The A.V. Club - Ch. 05

A Novel by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

Chapter Five:

The Shadowy Business of Trailer Porn

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. Everything in this story is imaginary and is not meant to represent any real-life people, events, or medical conditions. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, or if reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don't read it. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older, even if it seems otherwise for dramatic or narrative purposes. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright©2016 J.K. Ermon.

~~~

Polly's 'office' was a Shasta camper trailer. It was about fifteen feet long with the classic teardrop shape. It had a spiffy red-and-white two-tone paint job: top half white, lower half red, and a silver lightning bolt separating them. There were ornamental silver wings at the rear, like the tail fins of an Eldorado. She had it parked behind the barn, hitched to a faded old red Ford pick-up.

After all the noise and turbulence inside, the open field, starry skies and muted accompaniment of cicadas was welcome. We all took deep breaths of that piney country air.

There was a hose and a bucket out back with a large cake of soap. We all took turns soaking, soaping and rinsing off each other. Claire and I chatted as we scrubbed. It seemed so surreal to be this friendly and familiar with a naked woman in her twenties, but it was par for the course tonight. We traded stories about school. She told me about the film studio in England where she trained and interned. I told her about my work with the yearbook committee and my scholarship. Her stories were much more impressive.

There was lots of good-natured laughter as we struggled our wet selves into our dry clothes. When Miss Pole took off her go-go boots, it was like she dropped a foot in height. I was surprised; Claire was taller than she was, and Claire couldn't have topped five-four. Onstage and onscreen, Polly always seemed larger-than-life.

It was odd to see her standing there barefoot in a faded yellow gingham dress. If not for the obvious bulge out front (the dress didn't have a petticoat) she could have been one of my mom's younger and prettier church friends. It made her even more attractive to me, somehow. Betty, however, looked like a juvenile delinquent in her black stretch-cotton capris and midriff tube top. A sexy bad girl like our mothers prayed we'd never bring home. When she started chewing a fat cube of Dubble Bubble, the look was complete.

Betty handed Polly an odd-looking purse with a western fringe and a big top-flap. When Polly buckled it around her waist, I realized it wasn't a purse at all, but a sporran, like emergent women traditionally wore. In many states it was a legal requirement. Its large, circular body hid the bulges in their pants (or dresses) and also declared their dickgirl status to the world.

"Polly," said Jack, and paused. "Do I even call you Polly?" he asked.

"Oh, please," she said and rolled her eyes, "That's just a silly stage name."

"Hey now," said Betty indignantly. "I came up with it."

"Yes, and it's still silly. Polly Pole," she said with a roll of her eyes and a snort. She extended her hand to Jack. "It's Pauline. Pauline Graham."

"Jack Porter, ma'am, thank you." They shook.

Pauline turned to Claire. "And who might you be, honey bunch?"

"Claire-Anne Powell. Charmed." They shook. "I'd like to talk with you about filming a documentary on women with Seahag Syndrome."

"Sounds...interesting. And what can I do for these gentlemen?" She looked over at us.

Jack spoke up (once again impressing the hell out of me) and explained our request.

Betty looked around. "Well, let's hear Claire out first. Jack, do you and your friends have any place to wait while we talk? We can't all fit in the office."

To my surprise, they all looked at me. The AV Club didn't have any kind of hierarchy, even Jack's title was pretty much honorary. Somehow I got promoted. Oh well.

"We'll be in the van," I said.

~~~

Somebody produced the unsmoked half of Claire's joint and we proceeded to hot-box the shit out of Mark's vehicle. Coughing and swearing, Jack stumbled out of there and said he'd wait outside. He wandered off towards Polly's trailer.

Ten minutes later (it felt like hours) Jack returned. He opened the side door and promptly staggered back from the wall of marijuana smoke that rolled out into his face.

"Oh God," he coughed, and sucked his inhaler for dear life. He fanned the air around him.

"Where's Claire?" I asked, coughing too.

"She's staying with the girls," he said to me. "She just stuck her head out and told me she wanted you bring her things over to the trailer."

Everyone stood up, and Jack waved them down.

"She asked for Bobby," he said.

"Really?" asked Allen a little owlishly. "Him, specifically?"

Jack nodded. "Yep. Just him."

"Oooh," the others all sniggered, a little jealously, I thought.

