A family friend does softcore porn

When I was a lot younger, in the early 1980s, Pamela, the daughter of a prominent family in our town was in the newspaper and on the local news it seemed every other night. First she was winning pageants, then she was trying out for an NFL cheerleading dance team. She was unattainably hot (not least because she was so much older, and in a different state!) but all the boys lusted for Pamela.

When my family would visit hers for Christmas, I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom, just so I could walk down the long hall where Pamela’s parents had hung all of her sexy publicity pictures. They were quintessential 1980s glamour: Big bottle blonde hair, smoky eyes, pouty stare, some kind of gown with poofy shoulders or, most daringly, a bandeau bikini for the body shot, with her agent and measurements. Her bust was a 36; back then, they discreetly didn’t mention her cups, which were at least D. The gossip was that she wasn’t tall enough and her boobs were too big to win a pageant, or make a pro cheerleading team, or the Rockettes, or other legitimate dance and performance careers.

Fast forward to the mid-1990s, and the early days of the internet. I was 21, in my senior year of college, staying by myself in a nice hotel for a leadership conference my university was paying for. One night after a social event in the hotel bar, lonely, tipsy, and horny, I switched over to the hotel’s pay-per-view channel to see what kind of porn they had. I didn’t care that it would be added to the hotel bill — the university was paying for that, and if someone confronted me over the charge, I viewed it as a college prank. Better yet, I hoped a woman from the bursar’s office would do it.

Anyway, rather than choose one of the hardcore titles, I chickened out and picked one of those cheesy softcore bikini contest videos, the kind that have a lot of girls but they’re all basically stripping and dancing solo. From the setup, I think you can tell what I’m about to reveal. It absolutely blew me away to see “Tammi,” now a light brunette in her 30s, doing a saucy interview for this “competition,” talking about what kind of men she liked, her perfect romantic evening, and having sex on a boat.

There was no doubt this was Pamela. I knew from her voice and accent, but also her eyes and cheekbones, this was the girl who gave me and many of my friends our first orgasms in puberty. Incredibly, she had gone and gotten even bigger tits from the doctor (East Texas Double Ds FTW!). The interview ended and she began a solo strip for the camera.

Pamela danced like a stripper (in fact, she was wearing those platform stripper heels with her lime green bikini, which she quickly shed). I paused the PPV, went into the hotel bathroom and got a mini bottle of hair conditioner, came back out to the bed and lubed up. Resuming the video, “Tammi” thrust her ass out at the camera, spanked herself, then held her ass cheek and spread it wide so we could see her pussy and tight, pink butthole. She was wearing big red press-on nails with a squared-off end, so she didn’t finger-fuck her pussy, but she did turn over and spread her lips and give a nasty fuck-me grin to the camera, before tossing her head back, with a whip of her wondrous tresses landing on her face.

I came all over myself, chest, stomach, wrist. I paused the PPV, cleaned up, made myself another cocktail from the mini-fridge, and waited to recover my erection. Then I beat off again to her strip. And again. When I woke up the next morning, the TV had been on all night, still paused at the end of her interview. I jacked off again; there was barely any cum this time. Pamela had literally drained my balls.

When I got home, I went to adult bookstores in desperate search of the video she appeared in. I actually asked a clerk if they carried the series, and he said no. Returning to my dorm and, again, using the early internet’s search engines, I typed in the title of the video. I found a fan page for Tammi, who was a B-movie actress with loads of credits in these cheesecake videos. She also listed her email.

That night I got drunk, again, and bashed out an email to her, which I have saved.

“Pamela,

You may not remember me, I am [SexxxObjexxx] from [our hometown]. Just wanted to say that I have seen one of the movies you have starred in and wow! I am a BIG fan!

I can’t find them at my video store here in [college town] however … maybe I could mail order them somewhere? (from you?)

Please let me know where I can buy them!"

The next morning I woke up and got a jolt when I saw my email program tell me it was downloading a message from her address.

“Hi [SexxxObjexxx]!

Yes, I remember you! Say hi to your folks! Unfortunately, I don’t know where my videos are sold, that’s up to the people who made them! But I’m flattered you like them!

Send me your address and I can send you an autographed 8x10 for your dorm ha-ha.

Kisses,

Tammi”

Years later, thanks to the wonderful all-seeing eye of the internet, I found pretty much all of Pamela’s bikini/nude dancing contest appearances. She doesn’t even have to take anything off to thrill me, just knowing that this is someone from my hometown who gets nude and nasty for the camera, for money, and has absolutely no shame about it, turns me on so much. I friended her on Facebook a few years ago, long after her retirement from softcore porn. She’s now almost 60 but her selfies are still unbelievably glamorous and hot.