Cast: Susan Westcott, and a bunch of people I don’t know.
Director: Anthony Spinelli
Tracy is a middle class housewife suffering from that most dreaded of uterine maladies, sexual frustration. Her selfish husband seems not to notice that she diddles herself to orgasm after they have sex, all the while imagining scenes of erotic abandon. Tracy’s ennui turns to exhibitionism, however, when she lays herself out next to the pool for the delectation of a horny neighbor. Not one to beat around the bush – especially where bush is involved – the abutting stud invites himself over to Tracy’s place for coffee and a coerced cock-sucking. In spite of his dubious potency (sadly, the actor seems to have more luck growing a man-fro than sprouting wood), Tracy decides there’s nothing better than casual forced sex. She calls her “doctor” – apparently a shrink – and confesses that she thinks she has a “problem.”
The next day, a visiting girlfriend (surprise! – she turns out to be the neighboring stud’s swinging wife!) initiates Tracy into the ways of lesbian lust. “Men just fuck us and leave us. They’re not gentle and they’re not considerate,” her solicitous beaver-buddy asserts. After a bit of mons munching and improvised soul-searching, a strap-on dildo appears (mysteriously) from the depths of Tracy’s couch. Although the moaning and groaning the couple make seems vastly out of proportion with the flaccidness of the appliance, the two appear to enjoy themselves immensely.
Sadly, the same cannot be said for Tracy and her preoccupied marital partner. After forcing hubby to endure a quick b. j. before work, Tracy fantasizes about her earlier Sapphic encounter (a great way to use up surplus footage from the previous scene). Then, that afternoon, the swinging suburbanites next door re-appear on Tracy’s doorstep in tandem. They share a champagne toast and rapidly engage the budding nympho in a three-way on the shag carpeting. Needless to say, hubby arrives home just in time to catch his helpmeet getting tag-teamed by the neighbors. Tracy begs her better half to understand her erotic urges, asking him to join in on the fun. After his initial refusal (we’ve gotta build a little suspense here, folks!), her uptight old man finally decides to get down. He joins the tryst as Tracy’s passionate cries are heard resounding through the California twilight.
Although lacking cast and crew credits, Diary of a Nymph is conventionally attributed to the late Anthony Spinelli, Sr., a porn stalwart with a long string of West Coast features (and almost as many pseudonyms – Luke Ford claims he was born Samuel Weinstein). A 1971 dating seems about right given the film’s content, and, if correct, this would make the film one of Spinelli’s earlier efforts. The picture stars Susan Westcott, who, in addition to laboring passably with the film’s loosely organized script, is obviously a hot fuck, doubling her legs.