down here and the thick carpet on which they parked their Ferragamos.
He knew his wife was mortified at the thought of the socialites finding out what he did for a living. She demanded Webb’s secretary answer the office telephone with the generic “Production Company.” She insisted that they make contributions to many of the local charities, which were all too happy to accept his fat checks. She told anyone who asked that her husband made motivational sales videos for corporate clients.
Yeah, right
, thought Webb.
They’re motivational all right. The biggest motivators of all
.
God, there was money to be made in this business!
He’d bet that though he’d barely made it to graduation, he was making more now than most of his Ivy League classmates who had graduated at the top of their class and worked at the nation’s most prestigious law firms and corporations. Funny how life turned out. Twenty years ago he’d taken that part-time job at the off-campus video store, and the rest was history. The English major found that he spent a good deal of time answering the questions of customers who wanted to know how to tell one adult videotape from another. The VCR was starting to find its way into more and more American homes then, and Webb was sure its popularity was driven, to some degree, by the easier and more anonymous access it offered to porn. Before home video, pornography had a much smaller audience, mainly men, who sneaked into sleazy movie houses and took care of business under their raincoats. The VCR made it easy to watch porn in the privacy of your own bedroom. At the same time, the spread ofAIDS was frightening many men—and women—from sallying forth into the world for their sexual adventures. For many watching porn equaled safe sex.
Webb saw an opportunity and seized it. He was sure there would be a huge market for adult videos. Why spend his time sweating over the great American novel, unsure that he would ever find a publisher to print it or an audience to read it? That was for the guys who didn’t care if they ate or not. Webb knew he wanted the good life, and the good life cost plenty. If he could write and produce his own adult movies, he’d always have an audience for his creativity, and at the same time he could make a fortune.
He’d started by conducting a verbal survey of his fraternity brothers on what they’d like to see in a porno flick. Cheerleaders and pretty coeds in short skirts and tight sweaters seemed to be the prevailing preferences. He then scribbled out a rough script about a nerdy-looking guy who went to class and fantasized about a beautiful girl who sat in front of him. Next Webb sought out a couple of kids from the wrong side of the tracks who were anxious to make some money and willing to do what the script called for, dressing the guy in a Dartmouth sweatshirt and the girl in a tight T-shirt. He shot his first movie with a camera he “borrowed” from the school audiovisual department.
Dee Dee Does Dartmouth
became a fraternity row hit.
While other classmates were doing internships at the companies and brokerage firms in which they hoped to find jobs upon graduation, Webb spent his summer before senior year writing and sending away for college sweatshirts.
Yolanda Does Yale, HappyDoes Harvard
, and
Pia Does Princeton
were dubbed and distributed by winter break. America sure was the land of opportunity.
As Webb’s life had progressed, so had the porn. The Ivy League series had led to
Office Girls
as he pumped his friends for their thoughts about the women they worked with in their first jobs. There was an endless pool of fantasies about secretaries and co-workers and supervisors set on the office desks and in boardrooms of corporate America. Next Webb developed the Scales of Justice series, full of actresses playing attorneys wearing only suit jackets and stiletto heels and judges with surprises under their flowing robes.
Now, two decades and many movies later, Webb’s
He knew his wife was mortified at the thought of the socialites finding out what he did for a living. She demanded Webb’s secretary answer the office telephone with the generic “Production Company.” She insisted that they make contributions to many of the local charities, which were all too happy to accept his fat checks. She told anyone who asked that her husband made motivational sales videos for corporate clients.
Yeah, right
, thought Webb.
They’re motivational all right. The biggest motivators of all
.
God, there was money to be made in this business!
He’d bet that though he’d barely made it to graduation, he was making more now than most of his Ivy League classmates who had graduated at the top of their class and worked at the nation’s most prestigious law firms and corporations. Funny how life turned out. Twenty years ago he’d taken that part-time job at the off-campus video store, and the rest was history. The English major found that he spent a good deal of time answering the questions of customers who wanted to know how to tell one adult videotape from another. The VCR was starting to find its way into more and more American homes then, and Webb was sure its popularity was driven, to some degree, by the easier and more anonymous access it offered to porn. Before home video, pornography had a much smaller audience, mainly men, who sneaked into sleazy movie houses and took care of business under their raincoats. The VCR made it easy to watch porn in the privacy of your own bedroom. At the same time, the spread ofAIDS was frightening many men—and women—from sallying forth into the world for their sexual adventures. For many watching porn equaled safe sex.
Webb saw an opportunity and seized it. He was sure there would be a huge market for adult videos. Why spend his time sweating over the great American novel, unsure that he would ever find a publisher to print it or an audience to read it? That was for the guys who didn’t care if they ate or not. Webb knew he wanted the good life, and the good life cost plenty. If he could write and produce his own adult movies, he’d always have an audience for his creativity, and at the same time he could make a fortune.
He’d started by conducting a verbal survey of his fraternity brothers on what they’d like to see in a porno flick. Cheerleaders and pretty coeds in short skirts and tight sweaters seemed to be the prevailing preferences. He then scribbled out a rough script about a nerdy-looking guy who went to class and fantasized about a beautiful girl who sat in front of him. Next Webb sought out a couple of kids from the wrong side of the tracks who were anxious to make some money and willing to do what the script called for, dressing the guy in a Dartmouth sweatshirt and the girl in a tight T-shirt. He shot his first movie with a camera he “borrowed” from the school audiovisual department.
Dee Dee Does Dartmouth
became a fraternity row hit.
While other classmates were doing internships at the companies and brokerage firms in which they hoped to find jobs upon graduation, Webb spent his summer before senior year writing and sending away for college sweatshirts.
Yolanda Does Yale, HappyDoes Harvard
, and
Pia Does Princeton
were dubbed and distributed by winter break. America sure was the land of opportunity.
As Webb’s life had progressed, so had the porn. The Ivy League series had led to
Office Girls
as he pumped his friends for their thoughts about the women they worked with in their first jobs. There was an endless pool of fantasies about secretaries and co-workers and supervisors set on the office desks and in boardrooms of corporate America. Next Webb developed the Scales of Justice series, full of actresses playing attorneys wearing only suit jackets and stiletto heels and judges with surprises under their flowing robes.
Now, two decades and many movies later, Webb’s
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