Girlvert: A Porno Memoir (14 page)

In 8th grade I went to camp for a week. My mom went into my room while I was gone, to investigate a foul odor coming from my closet. She opened the rickety sliding door and found six or seven tightly tied Von’s grocery bags, all full of puke. I’d been hiding the purging after my mom caught on to the bathroom. My newest scheme was turning up my stereo with my bedroom door shut and vomiting in homemade barf bags from the grocery store. Food in. Food out. Back in those days, I had no pager or cell phone. So my mom sat on this horrible discovery for the entire week I was gone. She told all of her friends, my aunts, uncles, cousins; everyone I knew. She was worried, but mostly she was pissed off and disgusted. I have always had a high threshold for the gross, the vulgar, the sickening. For me, it is a source of happiness and excitement.

In junior high, I discovered that almost each one of my pretty girlfriends were also throwing up. We just flocked together, the beautiful and the vomiting. A clique, taking turns at the toilet, in my best buddy’s backyard (her dog ate it), in bushes behind the school. In my bedroom closet, in a plastic bag. We were always thinking of new places to do it, and finding new girls to share it with. Sounds like a fetish now, but we were too young and lame to know what a fetish was, or to understand the damage we were doing.

Only in porn would a person’s wretched habit of shoving her hand all the way down her throat be considered a talent. I was praised and encouraged to puke and fist my mouth. It was perfect. I loved myself and my eating disorder. Every time I sucked a cock, the hand had to go in first, laying bare the darkest part of my soul. And I was encouraged to take it there. This was and remains a disease that plagues my mind so heavily, and it was sexualized. And it seemed like the right thing to do.

I cannot have any kind of sex to this day until my hand goes in my throat. Pull out some of my soul’s thirteen year old innocence and curiosity. That’s what I’m reaching for. I can erase everything I know with that hand down my throat. Fresh tears, cleansing the mouth with watery saliva, recreating innocence—returning to an innocent state. I think it does work. I still go there.

But I can’t throw up anymore. I’ve graduated to natural laxatives and enema bags. Not as conventionally sexy as vomit, they have their perks. I get to keep my tooth enamel. My intestines are clean enough to make blood sausage with. Now that I’m older and wiser, I have more free time and less ability to bounce back from convulsions. So I focus on the asshole now. It can take a lot of beatings and blasting. Thanks to porn, I know about this mysteriously resilient piece of the Digestive Lexicon. I’m fascinated by feces, anyway. I love to look at shit and fantasize about how it came to be. It’s so disgusting. I do love that feeling of strong repulsion.

For Tyler, cooking food was an art form, to be indulged in but not to be abused afterward. Good chefs were fine artists. When Tyler cooked, it was magnificent. It filled me with hope for a better world. But cocaine is an appetite—and therefore a cooking—suppressant. Though it rarely happened—or because it rarely happened—watching Tyler cook was better than watching him fuck. You could see the creativity blazing in his head. When he first moved to LA, he had jobs in the kitchens of Patina and Asia de Cuba. Even with his degree and training in Europe, he couldn’t make enough money to survive in the city on kitchen wages, not for the kind of fun that Los Angeles has to offer. Porno didn’t inspire Tyler to cook. We made plenty of money for him to go back to cooking, but he lost the drive to be a determined artist. He said it was too hard to see me doing something easy like porno while he went and cooked in a competitive and fast-paced kitchen for twelve hours a day. We compensated for some of his lost chef dreams by becoming patrons of four-star restaurants.

Desiree and I got ready together. She wore an elegant strapless black dress. Her skin and tits looked great in it. I’ve always been a fan of small chests. My dress was black, too. It was too sexy for the place we were going. The middle was cut out of the side and it had one strap. It was a stripper dress. I made it work with a long, thin coat. Tyler wanted me to wear the dress. He picked it out because it was hot. I often turned to him for style tips because I could never go sexy enough. Clothes I chose were too plain, not fitting for a girl in porn.

Tyler went next door to Oliver’s apartment to wait for us to get dressed. He probably wanted to do a couple lines and see what Oliver had to drink. Desiree shut the door behind Tyler as he left. She locked it and looked at me. Desiree confided to me that she and Oliver had fucked the night she stayed over at his apartment and that she didn’t want to hang out with him on her last night here. I told her we would do whatever she wanted and that I was sorry for what had happened. All of a sudden, and way too late, I felt protective of this girl.
She’s only seventeen!
I fumed.
What a creep!
I felt na
ï
ve for being so blind. Oliver seemed so harmless. I never thought anything would happen between them. Oliver was supposed to be engaged to a girl back in Boston. He acted too uptight to fuck an underage girl. Tyler couldn’t know. I wasn’t going to tell him while Desiree was still staying with us. If she wanted to, then that was her business. Desiree was his responsibility more than mine, but I played my part. We fed her drugs and booze. Then she got fucked by the twenty-seven year old neighbor. What else could Tyler and I possibly do to help corrupt this girl?

