Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*****
"And in five, four..." Bill Henderson, the floor manager said, then counted off "Three, two, on" silently, then pointed at Rodney Prejean.
Rodney Prejean smiled and resisted the temptation to test his back tooth with his tongue again. It was loose, thanks to a well delivered punch from his last guest. The guest had been upset to find out that the child he thought was his daughter was actually his niece; his brother had fathered the girl with the first man's girlfriend. Rodney stepped in front of the smirking girl to prevent the man from striking her.
The thirty seven year old man's dark hair was slicked back, make up covered the bruised cheek, and his customary bright red tie was firmly in place.
According to the numerous emails and letters the station received, Rodney Prejean looked like a well-dressed swamp rat. The few friends Rodney Prejean had would have told these viewers that their assessment was correct. Rodney Prejean was a well-dressed swamp rat, with all the morals and charms of a swamp rat.
"And thank you for watching Channel Twelve, your local independent broadcasting station," Rodney Prejean smiled into the camera. "And this is 'The Prejean Hour.' Today, we're joined by Bobby Elswell, the man and the vision behind 'Parasols Magazine.' Welcome to the Prejean Hour, Bobby."
"And thank you for having me," the bone thin, pale man forced a smile to his face, which simply looked ghastly in the harsh lights of the studio.
"Bobby, if you could, tell our viewers what Parasols Magazine is, and what its mission is," Rodney said as he held up the latest copy of the magazine for the camera.
"Well, sure, I uh, well, Parasols Magazine, I mean, the parasol is just a fancy way of saying 'umbrella' and you know, the umbrella covers everything," Bobby stammered, stains of sweat beginning to form under his armpits.
"So this magazine covers everything?" Rodney asked.
He smiled lecherously at the camera as he again held up the cover. The cover showed a young blonde, dressed in orange top hat, opened orange parasol covering her from just above her nipples to just below her crotch.
"...or does it UNCOVER everything?" Rodney asked, flipping the magazine open.
"Well, I mean, it's about sex, you know? And uh, sex is you know, uh, it's a lot more than just one man and one woman," Bobby stammered, the sweat stains becoming more evident.
"So, it's an open and honest discussion of sexual matters," Rodney finally interjected after Bobby had stammered and stuttered for five minutes.
"Yes, exactly," Bobby smiled another ghastly smile.
"And what was the inspiration behind this?" Rodney asked. "I mean, seriously, there is a smorgasbord of magazines out there where you can see beautiful young men and women frolicking about nude. There is a plethora of magazines out there that discuss sexual matters honestly and openly. There are even magazines out there that lend themselves toward the imaginations of their readers, for example, say Penthouse Forum; does ANYONE believe any of the stories written in that magazine?"
"Well, I uh, I mean, I'm on the Internet and this uh, I think it was Swash, or maybe it was OUI, one of them magazines and they were looking for amateurs you know," Bobby stammered, more sweat seeping through.
First Edition
"A hundred bucks? Really?" Valerie asked her younger brother
"Each," Tamara, Valerie's best friend demanded.
"Okay," Bobby agreed.
The magazine said they'd pay a thousand if they used your photographs and Valerie and Tamara were just too beautiful not to get placed in the magazine.
"Up front," Valerie said. "None of this taking our pictures and saying 'oops, I don't have it.'"
"Yeah," Tamara agreed.
"Okay," Bobby agreed. "Let me get my stuff."
He set up the camera, adjusted the three halogen lamps, walked around Valerie's bedroom with his meter, adjusted the lamps again, and then nodded.
Valerie smiled as she unbuttoned the Catholic School uniform; she had actually been surprised she still fit into her Cabrini High School uniform.
"Oh yeah, okay, pull the skirt up, let's see them white panties..." Bobby said, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of his voice.
"You didn't say nothing about panties," Valerie smiled, lifting the hem to show her brown thatch of pubic hair.
Oh, um, okay, now, turn, lift the back of that skirt, let's see that butt, no, don't look away, look over here, at the camera, skirt up all the way," Bobby said, also taking a few photographs with his back up camera as he used the stationary camera to zoom in for a close up of his sister's buttocks.
"Tamara, let me get some more film then we'll do you, okay?" Bobby asked and left his sister's room.
He spurted his load into his briefs as he unzipped his jeans. He then put two fresh rolls into his cameras.
When he came back into the room, Valerie and Tamara were kissing, Tamara's hands playing with Valerie's exposed breasts.
Bobby then shot Tamara removing her cheerleader's outfit. An additional hundred bucks and he was able to photograph the two girls kissing and touching each other.
