THE ADVENTURES OF KIM HARDAWAY, AMERICAN STOOGE #3 by Reynolds Kim really hadn't meant to tell her director off, but as she stood on the set of this, her third film in this country, she realized that to a Japanese man this was exactly what it must have seemed. Not only was she a blonde American woman correcting a Japanese man, but at nearly six feet tall she was almost a full foot taller than director-san, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at her while she explained through her interpreter Miyori that he was just flat-out wrong. Miyori was the film student who had found her, nearly penniless and facing eviction in a strange country after shed been cut by the professional basketball team she'd signed on with. It had been Miyori who had asked: "You American, Miss? We need tall American to play in our movie." The issue of contention was what clothes Kims character should wear. She understood that, once again, she was to play an overbearing American who in the end would be comically humbled -- messed up, probably stripped naked -- by the Japanese comics she had infuriated. But this time, if she understood Miyori correctly, she was to play the head-hunting executive assistant of a Japanese businessman, and there was just no way such a character would wear the off-the-shoulder cleavage-exposing dress that the wardrobe department had procured for her (besides, on someone of Kims broad shoulders and wide back, such a dress would have looked horrendous). After much translated debate, the director had finally flung an old Spiegel catalog at her and told her to order what she wanted. In no time she had found the proper outfit, what the catalog called a "mini-button suit." The black polyester/rayon blend suit had a tailored jacket that reached to mid-thigh, padded shoulders, a V-neck, and brushed gold-tone buttons at the cuff and down the jacket front. The miniskirt that came with it was tight and tapered with a back vent and back zipper. The skirt was supposed to end just above the knee, but on someone with Kims legs and generous hips, it would reveal considerably more thigh. It looked the part, though, and Kim thought that even director-san admitted that. But she couldn't make out the fast, intense dialogue taking place between Miyori and the director. Finally, Miyori returned to Kim, a serious and worried look on her face. "He is rewriting script," she told Kim. "You going to get rearry messed up this time." Kims heart leaped into her throat, and she swallowed hard, but not so much in the dread that Miyori might have expected as in anticipation. In each of the two movies that she had made in Japan, Kim had been on the receiving end of what must sound like unspeakable indignities -- she had taken a cream pie in her nearly bare crotch, she had fallen face first nearly up to her waste in a big cake, she had had her bra ripped off, and she had had her dress pulled up so that her butt could be the target of yet more pies. Shed had to do it; the basketball contract that had brought her to Japan had been canceled, and she desperately needed the money. But she was no longer denying to herself that there was something more about these scenes than just money. Back in Minnesota shed been a jock, a big athletic girl whose body guys were interested in because she could run and jump. Here it was different, guys were different, at least the guys she worked with at the studio. Kim felt herself blush pleasantly, remembering the delight at seeing how she looked on camera, even half buried in white-frosted cake. The Japanese didnt seem to think she was the clumsy, horsey gal shed always imagined herself to be -- or if they did they thought it was kind of sexy -- and she was enjoying the real flair shed discovered for being funny. She was also becoming increasingly turned on by the feel of whatever mess they chose to hurl at her, the feel of sticky sugary cream on her skin, between her legs, and she couldnt help but be thrilled at the prospect of director-san rewriting a fairly tame script so that her character would be "rearry messed up." # For much of the weeks filming, Kim had very little to do, but she was in nearly every scene, set in a some kind of industrial assembly plant. That meant she was paid considerably more than she had been paid for what were essentially cameo roles in her previous two films. Miyori had only translated Kims scenes in the film, so Kim had to guess from context what the short comedy was really about. Her character was the secretary, the "dragon lady," to a handsome young Japanese actor whom she supposed was the owner of the plant. She figured that this was supposed to be some kind of an inspection, for the entire cast spent much of the week standing at attention in their orange factory-worker garb while Kim and Toshiro, the actor playing her boss, toured the set. She had no dialogue, merely stood in the background and made notes on a clipboard while the cameras rolled. But she felt herself developing a character, just like real actors. She kept her back ramrod straight, towering over the shorter actors, peering