Georgina Spelvin - The Devil Made Me Do It

David Henry Sterry, best-selling author of Master of Ceremonies: a True Story of Sex, Drugs, Rollerblades, and Chippendales and Chicken: Self-portrait of a Young Man for Rent , and who has been translated into ten languages, says...

"The Devil in Miss Jones was not only a revolutionary movie, it was a great movie. I do believe the reason it transcended into the Pantheon was the magic of Georgina Spelvin. Imagine my delight when I found her writing to be as deep, exciting, spellbinding, passionate, playful, and yes, I must say it, S*E*X* Y as her acting was."

Annie M. Sprinkle PhD: artist, sexologist, author, 'Post-Porn-Modernist, noted Feminist, and pioneering film producer/director and performer was consulted and quoted by best-selling author Mary Roach in her latest book, Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. Annie said of Georgina's book...

Its like Siddhartha meets Boogie Nights meets A Chorus Line meets The Devil in Miss Jones. This juicy memoir truly captures the spirit and creativity of the era.

Cap'n Pegleg Flix: video editor/graphic artist says... "Hey, I'm no critic, just an old, busted up, retired motorcycle dude who happens to be a friend of Georgie's. I reckon she wants a few words from me about her book cause she knows I'm an honest man. I gotta tell ya, I was damned surprised what a great story this turned out to be.

Copyright 2006 by Georgina Spelvin

United States Copyright Office Rec. Txu 1 - 320 37

Paperback Edition Published by Little Red Hen Books Los Angeles, California

First Paperback Edition: April 2008

Kindle e-book Edition Published by E xpanded T echnologies I ncorporated , Shreveport, Louisiana

First Kindle Edition: September 2011

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in electronic form without the explicit written permission of the publisher, ETI.

ISBN-978-0-9824167-1-6

Acknowledgements:

Thank you... Cindi Loftus, writer and publicist who made me do it.

www.cindisnakedtruth.com

David Henry Sterry, book doctor, who showed me how.

www.davidhenrysterry.com

Wendy Cohen, editor and all-round-great-gal, who made me do it right.

www.wendycohen.com

Sandee Curry, copy editor, who made sure it was.

www.tinkerbettie.com

Wyatt Doyle, media maven and fellow author.

www.NewTexture.com

Sam Caldwell, multi-media producer and publisher, who sent The Devil to the clouds.

Http://iNetSynch.com

Caveat

In 1972, a sexually explicit film called Deep Throat erupted over the cinematic landscape sending shockwaves of horror and titillation down the fault lines of society. It redefined pornography. It also made a lot of money.

Once a Broadway Gypsy, Id grown up to be a respected producer of multi-media business meetings. But when the Flower Children marched by, their songs resonated in my ultra-liberal head and I fell into step beside them. The music was our Internet. It told us what was going down and when and where and what to wear: flowers in our hair.

Then things got really ugly. Bam! Bam! Bam! Two Kennedys and a King shot dead before our hopeful eyes. We were told to go kill people we didnt even know in some place wed hardly heard of called Viet Nam, and we really, really didnt want to do that. So we marched and shouted and sang and got busted and generally made pains-in-the-ass of ourselves. One particular collection of anti-war filmmakers became my family.

The rent was due on our film commune, The Pickle Factory. About that same time the folks who brought you Deep Throat decided to make another pornographic film: The Devil in Miss Jones . I played the title role of Miss Jones and paid the rent.

I write here of real people doing surreal things in bizarre situations, but if youre looking for the ordeals of a victim, this aint your book. And it most definitely is not a reference work. Ive written what I can remember of these folks and events as they altered the course of my life. For facts, go to Google.

The pseudonym Georgina Spelvin (an obvious homage to the Theatah, where George Spelvin is synonymous with John Doe) though not assumed until the release of The Devil in Miss Jones , is used throughout this narrative for clarity. Most of the players names herein are fictitious for obvious reasons. Moreover, conversations are hardly exact. I mean, come on, its been thirty years.

That said, welcome to my head.

Georgina Spelvin

Chapter 1 - You Want Me to What?

New York City 1972

ITS A PENIS. OK? Its not the first time youve seen one. You can do this. Youve done it before. OK. Maybe just four times, but you survived, right?

Concentrate.

Looking past the trembling member I can see the A camera, and standing just behind it, the director Beau Buchanan. I can sense the B camera behind me, presumably focused tightly on the neatly circumcised organ I am to stick down my throat. The grips are still messing with the lights.

Yeah, the first time was pretty awful. What was that guys name? No matter. I couldnt pronounce it anyway. I still cant believe you fell for that I have many friends in high places shit.

Was getting in a ballet company important enough to let this guy lead you down the proverbial garden path to the dark deserted pool area and put his dick in your mouth?

Well yes, it was. Besides, I was drunk.

Well, yes. You usually were at parties. Cute, blaming the booze when you threw up after the damn thing exploded in your mouth.

Mom

Thats Beau, the director. Hes talking to me. Im playing The Mother. Shes the High Priestess in this movie Im in. Its called High Priestess of Sexual Witchcraft .

from here on youre on your own. Any dialog you want to use is fine. Just try not to drop out of character.

Im insulted! Has he seen me drop out of character yet? OK. Its only the second day of the shoot, but I havent muffed a line and all the ad lib dialogue hes needed has been delivered in character thus far.

Like that last shot yesterday. I was dragging my crawling milquetoast of a hubby around on a leash, berating and demeaning him with every foul epithet ever devised. The three lines of dialogue in the script didnt go very far so I spouted a lot of words I didnt even know I knew. All the actor playing my husband had to do was to scream in agony while I thrashed his bare bony flanks with a cat-o-nine-tails. The prop department gave it to me. It was very soft. I thought the guy was one hell of an actor. Then I saw what the bare wood floor did to his knees.

Remember. Youre her son, for crisesakes, whispers the director intensely. You dont really want to do this, but you cant help yourself.

Mother, back to me, you really have to force him to do this, you know?

I know. I know. What kind of idiot does he think I am? I read the script.

The writing was quite clear about how (if not why) the mother first punishes, then consoles, and finally sexually abuses her young adult son. Classic Et-a-puss stuff, thought I in reading it. This might be a no-budget Sombrero Productions film, but I was giving it my Uta-Hagen-drama-class best, by gosh. The only thing the script hadnt made clear was that the sex scenes would be explicit.

I was still adjusting to the situation.

Hold his hands behind his hips and make him hold still while you blow him. OK? And be sure to leave enough air for the camera to see the strokes.