Not Your Ordinary Housewife: How the man I loved led me into a world I had never imagined (27 page)

Back in 1984, with the advent of the video, the federal Labor government had introduced a compulsory classification scheme— including the X-rating—to be determined by the Film Classification Board. While classification was a federal matter, the actual sale or hire of X-rated material was controlled by the individual states, according to their whims. Robbie was associated with a push to replace the existing national X-rating with a non-violent erotica (NVE) classification that might be more acceptable to the states. While both X and NVE categories contained only consensual sexually explicit activity, without violence or the depiction of minors, the use of ‘non-violent’ in the title would have put the issues of cruelty and brutality to rest once and for all. I pointed out the coincidence that these were my initials: Nikki Van Eyk. Jokingly, Robbie suggested that I should run for parliament on such a platform, similar to porn-star politician Cicciolina (aka Ilona Staller) in Italy.

Robbie also lobbied on behalf of the Adult Video Industry Association (AVIA), a watchdog organisation for X-video businesses. Their mission was to eliminate the black market by stamping out shonky mail-order companies and video pirates. They also fought against moralising politicians and the ultra-conservative brigade. He offered to put us in touch with AVIA founder and undisputed ‘King of Porn’, John Lark.

A meeting was arranged at John’s Molonglo Mall office. This was the nerve-centre of the legal Australian porn industry. Set in the industrial suburb of Fyshwick, John’s company occupied a significant proportion of the mall. Apart from the swanky offices, there was the duplication plant, the editing suite, the graphics department and, last but not least, the Fantasy Lane ‘supermarket’, outside which an endless stream of tour buses jostled for parking places. It was easy to see why pornography was one of Canberra’s leading exports.

We had precious little material to show, but everyone seemed to be impressed with our freshness and energy. John was a handsome man in his fifties, with striking blue eyes and a lilting English accent. He ran the largest mail-order porn business in Australia and had recently filmed a number of big-budget Aussie porn movies in
The Man from Snowy River
country, using a bevy of local beauties and imported American male stars. However, despite the iconic Aussie images of kangaroos and Akubra hats, I gathered that the
Down Under
series had not been a total success.

John was keen to enter the amateur porn market, and it seemed we offered him the perfect vehicle. He proposed a joint venture, through which his company would advertise our products to his 250,000-strong mailing list. We already had several thousand names, but the enormity of his list was truly mind-boggling. We would fill the orders and be responsible for all the day-to-day running of the business. Although we would never have direct access to his list, clients who responded to our ads would become ours and we could market to them directly. Profits would be split fifty-fifty and, most importantly, it did not require any financial outlay on our part. The joint venture heads of agreement was drawn up and a name agreed upon: ‘The Horny Housewife’.

Paul wrote the contract and faxed it to Lloyd for checking, who again complimented Paul on his legal proficiency. He had, it seemed, thought of every contingency. Everything was then signed and sealed with the company stamps. It was a joyous occasion.

Almost immediately, we were given the keys to the Shoe Box, as Paul called it. It was an unassuming office in Molonglo Mall, but it suited our purposes perfectly. John generously lent us desks, filing cabinets and all manner of things to make it a functioning office. Apparently he (and most of the Canberran porn industry) had recently bought at auctions surplus furniture intended for the new Parliament House; unsurprisingly, this turned out to be of exquisite quality and craftsmanship.

The phone lines were connected and Paul installed our computer equipment. We were finally in business—legitimately.

15

Operating a legal porn business in the ACT meant acquiring a licence from the government. The problem with video pirates was a constant one, and this system was a means of keeping track of legitimate operators. One of John’s contacts, a retired senior public servant, had a small sideline completing the complex paperwork for the porn industry. Our application was successful—we were licensee #20—and each month, we had to send a fifty-dollar cheque to the ACT Revenue Office.

As the printing deadline for John’s mailer drew near, Paul began a filming frenzy. Through one of our stripper ads we met Duncan, who offered his professional services—in front of, and behind, the camera. He worked in the parliamentary studios of the ABC as a sound technician and was in training to be a cameraman. Besides his regular gig on Channel 2’s
Lateline
each night, we would often see him on the nightly news holding the boom microphone for some senator or other. He even gave us a tour of the ABC studios—through strict security—and it provided a fascinating insight into the workings of parliament.

After a hardcore photographic screen test, we scheduled a camera shoot at our Reid home. Duncan proved to be a consummate professional: not only was he technically savvy, but his good looks, toned physique and pleasant disposition made him ideal to work with.

Paul wrote a rough treatment for our first legitimate movie. It was to open with me undressing to reveal a pink lacy corset, white fishnets and high heels. As I lay provocatively on the bed, Paul responded to my announcement of how horny I was by shouting off camera, ‘Start without me!’ I quickly progressed from ‘fingers only’ to simultaneously inserting anal and vaginal vibrators. To everyone’s surprise, me included, I came for real. While it was a relief not to have to fake it, I regarded it merely as a measure of my disengagement from all around me while I pleasured myself.

Paul entered and we engaged in a 69. We bantered as he complimented me on my sucking, admonishing me not to ‘talk with my mouth full’. We ad-libbed, chatting about the mess his friends left after a fictitious party; I couldn’t resist needling him that cleaning up would be a novel experience for him. As always, Paul came on cue, spilling his semen onto my rump.