down at them through gold horn-rimmed glasses. To add to the stern look of her black-suited figure, she wore white gloves, and from time to time ran a white-encased finger over a table or a chair on the set. The other extras took notice of her efforts, and a strange language-obstructed camaraderie began to develop. The other extras began playing off her character, reacting with the shtick of seasoned comedians to the pompous stuffed shirt of a character she was creating. In a particular scene, one young actress ran busily ahead of her, wiping with a handkerchief the tiniest spots on the furniture of the set, and Kim obligingly, sternly, followed along behind with her white gloves. Other actors began playing off her long exposed legs. Several made excuses to fall at her feet actions, for which Toshiro, their boss, resoundedly slapped them. Another, on the excuse of falling, managed to slide between her legs and look up her skirt. She wanted to laugh but stayed in character, stepped onto the mans stomach, then onto the floor between his legs, just missing his crotch, and walked over him. She was pleased to see even director-san laughing at that. On the day that she was scheduled to be messed up, Kim could hardly contain herself. She dressed carefully, pulling long sheer black stockings onto her legs, fitting them on garter belts around her thighs. She reviewed Miyoris translation of the script carefully before choosing her underwear, wanting to find panties both sexy and humiliating, the kind of thing her character would hate people to know she was wearing but that an audience would love to see stretched across her butt. She finally opted for a sheer black pair that covered her ass but did virtually nothing to hide it. She took the early train in to the studio, and she was pleased to notice that the businessmen who rode the subway with her were having difficulty not staring. It boded well for the days filming. Shed had to arrive so early because the first half of the day would be spent blocking out the shoot, doing a "dry run" before filming it for real with all of the mess and goop. Everyone needed to know exactly where they were supposed to stand before the knockabout began and the pies started to fly. Except for one brief stunt Kim's job was fairly simple, if kneeling on all fours with your ass exposed to flying pies could be considered simple, but the rehearsal only heightened her anticipation and her arousal at what was to come. They keep talking about it, she fumed inwardly, I need them to do it to me! Finally the moment arrived. The prop people had assembled their various missiles, and had prepared a huge vat of sticky, thick, brown goo meant to be peanut butter. Miyori and Kim went over the script one more time, making sure that Kim could recognize her cues even though the dialogue would be spoken in a language she couldnt understand, and then the set was cleared. Kims heart was racing. She willed herself to stay in character, keep her back straight, look imperiously at the rest of the cast over her gold eyeglasses. Her scenes were first. The script called for the vat of peanut butter on the floor above where the inspection was taking place to bubble over and spill onto the set. The "heroes" of the film, two comics playing workers -- sort of Martin and Lewis types -- were to be the first to realize it and desperately try to keep Kim or her boss from knowing. This required Kim to stand in a number of places while a propman stood on a ladder over her, bucket of peanuty muck in his hands. At the call of "action," he would pour, Kim would count "one-two" to herself and then step out of the way, and the sticky drops would land harmlessly into a bucket held by one of the comics. The comedians got more and more elaborate, diving at the last minute to catch the drips, sliding a bucket across the floor to catch them, and finally one standing on the others shoulders, tottering perilously over Kims head while she pretended not to notice, holding the bucket out to keep the dripping liquid off her. But finally -- finally! -- they were going to fail. Kim got to position herself under the prop man on the ladder, standing tall, back ramrod straight, stern look on her face. One of the comics -- Lewis? -- stood waiting in front of a small trampoline, bucket in hand. They'd practiced this again and again earlier in the day, so many times that Kim had gotten bored, but now she was worrying that after all the physical practice Lewis had done, he wouldn't be able to perform for the cameras. At the call of "action!" the prop man poured a dribble of warm peanut butter out of his bucket, letting just a drop fall onto her pristine white glove. The camera dollied in, got a good close-up, and Kim frowned, took off her glasses, and bent her head down to examine the spot on her glove. Lewis bounded onto the trampoline, bounced once, and soared over her head, catching the next dribbles in his bucket before tumbling onto the mats on the ground out of the shot. Kim waited a beat, frowned again, put on her glasses, and looked up. And the prop man let her