by David Raffin
We thank you.
This cycle is over16. You will now have to resort to pleasuring yourself or each other with either oral or physical activities, or some other form of voyeurism, or the holy trinity, according to your recreational desires. May fluids seep freely and be given and received in peace. Clutch and combine. Be fruitful and multiply. In the end, all will be redeemed17.

Cuddle Party
Hope Smothered in Kisses
As real as any other for sale
by
Jacqueline Haze
1977
RamJack Inc.
In the beginning,
The gods
came
from the machine
They were many
And one.
“You show me a capitalist,
and I’ll show you a bloodsucker.”
– Malcolm X
“A sales circular says these are the final days.
Apocalypse news filters through in store displays.
Everyone pays in different ways. Who profits? Why?”
– David Raffin,
Flip You the Bird, 1974
“I saw the Summer come down
and turn the autumn golden
The Harvest Moon seduced me in a dream.”
– Peter Ivers,
Terminal Love, 1974
“We have a moral obligation to alleviate suffering whenever it is possible to do so.”
– David Raffin,
Come out, Come out,
whatever you are, 1973
“People were becoming known by names. I decided to find one I could live with.”
– Jamie Gillis, 1976
Cuddle Party
We are waiting. As long as it takes. Still, time matters.
Everything is ready. This is a big night. First hosted cuddle party. Rainy turned on the three lava lamps. Wax began heating. The black light poster on the wall said “Let it all hang out, Baby.”
“It is lucky,” she thought, “that the seventies are a time of social experimentation.”
She had hung a flyer at the local food buyer’s cooperative. It said: “CUDDLE PARTY! RSVP!” It was the latest thing. People getting together. Sharing. Caring. A left-over from the hippie times just past expiration meeting the embrace of the ME generation. The times were changing from concern about US to concerns about ME. The intersection of self interest and egalitarianism with the world ready to receive either outlook, as always. Rain had a caring heart. She was a modern woman, thoroughly. Ahead of the curve. But with a warmth that could not be denied.
The radio was on and a panel discussion was being held about a science fiction film. It was special because the film was from the soviet sphere, emerging from behind the iron curtain to play in art houses in the United States. It was a big deal for science fiction. To be in art houses. It was finally starting to get a little respect. It was about apples and love, some sly allusions to Eve. The downfall of civilization. Robots. Robots were a big deal now. I mean, they used to be just comic relief. It was time people started taking them seriously. They were, after all, the future of humankind, it’s greatest legacy. That was what the program was about. Rain shut it off. She didn’t want them spoiling the plot.
Rain stood for a lot of things but they were all good. She was fun. And spoiling the fun was not one of the things she was for. She was a person who made up her mind and made things happen. A conduit for better times.
This is why she was organizing a cuddle party. Hosting. To create the better times that other people said they stood for but only the select few had the courage to do something about. There was no advancement without the brave individuals who were ready to advance. Most people just went along in life. Followed. Rain was not one of those people. She was special. She did what she wanted. But she empowered others to join her.
Not every leader is worthy of being followed. Stalin, supposedly the great father figure of the Soviet experiment, selling himself as greater than Lenin, Trotsky, or the masses themselves, a man of steel, had been denounced in the Soviet Union twenty years earlier for his crimes against the revolution. Stanley Milgram, in the USA, had run an experiment18 showing that most people would obey authority even as the authority turned totalitarian and murderous. The common person would injure and kill to keep their place. If questions were asked they were easily suppressed. For most people. There was a war going on in the world for the future of humanity. And Rain was on the good side. Not everyone was. But those who took no side took the wrong side by default.
The bad side is always the side of default. It is the side of no choice. It is stifling. Silence. Tolerance where it is unwarranted whilst being intolerant when the opposite action is warranted.
The bell rang.
It was early but Rain was ready. Everything was ready. She was expecting a number of people and who knew what would happen. This was always the great thing about a party, the unexpected. While it was true that the unexpected could go either way, there is no set value to the unexpected, everyone takes their chances and hopes for the best. Good and bad play out over the course of events. It is not the event itself, usually, which makes things good or bad but the actions and reactions of the people trapped within the events. There is even some disagreement about what is good and bad. Are they a construct?Man-made? Yet most believe that there is such a thing as good. And bad is its fellow player, its mirror aspect. Some even postulate the two concepts cannot exist singularly but require each other for their mutual existence. Otherwise one would not have a full understanding of the good. The bad can usually readily be identified in isolation, though even this is a subject of bitter philosophical debate.
Rain went to the door and opened it to see a couple. They were a biracial couple, man and woman. She felt bad about how they must have waited out there during the time she was paused on her way to the door considering the nature of good and evil and scientists ordering duped test subjects to administer strong electric shocks to other test subjects while the latter writhed, screamed, and begged before falling worryingly silent in their cells. In order to prove a point. But she pushed this thought out of her way. It helped no one. Guilt. Shame. Self-forgiveness.
The man was decked out in black leather pants and jacket and a red silk shirt, open to his smooth midsection. The woman had long dark hair and still dressed kind of like a free love hippie. “Hi!” she said, “Is this the party?”
