Anal, Inc.

12) Featuring Cutting Edge Technology

But the end of that conversation that didn't mean that Ruth forgot about her "third person" project entirely.

A few weeks later, when I climbed back into the ugliest custom van on the planet, it was impossible to ignore the new, cutting edge equipment back in the passenger compartment.

While obviously a camera, it was much too big to be recording Super 8 - so it was necessarily supported on a heavy tripod. Next to the camera - and connected to the camera by a heavy cable - was a metal box, sitting on the van's shag carpet.

My father - who loved home movies, but hated the 3 minute running time of 8mm film - had told me about this new development: something called Betamax. But his conclusion had been that no one he knew could afford to own one of them at their current asking price.

It was the kind of thing that rich people played with.

And yet, here it was.

And here was Ruth: so excited about the session that she more or less forgot to treat me like shit.

Flipping a U-turn that had at least 3 other drivers flipping her the bird, we roared right back down toward our usual supermarket venue. More or less keeping the van under control, Ruth gestured toward the equipment behind us.

"I married just the sweetest man in the world. I told him that this setup cost way too much, and he just said 'There's no such thing as too much when it comes to making you happy.' And I really think this is going to change everything."

"I'm guessing that this is the new thing? Video? Right?"

"That's it exactly. It puts moving pictures on magnetic tape. Just like you record music to cassettes. We've been recording stuff at home, and it really works! It's really true! Sound! Color! Everything. And just one of those cassettes goes on for an hour and a half."

"What have you recorded yourselves doing?"

"Just talking. Driving around. Kevin wants me to be comfortable using it. So, now we have something like a watcher, but even better: because, afterward, we still have the tape, and we can watch it as many times as we want."

"I think should warn you that I'm a little camera shy."

"So is everybody else. But this can create a re-hot mood for hot sex. Once we get rolling, your little hammer will be ready to go. And - if it isn't ready the first time - eventually you'll get used to it. It's like you're doing it in front of everybody. But nobody else is there. It's very quiet. You'll hardly even notice it."

"And if I decide that I don't want to be filmed?"

She answered very cheerfully as she put the van into park.

"You'll get to go down and talk to the nice people in Human Resources and explain to them how you tried to unbutton my blouse."

She scrambled back into the passenger compartment: childishly eager to get started.

"You shouldn't make a big deal out of it. It's not you who's being filmed, sweetie. It's me. Kevin's only interested in me. He couldn't care less who's on the other end of that dick."

Ruth had dressed, that day, to get undressed, and - without a stitch on - was already powering up the camera before I had my belt off.

"Is there a separate microphone?"

"It's in the camera."

"I suppose we need to make a lot of noise."

"Doesn't matter what you do. I'm the star of the show. Could you get undressed a little faster, please?"

"Almost there. Shouldn't we close the blind?"

"No. The camera needs the light. That window is coated, anyway."

"I thought you said you didn't believe that it was coated."

"We'll just have to hope for the best. Without some sunlight, it will look like we're getting it on in a coal mine."

She fiddled with the camera viewfinder, while I registered my first complaint.

"I'm not sure how well I'm going to do on camera."

"That's what I setting up now. If I get the framing right, you'll just be a generic cock coming in from the edge of the picture. Nobody special. Only your wife would be able to identify you. And that would be only if she's seen your johnson in broad daylight."

"She's seen it in all kinds of light. We're not puritans."

Ruth didn't want to explore the history of my marriage. But she didn't apologize, either.

"Lie flat on your back over there."

"Will this be something we've done before?"

"It's something we've done before. Don't worry. It won't hurt."

A few more seconds passed. Then, suddenly, the red light on the front of the camera started to blink.

"Does the blinking light mean it's about to explode?"

"It means that the tape is running. So you're on the verge of being famous."

"I'd rather be a generic dick."

"You are being a little bit of a dick, today. Lie down, and be quiet."

I clasped my hands behind my head - flat on my back - while Ruth stepped over me and started stroking my penis, while looking straight into the camera.

"And...action...."

In just a split second, she dropped into a boudoir mode that I had never seen - since she had never gone to the trouble of seducing me. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, and the expression on her face is one that I really can't describe, but - if you're ever seen a skin magazine pictorial - you've probably seen something like it.