have it. It was glorious, warm and sticky and salty sweet. The prop man slowly tipped his bucket and a thick steady stream of peanut butter the consistency of cake batter poured onto Kim's face. It covered her glasses instantly, blinding her, leaving her with nothing to do but revel in the sensation as it adhered to her face, tickled and caressed every goosebump, made her aware of every nerve ending on her skin. The first assault bound to her face like a mask, leaving the excess to roll slowly, sensuously down her cheeks, over her chin, tracing a deliberate, decidedly arousing path to her cleavage and below. Even after the director had yelled "cut!" Kim stood motionless, letting the thick liquid down the neck of her jacket, letting it coat the curve of her breasts and seep through the material of her flimsy bra. Finally, she had to move. There was, after all, more filming to do, more mess to experience. She lowered her head, the peanut butter adhering to her face like a sticky brown mask. It still covered her glasses. She heard Miyori's voice -- "Brindry, Miss Kim" -- and the director's next call for action. She struggled momentarily to remember the blocking, where everyone was supposed to be. She reached up with one white gloved hand, extended her index finger, and as daintily as she could, cleared the peanut butter from her lips. Then, for good measure, she sucked her finger clean, and she thought she heard some giggles from the crew. Trying not to smile, she reached out blindly with her hands, a sexy, messed up Frankenstein's monster, and found what she hoped was what she was supposed to find, the pants of Toshiro, the actor playing her boss. She groped for a moment, got a good handful of the fabric, and pulled. True to rehearsal, the tear-away slacks came off in her hand, and she wiped her messy face clean with the ripped material. What she saw was almost as gratifying as the feeling of the sticky mess on her heaving chest. In rehearsal, Toshiro, a gymnast before he had become an actor, had worn conservative boxer shorts under his tear-away pants, but the script called for Kim's character to strip his pants off and leave him naked from the waist down. For filming, of course, he would be shot only from the back, and so wore the most minuscule of g-strings, little more than a thin black sack of material to hold his cock and balls, held by a string that circled his waist and disappeared in the crack of his ass. Kim loved a well-muscled male body, and Toshiro's thighs were those of a finely trained athlete, well-sculpted and definedly-muscled. The bulge in his little g-string suggested that Kim would have appreciated something else, were she able to see it. But they were still filming. Kim shook herself out of a pleasantly erotic daydream and quickly scouted out the rest of the cast. The camera was off her for a moment, moving to the pie fight that had broken out among the rest of the cast, but she still had plenty to do. She and Toshiro, both grinning -- was he getting as aroused at the thought of this as she? Kim couldn't tell from the cut of his crotch --found the small cart on what looked to be a miniature railroad track that props had set up. Toshiro walked to the end of the track, which ended just in front of one of the walls of the set. Kim allowed herself some more ogling, enjoying the rhythm of his exposed ass below his shirt tails as he walked, and then positioned herself beside the cart. She knew she should be embarrassed at what was going to happen next, but instead she felt her heart beating, her breath coming in difficult pants. The rest of the crew was good and sticky -- Kim felt momentarily jealousy at how covered in goo so many of them were, but she knew that her time was soon to come -- when the director finally yelled "cut!" Then the crew moved to Toshiro. Kim watched with interest, trying to keep her arousal on a low boil. Her previous bouts of erotic slapstick had all involved herself getting messed up. Before this, she hadn't really considered the possibility of a good-looking guy getting covered in sticky, sweet-tasting goo. But here were the cameras, zooming in on Toshiro's bare ass, moving in for a close-up of his face. And here were the pies, set up on a wheeled tray next to the marksman among the prop men. Kim flashed her fellow actor a thumbs-up sign, swallowed hard, and waited. The first pie exploded into Toshiro's face, a perfect hit, leaving his features thoroughly masked in white cream. Kim couldn't keep the thought out of her head that the right kiss, the right flick of the tongue, would wipe much of it away. The next hits sparked her imagination even more, as carefully and gently, the prop man took aim at the little triangle of cloth that covered Toshiro's crotch. Kim winced first, remembering what a mis-thrown pie pan could feel like on a tender target, but the prop man was good, and he plastered Toshiro with pie after pie that perfectly exploded right between the actors legs. Just in case, a prop girl touched him up with a spray can of whipped cream, leaving a thick white mass of cream on his