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The Ways of Love
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-764-1
Genre: Romance
eBook Length: 259 Pages
Published: June 2010

From inside the flap

The Ways of Love portrays the life of Arthur Shore: a young man who starts out working at the family bank. For pleasure, Art spends most of his weekends taking the train into Manhattan from his home in Far Rockaway to meet a friend named Betty. No ordinary friend, Betty is his “sex therapist.” Betty introduces Art to Howie Gold, the owner of a building that houses a then-clandestine film company, Gold Studio, on its second floor. Howie offers Art a job as an actor. Art accepts and secretly works weekends for Howie. At Gold, Art becomes fixated on a beautiful actress, Vita, who performs but never socializes. Expecting rejection, he does not approach her.

Having successfully used Art’s ideas for filming, Howie promotes him to manager of his own studio on the empty third floor. Helping a very excited Art is Howie’s partner Chickee, who unexpectedly dies. Art receives Chickee’s letter and will. Missing Chickee, Art takes care of his estate and his weird last wish.

A month later, Vita surprises Art as he sits in the coffee shop. She had not been asked to work on the third floor and tells Art she would like to do so. Art blurts out his interest in her. Vita’s past history has made her cold to all men except her father, so she avoids Art’s overtures. Vita rushes out. Sorry he handled matters so badly, Art asks Vita to be his personal assistant. She agrees and no longer performs. Belatedly thinking that Art may be more likely to make her happy than she had originally thought, Vita invites him to dinner at her home. During the evening, they find that there is more to their relationship than physical attraction. They are falling in love.

Art and Vita’s lives roll forward quickly. They wed and buy a home and give an elegant and impressive party after their marriage. They go on a honeymoon in a very special cabin high in the Poconos. A few months later, Vita announces that she is pregnant, and gives birth to the first of their three children. Vita and Art manage to hold everything together throughout the tragedies that strike their families. They continue to expand a now-legal Gold Studio internationally after Art had purchased it from Howie Gold and partner with another film company.

The Ways of Love is a story of the deep, lasting love between two vitally alive people who manage throughout their lives to lead what is considered a normal life, even though they are involved in the adult film business.

The Ways of Love (Excerpt)


His usual weekend trip into Manhattan for the past two years still excited Art. He always looked forward to being with Betty. The sex was great, and the club hopping at night was always enjoyable.

On each visit Betty would greet him at her door wearing one of the sexiest outfits she could buy at Fredrick's of Broadway. Art always smiled and slowly eyed each skimpy get-up and then showed his special appreciation.

Today Betty's outfit was a one-piece red lace teddy, and her well-rounded forty-B breasts revealed her small brown nipples through openings especially made for them. As she posed, leaning against an armchair, she smiled seductively and watched Art undress quickly. Once nude, with his penis saluting, he walked over to Betty and knelt before her. Holding her thighs lightly, Art placed his tongue inside the strategic slit in her teddy to reach the flesh between her legs. On contact, Betty would always whisper, "Art, baby, you are the best."

After completing his first mission, penis throbbing, Art led Betty to her pink satin bedroom where she shed her tiny outfit. As a hazy light seeped in from behind closed satin drapes, Art lay on the bed, put his hands behind his head and quietly ordered, "Come on, baby, take it all."

A delighted Betty obliged. Kneeling between Art's long, muscular legs, she thoroughly sucked his thick, twenty-year-old, ten-inch penis - the largest she ever had the pleasure to enjoy. Art also enjoyed any part of the sex act Betty had taught him since he was eighteen years old. With glazed eyes, he watched her bare breasts bobbing up and down as she expertly took him to paradise.

Arriving back to earth after a deeply satisfying climax, Art danced Betty into the bathroom singing a Frank Sinatra favorite, I Got You Under My Skin. They laughed under the shower and slid soapsuds in and over all the right places. Then, quickly drying off, they raced back to the bed and spent some serious time licking, sucking and connecting in all the ways they could conjure up.

Betty waited happily for Art each weekend he visited and made room in her apartment for some of his clothing changes: much-needed sportswear and leisure suits that he changed into after shedding his business suits, to be donned again when he went home. Betty adored him. Art liked her a lot, and he was surely very content.

Betty knew that Art was not interested in watching porn. She ran some for him once on her little two-reel movie camera with the film projected onto a white sheet tacked to her bedroom wall. Every one of her callers except Art loved the fact that she had so many reels of porno film and would watch them in order to get highly motivated. But when she showed Art just one film, he told her that it made him think of animals mindlessly humping, with no romance, no talking and no music, all of which turned him off. But that had been two years ago, so she tried again.

