Girlvert: A Porno Memoir (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

White Trash Whore

D
uring
the summer of my first year on contract with JM, we shot
White Trash Whore 30
. When I say we, I mean the director, Jim, and the production manager, the still photographer, and the gaffer. I worked with the same crew on every movie I shot with JM, over a hundred scenes altogether. Originally, I was asked to star in the lead role as the main White Trash Whore. Sadly, I could not handle the detail. I quit doing gang bangs the year before. The White Trash Whore is required to do an all African-American, six-guy gang bang, no matter what. I stood my ground. I would not do another gang bang. My craving for giant cocks was at an all-time low. Jeff was disappointed. I was given the supporting role as the White Trash Whore’s sister instead.

We met at a liquor store off the freeway. Fitting for a White Trash Whore, I thought. I had to take the I-5 almost all the way to Valencia. It was rural. There were cows in the distance feeding off endless hills of grass. As I got off at the instructed exit, I saw a sign on the off-ramp that read “STATE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY AND DETENTION CENTER.” JM had gone to junkyards, deserted trailers in the desert, garages, farms, and tweaker houses to shoot these films. There are plenty such locations available in the San Fernando Valley. In some neighborhoods it’s all you can find. A tweaker house is perfect for shooting a white trash movie. The set’s already decorated to exact detail. Sometimes the tweakers who live there will play extras for you in the movie.

I pulled into the driveway of a strip mall parking lot. I saw the crew talking to some perfectly trashy girl getting out of her car. The star of the movie. I got out and walked over to them. “Hi Ashley, glad you could make it on time today. This is Sissie.”

Sissie was loveable. Her face was quite pretty. She had bleached-blonde, shoulder length hair. She had on white sweatpants and a cutoff white wife-beater tank top. Sissie had a giant all-natural DD rack. Her tits were showing proudly through her shirt. She looked like she was ready to shoot some porno.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t. It had recently been established to everyone that I hated sex. I liked everything up until the actual intercourse. Everything about the fucking grossed me out. It was a phase I was going through. The smell of balls and sweat from a man’s ass was repellent to me. When my hair would get stuck to my cheek because my face was sticky from a blowjob, I gagged. Not only was I burned out from doing the same old routine, I was grossed out because Kris told me repeatedly how disgusting these other guys were. He did his best to drive it into my brain, over and over, that I was doing seriously repulsive work. I was young and in love, so I believed him. All I could think about were his insulting words when I fucked these other guys on camera.

I would make excuses when I couldn’t fuck certain people that Kris despised. Before, I would have done anything that JM asked me to. I wanted to please Kris and JM both. There seemed to be no happy medium. Whatever I did would not be good enough for one or the other.

I did not feel this way when Tyler and I did porno together. Each of us fucked gnarly strangers—there was equality. Tyler may have been a manipulator, but he wasn’t an insecure one. Whatever quality I was grasping so desperately for at the end of Tyler’s and my relationship was not what Kris possessed. Kris couldn’t love or accept himself. How was he ever going to accept me?

When the rest of the crew and talent arrived, we caravanned to the feeder road on the side of the freeway. For a couple of miles we headed toward the correctional facility, then took a turn into the hills. A winding road, nothing but trees and cows to look at. The grass was yellow and the trees were giant oaks. It was a beautiful chaparral landscape.

We pulled to a stop in front of a big iron roadblock. There was a redneck guy in a pick up truck waiting for us. He was a big man with a stained white tee shirt and a beer gut. The director, Jim, waved his arm out the window to signal all of the cars to follow. The redneck unlocked the big chain holding the blockade and opened the gate. On the other side was a private road. He got back into his truck and onto this road, his huge Rottweiler in the bed of the truck grinning maniacally.

It was a dirt road covered in potholes and sharp rocks. I was furious that I had to drive my beautiful new car on this shit. I was a prima donna because I was the contract girl. Besides being late, hating sex, and whining, I was also consistently rude, only because I knew I could be. Being civil had been left behind at the liquor store. Trailers lay tucked in between giant oaks, and broken-down cars were scattered throughout the scenery. The place was reminiscent of a polygamist compound, but without the pioneer women. Colorado City with dirt bikes and beer.

Jim was always cheerful. Every day was a new and exciting day to shoot pornography. Nothing ever got him in a downer mood. Shooting for Jim felt like day camp. We were all here to do some nasty sex scenes and have a good time. He kept morale up and made me laugh at myself, which was crucial since I’d been feeling alienated from everything. If it weren’t for Jim, I would have hated every single thing about my job.

