Video Killed the Radio Star

Bill pressed the doorbell, setting off a series of musical chimes within the house, then stepped back. He took his hat off, looking at the house--it seemed nice. Nothing extravagant, but for this part of California, "nothing extravagant" still cost a good deal of money. The house must have cost her $15,000...whatever this lady had been doing with herself the past few years, she certainly wasn't broke.

The door opened, revealing a woman in her mid-forties wearing a floral-patterned housedress. "...um, hello, ma'am," Bill said. "I'm Bill Mallory, with the L.A. Times, and I'm here to speak with Myra Flatley? We're doing a little feature on former radio stars for the paper, about what television has done to the old radio shows. Are you Myra Flatley?" He hoped she hadn't noticed his slight hesitation when she opened the door, but he'd been a bit startled. If this was Myra Flatley, then no wonder she'd been left behind when the radio stars all moved to TV. She was the ugliest woman he'd ever seen--tall, ungainly, flat-chested, with thick bushy eyebrows and a large, hooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least once...and a face pitted and pocked with deep scars all over her cheeks.

"I'm Myra Flatley," she said, in a soft, lilting voice that seemed incongruous coming from that face. She must have killed on the radio. "And don't feel bad," she added, smiling both with her face and with her voice. "I know this kisser of mine's a bit of a shock on first look. Trust me, a little bit of staring's not the worst thing I got as a first impression. Come on in."

She led him back through a small foyer into a well-kept, tastefully decorated living room. "The worst of it's the scars--smallpox, back when I was a kid. Of course, they vaccinate for that now, but I grew up in a little dirt-poor town out in the countryside, and doctors were hard to come by. I count my blessings--a little boy died from it, just a few miles away from us--but it sure doesn't leave ya looking pretty, y'know?" She gestured to a chair for him. "Not that I'd be a real looker even without 'em. Can I get you something to drink?"

Bill felt a little shell-shocked by the woman's frank, open attitude about herself. Not many people were so...matter-of-fact about their strengths and weaknesses. It was actually kind of impressive. "Um, sure. Whatever you have."

"Coke OK, or can you reporters have something a little stronger?" She gave him a little wink. On another woman, it would have been flirtatious, but Myra just didn't have the face to pull it off.

"Coke's fine," he said. As Myra headed into the kitchen, he looked at the room around him. Again, Myra didn't seem to be doing too badly financially; the furniture was nice, tasteful and comfortable, and there were a couple of pieces of art on the walls that looked like they might be worth some actual money. She must have invested well after the bottom dropped out of the business a few years back.

Myra headed back in with two bottles of soda. "Here ya go," she said, handing him one. "So yeah, the nose got broke when I was about twelve; I was a little sensitive about my looks back then, and I wasn't shy about decking any girl who lipped off to me." She sat down opposite Bill. "Well, one day I picked on the wrong girl. I had a good foot of height on her and about thirty pounds of weight, but...well, this schnozz of mine makes a pretty easy target. Little gal planted her fist square on it. Probably had to stand on her tippy-toes." She chuckled. "After that, I started finding better ways to handle it." She took a sip of her soda. "But hey, I'm sure you didn't come out here to listen to me talk about that. You probably have some questions or something for me?"

"Well, yes, ma'am," Bill said.

"None of that 'ma'am' jazz," Myra said, waving her hand dismissively. "You call me Myra."

"Alright, um, Myra. I was wondering, first off, when did your radio show go off the air?"

"About two and a half years ago--sorry, you probably want a better answer than that." She adopted a slightly over-formal tone, but her face kept its smile. "My last broadcast was on December 14th, 1952. I could probably have kept the show going a while longer--I had some very devoted fans, and my sponsor loved me--but I could see the writing on the wall. Television was the future. Might as well go off the air sooner than later."

"I see," Bill said, taking down shorthand notes on a pad of paper. "And did you try television at all?"

Myra laughed. "With this puss? Get outta here! The networks would have laughed me out of the room, and even if they didn't, people would have taken one look at me and changed the channel. Nah, I took the money and ran. It was good while it lasted."

"So what have you been doing with yourself since your show went off the air?" Bill asked.

