But if she was drunk, Jerry Jensen was in even worseshape. Her son couldn’t make it down the hall withoutbouncing off one wall and smashing into...the other. “Jerry!” she snapped. “Where the hell have you been?It’s three in the morning.”Her son’s answer came out in a string like taffy beingpulled. His words were slurred, and she knew he wasstoned out of his head. “Uh, hi, Mom. I… I’ve beenover at… a friend’s…. The scene was laid out. Tiger skin patterned rug, rich pastel coloured cushions of yellow and mauve. This was not your ‘girl next door’ all-natural Indy erotica; this was genuine bubblegum titillating tack, the ‘World Wanking Federation’, of which we all know is faked but get off on the theatrics. We began on our knees, kissing and fondling. I hitched her breasts from the top and the photographer gawped with delight, “Those breasts look great hanging out of the top like that”. Mental note:. More

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