“You found it,” said Rain. “I’m Rainy. Rainy Day.”
“Groovy. My name is Sunny Bigeagle. This is my old man, Frankie X.”
Frankie kissed Rain’s hand. “Charmed,” he said.
“My, you’re classy,” said Rain. “Not like most men.”
“You will find I am not like most men.”
Rain blushed. “Well, that’s what we’re here to find out,” said Rain, “who people really are.”
“I am that I am and that’s all that I am19,” Frankie said, “ain’t nothing but pure me.” He and his old lady sauntered into Rain’s comfortable den, leaving her to wonder if he modeled himself after God20 or Popeye the sailor-man21. Both strong male role models22.
“This is real nice,” said Sunny. “You have three lava lamps!”
Frankie whistled. “Blue, Green, and Red. All bases covered.”
“People like colored wax,” said Rain.
Frankie sat in the round chair, bright orange like a jack o’ lantern and rubbed the soft upholstery with his hands as if he were warming them on the decor, becoming at one with place. Sunny started flipping through Rain’s stack of vinyl records by her hifi setup. It was an eclectic mix. Phil Ochs, Pete Seeger, Norma Tanega, Malvena Reynolds, Paul Robeson, The Stooges, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones…
“Oh,” said Sunny. “I dig the Stooges. Can we put it on?”
“Sure,” said Rain. “Be my guest. Whatsoever your heart desires.”
The needle fell into the worn black grooves and the drone of I wanna be your dog fi
lled the house. “Now that’s fuckin’ music,” Frankie said. Instantly, Sunny started swaying to the powerful beat of the drum. She twirled around and her hair cascaded in a circle before returning. “So messed up. I want you,” she sang, “Here.” She slid off her jacket and threw it on the couch. It was followed by her shirt and jeans, all to the incessant beat of the music, and then, finally, her undergarments in total, until she was dancing in the total altogether, revealing all, including that her hair in the nether regions did not match the hair above. Meanwhile, Rain had likewise unburdened herself of extraneous artificial layers, losing her blouse and skirt, but retaining her garter, stockings and panties. Sunny sang at her, “Now we’re gonna be face to face. I lay right down in my favorite place. Come on.” As the song ended and the record faded, she lay on the floor by the couch, one leg propped on a cushion.
Rain turned to Frankie, who was still sitting in the chair, fully dressed. “Why don’t you take off your jacket, at least? Make yourself more comfortable?”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the other players to come? Isn’t it more right that everybody comes together? I mean at the same time?” Frankie said.
“Oooo,” said Sunny, her eyebrows, positionally, moving horizontally.
“You know, porn films rip off all their music or use library film scores.” said Frankie. “Lots of them use a rip-off of the theme from The Exorcist. Choreographed action to the theme from The Exorcist,” Frankie said. “‘Course they had no music on the set. That’s the magic of editing. They get the shots and add the come to god elements later.”
“Frankie was in a film once,” said Sunny, from her place on the floor.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” said Frankie. “But not because I’m ashamed. Work is work. It wasn’t as good a film as it coulda been.”
“I hear that is a common issue,” said Rain. “Even in the mainstream.”
“It was called Love Thy Neighbor,” Sunny said. “It was really good.”
“Ok23,” Frankie said. “It was good. It was me who was no damn good. Not my best work. I have more range than that.”
“Oh, honey, I know you do,” said Sunny.
“And it came out at the same time as Johnny Wadd. The first one. Which was not a good film,” said Frankie. “But it had a great soundtrack. It was stolen from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Hook, Line and Stinker.”
“I have it in my purse!” said Sunny. “A copy in eight millimeter!”
“I have a projector!” said Rain.
Frankie sighed.
The ladies busied themselves in the setup. The projector was situated to display the image on the wall and the film was spooled through the works. And then there was a knock on the door.
“More guests,” said Rain.
She went to the door, but did nothing to cover up.
When the door opened it revealed a man in a clown outfit. White face, large shoes. Likewise, the opening of the door revealed to the clown the almost full radiance of a Rainy Day.
“Are you here for the party?” she said.
The clown stood there, stunned.
“Hi! Hi! My name is Theodore. Theodore the clown. Do you have clown needs? Theodore the clown is the answer! Birthdays. Funerals. Every form of mitzvah. I’m in the Neighborhood selling good humor door to door. Not the ice cream, get it. Theodore the clown entertainment for adults like you.”
“I LOVE A CLOWN,” said Sunny from the living room, which befitted her disposition, which was, atypically, sunny.
Rain shook her head slightly before saying, “Won’t you come in Mr. Clown and tell us all more about it?”
“Well, how delightful. Yes, thank you. And it’s Theodore. My father was Mr. Clown.”
“You know,” he said, coming close, “Most people around here don’t seem to like clowns at their doorstep.”
“Well, I’ll be,” said Rain.
As he walked in he muttered, “Clowns don’t murder people that often.”
When she saw him Sunny gawked at him with glee and clapped her hands. “Oh, Goodie!”
“Lady, someone stole all your clothes!” he said.
“No, clown, they’re right over there.”
“Well, better watch your panties, word on the street is there’s a market for used panties out on the street.”