Myra leaned back in her chair. "Mostly talking. The telephone's a wonderful thing. I've been keeping in touch with my fans, talking to them daily--that turns out to be kind of a full-time job, some days. It's nice, y'know? When I was doing the show, I was never really sure what kind of an impact I was making on people's lives, but now, when I'm talking to them one on one, I really get a sense of just how much they loved me. It's a good feeling."

"Yes, about your show..." Bill looked up from his notepad. This was one of the reasons he'd asked for this interview. "Exactly what was it about? I've been talking to some of the people who've listened to your show over the years, and they all seemed a little vague on exactly what you did for an hour every Saturday night. I tried to listen to the tapes, but none of the stations seemed to have them archived."

"Oh, no, they wouldn't," Myra said. "They're all stored here. I have a little sound lab in the basement. It's nothing special or anything, just a little hobby of mine; but I made sure it was in my contract that I got to keep the tapes, and all the rights to the material." She grinned. "I have a really good agent. He went in there, argued them down a bit, and then when they were reeling, he put me on the phone and I really sold the deal. I dunno, maybe that stuff won't ever be worth anything...but who knows? I might be able to put out a few records or something."

"But..." Bill leaned forward a little. "But what exactly was your show about? Was it comedy, variety, drama?"

Myra bit her lip absently in thought. "It was..." she said at last. She looked at him appraisingly for a long moment, like she was sizing him up for something. Having apparently made her decision about him, she continued. "Actually, it's easier to demonstrate than to explain. But you'll need to close your eyes. Like I said, you don't want to be looking at this ugly mug when you're listening to my voice."

With a shrug, Bill leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Alright," he said, feeling a bit silly.

"Now, you're probably still picturing me, and that's no good," Myra said. Bill noticed that she'd put a little extra bit of honey in her voice. It was definitely a hell of a voice, he thought. Smooth, melodic, just a little bit husky...no wonder she still had people calling her up on the phone to hear it. "Just sink back into the chair and try to picture some pretty girl--like that Marilyn Monroe doll. Just sink down into that soft chair and try to picture exactly what Marilyn Monroe looks like."

Bill squirmed a little in his chair. He could definitely picture what Marilyn Monroe looked like, alright. He'd just seen 'The Seven-Year Itch' a week or two ago, and that scene with the sewer grate...he'd heard that the Hays Office had made them cut it down, that her dress had originally blown all the way up above her waist.

"That's right," Myra said, but in his mind's eye, he was picturing Marilyn say it. "Try to picture every detail. You're a journalist, you're good at noticing details. Just try to picture the scene in your mind; let the room around you fade away as you construct that picture in your head." Her voice was very soothing, and picturing Marilyn say it as she stood there, white dress swirling in the wind, it was...well, soothing was the wrong word. 'Distracting'. Bill suddenly felt very distracted.

"Picture those legs, so long, so smooth, so gorgeous...that skin, so soft to the touch..." Suddenly, Bill remembered an entirely different image of Marilyn Monroe, one from a couple of years back. "Picture the way that her body curves, so beautiful..." Bill remembered picking up that first issue of 'Playboy' and seeing that body inside. 'Beautiful' didn't even begin to cover it. They'd asked her what she'd had on, and she'd said, 'The radio'. He wondered if she'd been listening to Myra.

"Picture those perfect lips, forming words, words like the ones I'm speaking now. It's as though she's speaking directly to you." Bill let out a small sigh. He almost felt like he was there in the bedroom with Marilyn. She was reclining on the bed in the nude, looking right at him, speaking right to him in that soft, sexy voice...he shifted a little in his chair.

"Picture that face, the soft red lips moving, speaking such charming words; you don't want to do anything but listen, you can't help but listen now...and those eyes, such a perfect shade of blue, you feel like you could look into them forever..." Bill was aware that his dick was hardening inside his pants, and some part of him felt embarrassed by that; but to another part of him, it seemed to make perfect sense.

"That's right, you're getting lost in those eyes as you listen to me talk, as everything else just fades away now...and the scene in your mind is so much more important than anything that's happening in the real world, so you can just watch my beautiful blue eyes, and listen to me talk, and relax." Bill felt very relaxed, all except one part of him that didn't feel relaxed at all. It felt stiff, hard, straining inside his pants; and on some level, he felt like it shouldn't be, but the part of him that understood just kept getting bigger. Just like his dick kept getting bigger, because he was all alone in a bedroom with the most beautiful woman in the world, and she only had eyes for him.

