© Connard Wellingham 2007

"Come on, old man, let's get this over with," she said in a tone of utter boredom.

That was the final straw. My erection, already threatening to wilt, drooped like a dead chrysanthemum. My face took on the hue of Rudolf's nose.

"I'm sorry, Dave," I muttered. "This was a really bad idea."

"Okay, folks, take five," he called to the assembled crew.

I poured a cup of the sludge that had been provided as coffee and slunk off to a quiet corner to nurse my injured pride. How the hell had I let myself be talked into this? Talk about an old fool...

We had been in the pub. It had been someone's leaving do so the drinking had started early. We were in the third, or maybe it was the fourth, pub. The normal people had long gone; the ones with wives or husbands or home lives or just had better things to do with their time than get rat-arsed on a Friday night, so it was just the hard-core drinkers that remained. I didn't really count myself among that group but as I had neither wife nor husband waiting for me nor, come to that, much of a home life or anything better to do, I joined them from time to time.

Being men and being drunk, the talk inevitably turned to women. Not, of course, how pleasant we found their company or how we admired their ability to cope with two screaming children while still managing to prepare the evening meal: no, the discussion centred around such enlightening topics as whether Victoria Beckham had really had a boob job and now much more silicone Jordan could assimilate. Someone mentioned some porn star called Minka and there was general agreement among those who knew who she was that there were limits to everything, even tits. That led to someone remarking that he didn't care how much silicone they had, he wouldn't mind being a porn star. Someone else, Alan I think it was, remarked that there was a new genre of porn with natural-looking actresses, generally very young: many of them pretend to be amateurs. I vaguely wondered how come he knew so much about it.

And it was at this point disaster struck for the next comment was from Frank who complained that his e-mail was fucked because he was being spammed by adverts for sites where old men screw young women. I laughed. The whole idea seemed so preposterous. Who would want to see some overweight, balding old guy having it away with some twenty-year-old and why would the said twenty-year-old want to have anything to do with an overweight, balding old guy?

"It's true you know," someone said quietly in my ear.

It was a fellow from one of our subsidiary offices. I think he'd said his name was Roger. Anyway, I didn't know him that well.

"How would you know?" I asked a trifle belligerently.

"I have connections," he smiled.

"Connections? What sort of connections?"

"With the business. Frank's right; there are sites that show older men having sex with young women. And they're very popular."

I regarded him somewhat blearily. "Do they bring them out of retirement? You know, like whatshisface, John Holmes?"

He laughed. "Hardly. Mostly they're amateurs. It's not easy being a man in a porn movie."

"How hard can it be?" I said and laughed uproariously at my clever pun.

He merely smiled. I had the sudden impression he was not nearly as drunk as I was. "How long can you keep an erection?"

"I dunno. I've never tried."

"Can you get one easily?"

"How do you mean?" I wasn't sure I liked the direction this conversation was going.

"Do you take a long time to get it up or does it just sort of pop up of its own accord."

"That's pretty damn personal but the latter. What's this all about, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Just asking. You're in good shape, got no ties, not bad looking. Would you be interested?"

"Interested in what?" I knew I should have refused that last pint.

"In making a movie."

"Movie? You mean... ?" I struggled to kick my beer-befuddled brain into gear. "What would I have to do?"

He laughed. "The usual things."

"Usual... ? Right. I get it. The usual things. Very good," I laughed too loudly at his joke.

"So, you interested?"

"I dunno. Older men and younger women, you said?" He nodded. "How young?"

He shrugged again. "Anywhere between eighteen and twenty-five. Can't be younger than eighteen. Not legal in the States, you know." He gave me a knowing look. "Of course, there's always the, er, more mature women, if you'd prefer."

"More mature?"

He spread his arms wide. "You know, larger."

I shuddered. "No thanks. I prefer 'em slim."

"Takes all sorts, you know."

"Tell me." Mike Jones, our financial controller was married to a lady about twice his size and seemed deliriously happy. A little bit of sense began to creep in. "Would I be... recognisable?"

"Of course. That's the point. Ordinary bloke screws young thing."

"But what if..." I indicated our drinking companions who were arguing about football again.

