The whir of the video camera made an eerie background noise as she fished for words. Her large, sepia-colored eyes were cast downward; she was looking at her blood-red fingernails. She stifled a giggle, then took a swig of Corona beer and looked at me with lust in her gaze.

“You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable,” I said.

“No, it’s just that…” She started to laugh again and demurely covered her mouth with her hand.

“I’ve never told anyone before — at least, not anyone who wasn’t a, you know — one of my lovers. I like for guys to … oh, gosh, you’re going to think this is so stupid, but I love for a guy to jerk me off with his chin.” Renee stopped talking and covered her face with her hands. “This isn’t some weird scene, is it?” she said into her palms.

Hardly. My sex-tape collection is more important to me than anything I’ve filmed for money or any other tapes I’ve owned. When I saw the film sex, lies, and videotape, I nearly fell out of my seat. I’ve been taping women’s sexual confessions almost since the day I bought my camcorder. In fact, my first score happened quite by accident.

I was in my Kerouac period: driving cross-country on back roads, filming favorite truck stops and pinball machines. I had picked up some witchy babe in the motel bar. I took her back to my room, and she saw the camera. Wondering what it was for, she suggested that I interview her. After a few dull questions about where she was from and what she did for a living, the conversation got more racy, and soon she was telling me things she had told no other man — her deepest fantasies and her darkest desires. I was thrilled beyond measure, and we capped the interview with fucking in front of the camera, which was propped up on the dresser.

After this fortuitous beginning, I was surprised by how easy it continued to be to get women to agree to submit to an interview. God, I remember a wild one last October when I was in New Orleans doing the strip joints on Bourbon Street. I took a seat in the back, ordered a beer and watched the show. Most of the dancers were lively but past it. But when Renee took the stage, every guy in the place swallowed hard and took notice. She was long and lean, with caramel-colored skin and raven-black hair, which hung in soft curls to. the small of her back. When her top came off, her nipples, resembling Hershey’s kisses, were revealed to the world.

On her break she sat at the bar, sipping a beer, eyeing me as I approached her. I’m sure she was preparing herself for a crude come-on, so I tried to be friendly when I asked her her name.

“How do you do, my name is Jack,” I began, noticing that the bartender was taking stock of our conversation, ready to throw me the hell out should I. get too frisky. “What’s your name?”

Her name, “Renee,” was spoken in a voice of surprising cartoon-mouse babyishness.

“Well, Renee, you’d sure look great on camera.”

“You in television?” she asked, her eyes dancing brightly.

“Not exactly,” I said, writing my hotel address on a cocktail napkin. I carefully and gently invited her over, teasing her about the possibilities. She looked at me strangely for a few seconds before taking the napkin in her delicate hand. “I’ll see if I can make it,” she said, and I knew I had her hooked.

At about three-thirty in the morning, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to see Renee, now dressed in a Motley Crue t-shirt artfully lacerated up to her tits and a tiny pink leather skirt. I invited her in and gave her a beer. When I got her all set up, she told me in her little doll-like voice to give her my best shot, so I asked, “Do you ever get wet onstage?” She giggled. “Do you ever come on-stage?”

“No, I’ve never come onstage,” she answered. Then she gave me a conspiratorial look. “But I have masturbated in the dressing room.” I had broken through.

“Do you do that often?”

“Not very.”

“Tell me about the last time.”

Her voice thickened a bit, and she licked her lips lightly. “Well. This very well-dressed man, a businessman, you know, an out-of-towner, came in one afternoon. He was one of several men in there; it was slow. He tipped me a lot. He kept telling me what he’d do to me.”

“What did he tell you?”

Renee cleared her throat and blushed. “Oh, you know, the same old shit they all say. He said he was going to eat my pussy. He said he bet my pussy tasted delicious. He said he would stick his whole hand in my pussy and twist it around.” This all rushed out kind of singsong. “Then he said he would stick his tongue into my asshole, all the way.” Suddenly she squealed and clapped her hands.

“And that excited you?”

“Oh, I love it when guys play with my ass!” Renee was sitting cross-legged now, her skirt hiked up around her knees, and I could see that she wasn’t wearing panties.

“So you like anal sex.”

“Yeah. But I like even bette’r to get licked back there. And to get spanked.”

“You like to get spanked?” Renee shook her head yes.

“I’ll say. I’m Catholic, you know, and I so desperately wanted to do everything sexual all at once. I read dirty novels and looked at porno magazines when I could. I was really itching to try a lot of dirty things. I used to stick things in my butt, and I always liked the way it felt.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Hairbrushes, candles, even a carrot. My girlfriend had a dildo. We used to use it on each other.”

“Your girlfriend stuck a dildo ’in your ass?”

“Uh-huh.” Renee laughed uncontrollably. My dick was hardening uncontrollably as well,.as her densely forested pussy was now fully exposed to my view.

“Maybe you’d like to show me how you did that,” I suggested to her. Renee stopped laughing and looked at me hard, noticing the unmistakable throbbing bulge in my pants.

“Sure. What have you got?”

I looked around the room, and my gaze rested on my toothbrush container. “How about this?” I asked. “Not too big?”

“Hardly,” she said, smiling. She walked over to the bed and lay down, pulling her skirt all the way up. I panned over to her, not missing a bit of this. Then she threw her legs up over her head, her pussy and asshole fully exposed. She took the case in her hand and rubbed it around her rear hole. “Mmm,” she moaned, her eyes closed. She inserted the case in her anus and I held my breath, knowing that I was getting a clear-focused close-up of this nasty deed. She began to pump the foreign object in and out of her ass, and I couldn’t help but begin to rub my rock-hard cock.

Renee continued to fuck her ass with my toothbrush case. Her other hand played with her pussy, pulling at the lips and flicking her clit. I watched silently, the sounds of the camera and her steady moans the only sound in the room. Four or five minutes passed before she began to quiver and come, her back arching, her fingers plunging deep into her cunt.

“God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said as she lay back, panting. She saw that I had taken my cock out of my pants and was stroking it. She reached for it, but I stopped her, taking a moment to place the camera on the night table so that it pointed directly at the center of the bed.

The sex that night with Renee was mind-boggling. She swallowed my cock whole, and I ate her pussy till I thought my tongue would fall off. Eventually, of course, I stuck my cock up her ass and fucked her hard and fast. When I was ready to come, I told her so.

“Oh, come in my ass. I love to feel come shooting in my ass! Do it, shoot it up my asshole!” So I did, firing salvo after salvo of my cream deep into her bowels.

And that was Renee, who now occupies four hours of tape that sits proudly on my shelf. I’ve assembled a dandy collection of tapes, some two dozen in all, and I see no end in sight. In fact, I’m now working on stock footage of a lovely seaside inn on the coast of Maine. The girl who makes up the beds, a lovely young lass with feline eyes and a tiny waist, asked me this morning about my video camera. I’m ready to tell her all about it.