"Art, would you be interested in watching a porn film being made? My friend Howie Gold has a studio nearby."

He was about to tell her no, but the "Please, please" look on her face elicited an, "Okay, what the hell."

Betty had arranged a get-together with Howie a week before, to discuss Art. They met in the coffee shop next to the building Howie owned, a corner building located on Eighth Avenue on the west side of Manhattan.

"Gold," the one word everyone used when referring to Howie Gold and his building or his porn business, operated in what was referred to then as the X-rated seedy span of Eighth Avenue from about Thirtieth to Fiftieth streets. Here, flat-faced brick buildings four to six stories high were smack up against each other and housed anything then considered illegal.

Porn movie studios, porn magazine publishing and porn photographic operations all flourished there behind large, black-draped windows that all faced Eighth Avenue. Of course, the plus side of this area was the presence of some great delis and restaurants, legitimate theatres, movie houses and the great department store Macy's. Then too, there were the huge bus terminal on 42nd Street and the gigantic train terminal, Penn Station, on 34th Street, that saw masses of people coming to and from. Many people seek a special dream they feel sure they will fulfill in New York City, but most never do.


They sat opposite each other sipping coffee in one of the red-tufted Naugahyde booths in the coffee shop. Howie asked, "So, tell me about this great find you have," and then watched as Betty's face became animated.

"He is really gorgeous, Howie - a cross between Rock Hudson and a young Victor Mature. He is well over six foot, with a wonderful body, very white skin, sexy black eyes and hair to match."

"Come on, Betty, everything is always gorgeous to you. There isn't anything I haven't seen in this business that comes close to gorgeous - just good enough for the camera. But I will admit the last three guys you steered to me are still working. But right now, I have all the so-called actors and actresses I need, so why should I take on another one?"

Assuming that this was the end of the meeting, Howie put the cigar he was holding back into his mouth and started to rise up. Annoyed that she was about to be dismissed, Betty set her face firmly, and before Howie could stand, she said, "Okay, Howie, it's your loss if you don't take a look at him."

She took a breath and added, "He's got the biggest shlung that you ever saw, and you can believe I know that. I also know he is the best in bed I ever had, and he even taught me a few new tricks. He gets wood at the drop of a hat and almost whenever you need it." Noticing a small glint of interest in Howie's eyes - he was always interested in a few new ways to film sex - he settled back in his seat, so Betty decided to wiggle the bait. "Anyway, he doesn't need the money, so he just may not want the job."

Knowing that Betty was obviously trying to pull him in, but now curious, Howie asked, "What makes you think he doesn't need the money?"

"Cause he pays me triple, and has for over two years, since he was eighteen. His family owns a bank."

This revelation made Howie put his cigar down into the table's butt-filled black plastic ashtray. He looked at Betty suspiciously. "So if this guy is one of your big money makers, why are so anxious to let me have him? You must realize that once he is on film he will end each session dry and there is no going back to you."

Betty looked down at the table, and when she looked up, Howie could see the wrinkles that had deepened in her face and the slightly drooping jowls. They were becoming obvious, plastic surgery for the masses being not yet available, and he suddenly felt sad - very unlike him. But he had always liked this curly-haired, brown-eyed gal who had managed to keep her self-dignity and most of her figure. Okay, tell me why you want to give up this beauty?"

"Howie, I'm closing in on forty-two, and I now want a normal life. You know, a small house, get married, maybe. It's too late for me to have babies, I think, but I want all the rest. It's going to cost everything I have managed to save, which includes the $3000 I got from you for the last three guys. If you take this one, which I know you would not be sorry for, it will be the final money I add to my retirement fund."

Howie knew how she felt, because he intended to sell his operation in another year or so and retire also. In fact, he had recently taken in a partner who might buy him out when he was ready to sell Gold. Otherwise, there was always someone else who would.

"Okay, babe, bring him up about eight on Friday night, when we start rolling. Just tell him you'd like to show him porn being filmed. I'll watch him react, and I'll be able to tell if he is for me."

Betty smiled broadly and pecked Howie on the cheek. It was agreed.


"Let us in, Joey," Betty called through the seam of the unmarked black metal entrance door to the Gold Film Studio. Joey, a thin, balding man with sandy hair, peeked out from the partially opened door and greeted Betty.

