The truth had hurt. Her body had gotten her into films, and it had
stopped her from getting better parts. She was, as she was told many
times, the image of a sex goddess of the fifties. Her hair was blonde,
her flesh satiny and unblemished. She had wide blue eyes that still held
an innocent expression. Her teeth were sparkling white and even, her lips
full and pouty. She spoke with a suggestively whispery voice. Her walk,
natural, was called a cock-lifter. Her ass, a very tight ass, wiggled and
writhed and bunched erotically.
And Sherri hated to wear panties. Much speculation was made about this,
and finally some photographer had caught her in the right pose to prove
to the world she did not, indeed, wear panties. It also showed the world
her pussy-hair was a darker color than her blonde head.
But, with the fickleness of the movie industry, Sherri found herself
unwanted by the time she was thirty years old. Now, at thirty-three, she
had not had a part in three years.