"Bobby's got a girl-friend," Mark sing-sang.

"Knock it off," Jack said shortly. "She said it wouldn't take long. She needs you to assist with something photography-related."

"Oooh," the others sniggered again.

"So," asked Donnie, "is Polly, I mean, Pauline, coming to the meeting this Sunday?"

"Don't know yet," Jack said. He nodded at me. "They said they'd talk to him."

I hoisted Claire's duffel over my shoulder and picked up her steel-bound roadie case.

When I jumped out beside Jack, more smoke wafted out with me.

Jack promptly began coughing again. He gave us all a baleful look and took another pull on his inhaler.

"Guess I'm driving you dope fiends home tonight."

~~~

Pauline's trailer was homey, cozy and spotless. It had wood paneling and black-and-white checkerboard tile flooring. Pauline, Claire and Betty were all seated around a dining booth with red leather restaurant seats at the near end of the trailer. I glanced down the cabin. Along one side was a kitchenette with sinks and a gas range, while the other had doors to (I guessed) a closet and a washroom. A set of bunk beds with incongruous pink satin sheets sat at the opposite end. There were plenty of windows and they all had fancy yellow curtains with floral prints. It smelled good in there, like clean laundry and freshly-baked cookies.

"So, you're not paying us?" Betty Kroger was saying to Claire as I quietly entered.

"It's a documentary," said Claire. "A series of interviews. Not a paid performance." She noticed me. "Excellent, here he is."

"Here I am," I said. The weed and Hag-bred jism had me really high and being in the presence of all three women made me extra giddy.

I could tell Claire was feeling the same. Her big green eyes were soft and dilated. I guessed mine looked the same, except they were chestnut brown. We were both blinking a lot. Pauline's home-on-wheels was brightly-lit.

"You can put all that over there," said Betty, waving towards the bunks.

"Sure," I said. "Thanks."

I deposited Claire's baggage in the far corner. She shifted over and patted the seat. I slid into the booth beside her. I noticed Pauline Graham's sporran was on the table between us.

"So Bobby," said Pauline. "Claire-Anne, here, tells me you're on the yearbook committee?"

"It's just Claire," she said.

I wasn't on the yearbook committee. They just used me for photographic grunt work and the more tedious layout stuff. At Grant High, that was the case with students of a certain IQ range. We were exploited for our skills. We didn't really have a choice about it because participating looked good on college applications. I may have slightly inflated my status when talking to Claire. "I'm a photographer for the yearbook, yeah."

"Have you ever used a Super 8?" asked Betty.

She also looked very mellow, but in considerably better command of her faculties than either Claire or myself.

"Sure," I said.

"Good," she said. She pulled out what my blinkered noggin first thought was some kind of Flash Gordon ray gun from under the table. It was in fact a Super 8 camera, a newer and fancier model than I'd seen before. It had a stubby photo lens on the front in lieu of a gun barrel, with a small fuzzy microphone projecting forward under it to record audio.

"Neat," I said.

"Take it," said Betty. I did. "Now, I understand you'd like to book some of Polly's company this Sunday?"

"Pauline's company," murmured her partner, looking away.

"Me and my friends, yes," I said.

Betty shot Pauline a look. "So how big is your friend's place?"

"It's a farm. About twenty acres." I gave her the address. "We'd have the whole place to ourselves."

"Super," Betty said. "Okay. Here's what's happening. In exchange for our participation in her proposed documentary, Claire here has agreed to shoot our next movie free of charge. We would like to shoot it at your friend Jack's farm this Sunday. We would like you and your friends to be the male talent."

"I'm sorry?"

"I wanna make a dirty movie with you guys," said Pauline impishly.

"I'm sorry?" I said again. It was all I could think to ask.

"It'll be a short little film," Claire said. "It won't take more than three hours to shoot. And your identities will be concealed." She passed a piece of notepaper to me, covered in scribbles.

"You'll be wearing masks. Here's a list of other things we'll need. Providing them will be up to you and your friends." I took it with nerveless fingers.

"And after the shoot," Betty said, "the remainder of the day will be spent in the very pleasant company of Claire, Polly and I."

"Pauline," the blonde dickgirl corrected.

Betty rolled her eyes and addressed me. "In exchange for your group's participation, our usual fee will of course be waived."

I cleared my throat.