"Hi, babe, long time no see." He opened the door wide. "Go on up. Howie told me you were coming over." He nodded to Art and went back to sit on his stool.

As they started up the stairway, Joey continued to read his Daily Mirror newspaper, his tongue wetting a print-blackened finger to turn a page.

Art quietly asked Betty why such a seedy-looking building needed a guard, and she told him that Joey was a checker. Nobody got into the building unless his or her name was on his checklist or he had verbal orders from Howie, the owner of Gold. Joey was relieved from checking most of the time, because many actors had their own keys, and he could read in peace.

Arriving on the second floor, Betty knocked on the first solid steel door to the right of the landing. This brought a handsome actor's face into view. He was wearing a white terrycloth robe. He put a shush finger to his lips and signaled them to come in. He gestured to the wall near the door, which Betty and Art hugged. On the other side of the door along the wall, there was a group of ten men and women, also in white terry robes with paper slippers on their feet. Betty leaned out and silently signaled to those she knew, and they excitedly waved and smiled in return.

It took Art a few minutes to accustom his eyes from the semi-darkness where he was standing and to focus on the six glaring floodlights circled in the middle of the cave-like loft space. He could see four men each manually wheeling around what looked like huge, box-like cameras. They had large, round, commercial-sized film cans attached to each unit. Those were supported by long black steel legs with wheels. Art kept trying to see what they were filming. He did not notice what Betty was looking at.

She was busy trying to see where Howie was, to be sure that he had seen Art as they previously planned he would. He was directing the filming on the other side of the loft, pushing his bald head in between the two cameras, and barking orders. His cigar, which he never lighted up in the studio because of the smoke and smell, was disagreeable to all except Howie. But in the studio it was anchored at one corner of his mouth and kept jumping around. Cigarette smoking by the crew or the actors was also banned because the smoke ruined the filming. Tonight Howie was in his usual working clothes: white shirt, rolled-up sleeves, neck open, tie hanging open, shirttails shoved loosely into his baggy slacks, weighed down on one side by a large ring of keys and on the other side by a bulging wallet. The overall sartorial splendor made Howie look like a short, tubby, sweating mess, but when he went home, he dressed neatly in suits and shirts he kept in his office. Suddenly Howie looked up and caught Betty's eye and nodded, thereby giving the signal that he had seen Art. Smiling, Betty relaxed against the wall and saw that Art had moved away.

Art was annoyed, unable to see what was being filmed inside the floodlights in the middle of the floor. He had inched over to a section of the wall that would give him a better view and saw three nude figures on a thick mattress like mat that was covered in a white sheet.

Looking over to where Art had moved, Betty was caught by surprise when she saw the entranced expression on Art's face. She wondered what could possibly be so interesting, knowing that it was the same old pumping that Art had always thought very uninteresting. Sliding over near him, she followed his gaze and realized at once what was holding his unblinking stare.

It was a young nude girl standing between two nude males. Betty had to admit that she was unbelievably beautiful. Her skin was alabaster white. Her long, flowing, curly, pale blonde hair fell to a point midway down her back, and the floodlights made the girl seem to be a cosmic, shimmering illusion. Betty was immediately envious of the girl's long, well-formed legs that ran up and met a pale-haired Venus mound. Above it was her small soft abdomen and a flat stomach between slightly flared hips and a tiny waist. The girl's rib cage led to beautiful, large, porridge-bowl breasts that were milky white with small pink nipples. If all that was not enough, Betty could see that the beauty was at least five foot seven or eight inches tall, a height that five-foot-three-inch Betty admired. Betty always felt that she had been cheated when it came to height.

Art continued to watch the girl intensely as Howie yelled directions. "Down on all fours, the double pump!"

The men moved onto the mat. One kneeled behind the girl's backside and the other lay on his back so that his now extended rod was positioned near the girl's face.

At the signal "Go" from Howie, the man in back plunged his ready rod into the girl's vagina at the bottom of her small backside. The man lying down waited with a smile as the girl lowered her head slowly, in preparation to accept his penis into her mouth.

Suddenly Howie screamed, "God damn it, stop shooting! You, Blondie, (Her name was Vita, pronounced Veeta, but he didn't remember), tie up your damn hair. It's acting like a curtain and we can't see the suck-off." He then turned and called out, "Okay, everybody takes fifteen."

As everyone started to leave for the break, Art turned and saw Betty next to him and asked, "Betty, where is the john?"