"So what," he grinned. "First off, no-one's going to recognise you with your clothes off and second, what the hell?"

The idea of actually having sex with a girl half my age finally penetrated my drink-sodden brain and, despite being well over the odds, my gonads took over and I became half hard. No problem getting it up, at any rate. Sex with some sexy bint? Yeah. Someone would be filming me but they had cam-corders these days, didn't they? How hard could it be?

"What the hell. Fuck it, you've convinced me."

"Give me your mobile number and I'll call you next week."

He drifted off and, after downing the rest of my pint, I realised I'd had more than enough so made my excuses and left.

The weird conversation came back to me the following afternoon, once the inevitable hangover had subsided to a dull pounding and general feeling of unwellness. I replayed it in my head and dismissed it as the usual sort of arrangements men make when they're pissed. You know, someone persuades you what a brilliant experience white water rafting is and promises to invite you next time they're going when the truth is that they've done it once and pissed themselves all the way down and you get seasick on a pedallo.

On Wednesday my mobile rang with a number I didn't recognise.

"Pete? It's Roger."

"Roger?"

"Yes, you remember. The pub. Last Friday."

"Roger. Yeah. Sorry. How are you?"

"Fine. Fine. You? Recovered?"

"Had one hell of a hangover on Saturday but, yes, I'm fine."

"You remember our conversation?"

"About screw..."

"Not over the phone, please."

"What? Okay. Yes, I remember."

"You still interested?"

Was I interested? Sad, lonely, fifty-two-year-old Pete gets the chance to have sex with twenty-something girl. You bet I was interested.

"I'm interested."

"Good. I'll make some calls. Someone called Dave will probably call you."

"Dave. Right."

"Have fun."

As he rang off, I looked at the phone as if it was a piece of alien sculpture. What had I done? Had I really just agreed to take part in a porn movie? I still couldn't get my head round it.

Dave phoned the following week. He was a bit cagey and tried to ask me all sorts of intimate questions about my sex life, the size of my cock and my stamina without actually asking any direct questions. It was very Kafka-esque.

"Wouldn't it be easier if we met somewhere?" I asked.

"Not really practical. Rog said you were okay so I'm taking a chance. You free this weekend?"

"Yes."

"Right, give your e-mail and I'll send you details."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Truth is, I'm a bit stuck. My regular's had a heart attack."

"Dangerous business, then."

"Naw. Not connected. Silly fool thought he ought to get fit so started going to weight training and aerobics and all sorts. Overdid it."

"Oh. Okay. What do I need to bring."

"Nothing. Just you."

I took special care with my ablutions on Saturday. Not bad, I thought as I surveyed myself critically in the mirror, bum's a bit saggy, there's a bit too much weight around the middle, face is... passable, hair's receding a bit but the shoulders are still there and there's not too much extra weight... I sucked my stomach in... yes, all in all, not bad.

At ten o'clock I was ringing the bell of the non-descript door at the address Dave had e-mailed. It wasn't the most salubrious address in town but that was hardly surprising.

"Yes?" a voice asked from the metal grille at the side of the door.

"I'm Pete. Dave asked me to come."

"Okay. Just push the door and some up. First floor."

There was a buzzing noise and I pushed the door. The hinges squeaked. I was faced with a narrow dingy hallway with two doors and worn stone stairs going up. At the top was a landing with two doors and more stairs going up. The doors were closed but one of them had a grimy plate with the words 'DC Productions' engraved on it in curly letters so I assumed this was the one.

The door wasn't locked. I stepped in to a small reception area much in need of a coat of paint. There was a threadbare carpet on the floor that might, once have been green, and a desk and chair that looked like they'd been rescued from a skip with a battered computer on top. It was empty.

As I wondered if I should try the only other door, it opened and a man came out. He was about my age with long, greasy hair tied in a pony-tail with a leather band. To say his face looked 'lived in' would have been kind. He was more than a little overweight and was wearing a well-worn t-shirt with 'AC/DC Tour 1999' printed on it, black jeans that were too long and black Doc Martins.

"You Pete?" he asked, holding out his hand. "I'm Dave."

