The Projectionist

It's 1907. Stanley impresses the young ladies of a Yukon town. As the projectionist of wonderful movies, he uses them as a way to gain sexual favors from them.

Part One

My name is Stanley Fontaine. I am writing my memoirs in the autumn of 1957 as someone in my late sixties. I suppose I’ve led a colorful and adventurous life—at least a great many people have told me I have. Therefore, I figure I have as much right to regale readers with stories from my past as anyone else does.

I was born in western Canada in 1890. I never knew my father. For all I know, he might still be living somewhere, utterly aware that he has a son. It sounds like a stereotype, but, according to my dearly departed mother Beatrice, Gregory Fontaine was a walking stereotype. He was a travelling salesman who, during a brief stopover, sweet-talked a naïve, 16-year-old girl into having a roll in the hay with him in exchange for two pairs of silk stockings and a small box of cosmetics. Mom became pregnant with me, but Gregory Fontaine vanished into the vastness of that part of Canada before he knew anything about it. He was never seen again. Mom named me Stanley after her father—which was an odd choice because my strait-laced grandparents quickly disowned their daughter for being “a shameless harlot”. Mom was forced to leave their home shortly after I entered the world. She resiliently moved from town to town with me in tow and worked wherever she could to make ends meet.

I was a clever child. I say that as a fact and not as a pedant. I could read anything by the time I was four years old, and I loved nothing better than to go anywhere where I could indulge my hobby and satisfy my thirst for knowledge. I was one of the few boys my age who enjoyed attending public school. I was also mechanically inclined. I could look at a machine and almost instantly figure out its purpose and how it operated. To pay the bills, my mother often worked as a seamstress. One day when I was about nine, I amused the owner of the shop where she was employed by being able to figure out why one of the sewing machines wasn’t working properly. I took it apart, fixed the problem, and put it back together perfectly. The happy owner gave me $2 for my time and labors. It was the first paying job I’d had in my life. Not long afterward, I was abruptly orphaned. Mom and three other employees were killed in a terrible workplace fire. Its cause was never determined. I sort of became an unofficial ward of the town, staying with a series of various kind-hearted families as I had no known relatives.

By the time I was 12, I was living in the home and in the custody of a fortyish, childless widow named Cecilia Van Cleef. She had inherited a substantial sum of money from her late husband who had drowned one spring while on a fishing trip. She didn’t lack cash—that was obvious—but Cecilia did lack male companionship. She was quite an attractive gal with chestnut hair and an ample bosom, but Cecilia feared, quite reasonably, that any man who was interested in courting her was likely doing so for potential financial gain rather than for true love. Therefore, she figured I was the ideal solution. Cecilia enjoyed having me share her bed, I enjoyed learning about sex from her, and I had a comfortable and fairly luxurious place to call home. Everybody won with that arrangement.

Furthermore, Cecilia claimed I had a penis “that any 25-year-old male would be proud to have” which I took as a great compliment. Whenever I wasn’t bedding my “foster mom,” I was using my equipment on the local girls as often as I could. The midsize town where I lived had a wonderful river. It served as the community’s swimming venue. It ran past Cecilia’s backyard. I’d often invite other children—particularly girls—to drop by for refreshing afternoon dips on humid days. There was plenty of privacy. Apart from Cecilia, no one else could observe us.

I must have had a surplus of personal charm. It was amazing to me the bevy of girls of various ages whom I could coax into having nude swims with me—which often led to other closely related activities. The adorable and amorous Kennedy sisters were especially eager skinny-dippers. All three enjoyed fiddling with my “large ding-dong.” They reciprocated in kind. Cecilia knew about this lascivious hobby of mine. She didn’t really care about my roster of youthful sex partners as long as I continued to be her loyal bedmate—which I happily was. She did caution me, however, not to bring any “bastard children” into the world with her or any of my swimming friends. Accordingly, Cecilia taught me the importance of “pulling out in a timely fashion” during sexual encounters. She did so with some very excellent personal lessons. I am forever grateful to Cecilia for that particular aspect of my education. It was a skill I would put to use often during the next three decades.

I’m sure I could have lived with Cecilia indefinitely. We were quite fond of each other. I liked groping her goodies almost as much as I liked sampling the charms of girls my own age. However, the more I read, the more I longed to travel and explore the world. One day at age 16, I attended a public lecture by a fascinating gentleman who had ventured to the Yukon when the first gold strike was made there in 1898. His stories captivated me. He concluded his speech by noting that the Yukon was an excellent place to go if you were “a young man with talents, smarts or both, because there were endless opportunities there” for such people to do well.