"So," I said carefully. "You want to come to Jack's farm this Sunday. Shoot a porn movie with us. And then..."

"And then," said Pauline with a humid smile, "Fun time." She made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of one hand and thrust the index finger of her other hand through the loop. "Fun-fun funzy time."

Claire tapped the paper in my hand. "Don't forget the list. Props, costumes, power cables. We'll need all of it to make this happen."

"What say, Bobby?" asked Betty. "Are ya in?"

Are you kidding me? My former self screamed. Absolutely not! You think I could rubber stamp something like this? I need to speak to the others, get a vote, do everything in my power to talk them out of it...

"Sure," I said. I couldn't restrain the wide, happy smile spreading across my face. "We're in."

And they would be in, that was the thing. This was precisely the kind of horny stunt those brilliant-but-common-sense-deficient goofballs would jump at without me there to intervene. I didn't even have to ask them, I just knew.

Just as I knew I wanted in, just as badly, and my tyrannical better judgment be damned. There was no way I was throwing a wet blanket on this.

I examined the Super 8 camera. "So...is this a gift?"

Betty snorted. "Not hardly. We need your help with something else tonight."

Claire spoke up. "Pauline and Betty want me to make a quick Super 8 movie with them." She shrugged. "I guess to show them I know what I'm doing. I can't always be holding the camera, and I need Betty on lights, so...we need a cameraman."

"O...kay," I said cautiously. "What are we filming?"

Betty grinned. "Right now Polly, here, is going to fuck our new friend Claire in the ass. You're going to film it."

My brain froze. "I'm...sorry?"

Claire said, "Now just one moment. You want her to bugger me?"

I was way too stoned for this.

Betty said, "You said you'd have sex with her on camera."

"I agreed to sex. No one said anything about my bottom."

Pauline chipped in. "Well, are you experienced with anal intercourse?"

"Well...yes, but not with anyone remotely as large as you!"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Betty. "A little squirt of the Hag-butter'll open you right up."

"That's true," said Pauline. "I can do it so gentle, and so nice, your butt hole won't mind at all." She gave Claire a pleasant smile. "Trust me. I'll make it jump for joy."

"Right." Claire blew out a deep breath. "Okay. Just to be clear, I'm not...opposed to this venture, but I would like to know why it's necessary."

"Fair enough," said Betty. "You want my girl to spill her guts to you, right?"

"Well...I suppose, yes. I do want to hear her story."

"You want to film her talking all about what it's like to be a dickgirl, right?"

"Yes. That would certainly be a part of it."

"And you're going to want to film her in action, right?"

"Sorry? In action?"

"Naked. So people can see she's genuine Hag-bred. Showing off her cock. Showing how it gets hard. Shooting her cum." She cracked her bubblegum.

Claire paused. "In my documentary, you mean?"

Betty nodded.

"I...yes." Claire sat up a little straighter. "Yes, of course. No documentary about AXA would be complete without an unflinching examination of its physical symptoms." She turned to Pauline. "I assure you, though, it's my intent to shoot this in a totally nonexploitive fashion. I will do everything in my power to make sure it's all as comfortable for you as possible. I will respect any limits you choose to set."

"Oh, I'm already sold, sweetheart," said Pauline. She aimed a finger-pistol at Betty. "She's the one needs convincing."

"I need to know you're for real," said Betty. "That you really know how to make movies. Before we follow you out to the middle of Nowheresville, Ohio." She looked at me. "No offense."

"None taken," I said. Point Pleasant was Nowheresville. No one knew it better than a kid who'd grown up there.

Claire opened her mouth to speak and Betty held up a finger and silenced her. "Also. I need to know you're serious about presenting my best friend in an honest and respectful way. And not just some huckster looking to make a sausage flick on the cheap, without paying the talent."

"'Huckster?'" Claire blinked again. "For heaven's sake, I just had sex with you. And her." She pointed at Pauline and then me. "And him. And several other people, including the barmaid. How could I be more genuine?"

"Which," said Pauline, still gazing off to one side, "is what I already said, Betty."

Betty made a dismissive gesture. "The back room of a sausage joint's one thing. On celluloid, for posterity, is another."

Pauline rolled her eyes, shrugged and sat back with a whatever you want, dear air. It dawned on me that despite Pauline's enormous penis, Betty wore the pants in their relationship. Pauline deferred to her without question.