"Just keep listening and keep relaxing, and you'll find that the more you focus on my eyes, the more you relax and the better it feels." Bill let out a longer, deeper sigh, feeling like the chair was cradling him as Marilyn talked. "And it's feeling so good right now, and you know that the more you relax, the better it feels. And you're so happy to focus on my eyes; because the better you feel, the more you focus on my eyes. You just can't help it. Your eyes are locked onto mine, and you know that you don't even have to pay attention to my voice." Bill felt himself nod, just a little, through the watery relaxation that seemed to have sunk into his limbs.

"You can just feel relaxed and focused and oh, so very good...and my voice sinks into your brain like the relaxation sinks into your limbs, like your heavy body sinks into the chair, like your mind sinks deep, deep into soft, warm, pleasant slumber. Your mind is sleeping right now, Bill. It's simply resting, not needing to think about anything at all except for the world you and I have created together. And isn't that wonderful?"

"...yes..." Bill said, his lips barely able to form the words. This all felt so nice, and the part of him that wondered exactly why it felt so nice just kept getting smaller and smaller, while the happy, warm, hazy part of his mind got bigger and bigger, and harder and harder...

"Yes, that's wonderful, Bill, and you'll find that the scene your mind sees is so real, so very real that even if you were to open your eyes, you'd only see the same thing that your mind sees right now. Because your mind is so happy looking into my eyes, listening to my voice, and letting it carry you away. It's already carried your mind away into slumber, sleeping and listening and allowing me to guide it; and that feels so good, and feeling so good helps you focus, and focusing helps you relax, and relaxing feels so good..." Bill's mind completed the cycle for her as she spoke, and he practically moaned out another soft sigh. "Yes, that's right, Bill, and if you want to open your eyes now, you can..."

Bill opened his eyes, and Marilyn was right there. She was nude, just like in his mind, and her bright blue eyes were locked right onto his. It was hard to focus on them, hard to really focus on anything, but the more he looked into her eyes, the more relaxed he got. All except for that one part, the part of him that was rock-hard and aching to be released, and aching for release. "Very good, Bill," Marilyn said, "you're doing so very good, and relaxing so well for me, and I think it's time to reward you for that." He couldn't look away from her eyes, but he heard the sound of his zipper being pulled down, and felt Marilyn's hand on his dick, and that felt so good...which made him focus more on her eyes...which made him relax more...

"And it's almost time for your reward, Bill," Marilyn said, climbing into the chair with him, straddling him with her hips, "and you know that your reward is going to feel so good, better than anything...and if feeling good makes you relax, then you know that you're going to relax even deeper than you have already when you get your reward."

He felt her warmth now, poised to slide onto his dick. "You'll need to wait until I give you permission, Bill, before you can have your reward. But you know you can do that, because you're listening so well, following so well, because your mind is asleep and letting me guide and control it and so it's very easy to wait for my permission."

She guided his dick into her wet pussy, sliding slowly up and down onto him. "And...and you know that you'll just relax more, and more, now...because you're feeling better and better now...feeling better relaxes you more, relaxing makes you focus more on my words and my commands, following commands makes you feel so good, Bill..." Bill whimpered in pleasure, feeling her pussy grip him as she slid up...and down...and up...and down...

"And I'm...ohhh...I'm gonna give you...ahhh...give you your reward soon....unnnnh....you're going to cum soon, Bill, gonna cum so hard, so...mmmm...go deeper, be more relaxed, more focused, more, oh, more and more and more and, oh, cum, Bill, cum, cum, cum!" Her voice relaxed into a long, wavery moan of pleasure as Bill felt himself thrusting into her, his every nerve alive with pleasure, releasing it all into her as he felt the most intense orgasm of his life hit. And as he slumped back into the chair at last, he could feel himself relaxing completely...and totally...sinking into the deepest relaxation, just as he'd felt the deepest pleasure. Bill felt himself go deep, and waited to hear more commands.

*****

Myra slipped her houscoat back on and looked at the entranced reporter. She'd need to leave him under for a little bit, while she thought about exactly what she wanted the article to say. Obviously, she couldn't just let it be a transcript of the interview, but she was vain enough to want to see her name in print. It felt nice to be remembered; even if Bill, like so many others, wouldn't remember exactly what they remembered about her.

THE END