The “redeeming social value” in Night Moves was the political statement made by having a peeping-Tom pervert wear a Nixon mask. But, to my girlfriend, Night Moves had a whole different importance: The SCENE.
It starred the ever-reliable Mike Horner and two hot ladies: that sexual predator Lilly Marlene and the intense Robyn Everett.
It was a typical night game at Candlestick Park, the stadium from Hell Frozen Over. The infamous icy winds had once blown pitcher Stu Miller off the mound in the midst of his windup. They were now turning hotdog wrappers, napkins, Giants caps and anything else not clutched in numb fingers into crazed satellites, making the rounds of our seating section.
Wrapped in a blanket, Shelly and I sat huddled together, arms around each other. It was so cold that Shelly’s favorite San Francisco Giant, Chili Davis, ignored his standard post-strikeout ritual of breaking his bat over his knee; he ran back to the dugout. The Giants were behind by five runs.
We were more excited from shivering, hugging and rubbing together under the blanket than from the events on the diamond. Shelly said, “I’m getting horny as an old cat. Let’s go home, turn on The Scene and trounce around.”
The Scene, in Night Moves, was Shelly’s favorite video stimulant. It came at 3067 on the digit counter of the Panasonic VCR in the bedroom. We always shuttled the tape back to that point after we were finished.
What really made that section of videotape come alive was the chemistry between Mike, Lilly and Robyn.
When taping the scene, there was no need for the “hurry up and use the erection before it goes away” approach. I let Horner and the two blonde actresses take their time.
There was lots of caressing, kissing, tonguing and fondling, more like real life than structured screen sex. The intensity built to a frenzy, and when Mike pulled out of Robyn–to be taken in Lilly’s waiting hand–he produced such volume that she exclaimed, “So much come!”
He had plenty left. We were disassembling the gear when Mike and Robyn started up again. I grabbed a camera and taped her fast, cowgirl position bouncing and Mike’s second orgasm. Then Mike and Robyn took a shower together–and had sex yet again.
During the long drive from Candlestick Park to San Rafael, the anticipation was an aphrodisiac. Shelly and I were still “trouncing around” long after the tape had ended.
Then we caught the late news: “The Giants’ six-run ninth inning rally was capped by Chili Davis’s three-run homer in a dramatic come-from-behind victory…”
“Oh no!” Shelly exclaimed. “Look what we missed! It’s all my fault!”
I gave her a kiss. “We didn’t miss a thing.”
During 1983-84, Joe Farmer and I felt that we had the formula for shooting hot sex on videotape all to ourselves. (That would soon change as every sex-shooter and his bastard brother began cranking out crap videos–as described in Chapter 11: The Smut Glut.)
For that brief, glorious period, Superior Video went for the gold.
Next: Superior Video Shoots Its Wad: Part 2: Running Wild. Does Porn Go Better with Pot?