I shook his hand. His grip was surprisingly firm and friendly. He stepped back and looked me up and down.

"Not bad," he said and grinned. "No corset, I take it?"

"What you see is what you get."

"Good." His grin was friendly and I realised I shouldn't judge by appearances. "Come through and I'll introduce you."

We went into the studio. It wasn't what I expected, not that I'd had any real expectations other then something more... intimate. This looked like a real film studio. It wasn't particularly large but it had two... sets I suppose you could call them. Anyway, there was a sort of living room with a leather couch, an armchair, a small bookcase and a potted plant on a stand. The whole lot were parked on an off-cut of carpet with a piece of flimsy board behind it made to look like a living room wall. The other set was a bed with a sheet, clean, but no covers. There were two bedside tables and brass bedside lamps and fluffy mats on either side but no carpet. The rest of the space was taken up with huge, white umbrellas on stands, spotlights, two large microphones on booms and cables running everywhere. The six people, eight if you counted us, made it seem crowded.

"People, this is Pete. He's here to fill in for Jerry."

There were casual waves and greetings of, "Hi, Pete," from the group.

Dave waved at the various members. "Mark is the cameraman, John and Alec are lighting, Jim is sound, Dave is electrics and Morag is continuity." I hadn't noticed that one of them was a woman. They were all dressed like Dave; black t-shirts, black jeans and black shoes. "Let's get some coffee and I'll fill you in."

There was an urn and some chipped mugs on a table in the corner. Milk came from a carton and sugar from the packet. The coffee tasted like shite.

"This is your first time, right," he began. "There's really nothing to it. There's no story as such so you don't have to do any acting. We'll do one scenario and, depending on how that goes, maybe a second one. In a moment I'll take you through and get Marjie to get you ready, make-up and that. Okay so far?"

I nodded, bemused. It was only just beginning to dawn on me that I was going to have sex with a girl in front of a bunch of strangers.

"Dave to Pete. Come in, Pete." His voice held amusement.

"Sorry. I'm just a bit overwhelmed."

"Don't worry about it. Actually I should apologise. I don't normally dump people in at the deep end. Usually, I'd have you down here a couple of times to see what happens and let you get used to it. It isn't for everyone and, sometimes, people chicken out. But I really am desperate and Roger said you were okay so I decided to chance it. Don't let it faze you. The secret is concentration. Shut everything else out and focus on the girl... and my instructions, of course." He grinned. "With the lights and all, you won't see much anyway." He tugged at his t-shirt. "We'll take it as slow as you like. It's kind of lucky we've got Amber today. She's one of the better ones."

I wondered where this Amber was and what she looked like. How was she 'better'?

"I'll do my best," I said.

He clapped me on the arm. "Can't say fairer than that. Okay, here's the story, such as it is. Amber's on the couch. She's really horny and is masturbating. You come in. She's not getting off on her fingers so she grabs you, pulls your dick out and starts giving you a blow-job. The blow-job is important. Guys like seeing a girl give head. Don't cum, whatever you do. When she's got you up, you go down and eat her for a while then you fuck her on the couch. You've heard of the money shot?" I shook my head. "That's when the guy cums. Whatever you do, don't cum inside her. The punters like to see the guy cum so you'll do it on her face. Got it?"

"I think so. Do I use a condom?"

"Yeah. And that's another reason for pulling out. We need to get the condom off before you shoot." He sighed. "I know it's safer in this day and age but it was an awful lot easier when the guy just pulled out at the last minute and shot all over the girl. Let's go find Marjie and get you set up."

Off to one side there were two doors. He ushered me through one and banged on the other.

"Marjie, you about ready?"

The dressing room was little more than a large cupboard. It had a separate toilet at one end, a wash hand basin, a recessed hanging space with some clothes on hangers and what looked like a section of kitchen work-top littered with jars, bottles, brushes and little boxes. On the wall behind it was a large mirror with bare light bulbs all round it, three of which were broken.

A small woman came bustling in. She had a cascade of black hair and a swarthy complexion and a sour-looking expression. She was wearing the ubiquitous black t-shirt and jeans which seemed to conceal an interesting-looking set of curves.