Our reservations were at eight, but we arrived late. Just like with porno jobs, Tyler would continually make us late for dinner. We ordered caviar and wine to pair with the tasting menu. The sommelier came to our table. He was absolutely gorgeous. Desiree and I gawked. It was so hard to take our eyes off him. The man was tall, black-haired, blue-eyed, and impeccably dressed. He also knew everything about wine. Tyler made fun of us for being so adolescent. He didn’t get jealous. It was too great of a night for him to act like an asshole. He didn’t get wasted or embarrass us. It was lovely.

The sommelier asked Desiree her name and sat down with us for a glass of wine, on him. The four of us chitchatted, and for once not about pornography. Desiree told him she was twenty-four and in town for one last night before she would be going home to Houston to finish college. It was a pretty good story, and he bought it. Meth teaches people to tell a decent lie, the addict’s survival instinct. Our party migrated to The Standard downtown for some drinks. Tyler and I thought nothing of the flirtation going on between Desiree and the sommelier. I didn’t think it would go any further than a make-out session at the bar.
Part of me was envious that she got to flirt with the sommelier and I didn’t. The thought of having a four-way wasn’t a possibility, because of the whole brother/sister thing. We were unconventional, but we were not sickos. I had to live vicariously through Desiree as the sommelier persistently came on to her. I died for her inside.

The night couldn’t go on forever. Tyler had a shoot the next morning without me. Desiree wanted to stay the night with the sommelier, even though she was still on her period. He’d invited her up to his downtown loft nearby.

“Please? Can I? I promise I’ll be back early tomorrow morning. Please, Scooter?” She looked up at him with batting eyes and clasped her hands together, begging.

Tyler let her go.

“I can’t believe you think it’s okay for her to just go with some strange guy! We don’t even know him. What if something happens to her?” I was shocked that he didn’t worry at all. I didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to her, but I couldn’t help it. I’m a big worrier. At least Oliver was someone we knew.

“She’s fine. You have
no idea
. Desiree is a smart girl. She can take care of herself better than most girls twice her age. She wants to go. It will make her happy. Don’t worry so much,” he shrugged.

“He doesn’t know her real age.” Visions of her never coming back flashed in my brain. The phone calls we would have to make to her mother.

We left The Standard without her.

Before seven in the morning the next day, she walked through our apartment door. She sat down on the corner of our bed and looked dreamily out the window.

Tyler and I were in a cab going to the airport. Our flight was leaving for Paris. We were going to make it with plenty of time to spare. It was crazy at LAX, ever since 9/11. I was so nervous. Someone asked us for our tickets and passports. Tyler reached into the shoulder bag I’d put all of our important documents in. Everything was supposed to be in the front pocket. “Ori, where are the tickets?” He moved things around in the bag.

“With the passports. Right in there,” I said and pointed to where his hands were.

“No, Ori! This is just the itinerary, not our actual tickets. Where are the tickets?”

“What? What do you mean? I didn’t bring the tickets?” I began bawling loudly. “I thought that’s what I packed! I thought I had them. What are we going to do?” Everything went nebular, I couldn’t see. There were too many tears in my eyes. A wave of bad heat brushed through my body. I nearly fainted.

The man at the ticket counter was stern, but trying to be helpful. “You need the hard copy of the tickets to get on this flight. We can’t let you on unless we get that. You’ve got some time. Is there anyone at home that can drive the tickets here in the next forty-five minutes?”

I fell to the ground, paralyzed and reduced to a puddle of sobs on the linoleum. The distress was too much for me to handle. I didn’t know how to fix this. Tyler tried to think fast and pulled himself together for both of us.

“Oliver!” he shouted. “Oliver next door! Our neighbor Oliver!” Tyler sprang into action and called. “Hey man! I need you to break into our apartment…We forgot the tickets…Yes, the tickets… Just use a credit card and swipe it through the door lock, I’ve done it tons of times. We never lock the deadbolt… Just like Ernesto… Okay, you in? Great!... Where?... I don’t know where they are exactly… Just look, look everywhere! By the computer, or in the kitchen, by the bed, in those drawers by the window… You have them? Ori! He has them! Great, man! I love you, man! We owe you our lives. Thank you. Yeah…We’re at Air France/Air Tahiti Nui. Thank you, so much. See you, bye.”