“Will do, Mr. Clown,” Sunny said, saluting him, because many clowns hold ranks of authority, warranted or not.
“Do I look like my father?” he muttered. “I suppose we are all doomed to be relegated to some sort of box.” Thereafter he brightened and raised his voice to its full height.
“I am Theodore the Clown! The great wonder of the age. Fully modern clowning for the mind’s eye! Imagine. If you will. A ball.”
“Ooo,” said Sunny, wide-eyed.
“Now that you are fully in swing, imagine two balls.” His only illustrative motion is to hold up fingers to signify the number of imaginary balls.
“Gosh,” said Sunny. “A pair.”
“Now imagine three balls.”
“That’s an odd number of balls,” said Rain.
“Now imagine them spinning. Together. I juggle them. With grace. With ease. With style. I vary the pacing. Throw in a few tricks. And, suddenly, it’s over.”
“Clown!” said Sunny.
“But the memory is indelible,” said Theodore.
“I should say so,” said Rain.
“But you, Miss,” said Theodore to Sunny. “You saw all three of my balls in action.” He looked askance at Rain. “Not all can. See potential potentialities. You did that. It was in you all along. I just provided the scene outline. You are the potentate of mental potency and I your humble fool. I think I see some clown in you. It may be the voice of hubris, but I am never wrong.”
“Oh, Clown,” Sunny said.
“Theodore. My name is Theodore.”
“That’s a weird name for a Clown,” said Frankie. “Theodore. Why not go with the short form of it?”
“Theo?” Theodore said. “Theo the Clown,” he said, trying it out phonetically.
“No.” said Frankie. “Teddy.”
“The hell do you think I am, a bear,” Theodore muttered.
“I think you’re cuddly, Clown,” said Sunny.
“We were all about to watch a film on eight millimeter,” said Rain.
“Eight millimeter?” said the clown. “Is it pornographic?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“Why, yes, it is!” Sunny said and she clapped again.
“Oh, I do so love pornography,” said the clown. “I always have wanted to be in it. That’s why I became a clown. To stand out in the crowd while performing. I have a cousin who works in film.”
“Porno films?” Rain asked.
“Oh, yes. Cousin Myrtle. My favorite cousin.”
“Is she a clown as well?” Sunny asked.
“Oh, not Myrtle. No. It’s not her style. She dresses in a gorilla outfit. Handles bananas.”
“I saw her work in the film Slip-Up!” said Frankie. “I make it a point to see all the films Jamie Gillis makes. I love his work. Why don’t you call your gal Myrtle and pull some strings?”
“Wah do I look like, a puppeteer,” the clown mumbled.
“Let’s watch this film already,” said Rain.
“Goodie,” said the clown as everyone settled down for the feature. He began thoughtlessly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, in a seemingly endless stream.
The projector clattered to life. Scratches flew against the wall. Then the title card, “Love Thy Neighbor.”
Because it was eight millimeter, and not super eight millimeter, it was silent. This was true for a lot of these type of films. Sometimes the films were even shot without sound and dubbed later. There were title cards which showed snippets of dialog when they were absolutely necessary. A writer in the genre needed to make every word count. Like poetry.
The next card said: Directed and written by David Raffin. Starring Cindy West, Darby Lloyd Rains
, Helen Madigan, Jamie Gillis, Ronnie Runningboard, and introducing Frankie “Hard” X.
A young man goes to the door. When he opens it an older lady is standing at the door in a seductive but plain outfit of cut-off jeans and a shirt. The title card says, “I’m SO hot! May I use your pool?” He points toward the pool while his mouth moves. She exits to her right, his left, as the young man watches her. He goes to the fridge and gets a bottle of Moxie Soda. The camera angles fetishize the eruption of fizz from the agitated bottle as it is cracked open. The sticky fluid cascades over his hand. There is a shot of the expression on his face. He washes his hands, wipes the bottle. He sits in a chair and sets the soda aside, opening a book where it was last left off. It is a worn copy of Sex Robots at the Edge of Infinity, the most erotic science fiction novel from the golden era, still unrivaled in the genre. He realizes there is an attractive older woman at the pool. He sets the book aside and takes up the bottle, creeping low to the side window. He peers out. She is on the deck of the pool, her clothes in a haphazard pile at her side. Bare ass. She sees him at the window and motions him to come hither. To her. He drops the bottle, spilling sticky sweet fluid on the floor. The action cuts to him exiting the door of the house and heading for the pool. There is a jump, an unintended jump cut from a split of the film, a patch. A corrective.
“There was a lot of extra tension in that spot,” Frankie said.
“Apparently,” said Rain.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” said Frankie.
The film for a few minutes was a jumble of scratches and burnt patches. With extreme close ups and some of the action ran upside down and backwards. Still, it was arousing to the senses. If you concentrate it will get you there.
The clown moved to the piano in the far corner and started playing a musical accompaniment. He played beautifully. Some sort of avant-garde free jazz. The music was perfect for the moment. It was reminiscent of the space age bachelor pad jazz of the Bob Thompson orchestra, mixed with circus music, though the more conventional choice would have been bandleader Dick Hyman.
