Like the locale is different, see, but every time it's the same girl. The door bell rings and there she is, in a peekaboo miniskirt and a see-through blouse. She says she wants some ice cubes, but what she really wants is me . . . Half an hour later I look up from my pillow. "Pardon me," I say, playing it sophisticated, "but aren't you Raquel Welch?"
This scene, or something like it, expresses what is obviously a widespread current sex fantasy. Every so often, the movie business feels the need...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