I followed Jim up the gravel driveway. Our
White Trash Whore
house was a pink crumbling mountain shack, a three-room dwelling made out of rotting wood. Random machine parts lay strewn around the sides of the house. Chickens wandered around the property, in and out of the house. An old, sick cat drank out of a moss-covered bowl. The smell of sulfur was strong, almost unbearable. An old, dirty trailer sat next to the back door of the house, along with more broken things. It was perfect.

The makeup artist went to work on Sissie right away. Sissie had to do the scene before mine, and the one after. First two white guys in a DP, then five black dudes in a gang bang. We had to get moving, as Jim would say. Sissie was covered in blue eye shadow and pink lipstick while I rifled through the home’s belongings.

Jim said, “What are you doing going through this poor woman’s possessions?”

“A woman lives here?” I asked. I’d found a pile of old photographs lying in the bedroom. “Whoa! Look at this!” I held up a photo of a dead skunk. There were dozens of photos of a mountain lady holding her rifle and the dead animals she shot. There were skunks, deer, raccoons, squirrels, and coyotes.

“Ashley, the woman who lived here died a few days ago. Her son is the one renting this place to us. This house is set to be demolished in a few days.” He held up a necklace made out of snake rattlers.

I dug out a tiny confederate hat and a coonskin cap. This dead woman’s things were going to become our white trash props for the day.

Sissie emerged from makeup. Her blonde hair was curled and her big boobs shone. Jim asked her if she was all right to do some dialogue.

“Oh yeah, I can act. I’ve been studying drama for seven years. I did it all through high school. I just have to smoke beforehand.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her bag of weed and a glass pipe. This is a ritual that almost all porno actors must go through before attempting to act.

“Why do you need to smoke, Sissie? Because it makes you smarter?” Jim asked, both sweetly and sarcastically.

“I smoke it because I think too much. I’ve been tested and I actually have a really high IQ and an overactive brain. When I smoke, I can focus better on one thing. I can be normal.”

“So, you just smoke it to be normal because you’re too smart otherwise?”

“Yep,” she replied. Her voice was distorted from holding in the smoke.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found marijuana to help dumb you down to a normal level,” Jim said. He had a way of never making you feel bad when he was poking fun.

Sissie exhaled, finally. Part of me wanted to hate her because of the rumors I’d heard. She was supposedly seeing Tyler. I know I dumped Tyler, but I couldn’t help but feel the jealousy. Sissie was just an eighteen year old kid. It wasn’t her fault that I wasn’t over him. I don’t know if every ex-girlfriend in the world is like me, but I know I’m not alone when I still feel ownership over the ex-boyfriend. It takes about a year for me to stop hating other girls who date the ex.

Makeup was applied to my face while Sissie fucked her two white men. I had to do my enema in the only bathroom. It was dark and damp. I was just thankful that the plumbing worked. A strong smell of sulfur overpowered everything else in the house. We must have been sitting on an abandoned mine or something. That, or one of the skunks that had been shot in those pictures lay buried under the floor.

My scene was with two performers I’d worked with before. One of them, Whippet, was in my last gang bang and had also recently fucked me while I was covered head to toe in peanut butter for one of Jim’s movies. I played the role of a girl who masturbates with peanut butter and then gets fucked in the ass. Whippet was one of the most annoying porno dudes in history. His voice sounds like a banjo being picked. Every one of his sentences contains a double negative and he rambles nonstop. He isn’t a mean guy, but fucking him is a form of punishment.

After Sissie completed her DP and swallowed both loads, she and I did some dialogue together for the movie’s opening scene.

SISSIE: Get out! Get out! Go! Get out of this house. Fuckin’ chickens, get out. I said get out! Fuckin’ chickens! You, too, get out! I told you chickens to stay out. Go! Now!

ASHLEY: Sissie! Those are my pets!

SISSIE: They were shittin’ all over the fuckin’ house!

ASHLEY: Now they’re gonna get eaten by coyotes.

SISSIE: That fuckin’ chicken shit on my bed! How the fuck am I gonna get a man with a fuckin’ chicken shittin’ on my bed?

ASHLEY: Now I have to go out and fucking shoo them into the pen.

SISSIE: After you’re done with that, make sure you pick up Grandma’s social security from the mailbox.

Sissie ate a couple of McDonald’s cheeseburgers, and it was my turn to do a DP. Whippet and the other dude put on the coonskin and confederate hats. Whippet’s head was so small that he fit into the tiny cap like a glove. He seemed inbred. You’ve got to hand it to those inbreeders: They had big dicks. Otherwise, there was nothing appealing about him. He weighed only ninety-five pounds. I felt like a fat toad getting on top of him. His whole body felt encased in my crack as soon as I lowered myself onto his cock.

