the bar that night. With the shirt (sans bra) and the newly created Daisy May’s (sans underwear) Karen would be dressed perfectly for what I had in mind.

**********

After dinner I settled down in my easy chair to watch some TV. I was just getting involved in an old James Cagey movie on American Movie Classics when the phone rang. It was yet ANOTHER girl! Her name was Angel and, like Karen, she was enthusiastic. She agreed to both the nude video and the field trip and we finished the conversation by setting up an appointment for 2PM on Monday, four hours after Karen.

I returned to the movie, but as I watched my mind kept wandering to thoughts of the two girls that were entrusting themselves (and their bodies) to me on Monday. Karen was only twenty, and Angel sounded about the same age. My sons were older than they were and I couldn’t help wondering what kind of lives they had led. If I had daughter what would I think if I found out that they had answered an advertisement similar to mine? Call me naïve, old fashioned, or simply protective, but I suddenly began feeling guilt and shame in doing what I was about to do. Would these two girls look at me as just another dirty old man and laugh at me behind my back, or would they simply accept me as their employer and keep everything business like and free from the sexual connotations that their nudity would certainly suggest? As long as they were both over eighteen there was nothing in the law that prohibited me from taking my video nor for them to be in it. They were old enough to legally fuck, suck, take it up the ass (as Molly described it), have cum shot on their faces and swallow it or any other sexual act that they were old enough, brave enough, poor enough, or depraved enough to perform. It was legal, yes, but was it moral? If I had a daughter, would I consider her ‘innocent’ if she were to work for a man like me who’s only intent was to see her naked and to take video of her showing off her body to others?

It took me the rest of the evening to think it all through, but in the end I absolved myself. I talked myself into thinking that as long as the law considered them fair game, why shouldn’t I? Really, was I harming them in any way? Why should I be responsible for actions that they take of their own free will? I was providing the impetus, or course, but if they hadn’t been willing to begin with they would never have sought out my ad. Whether it was me or someone else, eventually they would succumb to temptation, and in the end the result would be the same. If I HAD a daughter, I thought, I wouldn’t want HER to do the things I wanted my model to do, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that a father can’t always protect their daughter, and if she were hell bent on letting it all hang out, then it was far better that they did it with me than someone else. Consciously or subconsciously a father must know what their precious little darling is up to during Spring Break, and what they would be doing with me would amount to the same thing but without all the fucking. I at least would have their best interests in mind and in the end I would be protecting them from the unscrupulous scoundrels that WOULD take advantage of them. Hell, if I was one of their father’s I might even consider giving a person like me an award of some kind!

I went to bed early that night and before drifting off sleep I found myself masturbating. I never got hard, but it felt good anyway.

*************

The doorbell rang a few minutes after ten on Monday morning. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and then opened the door. In front of me stood a small girl, at most five foot two, and she had blonde hair that was swept to the side. She was wearing a thin, light blue skirt that hugged her hips on top and exposed quite a bit more than just her knees from below. Her white shirt wasn’t transparent, but the fabric was thinner than her skirt and a hint of her lightly tanned skin shown through. Her pink pointed nipples were prominently pressed against the material and the contrasts between the different colorations were more than noticeable. Instead of being buttoned like it was meant to be, the shirt was tied together using the shirttails, and the bare skin exposed by her open cleavage proved that not only had her breasts been manufactured in a lab somewhere but that she was satisfied with the result of the operation. Fake or not they looked inviting. She was a very beautiful girl.

“You must be Karen,” I said as I opened the door and invited her in. “I’m Tom. You’re right on time,”

“Nice house,” she said as I led her to the couch. “I was surprised when I first drove up. I was expecting a studio or something. You live here?”

“I’ve owned the house for a long time. My wife died a little over a year ago. Now it’s just me.’

After watching her seat herself on the couch I turned on the video camera that I had placed on the table next to my easy chair the night before and then sat and faced her. The chair was directly across the room from the sofa and the morning sunlight poured through the plate glass window behind me and bathed the area she was seated with its golden rays. “I hope you don’t mind, but I want to tape this interview so that I can watch it later. It will help me decide between you and the other girls.”

“I don’t mind. You mentioned the tape yesterday when we talked on the phone so I was prepared. Just let me know what you want me to do.”

“I guess the best place for us to start is to learn a little bit about you,” I said. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty, and I’ll be twenty-one in three weeks.”