Page 164 - Titanic: Forbidden Stories Hollywood Forgot

150 Jack Fritscher

on any movie set dispelled them.
Watching the long lissome tanned golden body of
Stella Maris floating in the warm wet of her South ern
California pool con vinced me to do anything and ev-
erything I could to help this ambitious and offbeat girl
become a major erotic film star.
I found out right away that I would never be Stella’s
one and only fan. I guess that’s sort of what I liked about
her: the transerotic honesty that she would never swim
with only one man. Stella was the essence of Hollywood
where science enhances, and sometimes, reveals, true
nature. She was designed for play. Her body was the
cove of pleasure for many men.
A crash from the pool house caught my attention.
Stella’s eyes did not open. Instead, she called out a man’s
name.
“Jim?”
A young man appeared at the door of the pool house.
He was wearing the green teeshirt of a pool cleaning
company in Beverly Hills.
“Jim,” Stella called, “are you all right?”
The Pool Man turned to the naked woman floating in
the bright pool. He squint ed in his own dazzle. His hand
rubbed his crotch. Pulled at his pants.
This was going to be better than a screentest!
This was in a sense a true test of Stella’s sexual
athletic ability, of that certain something that clicks
physically on the set before it can ever click cinemato-
graphically in the camera.
Jim was the perfect leading man. He could have been
an X-rated star himself. Stella opened her eyes and stared
at him. Her hand moved to her sweet little clit. She smiled

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