Getting It Up for a Porn Movie

It was December 1974 and the British film business was in dire straits. Bob Gill, one of the top graphic artists, and I were contemplating the prospects of 1975 with horror when he popped the porn question: "Do you know anybody who could write a dirty movie?"

"Yeah," I said, "I can."

We instantly turned on to the thought of making some fast money in, we assumed, an easy and sexy way. Though virgins at the business ourselves, we would have the help and advice of Bernie Stone, an excellent film editor and seasoned porn fancier. Bernie has a place in porno history, in fact, as the editor of one of the first soft-core movies ever made, Orgy at Lil's Place. I would write, Bob would direct, Bernie would edit. We couldn't lose.

Having accepted their gamy proposal, I sat down at my typewriter and tried to sort out my hairy-palmed fantasies. I masticated on them for a beat or two before the juices began to flow and the ideas came thick and fast. Even my muse, an old pro, was breathing heavily as the steamy panting prose was hammered onto the naked pages by the hot thudding keys. As porn movies are aimed primarily at voyeurs, this story would follow an endless chain, a daisy chain of voyeurs watching voyeurs watching, which would also let us contrast different kinds of sexual loving. It was packed with double doubles and called The Double Exposure of Holly.

Soon I had knocked off a 12-page treatment and broken down one of the scenes into action and dialog; so armed, I arrived in New York. Bernie had a friend who had promised to back the project. We had the treatment copied and sent it to all the various angels, then waited for the money to pour in. It was a long wait before we discovered a simple truth: Angels have no balls.

So I decided to raise the money and produce the picture myself. Although I kept hearing about all the easy money to be had in the porn business, little of it fell into my crotch. A producer's lot is to persuade investors who want (continued on page 128)Porn Movie(continued from page 123) to make money, and those who are prepared to risk it, that both should contribute. To meet with lawyers and accountants. To be available at all times, day and night. To waltz rich young zaftig widows around the disco floor. To keep from screaming at backers who back out and to soothe and coddle those who stay in. To do pleasure with people like that is a real business.

Foreplay

My first prospective investor was a publisher, John Cliff, a charming and urbane man in a velvet suit with a beard to match. He was friendly and helpful and gave me another connection, David Cairo.

Cairo's apartment was styled in bargain-basement baroque. "How much do you need?" he asked, his eyes firmly fastened on my left ear.

"Ninety thousand dollars."

"Chicken feed," he said with a smile, but I noticed his smile didn't quite reach his teeth. "I'll give you the whole ninety thousand and you can start shooting in three months."

"You mean it, Mr. Cairo?"

"You have my word, Mr. O'Casey."

I finished the script by early June. We sent it to Cairo and waited for the money. And waited. He never took a call and never called us back. But another friend of Cliff's, tax-shelter specialist Kurt Tallboy, said, "I'll invest ten grand if I like the script, but I'm off to Philadelphia in the morning." He took the screenplay, wrapped in a plain brown wrapper, to read on the plane. He called to say he approved and was in for $10,000.

Cliff said, "Yeah, I think it's erotic; put me down for five thousand." It was a start.

The next couple of weeks were spent chasing verbal promises but with the uneasy feeling that they weren't worth the paper they weren't written on. A further fortnight of daytime meetings with lawyers, parties and night clubs with a doctor and his group. The doctor promised $40,000--$20,000 from him and $20,000 from one of his friends, "if you can structure the deal as a tax shelter."

"Would a one-to-one ratio be enough?"

"Sure, perfect." We were in! Fifty-five thousand was enough to start shooting, so we swung into action.

Casting

We got an office and a production secretary, Glenda, who put an ad in the trade papers: "Casting call for The Double Exposure of Holly. X-rated film. Male and female leading roles--involving sex. Also straight parts--bit parts--extras. Phone Double Exposure Company." We hired two ex-porn stars--Dolly, to handle wardrobe and advise on sex, and Chuck, as production assistant and sexpert. Dolly is a compulsive talker and note taker, tiny and gaunt, almost anorexia nervosa, which might be caused by her never closing her mouth long enough to put anything in it, even a cock. We ran a couple of her old movies; she had a beautiful face and a lush and sensuous body, but her voice was scratchy and shrill and if pitched one half decibel higher, would have caused actual pain. Chuck is an ex-pro footballer with a face like a gridiron, muscles in his stools and a reputed 11-1/2-inch schlong. He had once performed a prodigious feat in a porn movie and, as a result, was known respectfully as "Five-cum." We took on a cameraman, Hermann Huxley (a pseudonym after his favorites, Hesse and Aldous), a big deep Southerner, perceptive and witty, and a first-rate photographer. We were soon flooded with calls and we set the first day of casting.

