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White Trash with Money (3)
serious disclaimer: this isn't, er, aimed at ANYONE. We were finishing up another Scurrilous Video Project when Jamie the Braw Scots Goth (who'd gotten bored while we were adding the video titles) found the magazines. They'd been in a box under a crate for almost fifteen years, as the faded, dusty covers attested. we were reading them over his shoulder and giggling at the fashions when Siaoubo got a call on her mobile phone. I had no idea who she was speaking to, but I got the idea - from the sharp, rapid-fire Cantonese - that it was someone just below her on the corporate ladder giving her bad news. She almost screamed in frustrated anger at one point; I went over to her and started massaging her shoulders, my thumbs digging an incredible degree of tension out of her. She hung up and almost flung the mobile phone through a nearby window. i hugged her and felt some of her anger drain away. "I'm sorry, people; we've just been given another assignment. we could be here all night again." We all groaned in sympathy. she turned to me and gave me the notepad she'd been doodling on while I'd been trying to calm her down. I glanced at the symbols, nodded once and got on the phone. An hour later, I was afraid to tell her that what they wanted was proving hard to find. I conferred with the others, trying not to look conspiratorial and failing; she noticed and came over to ask what was going on. I steeled myself and spoke out: "I'm afraid that the male model described in these specs simply doesn't exist. And I've called every agency in Melbourne and the top four in Sydney; they don't have the female we need, either. I could try Adelaide - " She snatched the notes from me and waved them angrily. "I understand not being able to find a guy with a dick this big. We can fake that with a prosthetic model; he doesn't need to be fully in shot. But I refuse to believe that you can't find a single Asian teenaged girl to... do this... why are you staring at me like that?" I looked at her with my head slightly to one side, then framed her slight, Chinese features between my thumbs and forefingers. I glanced over at Jamie, who nodded and said, "I think she'd do." She stared at him incredulously and then back at me. "You can't possibly be suggesting that I - that -" the rest of the sentence was obviously too horrible to contemplate. I took my life in my hands and said carefully, "It's only fifty seconds. And you never know - it might be fun." She stared at me for an uncomfortably long time, as if she were wondering which wall I'd look best nailed to. Then, to my surprise, she smiled slowly. "You could be right. I've never done any acting before." Jamie took her over to Maxine, who was opening the makeup suitcase. "You'll be perfect for this," he assured her, sitting her down in a leather armchair. I went down to the props basement to look for things I could use to assemble the required male bits. It was all down there; latex, foam rubber, hydraulic hoses connected to pumps and plastic tanks. I did have to walk down to the nearby 7-11 for a large bag of flour, though. By the time they'd finished her makeup, the mechanical dingus was assembled; just waiting for the last loose coat of flesh-coloured latex to dry. She was uncharacteristically enthusiastic; even giggling at times, wearing a shoulder-length, straight-haired bowl-cut black wig that had a very seventies fringe; pale makeup and crimson lipstick. She looked something like a geisha. We arranged the lights, set up the camera and I primed the pump...
The others had gone home afterward, leaving Siaoubo and me to finish editing. One of the requirements of this video was that it had to appear as part of a damaged tape, static leading to the fifty-second sequence then an abrupt cut-out. I'd experimented with running a fridge magnet along sections of archive tape in order to get the desired build-up of snow before the action. We spent more time arguing over which music to put on the sound-track than we did actually editing the video; eventually, we settled on a slightly distorted copy of an old Nina Hagen song, sung in German. I'd never found out what it was called - I'd just taped it off the radio one night - but the word `Superboy' featured strongly in the chorus. After laying down the audio track and then deliberately damaging the start of the sequence, we settled back to watch the whole thing and time it. It started with jumping, blurred images of some guy wearing a black ski- mask, his mouth moving as if shouting but with no sound (archival footage of an old TISM concert). The static got worse, then cleared away; we were left with a deliberately out-of-focus closeup of Siaoubo in her geisha get-up licking the end of the prosthetic dick, which was ridiculously oversized - the head was as big as a fist. She grabbed it in both hands, jerked it (the latex moving back and forth, looking exactly like a foreskin) and applied her carmine lips to the tip. She tugged on it slowly, opened her mouth as wide as she could and almost managed to get her lips around half of it. Ad-libbing now, she writhed, turning her head on the shaft's axis and squeezing just behind the end of the penis. Off camera, I was counting down to the second stage of the sequence: forewarned, she leaned back with her mouth open and eyes closed, and I started pumping the thick mixture of flour and water up the shaft, out of the end of the prosthetic dick and over her face. There was literally buckets of the stuff. I kept working the pump and she moved her face around as it shot out. She did all the cheap porn-film tricks like trailing strings of it on her tongue, catching mouths-ful and spurting it down her chin, rubbing it all over her face with the end of the dick (even as more goop spurted out) and shaking the shaft to make streamers of it fly in all directions. By this point, it had become a complete farce; her face, neck and breasts were coated with a finger-thick layer of the stuff, and still it came. She grabbed the head and tried to put her thumb over the end; it squirted out around her thumb and some got onto the camera lens. I applied the pump- handle more vigorously and it shot out like a firehose, spraying into her mouth and out again. Unfortunately, the prosthetic started making a kind of squeaking, farting noise as the stuff came out; Siaoubo lost it and collapsed backwards out of camera shot, laughing hysterically, one hand still clutching the monstrous shaft, which dribbled liquid down onto her. For a moment, all you could see was her hand hanging onto the shaft, shaking with her laughter. Then she managed to get back up onto her knees and was about to try and lick the head of the penis when I suddenly started pumping the handle again. A slightly thicker clot of the stuff popped out of the end, trailing a tendril of mucus, and hit her in the forehead. She fell over backwards, shrieking with laughter and that was it. We'd gone about forty seconds over time, but I didn't think anyone would mind. As I helped her wipe the stuff off, she managed to stop laughing long enough to explain: she'd once found her father's cache of x-rated videos, and they featured a lot of come-shots. She wanted to send him a copy of this tape, and every time she imagined his reaction, she burst out laughing again. Suddenly, she stopped laughing, her eyes wide. "What's wrong?" "I just remembered where I'd seen the name on the order form for this sequence before - it's my father's private secretary." We stared at each other for a few seconds, then the prosthetic behind us made a last, despairing farting sound as the pump-handle settled. We both collapsed with laughter again.
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