Betty leaned towards Claire. Her tone was diplomatic but firm. "I need to know that you actually know what you're doing. And that you're willing to put as much on the line as we are."

Claire was silent for a moment, then she nodded.

"Very well. If that's what it takes." She took a breath. "Before we do this, however...would it be possible for me to...freshen up?"

I was a little confused at that. We'd just had a thorough scrubdown outside.

"Sure," said Pauline. She waved towards a door amidships. Claire touched my shoulder and I obligingly slid out of her way. As Claire went inside, Pauline called out, "You'll find what you need in the cupboard below the sink."

"Thanks awfully," I heard from inside. She didn't sound sarcastic, but she didn't sound enthused, either. As I slid back into the booth, I noted a lot was happening I didn't understand. In my serene headspace, I bore it philosophically.

"So what's your story, Bobby?" Pauline asked me.

"My story?" I blinked. "Well, I just got accepted into the particle physics program at Berkeley. I got a scholarship." I was a little surprised that came out so quickly, and without my tongue tripping over itself. It didn't even feel like bragging. It was simply the most important thing about myself I could think of in that moment.

"Well, congratulations," said Pauline. She seemed genuinely impressed. "I guess you and your friends were out celebrating?"

"Well yes," I said. "But mostly we came to see you. That was one swell show, Miss Graham."

"Well, my, my." She smiled at me. "Brains and charm." Her hand touched mine. "But call me Pauline, honey. You can always call me Pauline." Her smile grew a little more intimate. "Or Polly." She winked. "Or any other dirty, nasty name you want."

I smiled back, which was strange. I should have wrenched my eyes away in a fit of shyness and stared at the tabletop with my tongue in knots. Instead, I felt absurdly relaxed and confident. I was even starting to get a boner again. Just her voice and her touch and being this close to her and Betty did that to me.

"This whole night's been just wonderful, Pauline." It was a dorky thing to say, but it just spilled out because it was the truth.

"What on earth is particle physics?" asked Betty.

I said, "It's a field of study revolving around matter and energy at the most basic levels. The building blocks of the universe."

"Oh," said Pauline. "Would that be quarks and neutrinos and gluons and all that?"

"Yes," I said. Oddly, her knowing that didn't surprise me at all. "That's it exactly."

She shrugged and smiled. "AP Physics was only five years ago."

"Is there any money in it?" asked Betty.

I shrugged. "Depends on how much funding you can get. I'm still just a student."

The muffled sound of a toilet flushing came from inside the washroom. Claire stepped out with her purple dress draped over her elbow. She was heart-stoppingly naked besides. My erection lurched in my pants.

"Oh yes, here we go," Pauline sighed in pleasure.

Claire hung her dress on a hook on the washroom door. She strode towards us in a businesslike manner. Her bra-and-panty tan lines were quite apparent in this lighting. They made the pink of her nipples and the russet of her triangle stand way out. She stopped at the booth and looked around the space.

She asked, "Do you have a spare table lamp you're not using?"

"Night light," said Betty, pointing at a goose-necked desk lamp sitting on a high shelf next to the top bunk.

"It'll have to do," said Claire. She padded over, unplugged and retrieved it. It was wonderful seeing her just strolling around naked like that. I could see the dimples above her buttocks and when she walked back to us, the knotted pit of her navel. When she stood close to me, I could practically count her pubic hairs.

She unplugged a toaster and plugged in the light in its place.

"Are you sure?" Pauline asked. "It seems pretty bright in here already..."

Claire shook her head. "Things are always darker on film. That's why cameras need flashes. And intercourse is a shadowy business. There's legs, hair, torsos, all kinds of things in the way. The whole point of a dirty movie is, you've got to see everything. The details matter. You always need more light."

She turned on the light and handed it to Betty. "Keep it up high and pointed down at the important bits." She looked at me. "Stand on the seat and we'll start with a nice high angle shot."

Betty put her hand on my arm. "Take your shoes off first."

"Sure," I said, and did so. I didn't even think to ask why. I was surprised at how well co-ordinated I was, given my somewhat impaired state of mind.

Claire looked questioningly at Betty. Betty shrugged. "Our seats are clean. I don't want him scuffing them all up."