From the time she went into her act, there was a third person in the van with us. And it became obvious that I wasn't that important. I stopped being nervous, and started getting a little irritated.

"Here we go, baby. Just imagine I'm working to get you hard as a rock. As hard as you'll ever be."

She kept on talking and stroking, until my penis started showing signs of life.

"And now I take all of your big, strong cock into my mouth...like this."

The narration broke off that this point - for obvious reasons - but, for the sake of the rolling tape, she was making all kinds of hums of satisfaction that she hadn't made before when I had been in her mouth. Little groans: as if she wanted everyone to know how good I tasted.

Not long after she transformed me into a stiff pillar - standing straight up - she interrupted her steady motion to lean right up to my ear to whisper something she didn't want the camera to pick up.

"Make it sound like you're enjoying yourself. Any time you're ready. And make it a little loud."

So I was pulled into the performance, after all. But my background noise was all natural. Just a little bit amplified over my usual standard.

Then Ruth decided that I wasn't playing enough of a part. She started asking me questions over the top of my glistening member.

"How's that feeling?"

"Very nice."

"Is that all? Just nice?"

"The best feeling in the world." (Which was true).

"You want me to stop?"

"Please...don't stop."

Then she went back to the camera.

"So nice and hard. Stiff as a board. Really stiff. Really hard. I need this in my ass in the worst way. The worst way. So let's get the raincoat on - so I can have it all the way in my ass - where it's going to feel so good. So fucking good."

She slipped the latex on very expertly - being careful not to block the camera.

But the next thing to come out of her bag was unexpected: a bottle of vegetable oil. Robin had been a fan of olive. But Ruth had decided to go with canola - perhaps because the fragrance of olive oil would have been overpowering in that confined space.

"Now it's time to get greasy. Just the way we like it."

She poured it straight from the bottle over the latex, then took the oil pooling in my groin - and rubbed it on her breasts until they were slick, and shining.
She did her own anal prep work with her lubricated finger: talking to the camera the whole time.

"Feel that in my ass. Feel it: so slick, and hot. Your cock is going to feel so good up there. So good! I can hardly wait!"

Straddling me - with her ass toward my head - she lowered herself to her knees, and - between the two of us - we got my cock where it needed to go - with her sitting straight up.

Once she was in position, most of her weight was resting on my pelvis: greased skin pressing against greased skin, while she bellowed with pleasure.

"Feels so good! - so good! - so good! - so good!"

When she leaned way back toward me, bracing her body with her arms, I knew her well enough to reach out and grab a lubricated tit with each hand.

But that was an awkward position for her - and didn't last that long. The only thing that tableau really accomplished was to give the two little boys standing outside the van an even better look at Ruth's breasts than they had been getting previously.

I resolved that I wasn't going to be the one to spoil the moment by letting Ruth know we were being watched.

But there's no question that she saw the kids out of the corner of her eye, because she transitioned from leaning back to leaning forward, so that her chest was better hidden.

She also toned the sound down a little: from the near-scream she had been recording before - to just the non-stop, military-grade swearing that I was used to.

My cock was in her ass as far as it had ever been - and her movements were dramatic: shifting and ratcheting and grinding to the point where, after a few minutes, I had enough traction so that - even though I didn't have much range of motion - I felt the end approaching.

Despite the abundant lubrication, and our audience (with eyes as big as cupcakes) I started to feel reality bend around me, and I let the irresistable rush come through: arching my back to push her body a little higher, and making the kind of raw animal sounds that I thought might sound good on the tape.

Ruth finished with a big crescendo, and then lifted right off: going to over the camera and fooling with the focus control. She also had urgent instructions for me.

"Hold still! Hold still!"

I started to say something, but she silenced me.

She had a commentary for the tape.

"Look at that, baby! Look at that! Blood on that dick! That was some session, wasn't it? That was all the way over the top. All for you: right to the bloody end."

Then she matter-of-factly reached over to the blinds, and our accidental audience disappeared. She also stepped back across the van to turn off the camera: trying to look on the bright side.

"I wonder how much those boys saw."

"Gee, I wonder. Did you see the expressions on their faces?"