The first three days were disappointing, nothing but men and none of them for the sexy parts. Then we got our first foxy lady, with a mouth as loose as an old condom. "Will you read some lines for me?"

"Shit, no, I can't read lines, but I sure suck great cock."

"Really?"

"Would you like me to demonstrate?"

"Oh, well, ah, you see, we haven't hired any actors yet."

She grinned, "You'll do fine."

"No, thanks."

"I've done some pretty fair loops, too; would you like to see them?" (Loops are short bits of film, just plotless photographed fucks and generally rather sleazy.)

"Maybe later." She was unperturbed and breezed out of the office.

Another applicant, a striking redhead, came in apologizing, "Sorry if I seemed a bit confused when we were talking on the phone this morning, but someone was eating my cunt and I found it distracting." It took a while for us to get used to this kind of frankness and the actors were far more comfortable about the whole business. Some of them were more at ease naked than clothed, sitting around the office drinking coffee and chatting while flashing their tits, cocks and pudenda.

We got our share of oddballs. One poor wreck of a girl who was very nervous said, "I like fucking on camera, but it will all have to be in huge close-up."

"But why?"

"You see, I'm covered in heroin tracks."

Two Finnish lesbians who were ready for anything but would fuck a man only if they were both involved. A decidedly pudgy young man who swished in with a complete set of stills of himself in full drag, promising, "Honestly, nobody will ever know." And a creepy character who announced himself as Dr. Infinity. "Why Infinity?"

He snickered, "I blow my own horn."

"I don't get it."

He looked hurt. "I blow myself." He distributed large color photographs of himself with his own cock in his mouth. He was both well hung and agile, almost double-jointed. Beating your meat is one thing, but eating your meat! Vegetarianism beckoned.

Annie Sprinkles waltzed into the office, just 21, open-faced, funny and direct. "Can you act?"

"Sure. You see, I used to work in a massage parlor, and that's great experience, because, like, you have to be all kinds of women. Like, one guy wants you to be his teacher or his sister, another guy wants you to be a maid or a governess or his mother. One guy even wanted me to be a nun. They're much closer to you than an audience is, so you've gotta be good. Yeah, I really get into that kind...a thing." We hired her on the spot and even used her little speech in the movie. Both of our sexperts advised us to use Annie on the set as "fluff" or "best girl," whose job it is to see that the male stars don't start at half cock. Should there be any flagging during the actual performance, the fluff comes in and raises the jolly roger.

In an effort to vary the usual pairing, we had one scene with a Japanese bridal couple on their first night. We wanted a ritual Eastern affair with full kimonos, pillow book, sake, flower arrangement, the whole kit and Rashomon caboodle. There was one tiny problem. We simply could not find an Oriental couple. So Five-cum suggested, "Hey, man, I know just the place, the massage parlors on Broadway and Eighth, and the best time to go is late Saturday night."

We went to one tawdry sex haven after another, but all were fresh out of Orientals. We got lucky in the tenth and found a lovely Japanese go-go dancer. Five-cum blurted out, "How'd ya like to fuck on film?"

"Not particularly."

Chuck's right hand, which was always hovering in the vicinity of his crotch, either patting it or adjusting it or simply reassuring himself that the monster was still there, suddenly darted to the top of his zip. "Would ya believe eleven and a half inches?" Her eyes slanted in frank disbelief. The author, chickenshit, split.

So the Japanese were out. Our scene became instead the seduction of a young gay male by a girl who was in love with him, and we got a perfect duo: a beautiful young married couple--Bree Anthony and her husband, Tony Blue. They work as a team. Their marriage is literally a showpiece.

Now we had to decide between two (continued on page 156)Porn Movie(continued from page 128) strong possibilities for the male lead, Mark. Dolly shrilled, "They look all right, but can they get it up?"

"How do we find out?"

"Test them."

"Test them?"

"Sure, get Annie, go to Bernie's apartment and have a fuck test."

So the two sexperts, Bob, Bernie and I waited for Annie, who came from a modeling session for National Lampoon. She giggled, "They were using our naked bodies as furniture."