That was all I needed to hear. Within two weeks, I had said my goodbyes and was on my way to a new life in the Yukon. Two days before I left town forever, the tearful Kennedy sisters gave me three unforgettable, and highly personal gifts. It was March and the river was still icy, so for the first and last time we were intimate on dry land. Similarly, I gave Cecilia the best fucking I’d ever given to anyone on my last night I spent in her home. We had terrific coitus—and I did heed her warning to pull out, firing a huge load of semen all over her tremendous tits. After Cecilia cleaned herself up, I fell into a contented slumber with my face buried in her boobs. It had been an enjoyable four-year stay with her. I could not have asked for a better foster mother. She must have liked me, too. As I walked out of her house for the final time, she handed me an envelope containing $200 to help cover my travel expenses—an enormous sum in 1906. Along with the wad of cash, there was a sweet note that said, “Thanks, Stanley, for the wonderful services you rendered.”

Part Two

I worked my way westward and northward doing odd jobs and staying in rooming houses until I acquired enough money to pay my passage to Dawson City, the metropolis of Canada’s exciting Yukon Territory. I ended up getting a free ship ride for the last leg of my journey when I showed the captain my mechanical aptitude. We both thought we had made an excellent bargain. After I made some long overdue minor repairs to his craft, the captain treated me to a trip to a small brothel when we docked for the night. For 50 cents a chubby but cute girl of native ancestry skillfully performed fellatio. That was a wonderful first for me. Somehow in my vast reading, I had never learned that such a pleasurable sexual act existed. None of my swim buddies had ever offered me that service. After I ejaculated in her mouth, I happily paid her another half dollar from my own pocket to have her draw a second orgasm from my balls. I couldn’t wait to receive a third blowjob from some unknown female—whenever and wherever that might be.

I was 17 years old when I first set foot at my final destination: Dawson City. I quickly became connected with a middle-aged gentleman named Harry Mulligan. He was a gregarious, thoroughly likable chap who ran a combination, saloon, restaurant, and general place of public gathering. It was simply called Harry’s Place. He was impressed by my math skills, my budding entrepreneurial ideas, and my general ability to adequately repair anything of his that was broken.

One thing I immediately noticed about Dawson City was that its 25,000 people craved entertainment. Radio was still 20 years away, so people had to amuse themselves however they could. Literally any attraction drew crowds. There was a local four-team amateur hockey league that, during the harsh winters, routinely drew 4,000 standees to a natural ice surface to watch the games. Instead of charging admission, a league rep would circulate a large box among the spectators at each game and regularly end up with voluntary donations in excess of $1,000. That impressed me!

Harry’s Place had a large annex that was seldom used. I convinced Harry it could be an excellent venue to draw paying crowds. “What will the public pay to see in that room?” he naturally inquired. I surprised him with my answer: “Me!” I stated.

Harry chuckled and replied, “What can you do to attract a crowd, Stanley? Do you sing, dance, tell jokes, do acrobatics or swallow swords?”

“None of the above,” I told him, “But I can give lectures on multiple subjects. We can charge 10 cents for admission. We’ll split the money. Just give me a chance.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed with a smile. “Let’s advertise that your first lecture will be this Friday night at 8 p.m. I can’t wait to divide the 20 cents you’ll bring in.”

Harry had a small printing press—which I quickly figured out how to use. I printed about a dozen flyers advertising an-hour long lecture on the recent Spanish-American War, stating the admission price of a dime, and posted them on various bulletin boards around town. I went to Dawson’s tiny public library where I knew they had a fairly new set of encyclopedias. I read everything I could on the subject, memorized it, and mentally prepared my speech. I built a small stage for my performance. Harry had set up about 30 chairs for the audience, kidding me that total was likely 28 more than would be necessary. To his complete amazement, 138 people showed up. I said “See, I told you so!” as I happily set up more and more chairs as the lineup to gain entry extended down the street. To my delight, the front two rows contained nothing but schoolgirls whose ages ranged from 10 to 16. I hadn’t really noticed them in the short time I had been in Dawson City, but they had apparently noticed me. I couldn’t help but fantasize about each one of them individually swimming with me in her birthday suit behind Cecilia Van Cleef’s spacious house. They squealed with delight when Harry introduced me. I didn’t realize the Spanish-American War was such a huge attraction for these excited young ladies. Maybe it was the speaker.

My lecture was a huge success. The locals discovered what my school teachers over the years already knew: I was a talented public speaker with a knack of telling captivating stories replete with humorous anecdotes. I mistimed it, though. It lasted 75 minutes, not including the time I spent fielding questions afterward. I was persuaded to do a repeat performance the following night as word of its entertainment value circulated across town. (Amusingly, the same two dozen girls occupied the first two rows of seats again on Saturday, too.) This time I drew an audience of 212 history buffs. Afterwards, I was escorted to the rooming house where I resided by ten of the smitten girls who all insisted on kissing me. Life in Dawson City in 1907 was good for a single, unattached, virile male.