crotch and thighs. At the call of "cut!" Toshiro relaxed, and it was -- finally! -- Kim's turn. She had a number of short scenes to film before her final, most anticipated indignity, scenes which would then be edited together to look continuous. There was, after all, a pie fight of fairly monumental proportions going on all around her. The first shots were just close-ups of her looking horrified at what was happening, but then she was supposed to try to escape. As she walked across the wide shot, the prop man took aim, counted, and threw. Just as a pie was supposed to hit her, Kim ducked. She imagined that when this was edited that it would look a little like Tony Curtis wandering through the pie fight in The Great Race. And Tony Curtis, of course, got it in the face at the end. So would Kim -- in the face and in the end, and in the most creative way that her director could have possibly come up with. One of the comics -- Lewis? -- and she took their places at the end of the little railway and cart that the prop people had set up. Lewis crouched down on his hand and knees, covering his head, and at the call of "action!" Kim began backing her way toward him. They'd practiced this, too, getting it down to a four-step count. She took a step backward -- one -- she looked around her cautiously and took another step -- two -- she took a more assertive step -- three -- and then, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, turned and took a very bold step -- four -- tumbling over Lewis and falling in a heap on the floor. The director kept the film rolling, giving the editor as much footage to use as possible, while Kim stood up and prepared herself for the next stunt. Toshiro, grinning, his crotch still covered in this whipped cream, positioned himself at the end of the short rail. Two cameramen crouched hip-high to him, one aiming a camera past him at Kim, the other aiming a camera perpendicular to the first. Kim kneeled the cart on the track and waited for their signal. The first cameraman raised his hand. Then the second one did. Kim took a deep breath and nodded. Two stagehands pushed the cart forward. Kim leaned her body forward as if she were flying, arms flailing, mouth and eyes wide open in a scream. The half-naked, creamed figure of Toshiro grew bigger and bigger. Gleefully, she concentrated on the fluffy white triangle between his legs, the size, she thought to herself, of a nice pie. She closed her eyes and mouth just before she hit the cream, and the momentum of her ride pushed her face against his crotch, the sweet stickiness of the cream flowing back almost to her ears. And there was no way to ignore the most pleasant fact that a Toshiro's member was only millimeters from her face -- and, she thought, reacting to the closeness quite nicely. She pulled her face away from the actor's crotch and sat down on the cart, wiping her face with her hands and laughing. The rest of the crew was laughing uproariously, which by now Kim had come to understand meant that the scene would be very funny indeed. She took a breath, stood, and let the prop men move the cart away while the rest of the crew prepared for the end of the scene. Despite the deep, cleansing breath, Kim couldn't keep her heart from beating rapidly as she watched a stagehand reapply cream to Toshiro's barely covered crotch. Finally, it was time. Giggling, she knelt on all fours in front of the man. Everyone was tittering, and she couldn't read Toshiro well enough to tell whether he was embarrassed by the attention or not. At the call of "places" Kim thrust her face between his legs, again relishing the sticky cream on her face. Just for fun, her mouth found the swelling beneath, and very delicately, she nibbled at it with her lips. His member stiffened more, and she thought she heard him chuckle, too. But enough silliness. She reached behind her and hiked up her skirt, revealing her muscular thighs and the generous cheeks of her ass, enhanced but certainly not covered by the sheer black and -- for the moment -- pristine panties she had chosen. The next proved more difficult than she'd imagined. Braced on her hands and knees, her face buried in the cream-covered crotch of another actor, she was to be struck repeatedly in the butt with pies. This was not the first time that her ass had been so abused. The writers and directors she'd worked with not only liked exposing her well-rounded butt, but they also seemed to like splattering it with any variety of sticky goo. At first hesitant, Kim had discovered two very surprising things about herself -- first, that she was not fat, that her butt was not too big, indeed that it was one of her more attractive features -- and second, that it was one of her more sensitive erogenous zones. The sticky creams and syrups that had been poured over her butt cheeks had brought goosebumps where she hadn't known they could be, had made her extremely sensitive to every hair follicle and nerve ending there was to touch there. So it was with some anticipation that she awaited the first creamy assault on her exposed backside. And when it