Before Betty could answer, Howie rushed past and heard the remark. He said, "Follow me. You need a key to get in."

They went out across the hall to the lavatory. Art hoped that no one had noticed the bulge in his pants that he was unable to understand. He had always been able to control his package after that first weekend with Betty when he was eighteen years old. But something uncontrollable had happened to everything between his legs and in his head when he saw that gorgeous girl. She's no more than sixteen, he thought. He would learn that she was really eighteen. Her body was truly unbelievable, but it was her face that floored him. There was nothing in his ability to analyze his feeling of amazement when he saw her milk-blue eyes, small straight nose and voluptuous lips. When added to her magnificent body it all had caused an emotional upheaval in his mind and body.

Howie opened the lavatory door, saying, "My name is Howie. This is my company. Friend of Betty's?"

Art, doing his best to angle his body away from Howie, muttered, "I'm Art. Yes, I've known Betty quite awhile."

The large lavatory section included a number of private bathrooms with showers. It covered most of the area across the hall from the film studio and included an employee lounge at the rear.

The four floors of Howie's corner building were fifty-by-fifty-feet wide and deep and fashioned alike, except for the street floor, where Joey sat in front and Howie's large office apartment took up the rear. Each of the three floors above the street floor had a four-foot-long hallway that divided the floors down the middle. The floors were accessible by front and back stairwells, leaving a twenty-three-by-twenty-three-foot working space on each side of each hallway. However, only the second floor was currently used for filming, while the third floor was designated as the supply depot and the fourth floor was left empty.

Howie's huge office at ground level had a full kitchen and bath and was expensively furnished in plush beige carpeting, dark walnut paneling, and an oversized walnut desk, surrounded by four high-backed brown leather armchairs. At the rear was a sleeping alcove with a velvet couch, which opened to a bed that Howie used occasionally during bad weather, when he was afraid to navigate his Lincoln Continental on the icy roads to Nyack (upper New York), where he lived with his adored wife and two very spoiled daughters. The metal door at the back of his office led to a side alley around the corner of the building and was "the door" used by all of Howie's police friends, by appointment only.

The partial use of Howie's building was due to the lack of an elevator. When Howie's father was alive, the third and fourth floor had stored many thousand bolts of material that were sold to the rag industry. So it was a young Howie who was relegated to haul the heavy bolts up and down the stairways to store or show to buyers sitting in the then-second-floor showroom. When his father died, Howie inherited the business and the building. He immediately hired a young boy to help him schlep to and from all of the floors. A year later, Howie got out of the rag business and into the porn business and the third and fourth floor never saw him again unless it was absolutely necessary.

Relieved to see the lavatory, Art walked toward the doors where Howie was pointing. But seeing pink and blue doors, three of each, he stopped, puzzled. He then heard Howie say, "Each door leads to two private bathrooms with two showers - blue doors for the guys."

Walking over quickly, Art opened a blue door, hoping Howie had not seen the bulge in his pants that was going down really slowly.

But Howie had certainly noticed, and when Art came out five minutes later, flat and relieved, Howie was drying his hands with a paper towel. He pulled out a business card from his sagging shirt pocket and proffered it to Art, saying, "You're a good-looking fellow. If you're interested in doing film, give me a call."

With this, Howie quickly left, hoping he could snag Betty's find, which this time, he had to admit, was the best looking guy he had ever seen. He also hoped that if Art did come to work for him that his shlung was just as good looking.

Betty waited in the loft until she was sure that Howie had had a chance to talk to Art, which she knew he had arranged to do accidentally. After five minutes, she decided to wait in the hallway to ask Art if he wanted to go back in when the filming resumed. Howie came out of the lavatory, simply nodded "yes" to her, and walked back into the studio. Then Art came out and told her he did not want to stay. Betty was deflated. Art's face looked flat, and she thought he really was much less interested than she thought he would be. Oh well, she had tried.

"Okay, it really is old hat and not that interesting. Let's go back to my place."

It took some effort for Betty to keep the atmosphere cheerful for the balance of the evening and the rest of the weekend.

They ate out at a few neighborhood restaurants and saw a couple of movies. Art did not feel up to the club scene, and the sex was skimpy. He told Betty he felt a cold coming on and would leave early on Sunday. It was the first she knew of him to have a cold, as she was the only one who used the cold excuse. It was a signal they used when Art called her every Thursday night to firm up their plans. If she told him she had a cold, it meant her period had arrived, and Art would not see her that weekend.