My sex scene started out back, next to the trailer. I lay down on my back atop a broken-down washer. Whippet fucked me missionary style, while the other guy straddled my head and fucked my mouth. My holes were tight.

I wasn’t having much intercourse at the time. Kris and I were too busy doing drugs. We hardly ever fucked. He was almost forty and a complete cocaine addict. The sex drive was low for both of us. Usually, I would just blow Kris or jerk him off into my mouth. If a woman’s mind is her largest sex organ, it’s no wonder Kris seldom turned me on. Sex wasn’t making me happy anymore anyway. It was all so confusing—every instance felt like work. Having an orgasm wasn’t my main concern. Reconnecting with Kris on the level we had been at in the beginning was impossible. It was easier to just let him cum on me. Sucking dick was my specialty.

The upside-down, gag, spit, drool, throw-up blowjob was referred to as a “Gag Factor,” named after the JM movie series of rough oral sex. Jim would only have to call out to the boys to “Go ahead and Gag Factor her,” and everyone knew what to do. The point of it all is to make the girl’s face into a slimy mess. Blowjobs in this fashion are not always the best feeling, but the visual effect is most stimulating.

Flies were swarming around and sticking to the talents’ balls while I choked and gagged on cock and my own saliva. All of a sudden, I felt a sharp and intense pain in my inner thigh. A cock was still in my mouth as I shrieked. “It stings! Get it out! Get it out!”

One of the hundreds of insects landing on us had stuck its black, sharp, poisoned stinger into the flesh of my leg. I squeezed and pulled the little stinger out. My whole thigh was burning. I jumped up off the washer. I stomped around on the dirt, wailing about how much it hurt. The gaffer tried to help me walk. I hated the location, I hated Whippet, I hated porno. My leg was red and swelling up fast.

Jim said, “Ashley, we’ve got to finish the scene!”

It was too late for some other girl to come and fill my spot. I had to be in the movie. Back at JM HQ, Jeff would be enraged if he found out I left the set because of a bee sting. I hadn’t been stung by a bee in ten years.

“We’ve got to get the DP, Ashley. You guys have barely shot anything,” Jim had a single-minded tone. The gaffer brought me some ice. The welt was now golf-ball-sized.

“Jim, I am not going to fuck outside anymore!”

“I think you killed that bee. They die when their stingers come out,” he said. “Let’s just do the rest of the scene on the steps of the trailer. You’ll be mostly inside that way.”

Whippet got on his back on the steps of the trailer and propped his boner up. I sat my fat ass on top of his greyhound-like body. He told me to go ahead and lie back, but I couldn’t trust his brittle frame to hold my weight. My mood was as foul as the sulfur that surrounded us. The other guy crammed his thick penis into me while Whippet’s was shoved snugly in my butthole. We did our best to get through the DP and cum shots so I could leave as soon as possible. The affected area of the sting was puffy and hard, full of fluid and really itchy.

I had to wait for the redneck to come back to the house and lead me off of the property. The gate was locked, so no one could get in or out. The talent for the next scene, the black guys, began to arrive in their cars. One of them drove right into a ditch and got stuck. Everyone had to help push it out, including Jim. I hauled ass back to Hollywood to see a doctor about the sting. By then, my thigh had swollen to twice its normal size.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Channeling the Inner Girlvert

I
began
starring in the
Girlvert
movies in the summer of 2002, before I was a contract girl. The first one I starred in was actually the second volume in the series. Another girl had the role before me. She and Sandy were best friends until Sandy found out that her husband was having an ongoing affair with the girl. Jeff had to sever all ties to the actress if he wanted to keep his marriage intact. I was still fully involved with Tyler at the time. The first time Sandy ever saw me was on the internet, being choked to death by Pro Trusion. She said she would never forget how Tyler reacted to me getting strangled: When I came to, after passing out, he said to me, “Okay, are you ready to do the scene?”

Sandy hated Tyler. Jeff liked Tyler. Not because he saw something good in him, like I did, but for all of his flaws. In Jeff’s eyes, Tyler got me to do gang bangs, fuck lots of different men, do interracial, get slapped around and choked—all greatly appreciated qualities from a porno producer’s point of view. My non-protective boyfriend was as valuable on the porno circuit as a life coach can be in other professional lives.