"How, Annie?"

"Well, like, my right tit was used as a paperweight."

The first of the two candidates, Don Peterson, arrived and Annie whisked him off to the bedroom. We gave them ten minutes before we filtered in. They were stripped and Annie was giving him the full deep-throat treatment, which was surprisingly loud--much lip smacking and sucking noises and her cheeks fluttered as she blew in and out. Her hands caressed his body and her eyes locked his in deep intimacy. We made it as difficult as possible by moving around, smoking, chatting, cracking gags, but Don and Annie were somewhere else and his cock was straight and stiff. Dolly leaned over the bed for a better look and a cool appraisal. "Good, that's a nice hard-on." She turned to us: "Now how about a nice cum shot?"

"Ah. Well, ah. No, we don't think that's, ah, necessary." Don, much relieved, split.

Candidate number two arrived, far from happy, and when he went into the bedroom, started pulling down the blinds. "Shit, some of the neighbors could see in." Under the circumstances, an odd concern. Number two was a nice-looking fellow with a well-developed body and an average-sized cock that was standing up quite well under the pressure. Dolly took a long, hard look at him, noting the beads of sweat on his forehead and the tension in his body, and gave us the thumbs down. Chuck took a scornful look at the size of his prick and gave us the uplifted pinkie.

After number two left, we protested Five-cum's awful behavior. He was unimpressed. His right hand flew to his fly: "Wanna see a real cock?"

The casting was progressing nicely. Don Peterson, a big, easygoing Swede who looks uncannily like John Lindsay, landed the part of Mark. Terri Hall, star of The Story of Joanna, was to be our Kim. When she walked into the office, she looked at Chuck and smiled, "Hi, Five-cum, how's your nice big cock?"

He was delighted. "What'd I tell ya?" His right hand patted the bulge approvingly. Terri is slightly spaced out but professional, and with a touching, vulnerable quality.

The part of Archie was difficult to cast; he had to be both a good actor and a proficient stud. Terri and Annie both recommended Jamie Gillis and, for once, we listened. Jamie on himself: "I'm an actor who likes to fuck and where else do you get paid to do both?" On movies: "Just because a film has fucking in it doesn't mean it's a bad film." On actresses: "They are delicious. They are only too conscious of the fact that die men have to prove themselves and they're so supportive. Watch the girls when a sex scene is about to be shot. They focus on the man and build his confidence and are as seductive as hell."

The part of Holly went to a voluptuous blonde who murmured, "I just can't wait to lay Don Peterson."

The gangster Ni Castro went to Robert Maroff and I agreed to play Lee, the double-dealing lawyer. We settled on all the bit parts and walk-ons. The picture was cast.

I was still running in circles--like a thin version of Zero Mostel in The Producers--chasing my ass trying to raise the necessary money, entertaining and being entertained by prospective investors. We had guarantees of $55,000 and needed a further $35,000. As there was just over a week to go, I called in the money. Kool Kurt and John coughed up at once. The doctor, however, announced he could invest only $10,000. In the next week, I secured three more $5000 investments and Bernie said that $40,000 was enough to start shooting. We'd have to cut every conceivable corner, but it could be done; nine days at $4000 a day. We would start on a Saturday and work straight through, which would give us the use of the equipment--which is rented on a five-day basis--for two free weekends.

We fixed the locations and started rehearsing the cast. Bernie phoned two days before filming was due to start: "Ronan, tsooris, the leading lady just walked out."

I called her and reminded her of her contractual obligations and the fact that she was letting everyone down. She was ice cold. "So sue me."

I put an Irish curse on her--"May her shadow disappear and her nipples invert."

We had to postpone for a week and used the crisis to do some streamlining. We fired the two ex-porn stars; though Dolly had given us good advice, her incessant chatter and compulsion to buy the wrong props were driving us crazy. And we thought it best to let Chuck's cock remain sheathed. In their place we hired two ruthlessly efficient young production men.

Now to find another Holly. The perfect one appeared, Catherine Earnshaw (Heathcliff refused to test). She read well, had the perfect pretty, spoiled face and a lovely body. She was reluctant to work in hard-core but wanted to act and, after reading the script, agreed to join us. She was much better than the first girl, so I removed half of my curse. If you see a porn star with an anemic shadow and curious nipples, you'll know how she came by them. We also used our extra week to plan and rehearse, and I went on chasing bread. One prospect in California assured me he was interested and that a check was on its way. Bernie was unimpressed. "The two most repeated lies in the United States," he commented, "are 'It's in the mail' and 'I won't come in your mouth.'"