To buy some time, the man at the ticket counter made it possible for Tyler and me to start pre-boarding while we waited for Oliver. The airport security escorted us through the lines quickly, as we were holding up the flight. We were last to get on the plane. But we made it. Good ol’ Oliver—the rapist of a minor in the eyes of California state law—was our savior.

Chapter Twenty

Clusterfuck

T
hree
days after we returned from Europe, Tyler had a shoot without me—a gang bang with seven other men—and I was relieved to drop him off in Sunland. I had sworn off gang bangs. He was doing two scenes for Roach. I had the entire day off to get a manicure and pedicure. My nails were white trash. I’d painted them a dark red while in Spain. Now, back in the USA, they were chipped, faded, and uneven from biting them on the plane. I’d been exhausted since our month in Europe. The very day we got back, I had a shoot. I was so upset. I was crying on the phone to my agent—Nelson. He booked this scene without telling me about it. While Tyler and I were still in Paris, I called Nelson back. I begged him to reschedule it. I felt like a slave. Ironically, the shoot was for a movie called
Slave Dolls
. The morning of, I showed up not having slept at all, jetlagged and miserable. Nelson picked me up from my apartment and drove me to the location. He knew I wouldn’t have shown up otherwise. When we knocked on the door at the house a little girl answered.

“Um, hi. Is your mommy home?” Nelson asked the seven year old. This was not good. A kid was not supposed to be there.

“She’s not here,” the child answered. She was in a big tee shirt and her hair was a scraggly mess. It was seven-thirty in the morning.

The director pulled up and took over. Nelson left me there. This guy Jackal and I walked into the house. He was really nice and excited about the shoot. His energy lightened me up considerably. The girl’s mother walked through the open front door. She was an older porn star named Priscilla, and Priscilla was spun out of her mind on meth. She started wiping down her filthy kitchen countertops while smoking a long tweaker cigarette. The little girl was sent to a neighbor’s house while another tweaker lady started sweeping the floor. The place was a pigsty and a crack house. A perfect porn location, I guessed.

The scene took the entire day. It was another rough anal three-way. This time, there was a girl in it to dominate me, too. I was fucked in the ass by a guy who had a huge uncut cock, one of the thickest cocks I’d ever been fucked by. It was like a barrel used to store hazardous materials. The whole time, I was in submission to a man and a woman.

It was special enough to stand out in my memory from the blur of most of the other stuff I’ve done. I’m glad I did it. But I was so fucking tired. I needed at least a couple days to gather myself. Plus, after Europe, my tan was nonexistent. All of my clothes were still packed in a suitcase. I couldn’t remember what bills needed to be paid. Things were in disorder.

Thirty minutes after I’d dumped him off in Sunland, Tyler called my cell. “Ori! Hey baby, what are you doing? Can you come back here? Roach wants to talk to you.”

Then he just handed the phone to someone else, putting me on the spot, right as I was saying, “No, Tyler! I don’t want to talk to him right now. Don’t.” Roach was a nice enough director and always had an earful of compliments for me, but I didn’t care what he had to say at that moment. Every time I got on the phone with him he talked for an hour, and I knew it would be about work.

“Hello, Ori?” It was Nelson. “Ori, can you come back to the Tuxford House? Andromeda has cancelled at the last minute. She’s come down with gonorrhea this morning and can’t do it. It’s putting Roach in a very difficult position. He’ll lose a lot of money if we have to kill this next scene. All of the guys are here, doing the first scene. Can you please come and do it, Ori? We
need
you to come and do the second scene.”

Tears filled my eyes. “I can’t. I can’t just come back and do it last minute. I don’t want to do any more gang bangs, at least for a while. I can’t do it.” I was panicking. I had to be strong.
Don’t let them talk you into it
, I told myself.

“Ori, listen. I need you. We need you. You’re the best—the scene will be better for it. All of the guys are here, all ready to go, and it won’t be as long as your last one. We have two cameras, and Roach has promised to be very quick. Guinevere is doing her scene first. We can start right away on the next scene as soon as you get here, won’t take long at all. It’s a lot of money, Ori. You would really be saving the day.”