"I'm Marjie," she said, unnecessarily. "You must be Pete. Sit down. No, first, go to the toilet then get yourself clean in the basin." I gave her a puzzled look. "Amber's going to be taking your dick in her mouth. She doesn't want it to taste of piss."

I used the toilet, conscious that there was a reasonably attractive woman just outside. Washing presented more of a problem. How was I going to clean myself without soaking my trousers?

"Just take them off," Marjie said coldly as if divining my thoughts. "And wash your balls, too. Thoroughly."

I was about to retort that I'd showered thoroughly this morning but didn't. So far my porn experience wasn't going well. I felt like a prize bull in a show-ring. No-one seemed to care about what I felt or thought. It was almost as if I was some object that had a useful purpose but, otherwise, no intrinsic value.

I stripped my lower half, trying not to notice Marjie's stare, and washed myself thoroughly. At least the water was hot.

"Strip," she commanded when I had finished and sighed at my hesitation. "Look, in a minute you're going to be naked in front of the cameras. You'd better get used to it quick."

I removed the rest of my clothes. She nodded but made no comment.

"What's your measurements?"

"Measurements?

"Waist, inside leg, chest and shoes?"

"Thirty six, thirty two, forty and eleven."

She pulled a short-sleeved shirt form a hangar and handed it to me. It had fake buttons and was held together by Velcro. It fitted okay. Next came a pair of blue trousers.

"No underwear?" I asked.

"Ever tried getting a stiff dick out of a pair of boxers?"

I had. The trousers weren't the best fit. Too loose and baggy for my taste but they seemed to satisfy her. Lastly came a pair of black moccasins with no socks.

"You'll do. Now lose the shirt and sit."

She took out some sort of meter or something and held it next to my body.

"Shit," she remarked and opened the door and shouted for Dave.

"What's the problem?" he asked as he ambled over.

"I'll need to do an all-over." She held the meter for him to see.

"Okay, but not too much," he nodded. "If you're going to make career of this," he grinned at me, "you might think about getting a sun tan."

"What's the problem?" I asked Marjie.

"Your skin's too light. I need to darken it. Here," she handed me a damp pad, "you do the front and I'll do the back. Just apply it lightly. Don't work it in. Do a bit and let me see."

I swiped the pad across my chest a few times. She regarded me critically then nodded.

"That'll do."

It was a bizarre experience standing there, wiping colour onto my chest and arms while she did the same to my back. I was instructed to do underneath my arms as well. Of course, she was faster than I and made me stand with my legs apart while she prized my buttocks apart and applied the lotion to the crack between them. Doing the inside of my thighs was even more embarrassing. It should have been sexy; after all, a not unattractive young woman was handling me most intimately, but her rather brusque manner removed any eroticism that might have existed. She was no more emotional than a doctor.

When all was done, she regarded me critically and swiped at various bits where I had been less than perfect.

"Okay, you'll do. Sit."

"How does it come off?" I asked.

"It'll wash off in a couple of days."

She did things to my face. I hadn't realised just how much make-up was required for a movie. I felt a bit like I had a mask on and my reflection didn't help. I didn't look like me.

"You'll look good for the camera and that's all that counts," she said.

When we finally emerged, a young woman was sitting on the settee looking bored and reading a magazine. She was dressed in a light dressing-gown so I couldn't see what her figure was like. She glanced up but didn't particularly acknowledge my existence. As I was going to be having sex with her shortly, I felt that, at least, I should introduce myself but I didn't know the etiquette here so I said nothing.

"Amber, this is Pete," Dave said. "He's standing in for Jerry at short notice."

She looked up this time and gave a bored smile. "Hi, Pete," she said.

I said, "Hi," back.

As Dave fussed around, I took the opportunity to study my co-star. She was in her early twenties, I guessed. Under the make-up it was difficult to be precise. She had blonde-streaked hair that fell below her shoulders, blue eyes, good cheekbones, pointed chin and a small mouth with full lips. If she hadn't looked so bored, she'd have been very attractive. Her hands were small and delicate, as were her feet. From what I could see of her legs, they looked slender and shapely.

