BLUE MOVIE

excerpt


Dedicated "to the great Stanley K.," Southern's novel, Blue Movie, is about a famous film director who takes up the challenge to make an artful erotic motion picture, with studio support and mass-distribution. In this scene the sex happens while the cameras are not rolling: one of the most beautiful (and notoriously lesbian) women in the world, the French actress Arabella, arrives to work on his film, and feels compelled to take her director to a nearby Alpine meadow for a picnic of Champagne, pate--and a surprise...


BLUE MOVIE (excerpt)
by Terry Southern
novel

World; 1970; Grove Press; 1996

 

"You know," she said after a moment, "it is here, in this place, I make love for the first time."

"You mean with a girl?"

"Certainly, with a girl! What did you think I meant--a donkey?"

Boris lay back beside her, one hand behind his head, the other resting his glass of wine on his chest. "Who was it--that cousin you visited every summer?"

"Yes...Denise," she said the name as though tasting it.

"Hmm. Right here, huh?"

"Right here exactly."

He waited for a long moment, looking up at the sky.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

"What happened?" she repeated, shaking her head as though no longer certain, or as though it might be too intricate to recreate--or, yet again, as if at that very moment she was actually reliving it. The she sighed.

"I was fifteen." she said. Denise a year younger. She was my cousin, and we were together every summer for as long as I can remember. I can't tell you, I can't express how close we were. She was an enchanted thing--strange, delicate, pure...a child of nature, or like something out of a ballet. And so...exquisitely beautiful. I adored her, because she was completely...unselfish, completely unaware of the material world. I was the opposite, like my friends in Paris--ambitious, always driving ourselves to the brink, obsessed with the idea of perfection and success. But I was her idol--I was already working in the theater, and studying...to her I represented all the mystery and excitement of Paris." She paused for a moment, smiling softly. "You know, young girls--beginning about twelve years old--have an extraordinary interest in the development of their bodies. Every day they examine their breasts to see if they've grown anymore. And if they have a close friend, about the same age, they show each other and compare. Well, that's how we were, Denise and I, except that I was almost a year older, and mine came first. Also I was naturally more...precocious in that way. In any case, by the time I was fourteen, my breasts were nice," she involuntarily cupped her hand over one of them and looked down at it, "very nice, in fact, while Denise's were still just beginning. Then I came back the next year--now she was fourteen--and her breasts had changed completely, they were marvelous. That was the first thing she did was show me, even though she was a little shy about it, because they were perfect--exactly the way mine had been the year before. So. That day we had out lunch here, just like this, and then we went in swimming, as we always did not wearing anything. And that's when it happened, when we came out of the water, and we were looking at her breasts again--and now fascinated, of course, at the way the nipples stuck out because of the cold water. We both touched them, and mine, laughed a lot and I said I'd like to see how it felt to kiss one, while it was all hard and sticking out like that. And Denise laughed and said all right, and that she would too. And we did, and it felt wonderful--I mean her nipple in my mouth felt wonderful...so hard and cold from the water, yet underneath it warm and alive, and so sensitive--I could feel it getting harder and bigger as I kissed it. I think that's how it began--the response, feeling her respond like that. And then I had this overwhelming desire to kiss her on the mouth--which we had actually done before, but never seriously--with the tongue and everything--but just sort of practicing, for how it was supposed to be with boys. But this was different--I wanted to kiss her very deeply now, and I wanted to feel those hard nipples pressed against my breasts. So I began kissing her, while we were still standing, exactly here, and caressing her--her sides and hips, and legs...and finally, her thing. And then I said to her I didn't know why, but I would like to kiss it. And she said all right, and I dropped on my knees and began kissing it, her clitoris--and then we lay down, here, and kissed each other's." She reached out and gripped Boris's hand. "It was so wonderful...so fantastic. We were delirious. Oh, we had both played with ourselves before, and maybe had something like an orgasm, a little one, but this was incredible--the way she would moan and twist, and then sob when she came. It gave me such a feeling of power, being able to affect her like that. Finally it was just me kissing her, making her come over, and over, and over..."

She fell silent, toying with a blade of grass.

Boris, resting on one elbow, studied her celebrated profile, She was considered to have the most beautiful mouth in France, where it had been immortalized in a famous toothpaste advertisement when she was sixteen, and was still used--just the full, wet, red lips, and the strong, white perfect teeth...

Watching Arabella closely...and...aware of his quite serious erection, Boris suddenly found himself seeing her through Sid's eyes, recalling the intense imagery he had used--"fantastic to make a beautiful dyke come," and so on, and he fleetingly considered the notion of trying to actually experience it vicariously from Sid's attitude--but, more than that, being so genuinely fond of her, and feeling such an urgent demand between his legs, he found it almost impossible to believe that she wouldn't enjoy it. He wondered what would happen if he asked her...begged her...pleaded...appealed to her friendship, loyalty...swear it was a matter of life and death...or perhaps if he said she could be on top--then she wouldn't feel dominated. His erect member had arrived at the state sometimes described (by hacks) as "pulsating tumescence," and he realized, too, with a certain disquiet, that due to the press of events of the last two weeks--the script preparation and the pre-production work generally--he had neglected to get laid during that entire period.

"Do you know why I'm so fond of you?" asked Arabella, looking at him again, "or anyway on e of the reasons I'm so fond of you? It is because you have always accepted me for what I am. Yes?"

"Hmm, " Boris murmured, no longer too certain of this, and shifted uneasily.