The magazine only used one of the photographs, the one of Valerie looking over her shoulder as she exposed her buttocks. But to Bobby, it was a quick seven hundred bucks earned.
Valerie loved looking at her own image in the glossy magazine. She especially loved taunting her best friend with the fact that the magazine chose her photograph and not Tamara's.
Laci Peterson, Valerie's dorm roommate, found Valerie thumbing through the magazine. Valerie then flipped to her own photograph and Laci was intrigued.
"Valerie? She's my roommate? Anyway, she says you pay a hundred bucks to take some pictures?" Laci asked Bobby.
Bobby posed the bubbly blonde and again, the magazine sent him another check for a thousand dollars; they used the photograph of Laci licking her own nipple.
"Um, your um, your sister?" A black girl asked.
The magazine used the photograph of Tunesia peering over her shoulder at Bobby as she bent to tie her shoelaces. The photograph showed just a hint of the girl's dark anus and light pink lips in a thicket of black curls.
By now, Bobby had quite a stash of high quality glossies of some very attractive college girls. He also had signed releases from each of them. The releases, downloaded from a free legal web site, gave Bobby full and total artistic control over the images.
The releases also stated that each of his models had already received payment for their images; Bobby wasn't about to pay any of the girls double.
Flipping through the photographs of Tamara; it truly did baffle him why the magazine had not used any of the photographs of the stunning brunette, Bobby had an epiphany.
The photograph showed Tamara with the metal tip of an umbrella about to enter her vagina. Her nasty smile said to the camera 'this isn't the first time I've stuck something up there.'
'Parasols Magazine' was started in Bobby Elswell's bedroom, with his domineering mother's bedroom on the other side of a thin wall. The articles were gleaned from free web sites, each giving full credit to the authors. Bobby was also savvy enough to email each web site, getting permission to use the articles.
The 'Letters to the Editor' were written by himself, complete with typographical errors and horrible run-on sentences.
His sister was the first cover girl, dressed in short raincoat, a single button holding the coat closed, the tip of an umbrella touching her pouting lips.
Second Edition
By the time Barbara Elswell, Bobby's mother found out what her filthy minded little boy was doing, the nineteen year old man was already a sophomore at the University of Louisiana at DeGarde, in DeGarde, Louisiana.
Throwing him and his vile, disgusting photographic equipment did not slow the production of Parasols down one bit; Bobby quickly rented an office in Kimble, Louisiana and put out the November issue, an issue devoted to women past the age of fifty that still had that certain appeal.
By now, Bobby didn't have to make up 'Letters to the Editor' or glean articles from the Internet.
"Hey, you need to do a 'Where Are They Now' kind of thing," Valerie, his sister suggested.
"Valerie, it hasn't even been two years, where are they now is pretty much right where we left them," Bobby said.
"That's not true; I mean, Laci's knocked up and Tamara's got them jailhouse tats," Valerie said.
"Laci's knocked up?" Bobby asked, his cock jerking.
"Yeah, but don't worry; it's not yours," Valerie smirked.
"No, no, get her in here," Bobby ordered. "If she's showing, she'll be our December 'Open the Present' cover girl.
"Well, you like knocked up, shit, I got me about three or four girlfriends that are all preggers," Valerie said.
Laci, dressed in long raincoat, open parasol over her shoulder, pregnant belly sticking out of the fancy coat, was the cover girl. She was especially thrilled to find out that being the cover girl meant she got an additional thousand dollars.
Tamara was the May Cover Girl, but Bobby decided to limit future issues to only one or two girls with tattoos; circulation fell by nearly ten thousand for the Tattoo Issue.
Bobby was amazed at two things.
One, he had absolutely no shortage of women, and men, willing to take their clothes off for a camera. There was no shortage of women, and men, that were willing to spread their legs, pull their buttocks apart, their vulvas wide open, insert the tips of umbrellas into their anuses, their vaginas, even their urethra.
He had sweet angelic looking girls, slutty trash girls, women as old as seventy nine (that grandmother received over a hundred letters and quite a few proposals of marriage)
He had sweet cherubic boys, buff football players, chubby men willing, even begging for a chance to show their all for a couple hundred bucks.
"I told my Daddy I was going be in your magazine; he said he wants like a hundred copies," a wide eyed innocent looking blonde said as she spread her pink lips wide for his camera. "Fuck! Am I too wet? I know I'm wet, am I too wet?"
The other thing that amazed Bobby was how many of these girls, women, and even men were willing to sleep with him for a chance to be in his magazine.