"Okay, folks," Dave called. "Let's do a run-through. Pete, you wait over there and, at my signal, walk in. You suddenly notice Amber, stop and then walk towards her. Amber, you're masturbating and don't notice Pete until he's near the couch. Then you look up and look embarrassed."

I did as I was told. The cameraman jumped around like a demented fly. I hadn't realised ho close to the action he got. When we were done, Dave, Mark and Morag consulted together.

"Let's do it again," Dave said. "This time, Pete, look over there as you some on and don't stop when you see Amber, just sort of pause. Amber, swing one leg up on the back of the settee, please. When you see Pete, stop for a second as if you're giving him a good look before sitting up."

So we tried it again and a third time and a fourth until Dave and Mark were satisfied. We didn't spend much time on the blow-job as there was no movement. I was to stand facing the couch while Amber sucked me. We posed rather awkwardly, me with my pelvis thrust forward and Amber with her face at my crotch while Dave and Mark discussed camera angles. The scene where I returned the favour was equally bizarre. I knelt on the carpet with my head between Amber's spread thighs while she relined back and arched her back as if I was giving her extreme pleasure. At least I got the chance to see a bit more of her body for the robe fell away from her legs. They were, as I had suspected, pleasantly slender. Her mons wasn't all that prominent but her light brown pubic hair had been neatly trimmed into a small, upward-pointing arrowhead. Her outer labia were thin and the darker inner labia were visible even though she was not aroused. The small bump of her clitoral hood was visible. She smelt nice and clean and I found myself responding.

For the fucking scene, all Dave did was have me pose myself over Amber on the settee as if I was about to penetrate her. I was looking directly at her face but she kept her expression blank. It was as if she had switched herself off and was here only in body.

"I like that," Dave said. "You're quite I big guy, Pete, and having you loom over Amber like that looks good. We'll do the rest of the final bit once we see how the rest goes. Okay, let's go for it. Places everyone."

I felt suddenly tense and nervous. Up to now it had all been a bit casual and relaxed but, now, suddenly everyone was business-like. The crew, except Mark and Dave, seemed to fade into the background. The lights seemed brighter and hotter. I realised my hands were sweating. I took several deep breaths and told myself to relax, it was just another walk-through and I was about to get my cock sucked for real and, anyway, it didn't matter if I screwed up as we could always to another take.

Amber shucked her robe which Marjie whisked away and I got to see Amber naked for the first time. I was impressed. She was slim and looked fit. She had reasonably good hips and a waist. Her breasts weren't large but stuck out very nicely indeed with slightly tip-tilted nipples and good-sized areolae. All in all she was an attractive girl. If only she seemed more interested.

At Dave's signal, she reclined on the settee and the camera began to roll. I couldn't see her but I could see Mark creeping round like an insect on the prowl, moving in close at crotch level then pulling back and standing to look down on Amber's reclining form. Her leg came up along the back of the settee and Mark was back, crouching down at the end of the couch with his lens peering between her spread thighs. I couldn't see Amber but I could hear her. Whether she was naturally vocal or put it on for the camera, I didn't know but I could clearly hear the little gasps and moans she made as she worked herself up. I began to get excited. It was going to happen for real. In a moment I would walk out and Amber would pull out my cock and take it in her mouth. I almost missed Dave's signal.

I swallowed hard then strolled forward, trying to remember what I'd been told about where to look and where to stop. The camera lens swung in my direction and I faltered. This was it. I was being filmed. Oh, shit. Somehow I managed to get my feet moving again and got to the spot I was supposed to notice Amber. I swung my gaze towards the settee and faltered again. It's one thing doing a walk-through; it's something else standing in the wings and listening to a young woman masturbate but it's an experience of quite a different magnitude to be no more than six feet away from a sexy blonde who is sprawled on a settee with one foot on the floor, the other on the back of the settee and has two fingers buried in her snatch. I froze.

"Cut," Dave shouted. "What's the problem, Pete?"

"Sorry, Dave. Stage fright, I'm afraid. It all just sort of hit me at once."