Harry couldn’t care less about my sex life, but he was thrilled by this new source of revenue, of course. He booked me for the next 10 Fridays and Saturdays to make speeches on various other subjects. I was free to choose the topics. He expanded the venue to hold 800 seated spectators. At my suggestion, he began selling treats and drinks to the audiences during intermissions. (Of course, I got a percentage of that money.) Accordingly, he arranged for deliveries of assorted hard candies by the barrel, as they were the only confectionery that could survive the long trip from coastal British Columbia to the Yukon. He sold the sweets in small bags at highly inflated prices, but he still ran out every week. Things were going swimmingly. As an added bonus, I was getting frequent requests for “private lectures” from nubile girls. I never turned those down, although I never did much talking during those encounters. My large ding-dong was being explored by female hands once again. This time there was no river.

One Sunday afternoon when it was quiet at Harry’s Place, I told Harry it was a shame that we weren’t making any money in the entertainment business on a day when so few people worked. He could tell I had an idea in my mind that I was more than eager to share. He was right. I explained, “At the library, I’ve been reading in the American newspapers about motion pictures—some folks call them movies. They’re all the rage. In some of the big American cities they’re building huge theatres that can hold more than 2,000 ticket-buyers at a time. I’m sure we could easily fill our 800 seats if we started showing movies on Sunday afternoons. The people of Dawson City would love the novelty of it!”

Harry admitted he knew almost nothing about movies except that Thomas Edison had been on the ground floor of their development. I volunteered to order a small projector by mail order and make the other arrangements that were necessary to open the Yukon’s first and only movie theatre. I didn’t know where to begin, but by happenstance, I learned that a movie distributor who was on his way to Alaska was staying at one of Dawson’s four hotels! I promptly tracked him down and told him that Harry and I would love to be on his list of clients, but we needed a projector and a bit of know-how to get our enterprise started. The man, Mr. Fitzgibbons, was happy to oblige. He even had in his belongings a small projector for such demonstration purposes. I quickly took him to Harry’s Place. When Harry and I saw a two-minute, silent film showing a French girl playing with some kittens, we were absolutely awestruck. Fitzgibbons gave us a private screening of two one-reel comedies, a travel short about Hawaii, and a documentary on whales. He said he’d be back in a week’s time with a projector that we happily prepaid for, and a dozen movies that we could rent from him, with the understanding that he would eventually reclaim them.

In the interim, Harry bought plenty of lumber that we nailed into a large rectangle. We painted it a pristine shade of white so it could serve as our movie screen. We advertised that we hoped to have the first movie show in the history of the Yukon the following Sunday at 3 p.m. if our projector and movies arrived on time. When Sunday came, people were already lined up at noon to make sure they got inside. Either they didn’t read the disclaimer that we might not be ready or they didn’t care. Mr. Fitzgibbons, not realizing that the entire city was seemingly waiting for his return was cheered when he was spotted. He was rushed to the lecture hall to help set up the projector. We sold ten-cent tickets to 800 people while half as many were turned away and told to come back at 8 p.m. as we decided there would be a second screening of movies that same night. The gate receipts paid for the projector—which we discovered was an old model that had been well used in an Alaskan movie house. Fitzgibbon ran the hand-cranked machine for the first movie, the one showing the girl with her cats. Harry and I took turns doing the cranking for the other films. One was The Great Train Robbery. It was four years old and already famous and significant for being the first full-length western film ever made. It was a huge hit with the locals. The audience was as awestruck as we had been by this wonder of technology; they applauded every time a new movie began and ended. Fitzgibbons rented us as many movies as he could spare and promised to bring us others on his frequent trips to and from Alaska. We thanked him enormously. The locals did, too. They treated him to a huge steak dinner.

The best part about having a projector and movies at your fingertips was that you could show them anytime you pleased. It got to the point where as long as there were 10 people who wanted to watch movies, I’d show them at any time. I recall we once had a 2 a.m. showing for a dozen miners who had just returned from prospecting at that ungodly hour.

I also had some lusty fun with my new machine. There was a certain teenage girl named Victoria whose family had suffered some setbacks and was barely scraping by financially. She was quite a fetching young beauty, in my estimation. I had seen her in the audience at several of my lectures, but not lately. I learned she desperately wanted to attend her first movie show, but she literally did not possess an extra dime to spend. One Tuesday, I waited for her outside her school so I could talk to her privately.