Unfortunately, I wasn’t a tough sell. My problem always lay in the inability to give a firm no for an answer. “I can’t. I’m sorry. No,” I sobbed. But my voice was weak. My weakness was no match. Nelson fed upon weakness to get to the top of our frail porno ecosystem’s food chain.

“Ori. Please. I know you’re capable of this. It would really help out Roach a lot. If we don’t get someone, everything will be lost. None of us will get to do the second scene or get paid for it. It will cost Roach the location. It’ll be a mess. Please, would you just do us this favor?”

“Ashley Blue!” Roach’s voice boomed in my ear. “Ashley Blue, how are you? Nelson’s told you already about Andromeda and our little situation here. It would mean so much to me if you could come here and take her place. You are an absolute star, and you can handle this no problem. I shoot fast. You know that. Well, I’ll shoot doubly fast this time. There are two cameras here. All of the guys are here and they’re all dudes you’ve worked with before. It would be a disaster if we can’t get a girl to do this second scene. A
real
girl, like you. Guinevere, my wife the superstar, is in the other scene. If you could come back and be a part of this, we will have one incredible movie. Ashley Blue, there is no one else who can do this but you. Will you please say yes and be here by noon?”

It felt like I was already being gangbanged by the phone. Every man I trusted was talking me into doing this scene, acting like they were all trapped in a mine shaft and I was Lassie. Time to save the day, girl! Pull them out of their life-threatening plight by coming to their gang-bang rescue. How was I going to say no?

“Baby?” The phone had been passed back to Tyler. “You can do this, Ori. I know you can. We know everybody here. It’ll be quicker than last time. You can literally save the day if you come here. It will mean so much to Roach. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. I love you, baby. Come on, please? Applesauce?” He hit below the belt with that one. He used the pet name he’d given me. I adored being called Applesauce.

I relented. “Fine. But I don’t know how soon I can be there. I look like shit! My nails are fucked up and my life is fucked up,” I screamed. “I’m not prepared at all! I’m fucking hungry, Tyler! I wanted to eat today!” I punched the seat of my car. That was something I picked up from Tyler.

“Baby,” he said softly, sweetly. “You look great. You’re beautiful no matter what. Just throw some heels and stuff in a bag and come down here. You can eat later, when we’re done. We can eat whatever you want. Just go see Ernesto before you come here. I love you, Applesauce. We’ll see you in a little while. Bye.”
Why can’t I just say no to people?
I beat myself up about it, crying on the floor in my apartment when I was supposed to be getting ready for my gang bang. I had some coke, but not enough to put me into a euphoric mental state. I wanted to be drunk, but I didn’t have any more vodka. Tyler had put an empty bottle back in the freezer. I went to drink from it, and there wasn’t even a shot left. I viciously and dearly hated him for it. I was actually scared to do this scene.

I’d done a gang bang earlier that year, in the summer. I’d never fucked so many guys at once. Up until then the most guys I’d fucked in a scene were four, for
Down the Hatch 9
, not necessarily a gang bang in the world of porn. I was excited about it. I’d worked with the director, B-Bone, on
Service Animals 10
. I was so cocky and sure of myself that I could handle it, no problem. This was B-Bone’s first time directing a gang bang. How could it be much different from any other type of scene? I was into hardcore, anal and double penetrations. This was the next step, I thought, naturally.

The movie was called
7 The Hard Way
. The scene started with me in a wheelbarrow. Seven large guys surrounded me. Each one slapped me and grabbed my face. They spit on me and pulled my hair. It seemed like they were all trying to outdo each other, to prove who could rough me up the most. I smiled and went along with the action. I did my best not to break down. Breaking down, crying, or complaining was a no-no. Plus, I wanted them all to see how hardcore I was. They throat-fucked me hard and I tried my best to enjoy it. My drool was all over the floor and dripping from each guy’s cock. They pounded my ass and puss at the same time. My ass was fucked with two dicks at once. It went on for hours. B-Bone seemed unsatisfied with the footage. We needed more. It wasn’t enough. All seven guys kept fucking me until I could no longer go on.

B-Bone finally directed us into the pop-shot position. Five hours after the scene started, I was hardly able to move. My holes were stretched and swollen from the constant cock rubbing and ramming. There were several rips in my throat and cuts in my mouth. My ass had blood on it when I wiped it with a baby wipe, but I was used to that. Assholes always bleed during anal scenes. My head was sore where my hair had been ripped out. The guys didn’t mean to pull out my hair, but it got caught on their fingers when they yanked me around. It was a tangled disaster from being shoved onto so many different cocks. Tears stained my cheeks. I could hardly lift my arms, they were so sore from being held up in so many standing DPs.

