
"You're a tits-and-ass actress," she had been told. "Stay with that and you'll go someplace. Look at those tits… look at that fabulous ass. That's what people want to see, and you've got it."
The truth had hurt. Her body had gotten her into films, and it had stopped her from getting better parts. She was, as she was told many times, the image of a sex goddess of the fifties. Her hair was blonde, her flesh satiny and unblemished. She had wide blue eyes that still held an innocent expression. Her teeth were sparkling white and even, her lips full and pouty. She spoke with a suggestively whispery voice. Her walk, natural, was called a cock-lifter. Her ass, a very tight ass, wiggled and writhed and bunched erotically.
And Sherri hated to wear panties. Much speculation was made about this, and finally some photographer had caught her in the right pose to prove to the world she did not, indeed, wear panties. It also showed the world her pussy-hair was a darker color than her blonde head.
But, with the fickleness of the movie industry, Sherri found herself unwanted by the time she was thirty years old. Now, at thirty-three, she had not had a part in three years.
Fortunately, Sherri had kept and invested her money, so she had no financial problems. She had no real problems at all, except she wanted to marry Frank, and her son-and his daughter-threw tantrums every time the subject was mentioned.
Frank was a film editor, a widower, trying his best to cope with a daughter in the transition stage between child and adult.
Tommy knew his mother had been in horror films, pleaded with her to see them. So far, Sherri had resisted. She felt he was too young to see such frightening movies. Not only that, but in every last film, her tits had always been exposed, as often as possible. In her last three horror films, everything had been exposed.
So she really had two reasons not to let her son see her old films. She had them all, on video tape, tucked away in her closet, where they would stay forever as far as she was concerned.
