The first time I saw Sharon, she was not physically in the movie theater on 42nd Street, SHE WAS up on THE silver screen taking it doggie style from the pizza boy. The man playing her husband watched. So did the twenty other men in the OTHERWISE empty theater.

Neither of the men was particularly attractive, probably A DELIBERATE MOVE ON BEHALF OF THE DIRECTOR so the audience could identify with them. Sharon on the other hand was a young brunette with a lithe acrobat’s body. Her belly pouted with the right amount of fat. Her breasts being small didn’t matter. I liked girls with boy’s bodies. My friends said this predilection could be attributed to latent homosexuality. [WHY INTRODUCE THIS IDEA IF YOU NEVER MENTION IT AGAIN?]

It was obvious neither ONE OF THE men on the screen had any idea what to do with her [HOW?] and the director was also at a loss, so the vixen took control [HOW?]. She looked over her shoulder at the camera, a pink tongue licking at bruised lips [EXPLAIN. DID THEY BEAT HER?], then her hand pulled apart her asscheeks, so the cameraman could get a better shot, as she moaned, “Oh, yeah, fuck me, baby!”

I had my zipper down and cock in hand mimicking each thrust of the man from behind. Every man in the theater came together along with the pizza boy.

After leaving the theater I searched the porno shops for any photos of this actress. I found none. I asked ONE clerk if he had any glossy magazines with her and he sadly shook his head. “I know exactly who you’re talking about. I got nothing. That’s her first film, but trust me we ain’t seen the last of her yet.”

Since the porno industry was centered in LA, AND I WAS IN NEW YORK, I figured I would only see her in the movies or my fantasies. BUT oh, was I wrong.

Three weeks later, I was playing the SLASH pinball machine at an after-hour club in the East Village. My fingers WERE twitching on the buttons and my hip WERE banging the machine. The ball WAS defying gravity beyond any of Newton’s laws. The score was fast approaching ‘best ever’, when someone bumped into the side and tilted the machine. I turned to the right, ready to swear, but my mouth went numb. IT WAS the shag-cut brunette from the movie.

Her lingerie-LIKE DRESS barely hid any skin. Stiletto heels gave her another three inches [STILETTOS ARE AT LEAST 5 INCHES] of height and she regarded me imperiously, asking, “What are you looking at?”

“You t-t-tilted the machine.”

Before I could tell her how much I enjoyed her film, she snapped her fingers loud enough to be heard over the Ramones [BLARING FROM THE JUKEBOX] and two gnarly bikers grabbed my arms. In less than three seconds I was out on the sidewalk, exiled from EDEN. [WHY? YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING. JUST FOR LOOKING AT HER? EXPLAIN.]

Several thieves lurked in the shadows, ready to pounce on any hapless drunk, so I scrambled to my feet to show that I was not worth the trouble. Skanky whores lined Third Avenue and junkies popped into the fleabag hotels for a quick shot. The arctic wind sent a shiver through my body, for I was only wearing a thin leather jacket, a tee shirt, and torn jeans. I didn’t care, for I was waiting for the actress to exit, even if this hell froze over.

She appeared a minute later. A tight, rabbit fur coat covered her near-naked body. A gust of wind blew the bangs off her face. Cold eyes examined me before she stepped forward, opening her coat and pressing her body against me. “You fuck like you play pinball?” [I FIND THIS TOTALLY UNBELIEVEABLE. IT’S A HUGE CHANGE OF HEART. WHY DOES SHE WANT TO SLEEP WITH YOU ALL OF A SUDDEN? EXPLAIN HERE OR PERHAPS LATER, WHEN YOU’RE LYING IN BED.]

“I guess, yeah.”

Her teeth nipped at my ear. “Well, where we going?”

The Victor Hotel was a nearby flophouse. She smiled lewdly, and then commented, “How romantic! Wasn’t it in “Taxi Driver”?”

“You have a problem with it?” It was trashy.

“Not as long as you don’t re-enact the last scene.” The crude manner in which her hand rubbed my crotch told me neither of us should confuse this moment with love.

We didn’t speak crossing the avenue or climbing the hotel’s stairs to room 33. There WAS A 40-watt bulb hung from the ceiling—the perfect light for this moment. She shrugged off the coat.

Standing with her legs spread she let me admire her body for several seconds before dropping to her knees. Her hands expertly undid my zipper. This was not in “Taxi Driver”. It was better than her movie—this didn’t have to depend on special effects. It was the real thing. I checked the room for hidden cameras.

She fell back onto the floor and then crawled onto the soiled bed.

“Get naked!” SHE COMMANDED AS SHE undid her bra and slipped out of her panties.

My jacket hit the floor first, and then I threw my tee shirt in the corner. My pants only came down to my knees, so I shuffled across the dusty floor to the bed.

She laughed, “That’s what we call the duck walk.”

“I don’t fell like a duck.” I dropped onto the bed, struggling free my legs. She pressed a hand onto my chest. “Slow down, Speed Racer. We have until the dawn.” Sunrise was a few hours away.

“Are you a vampire?”

“No. But I have to SHOOT a film under the Brooklyn Bridge. You’re helping me rehearse my lines.”

I was naked now. She stood over me. There was no question who was in command. We were dogs in heat. Her screams for help [WHAT DO YOU MEAN? IF SHE IS PRACTICING HER LINES, YOU NEED TO CLARIFY] rang off the walls. The other guests banged for us to shut up. We didn’t stop for an hour. After I finished, we stayed together locked by the melting fluids.

“You’re sweet. My name’s Sharon.”

“I saw your film “Abduction of Joy”.”

“Oh, that was my first film. I wasn’t any good.”

“You were great.” I squirmed, as she pinched my nipple. I returned the favor, as she squealed, “I bet you say that to all the girls in fuck films.”

“Yeah, all the time.” I wished it was true, but she was the only woman I had ever met who fucked on film.

We fucked two more times before I crashed out in between her thighs. When I woke, Sharon was dressed and at the door.

“Where you going?” I asked.

“I told you. I have to do a film.” She posed like a tart, sticking out her ass before throwing on her coat.

“You need any money for a taxi?” I sleepily reached for my jeans, which seemed farther from the bed than I remembered.

“No, I’m good. Well, see you around.” Sharon blew me a kiss and the door slammed shut before I could ask for her telephone number. I lay back in bed FOR A WHILE, and then picked up my Levis. Going through the pockets I discovered why she hadn’t needed taxi fare. Sharon had ripped me off for every dollar and penny I had. Pulling on my jeans and boots, I swore madly, and then ran out into the street, but person in sight was an old wino crumpled on the corner.
The winter sun was coming up, and the good citizens were walking to subway TO GO TO WORK. They took one look at me and hurried on their way. Across the street the HUMAN-dregs of the evening were stumbling out of the after-hours club. I THOUGHT ABOUT going inside to see if Sharon was there, but confronting her in a drug-maddened den of iniquity could prove a little more than dangerous to my health, so I called it a night and walked home, thinking that she had gotten what she deserved. Next time I would have to make sure it was vice versa and next time wasn’t a long time coming. [WHAT DO YOU MEAN NEXT TIME? READING THIS, I THOUGHT “LOVE HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT”, AND SHE WAS JUST “PRACTICING HER LINES”. WAS THIS MORE THAN A ONE NIGHT STAND? EXPLAIN OR REWRITE.]