The seven men dumped their loads into my mouth one by one. B-Bone wanted me to hold all of it in my mouth until each guy had finished cumming. I just stared into the camera, my mouth full of seven different kinds of sperm. It was horrific. B-Bone ordered me to swallow after I held it there for about a minute. It felt like I’d been waiting forever. It hurt just to swallow at all. As soon as it went down my enflamed throat, I showed the camera. Then I ran to the bathroom and vomited.

That shoot made me ill. I’d been completely worn down, physically. I developed a high fever. Tyler didn’t know what to do, so he took me to Whole Foods to get some organic food. He thought I needed nutrients, but what I really needed was a doctor. I almost fainted in the store. Tyler grabbed a Whole Foods fair-trade Alpaca sweater off a shelf and wrapped me in it. I don’t remember what happened afterwards. I blacked out.

We went to the doctor the next morning, the same one who prescribed Tyler Viagra and Xanax. It was too shameful to explain to any respected physician that I was sick from a gang bang. Pornography was too socially demoralizing for me to seek out better care for my body. I believed that any good doctor would tell me to quit doing porn, that I was hurting myself. A smart doctor would be able to tell that I was a drug addict, too. I had to stay away from this kind of advice.

What I had was strep throat and exhaustion. Surprisingly, I didn’t catch gonorrhea or chlamydia. I did develop a very painful yeast infection. It was from having way too many different men’s bacteria inside my vagina. I was better in a couple weeks, but I learned a valuable lesson: Gang bangs were too much for me. It was my first limit. I’d found something in porno that I was not good at. I swore them off forever. Tyler supported me at the time. Until, that is, Roach and Nelson brought it up, and Tyler was one of the bangers. I didn’t stand a chance.

I had to do my own makeup for this shit, too, which pissed me off. I was doing everyone a huge favor by filling in on such short notice, and they couldn’t even provide a makeup artist? Roach wanted it heavy. Well, too bad. I didn’t know how to do heavy makeup, and I wasn’t about to try. I’d lost my entire makeup collection in France a couple weeks before. All I’d bought since was a grey eye shadow, blush, and mascara. What did it matter how I looked? Anybody who was going to be watching this movie wouldn’t care what my makeup looked like. Gang bangs aren’t exactly about the girl’s glamour. They are about brutality, getting ravaged. The girl always looks fucked up the whole time. The gang bang is slightly more than the video sequence of a rape fantasy. Whose rape fantasy? I suppose it could be anyone’s. It could be the guys’ or the girl's.

My hooker heels got thrown against the wall a couple times before I stuck them in a bag. I did as much coke as I could and took the rest with me in the car. I did get a hold of Ernesto before I left for the scene. I was visibly upset. I think he felt sorry for me. He sold me drugs and wished me luck.

The Tuxford house is the ugliest location to shoot porn. It’s also the cheapest place you can rent that’s big enough to film an entire movie in one day. It’s over an acre of property, but it’s trashed. The walls are dilapidated. The plumbing is constantly backed up. Hundreds of beers have been spilled on its carpets. Its pool houses as much piss and vomit as it does water. The man who owns it is a very kind old pervert, but he’s too old to stop his house from being destroyed. Cum, cooze, spit, shit, and lube cover the walls of this four-bedroom, Southern Californian home. Once a nice place, with a tennis court, poolroom, gym, billiard room, and horses’ stable, it’s drenched in human DNA now.

I walked through the front door, where Guinevere’s scene was taking place. The sight of her left me in awe. She was taking on the same eight guys I was going to. She looked like she was in total control of them. Even though she was outnumbered, she moved from position to position on her own. They didn’t tug at her or toss her around. She was taking double vaginal and double anal penetration like it felt good. It was hard sex, but they weren’t being rough. No one was acting like a tough guy. There wasn’t any spit on her face or bruises on her arms. Maybe I would do fine, like they said. If it was easy-looking for Guinevere, then I could probably handle it myself.

I was worried about my bowels. For a month straight, Tyler and I did nothing but eat cheese and cured meats in Europe. How much of it was left to come out of my intestines was unknown. I hadn’t shit during a scene since the infamous
Barely Legal
shoot. I usually had more time to prepare. I liked to starve for at least twenty-four hours and do fifteen to twenty enemas. I enjoy cleaning my ass out. It’s a therapeutic exercise. I had to be totally empty in order to accommodate a gang bang. I could be getting ass-fucked for five hours again. I prayed my butt would stay clean for the whole scene.