came it was glorious -- thick and sugar-laden, disintegrating sloppily against her skin and seeping through the thin material of her panties with ease. But the pie had also been thrown with considerable force, and it nearly knocked her off balance, nearly made her spoil the scene. She braced herself for more, stiffening her forearms and shoulders. One, two, three -- they hit her with blows hard enough to constitute a spanking -- but she was able to keep her balance, keep herself from careening into Toshiro and knocking them both over. Finally the assault stopped, and Kim was able to rest her arms, drop her head out of Toshiro's crotch, and enjoy the sensation of the cream- and crust-laden pies sliding down her bare flanks. "Ready for one rast thing?" she head Miyori ask. Kim grunted affirmatively and replaced her face in the cream on Miyori's. She didn't even hear the director call for "action!" before she felt the heavy, sticky and warm weight on her back. A thin dribble at first, it turned into a hard torrent, a wave of the thick stuff smacked the top of her head, splattered onto her back, flowed over her ass and legs. As before, the force of the impact surprised Kim, but it was not for nothing that she had been an All-Conference player two years running. She braced her body, locked her elbows, and held her pose, only then allowing herself to relish the sheer, sticky, sensuality of the experience. # Kim sat between Miyori and Toshiro when the final version of the film was shown to the cast and crew. The Japanese woman leaned over to whisper translations from time to time. Her fellow actor squeezed her thigh interestingly at certain scenes. Kim was overjoyed at how well the film looked, suprised at how nearly unrecognizable she was in her too-tight skirt and her gold glasses. She was pleased to see that it was not all make-up and costume that had made her in character -- she'd added a prissy, knees together walk, and her over-the-glasses and down-the-nose look at the shorter Japanese actors gave the character a look completely unlike others Kim had played. And they made even Kim all the happier when the bossy American woman finally got her just desserts. After an entire scene of just being missed, an entire scene in which the audience was treated to the slowly bubbling, boiling vat of peanut butter on the floor above the action, the tall bitchy American in the black dress looked up -- and a thick brown goo fell onto her face and coated her from head to chest. Kim laughed and clapped her hands, pleased at how beautifully she'd played it, how perfect her reactions had been. Her face frozen in horror, then regaining its composure. Her sucking clean her gloves. Her groping for something to wipe her face off with. The room exploded with laughter and wolf-whistles when she yanked Toshiro's character's pants off. Momentarily, the screen was filled with his glorious, almond-colored ass. Kim whistled loudly herself and elbowed Toshiro in the ribs. The scene cut to close-ups of two women extras, half-covered in pie, looking at Toshiro with wide, appreciative eyes, as if evaluating his naked crotch. Then the pies flew. First one, then the other, past Kim's character, hitting Toshiro's crotch with accompanied, emphatic sound effects. Then the long shot of the camera -- Toshiro, nude from the waist down, the white cream preserving his dignity. But only for so long. Kim's character turned, saw another pie flying, and tried to run. She tripped over the actor at her feet, and then, beautifully edited, flew through the air. Her mouth was open, forming an "o" in surprise. Cut to Toshiro, his mouth open, screaming. Cut to Kim's face plastering into the cream between his legs with the sound effect of a giant, embarassing "slurp" added. The long shot was stunning -- funny and sexy at the same time. Kim on her hands and knees in front of Toshiro, her face buried in a very compromising location. The editor left the shot onscreen only for an instant, but enough to let the affect be felt, then shifted perspective to Kim's rear, obscenely clad in the sheer black panties. The pies hit, splattered nicely, white cream on black fabric, but what worked so well was the editing -- each time the film showed Kim's ass being spanked, it then showed Toshiro's face reacting as if *he* was feeling something, too. Finally, the audience was treated to a shot of the vat of peanut butter completely exploding, and of the already compromised boss and secretary engulfed in a wave of light brown goo. All action on the screen stopped. One by one each of the principle characters, messy and sticky themselves, turned to look. Kim and Toshiro had held the pose well. All that moved in the shot of Kim on her knees in front of Toshiro were the rivulets of peanut butter flowing over their filfthy bodies. The stars of the show had the last line. The one comic turned to the other, wiping peanut butter and pie from his face, and spoke lines that Miyori translated as: "He'll be stuck to the roof of her mouth." -------------------------------------- Back to Shokolada's Messy Stories archive