She knew me as the projectionist and lecturer at Harry’s Place, but the cute, 14-year-old was surprised I knew who she was. Victoria was unaware that I knew the names of every female between the ages of 10 and 20 who resided in Dawson City—and my intention was to eventually bed every last one of them! I figured I’d add Victoria to my growing list of conquests. I said, “I understand you haven’t been to one of the movie shows at Harry’s Place yet, but you really want to see one. Is that right, Victoria?”

“Yes, I’d love to see one,” she concurred, but she sadly admitted that money was tight at her home and she couldn’t afford the price.

“Not to worry!” I announced. “Come to Harry’s Place at 8 o’clock tonight, Victoria, and we’ll work something out.”

Victoria was an eager filmgoer; she arrived at 7:50 p.m. I took her to the annex where the movies and lectures took place. I sat beside her on one of the chairs in the front row. I looked her straight in the eyes—they were a lovely shade of sky blue—and said, “Victoria, I’m an entrepreneur, a businessman, just like Harry is. I have something that you want—movies to enjoy. You have something I want. That something is you! I think you are a very desirable girl, and I’m sexually wound up just eying you. If you give me a blowjob and allow me to feel your tits, I’ll show you a full program of movies and give you three bags of candies to enjoy while watching them. I like blowjobs so much that we don’t even have to screw—unless you want to fuck me, of course. I’d be totally in favor of that.”

I was surprised by Victoria’s immediate acceptance of my offer—and the reason why.

Victoria gushed, “A full movie show for just a blowjob? Sure, that’s a deal, Stanley! I’ve been giving my older brother blowjobs for a few years now. It’s no big deal to me. He says that’s what little sisters are made for. Do you want me to start working on your dick right now?”

I barely had time to suppress a laugh before Victoria knelt, unbuckled my belt, and pulled down my underwear. She wasn’t lying about her experience with this sex act. She was at least as good at fellatio as the hooker who had made me come twice a few months before. I was getting fully aroused in a hurry and almost forgot that my fondling her breasts was part of the deal I had so poorly negotiated with her. (Victoria was so eager to please me and watch movies that I should have insisted on a fuck, too.)

I took the liberty of unbuttoning her pretty white blouse. Brassieres were still about 20 years away from being common female apparel, so Victoria’s breasts fell into plain sight very quickly. They were beautiful items for her youthful age—almost as beautiful as Mabel Kennedy’s set. I hated to interrupt the blowjob, even for a brief time, but Victoria’s tits were so appealing to me that I wanted to be able to fondle and suck on them easily. I lifted her onto my lap. Victoria was barely more than five feet tall, so she was quite light. I hadn’t specifically mentioned that I’d be sucking on her nipples, but I figured Victoria wouldn’t mind me taking that bit of freedom with her. I figured correctly. “My brother Stephen likes sucking on my tits, too,” she said with a giggle. “Even when I really had no breasts at all, he liked sucking on the little buds!”

“I can’t fault him for that!” I said with perfect honesty.

When I’d had my fill of Victoria’s perky boobs, I set her back onto the floor to finish me off with more dick-sucking. I lasted perhaps two more minutes before I sprayed a sizable load of jism across her chest. It reminded me of my last sexual romp with Cecilia Van Cleef—which had happened nearly a year before. I was ecstatic by the outcome of my naughty plan. “That was just tremendous, Victoria! You and your blowjob were marvelous! Thanks so much! My ding-dong enjoyed it very much!”

“Your what?” Victoria asked me in a high-pitched tone.

“That’s a funny nickname that was given to my penis by three wonderful sisters who live in the town where I once did.”

“Oh. My brother just calls it his dick or his rod or his shaft or his cock. Sometimes he just calls it his penis,” Victoria stated. Then she added, “Your dick or ding-dong or whatever you want to call it is bigger than his, though, and more fun to suck on. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

I told Victoria that was definitely within the realm of possibility. I gave her three overflowing bags of candies and a bottle of root beer as a bonus, and I showed her 90 minutes of various movies, figuring her parents would expect her to be home by 10 o’clock.

When the last image flickered and the screen turned black, Victoria applauded like everyone else in Dawson City had at the show’s conclusion. When she stopped clapping, I asked her a silly question: “Victoria, did you enjoy the moving picture show?”

“Oh, yes, Stanley! It was absolutely thrilling. I liked the funny movies best of all,” she declared.

“Victoria, honey, I still have a few more movies that you haven’t seen yet. Perhaps…”

“Yes, I can come back tomorrow night at the same time for the same deal, too,” Victoria said without my directly asking her. “Not only that, I have two friends at school who haven’t seen movies, either. Their names are Betty and Sarah Thompson. They’re twin sisters who are my age. They’ll be so jealous that I have seen a movie show and they haven’t. The best part for you is they both have crushes on you. I’m not making that up: they’ve told me that! In exchange for a movie show, they’ll happily fuck you. I guarantee it!”