Shooting: Day one

We rolled camera at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning. We worked at a snail's pace, as the crew members were not used to working together and we kept running into snags. There was one interesting vignette, which we shot in a gloomy stair well outside a friend's office. A pusher, played by Bobby Astyr (yes, it is an anagram), is peddling heroin to a pimp and his whore. The pimp was played by a five-foot black, Darryl Speer, and the whore by Cecilia Gardner, a statuesque six-footer. The pusher starts to count his huge wad of bills, finds that his fingers are dry and moistens them in the whore's pussy. Cecilia was turned on by Bobby and her snatch, the hairiest ever seen, was as liquid as a banker's sponge. Bobby has a rich fund of street argot--"Salty bitch, got my nose open" and "Hold your mud, baby, hold your mud"--and is a natural performer. As a result, the scene has a creepy-comic realism. The crew enjoyed it, too, and everybody relaxed a little. John lent us his elegant office and we shot the lawyer's scene there. We finished shooting at two A.M.

Day Two

Sunday we shot an action sequence, in which the gangster kills the pusher, then runs over him in a white Cadillac. Our location was under the 59th Street bridge, and suddenly most of New York joined us in that little niche. Three drivers caught sight of us, were fascinated and promptly plowed into the cars in front of them. A young girl speeding along on her bicycle spotted us, missed the curb and went ass over promises onto the pavement. A porter from a nearby apartment building threw an epileptic fit and hit the pavement with a sickening crunch. All the blood and disaster were on the wrong side of the camera and the New York cops who were on duty with us were getting pissed at all the crises. It's all very well to hold a mirror up to nature, but what if it all happens behind the bloody mirror?

Day three

Monday was our first real sex and the interest was high. Bob wanted to take out insurance against future lack of interest in matters sexual. Bernie was worried that he would be too turned on to work (knowing Bernie, I was worried that he would be too turned on to work). We were all curious about our own reactions, wondering what the sight of women actually fucking would do to us. The moment a sex scene was set up, the atmosphere changed profoundly. All the carefree banter, which went from badinage to worsinage, dried up. All nonessential bodies were sent away and quiet reigned. Actors are normally tense in front of the camera, but when they have to fuck as well, the tension becomes tangible. All attention is on the naked bodies. The camera crew wants to cover all the angles and make the couple look good while they are fucking. The sound crew wants to record all the chat and gasps and deep breathing. The make-up girl looks for pimples, blotches or too much sweat. The continuity girl makes sure that everything is in its proper place at the proper time. The set is so quiet that you can actually hear the cocks sliding in and out of the cunts, and you certainly can't miss the pungent odor of pussy. The set turns into a surreal world in which, as our cameraman observed to our discomfort, the soiled bed becomes our reality.

Don and Catherine, who play Mark and Holly, had the first sex in the picture. They are lovers meeting in a hotel room, unaware that they are under surveillance from the adjoining room. This device gave us something to cut away to, and to jump from 35mm full color to a TV monitor in black and white is quite startling. This blonde and clean-cut couple fall into each other's arms, then end up on the bed, but just as Mark is about to enter, the phone rings and he exits instead. This scene went according to plan. So we cleared the decks for their second meeting, later in the story, when they actually get down to some serious fucking. The actors were naked and getting horny, the atmosphere was getting steamy.

Meanwhile, back at the raunch, something was not up. Mark was sweating, white-faced and limp. He went on trying, hour after agonizing hour, but no joy. We had ignored Dolly's advice and had no fluff for this emergency. Annie would have taken the bit between her lips, but Holly was inexperienced. I had a word with the cameraman, then buttonholed the director. "Bob, let everybody go, except you, the cameraman and the gaffer [head electrician]."

Bob said, "Good idea. A joint might help." It was midnight as the six of us relaxed with coffee, joints and chat. Holly got as high as a berry, but Mark was ashen, which we put down to nerves.

At 1:30 in the morning, Mark said, "I'm ready to try again." So we all trooped back into the bedroom, the gaffer switched on the lights and we all stood blinking in the glare. It could have been a scene from Phallus in Wonderland, so dreamlike and unsexual was that room. Yet there we stood, our hopes rising and falling on one man's cock. After a lot more sweating, Mark managed to get it up and in. We finished at 3:33 A.M.