"Don't worry about it," he patted me on the shoulder. "Happens to us all; even Amber." Amber was looking bored. "Let's do it again. Oh, and Pete, I liked that little pause at the beginning. It was as if you knew there was something wrong but couldn't work out what. Do that again."

Praise, indeed. At least I'd done something right. We did the scene again and this time I got it right. I stopped, noticed Amber and walked towards the settee. She noticed me, pretended to be surprised, sat up and reached for my fly. I thought it was okay but Dave wasn't satisfied. He wanted me to actually stop without moving while Mark changed positions before heading to the settee. We tried it twice more before he was satisfied.

Then we had to stop again with Amber's fingers poised over my fly while Mark got into position. I wondered why they didn't just have two cameras and wondered, further, how they did it in a professional studio. At last all was ready and Amber's expert fingers delved into my fly and pulled out my limp cock. I'm not particularly impressive when soft but I grow to quite a respectable size given some encouragement. And encouragement is what Amber gave. She may have been bored but she knew how to give head. Her mouth was like a hot vacuum cleaner, her tongue as flexible as a snake, her lips and delicate as butterflies. At least they were at first. She was used to pros who needed a lot of working up, at least I assumed from the porn films I'd seen that that was the reason the women seemed to attack the men's cocks like demented woodpeckers. Before I knew it, her head was bobbing up and down like a buoy in a Force 9 gale and her hand was wrapped around my shaft like a vice. I wilted. Well, it was sore.

"What's the problem, now?" Dave asked.

"The problem is that I'm not a pro." I said, massaging my sore cock and wincing.

"He's right, Amber. Go easy, will you?"

"Sorry," she muttered not looking a bit repentant.

"Take it again from where Amber unzips him." Dave said.

"You'll have to put it away, first," Amber said.

Good God, she speaks, too.

Morag came bustling up with some sort of picture and pushed and pulled us around until she had us arranged the way she wanted. I assumed it was a still from the movie and we were required to be in exactly the right positions before they started shooting again. At least I'd learned what a continuity girl did.

This time Amber was more gentle and it wasn't long before she had me up and running again. I managed to shut out the studio and the lights and concentrate on her ministrations. It wasn't hard: she was very talented. I wanted to put my hand on her head and tell her she was doing a great job but Dave hadn't said anything about that so I didn't. The blow-job seemed to go on for ages. I remembered Dave saying that it was important so I assumed that was why. While I was hard, all the stopping and starting and the strangeness of the situation meant that I wasn't anywhere near cumming which was a good thing I supposed.

At last Dave called stop. Amber immediately let me go. I took the opportunity to thank her, saying how much I enjoyed it. She just looked at me blankly.

Now it was my turn to reciprocate. Dave arranged us how he wanted and Mark jinked around until he had the angle he wanted. As we waited I tried to make eye contact with Amber but she was away off in la-la land again. I wondered if she was on drugs or something. It didn't seem natural for someone to be this far removed from something so intimate as having sex.

We started again. I'd been told to move in slowly so I kissed up the inside of one of Amber's thighs. She gave a little start as if she hadn't been expecting it then settled back. She had smelt nice during the walk-through and she smelled even better now. She was still wet from her masturbation session and her labia were flushed and swollen. The inner ones in particular were fully engorged and a delightful dark red colour. Her aroma was tart with an underlying muskiness and I was looking forward to eating her. I reached her vulva and started licking.

Dave hadn't told me what to do so I took it that nothing was out-of-bounds. I also felt challenged. So far, she had said nine words to me, one of them being, 'Hi'. I wanted get her attention. I wanted to acknowledge that I was more than a walking cock, so I set about my task with some enthusiasm. Now, I know I'm not the world's greatest cunnilinguist but I also know I didn't do too bad a job. But, however hard I tried, I couldn't seem to connect with her. Oh, she made all the right noises; she wriggled and squirmed and panted and moaned but I knew she was acting. I was really pissed off and was glad when Dave called 'time'.

Marjie appeared with damp cloths, handed me one then tenderly cleaned Amber. I wiped my face and looked for somewhere to put the cloth. Morag took it from me with a sympathetic look. Marjie finished her task and looked at me. Her face clouded.