With Paul filming, Duncan’s screen debut saw me sucking him and then fucking him reverse-cowgirl style: me straddling him backwards, with my face and his feet to the camera. Reiterating how horny I was, I expressed the usual pornographic utterances of ‘Fuck me! Fuck me harder!’ Even the phone unexpectedly ringing in the next room caused him no consternation, and he maintained his proud erection throughout the shoot. The scene climaxed with a double-penetration sandwich shot and me proclaiming how much I loved two cocks at once. I had once upon a time been inhibited in my dirty talk, but I was learning fast.

The resulting stills proved to be high quality and, on reviewing the video rushes, Paul estimated there was at least half an hour of usable footage. I fast-forwarded randomly through it: I’d long ago learnt to detach from such images. I’d become desensitised and aloof, assessing the mechanical thrustings only in terms of camera angles, lighting and other technicalities. I had slipped effortlessly into my Horny Housewife role, but I privately longed to leave this salacious world of sleaze.

Serendipitously, one of my regular Watch & Wankers was coming to Canberra and requested a private session. He was staying in the ACT’s premier hotel on Capital Hill—the Pavilion—and offered me the use of the suite after he’d left. This was too good an opportunity to miss, and so we arranged a shoot for the afternoon.

Via the fire escape, we smuggled the cameras, monitors and lighting equipment up to the top floor of the four-and-a-half-star hotel, thus bypassing the main lobby with its cavernous canvas-roofed atrium. The honeymoon suite, which boasted a sumptuous granite bathroom with a spa, would provide quality production values. To my amusement, there was also a splendid view of the iconic parliamentary spire.

As it happened, my old Brashs boss, with whom we’d stayed in touch, was teaching video courses for their Canberra store and offered to film for us. There was also no shortage of volunteer male performers, stills photographers and gaffers. In addition, we’d contacted one of John Lark’s starlets. Humorously named after that Central Australian oasis, ‘Alice Springs’ agreed to be in our movie.

The majority of the action involved girl-on-girl footage, with me and Alice romping around in the bubble bath. Both of us naked, we began by kissing and caressing each other’s breasts. She sat on the spa ledge as I rubbed her clitoris and tested out our new waterproof G-spot vibrator, which she then turned on me. The action escalated as we engaged in sex talk and moaning. Only later did I realise that our orgasmic oratorios could well have been heard in the adjacent rooms.

A scene with Alice masturbating on the bed was followed by both of us in lingerie doing a 69. I was having a hard time trying not to gag; I was worried that viewers would be able to tell that I wasn’t enjoying myself and I fervently hoped that the footage would be usable. Nevertheless, we licked each other while she pumped two vibrators into both my orifices.

The action progressed until the various men entered for an orgy scene. Paul directed all camera angles and shots: he and I were having anal sex as I was sucking and fucking some of the other males. The culmination was a series of cum shots, in which all and sundry orgasmed for the cameras. The shoot ran late into the night, but by the end we had enough footage for the pivotal segment in what we were calling Movie 1 and part of Movie 2.

We filmed a brief talking head, emphasising the fact that we were now in the ACT and legal: ‘Hi, I’m Nikki, the Horny Housewife, and I’m coming to you live from Canberra. This movie features me and hubby and a few friends doing all kinds of naughty things . . . Well, I hope you have half as much fun watching it as I had making it.’

All that remained was to devise some simple titles on a whiteboard. Paul filmed me as I wrote:
The Horny Housewife Home
Movie, starring Nikki as herself, Hubby and friends
. I was keen to record myself singing an improvisation or playing one of my own guitar compositions; but instead, Paul insisted on playing some blues riffs on harmonica while I drew a cartoon face with a speech bubble reading
Enjoy
.

John gave us access to his editing suite, where Paul put the 72-minute movie together. There was a preview screening for John’s top executives and all involved seemed most impressed. We still needed to decide on a stage name for me.

Paul announced his suggestion. ‘McNeil. What do you reckon?’

‘Great name.’ I laughed. ‘You know I love all things Scottish.’

‘Yeah, it’s gotta be something totally unremarkable to go with the whole housewife theme,’ said Paul. ‘And it’s Anglo-Saxon— well, Celtic—so you won’t seem ethnic. The clients will go for that.’

‘What’s wrong with ethnic?’ I asked indignantly. I was sure that if I ever found my birth parents, I’d turn out to be a ‘wog’.

With the name decided, Paul set about designing the cover. He wanted it to be deliberately unprofessional. He showed me the mockup, asking my opinion as he turned the computer screen towards me. ‘It can’t be too slick, or it won’t go with the amateurish theme.’

I looked at the text and the stark black-and-white image. He had used the 0055 Fantasy Line graphic of me in lingerie with my legs kicked in the air. Paul cleared his throat and proudly read out the blurb. ‘Nikki McNeil IS
The Horny Housewife
. If you’re sick and tired of seeing the same old American actors playing the same old weak scripts and seeing one minute of sex for every ten minutes of dialogue, then this is the movie for you. It really IS home-made, the actors aren’t actors, and the action is non-stop, shot just as it happened—the real thing. This is what happens when Aussie swingers get together and party all night.’

‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit over the top.’

Paul assured me it was fine. ‘Besides, it’s true; you know what those American movies are like.’

‘No, actually.’ I’d never ever seen a porn movie, American or otherwise. It was just not something I’d ever had any interest in.

‘Well, I’ll watch some with you. Out of professional interest, of course!’