"And I know you like women," she went on, "and that sometimes you may think of me that way--as a woman. Well, I do have certain feminine qualities or let us more properly say, certain Yin qualities." And whether through a wondrous intuitive awareness, or whether she actually perceived it, she reached out and gently rested her hand on his trousers and the taut wood-hard muscle beneath, raising her beautiful face to him with a smile that was radiant and benign. "Is that for Arabella?"

Boris, who was ordinarily rather blasÚ in these matters, felt an unaccountable tinge of chagrin when his member throbbed and reared at her touch as though from the slightest electric shock.

"I'm beginning to think that it is," he admitted.

"Oh Boris, you're wonderful," she said with a marvelous laugh, and slowly pulled down the zipper, and took it out--holding it carefully, studying it. "Just look at it--all throbbing and eager, and no place to go."

"No place to come, you mean," said Boris, trying to maintain a cavalier mien--he was beginning to suspect her of being on of the world's great prick-teasers.

"Why do they have to be so big?" she said, her head to one side regarding it with a little-girl pouting expression. "Maybe if they weren't so big I could do it."

"Sorry," said Boris.

"No, no, cheri," she laughed, "it's perfect. I wish I had one exactly like it. And look, it's so hungry," she touched a small glistening drop on the head, "it's drooling." She sighed, and looked at him, now holding it very firmly in her right hand. "Yes, I promise you one day we will--not now, it would upset me too much, would be bad for the picture, boy one day..." she giggled, and added, "maybe if I am on top..." Then she returned her attention to the member straining in her grasp. "But now we've got to stop it from throbbing and aching and everything, yes?"

"Yes," Boris agreed hopefully.

It is a beautiful thing," she admitted, and closing her great lovely eyes, and moistening her heavy red lips, she opened her mouth and slowly, tenderly took it inside.

Boris sighed with relief that it was actually going to happen; he was ready to come immediately, but felt this would be unfair, in some absurd way, to Sid, and to himself, and, even more absurd, to the countless unseen Sids all over the world--so he settled back to watch this super-beautiful internationally famous face suck his cock, so to speak, trying to get some erotic mileage out of that notion, or reality.

It also occurred to him that the erotic content of the experience might be further enhanced by accentuating to the ultimate its female qualities (so that his id, ego, or whatever other hidden agency calculated these things, could not possibly mistake it for some kind of madcap fag-suck) and to this end he carefully undid the two top buttons of Arabella's cardigan, gently slipped his hand inside, and firmly cupped her no-bra perfect left breast--just holding it for a second before tenderly taking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. At the pressure, slight as it was, she almost imperceptibly recoiled--but the relaxed, yielding, even coming forward a little, as the nipple began to swell and distend while he softly squeezed and rolled it between his fingers. This "submission"--allowing a man to fondle her breasts--as insignificant as it might seem, had an effect on Arabella that went quite beyond whatever immediate sensation it may have produced, and caused her to apply herself with obviously real and mounting excitement. While she continued, closed-eyed and breathing hard, her hands groped, opening the top of his trousers, taking them down enough to put her hands inside and grip his bare waist, and then his buttocks, urgently pulling him toward her, sucking voraciously, with gasps and moans, like a woman being made lobe to, almost painful--though occasionally taking so much that she gagged (but, as Boris noted, even when she gagged, she did it--consumate artist that she was--with a certain classic Úlan).

And Boris now, with her breast in play and this convincing show of passion, could only think of her as purely woman, and wondered if this moment might not be extremely opportune for the emancipating experience (he now felt) she needed, which he wouldn't mind performing, and his inclination toward this was heightened as he looked down on the lithe curve of her body, curled spoon-like, the black chinos taut over he perfect rounded bottom, beneath which he could faintly discern the panty-line, and wondered if she were wet, and his hand almost went out involuntarily to touch her there (thinking if her nipple responds, why not her clit?) but then, on a stab of intuition, he withdrew--touching her there, he was suddenly sure, might blow the whole thing...she probably wasn't ready for that yet...and then there would be the awkward hassle of getting the slacks off (and the sandals), precisely the kind of untimely deal-breaking catalyst to avoid. He made a mental note to use such a situation in a film sometime, and a second note to be sure and fuck Arabella as soon as possible--then he returned his attention to her fabulous head, and as he did, she stopped for a second and looked up with a soft smile, all breathless, dewy-eyed, and shimmering wet lips. "Are you going to come in Arabella's beautiful mouth?"

"Uh, something like that, " said Boris, thinking, My God is she going to stop now?

She nodded, closed her eyes, opened her mouth, then looked up at him, assuming her little-girl pout. "I guess she has to swallow it, doesn't she?"

"Yep."

She smiled her secret smile. "Good--she wants to swallow it."

She resumed in earnest, Boris fondling both nipples, squeezing them hard, and she reacting more ravenously the harder he squeezed. When he started to come, he let go of her nipples and took her head in his hands, holding it and pulling it to him, wanting to come as deep inside her famous, beautiful mouth as possible, to explode against the very back of her virgin throat. And she devoured it, gulping and sucking as in some insatiable desperation, until every last drop was drained--and Boris, in a state of collapse, weakly pushed her head away.

"Wow," he murmured.

Arabella looked up at him, her huge eyes shimmering, happy knowing she had pleased. "Hmm," her pink tongue moved around her glistening lips, "it;s strange, I always thought there would be more of it."

"Well...it's very rich."

"Oh, it's fantastic, it tastes so...I don't know, so alive."

Boris, eyes closed, reached out and found her hand.

"Yeah, I guess it would at that."

Arabella laughed softly, closing her eyes too, and snuggling up to him, and together like that, they fell into a deeply peaceful sleep--there on the cool grassy bank of the silver mountain lake.


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