Day Four

This was our married couple's, Bree and Tony's, day. We were in the hands of experts, so we lay back and enjoyed it. Apart from their sheer physical beauty, they were masters in their field. They could appear totally lost in passion yet be aware of the camera and Bob's direction at all times. Tony was portraying a young gay and Bree was the girl in love with him and convinced that he is capable of heterosexual sex. The foreplay was slow and gentle; Bree undressed him, then stripped herself; she placed his hands on her breasts, then guided them down between her legs. Tony had a problem different from Mark's: He had to work at keeping his cock limp. He did beautifully until Bree's hands went to work on him, and then up it came, like the splendid staff it is. They went through all the known positions in the book, including the mandatory fellatio and cunnilingus, before we came to the cum shot, one of the stranger conventions in porn. The male must always display his orgasm and, like justice, it must not only be done but be seen to be done. The audience must actually see the jism spurt or, apparently, it will suspect the actor is simulating, heaven forfend. Tony said, "I've been thinking about the cum shot. Put the camera there, while Bree is lying on her back on top of me." He considered for a moment, then nodded his head. "Yeah, that'll work fine. Just give us a ten-second warning and leave the rest to us." They went back into action and when Bree was lying in the agreed position, Bob gave Tony his cue. On the exact count of ten, his cock, as if by accident, slipped out of her cunt, Bree reached down, grasped it firmly and, lo and behold, we had our first cum shot. It was a beauty and would have done justice to Moby's dick.

We saw our first rushes that night; no disasters, all was in good order. At 2:30 A.M., the phone shrilled. It was Bernie. "Ronan, tsooris, Don Peterson is sick." So that ashen face had not come from hard-on jitters; he'd been felled by a virus. This was real trouble, for the schedule the next day called for an orgy with Don and two girls.

Day Five

The first thing was to find someone to replace Don in the orgy. Jamie, being the trouper he is, agreed to slide into the vacant slot, or slots. The next item was to find a solution to the story problem, as up to then, we had had a wry, downbeat ending. But with Don unable to screw the two maids, that twist was now screwed. So while Jamie and the two girls prepared for their triad, I paced the corridors in search of an unusual climax. As necessity is the motherfucker of invention, she gave me a hard time before she finally delivered. Meanwhile, Jamie, Annie and Nancy Dare--a dancer with a lissome body--were humping away like Hobbits. Jamie was incredible. That session lasted for well over three hours and he never stopped fucking, even when the camera had to be reloaded. There was just one moment when he seemed almost human. He'd been screwing Annie for about ten minutes when Bob suggested that he was ready to film her orgasm. There followed five more minutes of deep thrusting, with Annie really enjoying herself, before Jamie, with a touch of asperity, said, "Annie, it doesn't have to be a real orgasm; you could fake it just this once."

Annie was utterly dismayed: "But, Jamie, I'm very close." So Jamie plunged on and Annie delivered.

All three consulted about the cum shot, but Annie topped them. "I think it'd be nice if Nancy and I were soul-kissing and Jamie knelt over us, cock in hand, and came all over our faces and mouths." She clapped her hands delightedly when we agreed. The seven men and two women of the crew watched this performance with rapt attention. The women were impressed by Jamie, but the men suffered a genuine case of penis envy. Naturally, Jamie delivered a perfect ten-second cum shot. A virtuoso on his instrument, truly a classical penist.

Day Six

No sex, just straight plot; shooting went smoothly, rushes excellent. Bumped into Marty Feldman, an old friend, and took him up to the set. He was fascinated by the continuity girl's job. "Do you have to remember how far in it was? And the exact angle of penetration?"

She deadpanned, "If we run into trouble, we just use the universal cutaway."

"What's that, a belly button?"

"No, the American flag."

Day Seven

No rest for porn creators. The video equipment broke down and while we were trying to solve that problem, Bernie came rushing in. "Tsooris. Terri Hall's got appendicitis." Sheeeit! She was rushed off to a doctor and we had to sweat out the rest of the day. We spent the time trying to find a replacement but without much hope. Finally, the doctor called. "It's not appendicitis. She's picked up a virus of some kind. I've pumped her full of antibiotics and she should be all right tomorrow." Tremendous relief all round, but we had lost a day and now we would definitely be over budget.