"That window's supposed to be tinted, though. Maybe they were just hearing the sound."

"They saw you change position when you leaned the other way. There's no question that they saw you."

"Then I guess they'll have a story to tell tomorrow. Besides, I told you I was used to an audience. At least these little guys were nice and quiet."

"Nice and quiet - until they get home."

"Nice and quiet forever - except for their little friends. No one else will believe them. Who ever heard of naked people going at it in the middle of the day? In a van? In a parking lot? Doesn't happen. No one will believe them. But kudos to you for finishing so strong."

Ruth pulled a couple of towels out of her bag.

"And that whole blood thing. That was important?"

"Yeah. I felt it tear as I was moving around up there. I'll need to get in to see the doctor."

"But you're going to be all right, then?"

"Of course. It's happened before."

"And that was important? That there was blood?"

"Sure. That's the measure of how hard you're fucking when you're taking it up the ass. That's the measure of how much you love someone. To take it to the bloody end."

I must have looked confused.

"Not love you! Not you! Love my husband. Love Kevin. I'm letting him know the price I'm willing to pay after he spent all that money on the camera. By the way, that canola oil will soak through any fabric you're wearing, so make sure and get it all wiped off."

"And why are we using vegetable oil?"

"For old times' sake. Kevin will understand. We used it a lot when there was just the two of us. And then, in group situations, it was a nice cheap alternative. Although you can't get it on any bed linens that you might want to keep."

"Good to know, in case I ever want to stage an orgy of my own."

"Let me know if you get serious about that. I could help out with the planning."

"Kind of joking, Ruth. I have 3 little kids at home that I wouldn't want walking in on anything."

"You farm the kids out to relations for the occasion. Plenty of swingers do that. It's how you keep from going out of your mind when you feel like your kids are running your life."

This was such a close description of my personal situation that I hastened to change the subject.

"So what happens with the tape now? Do you need to take it somewhere? To have it processed?"

"No. That's the amazing thing about it. It's ready to go now."

"That is amazing."

"I can play it back through the camera right now. Do you want to see it?"

"No, thank you."

"Or it plays back through a home TV after the recorder is hooked up."

"And you can just play it over and over?"

"Over and over. And, if it's not what we want, we can record something new over it."

We were both fully dressed by now - and Ruth peered throught the blinds covering the big window before yanking the cord that opened them completely. Our audience of youngsters had evidently given up on a second act. The window looked out on an empty stretch of pavement.

"Home telling mommy and daddy how they saw naked people wrestling with each other in the supermarket parking lot."

Ruth shrugged.

"But did they did the license plate? That's the question. And what are they going to do about it now? No reason to worry, if we don't hear sirens. And I'm not hearing sirens."

"If I were them, I'd just keep checking this parking lot. See if I could get lucky again."

Ruth climbed behind the steering wheel, and I got into the shotgun seat.

"There are tons of empty parking lots. We could spend a lifetime trying them all."

***

And we did try a lot of different ones, and our experiences proved Ruth correct: since there never was any other problem.

But it was impossible to control the weather, and - as summer came on - the van got to be a more impractical venue: sweaty, cramped, and essentially public, because the big windows were left wide open to provide natural light for the camera.

The downstairs conference room wasn't inspiring much confidence, either. At least once - while Miriam and I had been getting our clothes back on - we had heard footsteps in the hall - and had watched, helplessly, as the knob on the locked door rotated back and forth.

Someone was trying to get in - and we both held our breath.

After about 15 seconds of pants pissing time, the footsteps went off in the same direction they'd come, and Miriam and I hurried to put things right before our visitor returned.

"What if that person had brought a key?"

Miriam gave the matter some thought.

"We would have been caught in the act. It wouldn't have been very pleasant."

"And no more threats about me losing my job."

"Right. We'd both be out in the street. Unless I could sell them on the idea that you forced me into this."

"So. I wouldn't just be unemployed. I would be a rapist."

"An accused rapist. We would keep you out of prison, somehow."

I didn't find that statement to be as re-assuring as Miriam intended - so I was as eager as anyone that we have a residential option for our meetings.

And, after a few more weeks of worry and research, Gypsy walked into our lives.

END OF CHAPTER TWELVE