Day Eight

Terri turned up feeling a lot better, but we put off her sex scenes until she was 100 percent. Annie was on the set doing a straight scene with Nancy and she had a question for Bob. "Is there any chance of trying two cocks in one cunt? I tried it last night and it's terrific." We all expressed incredulity. But Annie was adamant. "I mean it; look, it works like this: One guy lies on his back, then I lie on top of him, on my back, then he puts it in, right? The other guy lies on top of me and the two cocks fit in; all that rubbing is great." I wonder if the Earl of Sandwich ever tried it. We finished at 9:30 P.M. Then we set off for our location house in Connecticut, where we would be filming the next day. By the time we got there and unloaded the equipment, it was 3:30 A.M. The bad news was that because the house was unfurnished, we had to sleep on the floor. The good news, it was for only three hours.

Day Nine

The Connecticut countryside was aflame with fall colors, which made an impressive background for our exterior shots. We finished those and a long scene by the indoor swimming pool with Holly and by late afternoon were ready for Kim's erotic fantasy of getting laid by all and sundry. This was shot against a solid-black background, which gave a dreamlike effect, and included Don, Terri (both recuperated), Annie and Jamie. Bob decided all the sex in this sequence would be vertical. Terri asked why. "Why not? Anybody can do it lying down." Jamie even managed to suspend Terri in mid-air and slide her up and down on his ever-ready and upstanding pego. They rang all the positional changes, a sort of happy sexual carillon, ending with Terri's being serviced by everyone: men's hands all over her, Jamie up to his hilt inside her, Annie's magic mouth on her breasts and Don's cock in her mouth.

The last Fucking Day

The tenth day called for the most sex. Terri had a masturbation scene and later a long, hard grind with Jamie. Masturbation is, by definition, a solitary occupation; it requires remarkable single-mindedness to play with yourself in front of an entire film crew and the omnipresent camera. She didn't fake anything and was beaded in sweat and moaning ecstatically as she gave us a full throbbing orgasm. For the final championship bout, our two pros got together in royal style. Terri's magnificent tits were outstanding; she was fighting fit and went at Jamie's cock like a Frau at a frankfurter. It was nuzzled, nibbled, lapped and lipped, and she relished every round inch of him. She then mounted him and rode his rod like a Valkyrie. The champion took his time and, in turn, Terri was topped and tailed, tongued and tupped. Finally, the stallion climbed aboard for a rearing, bucking, thrusting finale. Terri rose flushed from the bed and, with a seraphic smile and a tremulous voice, announced, "That was the best fuck I ever had on-camera."

Aftermath

The shooting was finished, but there was still money to find. I turned up two more investors with five grand each, so the crew was paid off. So far, we had spent $50,000, but we needed another $40,000 to finish the film, to pay for editing, dubbing, mixing and music. Bernie put together a rough cut, a long way from the finished print but good enough to screen. As months dragged by, we showed the rough cut to most of the porn brokers. They were interested but greedy, and the deals offered were punitive. We continued working, editing, polishing, trying out new ideas and screening the film endlessly. Bernie went to England on another job, but we kept his assistant. Bob designed the titles and a knockout logo for the posters and we had more screenings. Then two impeccably dressed young men showed up, charming and soft-spoken. The fact that they each had a dorsal fin and six rows of teeth made us uneasy, but the cutthroat terms they offered frightened us. Our position was tenuous; the production had gone too long and we were up to our Moviola in debt, but we dug in our toes and held on. A month later, a film producer with an impressive list of credits and a healthy source of finance liked what he saw and came up with the $40,000. He thought the picture would benefit by reshaping and reshooting and, as he was right and willing to pay for everything, we agreed. We shot for two more days, hired a new editor and got Stan Free to compose an original jazz score. The dubbing was done, the negative cut, the mix finished and, at last, we had an answer print.

It is now early July 1976. We have a finished film, a U.S. distributor and a foreign distributor, but, as yet, not a glimmer of gold. The little porn film that was going to be quick and easy has taken 20 months of blood, sweat, tears and ulcers. And it's not over yet. The other day, the phone rang. "Ronan. Tsooris. The rednecks have landed. They're prosecuting Harry Reems and everybody connected with Deep Throat. What do we do now?"

(Editor's Note: What they did was release the picture. "The Double Exposure of Holly" has been playing in New York and Chicago--and was reviewed in Playboy's January issue, with praise only for Catherine Earnshaw in the title role.)