I had to prepare to play the Girlvert. The character was a mean teenaged girl that forced other girls to have anal sex. Tyler was going to help me rough the girls up by degrading them. I’d never been dominant. I was used to being the one who got slapped and sodomized. I was afraid to be in charge and get rough on the other talent. The power was more intimidating than playing the victim.

Jim was constantly telling me, “Be mean, Ashley! Slap her around! She can take it. Don’t be afraid to really go wild!” Even though it had been done hundreds of times to me in the past, I didn’t know the first thing about inflicting pain on someone. It seemed unfeminine, and it wasn’t natural for me at first. The only thing I was good at was the spitting. Thank god for Tyler. He taught me everything I needed to know about rough sex.

I relied on Tyler a lot for encouragement when we did these movies. My heart wasn’t completely in the first
Girlvert
movies. My hair was in pigtails, and I had almost no makeup. The outfit was cartoonish—white knee socks, pulled all the way up, with Mary-Jane type doll shoes. I felt like a lunatic, acting angry and stomping around in my scenes.

It wasn’t until Tyler and I broke up that I really started to understand anger. All of the rage I felt from my demented relationship started to work itself into the
Girlvert
role. At the end of our relationship, Tyler was scheduled to star in the fourth movie, but he didn’t wake up early enough to shoot. The girl I had to work with was absolutely out of her mind on crystal meth. Speed sweat covered her entire body. This chick also threatened to kick my ass. But I was too angry myself. Instead of watching Tyler torture the girls in my scenes for
Girlvert
, all I had to do now was let thoughts of him roll into my mind. Thinking of him made me so insane with rage that I had no problem going ballistic on the other girls. I shouted at them, pulled their hair, shoved giant toys in their butts, and stepped on their heads. I really felt all of that negative energy pulse through my veins. Jim rarely had to tell me to be harder with them afterward.
Girlvert 4
was the first one I truly loved. After that, I owned it.

All of the physical and mental agony I had endured in porno had been building up into a combustive fury. In the beginning, I was this open-minded girl who was getting into the adult business for money and sexual exploration. A couple years later, I was still doing it for the money, but there was nothing left to explore. I was jaded and cynical. I felt like my plan had backfired. Porno wasn’t the temporary summer job I had intended it to be.

Not only did I lose Tyler, but I’d sent myself far away from my sister and her family, too. Before porno, I was close with them all. Now, I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t look them in the eye. My sister found out I’d been doing it from the extended family. Some of them had seen my appearance on
Judge Mathis
. Because I’d distanced myself from her, my sister resorted to driving to my apartment, with her husband and three kids in tow, all the way from Ojai.

“Are you okay?” She sobbed. My sister is a motherly woman. She’d cared for me when our own mother was completely incapable.

“I’m fine,” I wept. “I didn’t mean for you to worry. I just thought I would stay away.”

“Ori, don’t be ridiculous. I love you, and my kids love you. Don’t just disappear.” She cried and hugged me. She had no idea what trouble I had put myself in. My sister has been married to her first love since she was twenty-three. She has three children and a respectable accounting job. Our lives have gone in completely opposite directions. She was still my sister, and she worried about me. She came into my apartment so her daughter could use the bathroom. I was happy to show her that my place was nice. I had white couches, a big flat-screen television, and a spacious back deck. I was on my own in a clean and lovely apartment. Part of me wanted to be proud of all of the little successes I’d had in my porno career. I had two separate people doing documentaries on me at the time. In addition to my Performer of the Year trophy and the six others I’d won, I was working on television for Spice Channel and Playboy TV. I had traveled the entire country and across the world due to my popularity in porn.

But porn was still porn. It’s a disgrace to outsiders. It revolved around fucking and indecency. I come from a totally dysfunctional family, full of druggies and jailbirds. None of them are very comfortable with sex, though. My sister sends her kids to Catholic school. Her husband was raised in the Catholic Church. Even though I was making lots of money, it was still not okay. She took her disappointment with her back to Ojai.

The
Girlvert
series became an ongoing saga. As JM’s contract girl, I turned it into a full-on mockery of whatever was going on in my life. There was always a story to go along with the scenes. Despite its classification as gonzo porn, it had storylines, and I felt like it was a sicker version of the story of my life. The series included flashbacks to when the Girlvert was a little girl, at her mom’s creepy boyfriend’s house, or getting teased at school—experiences similar to my own. All of my problems with Kris and Tyler were incorporated into the storylines. Some of the scenarios are entirely fictitious, though, like when the Girlvert burns her mom’s house down, or when “Uncle Harry” molests the young Girlvert as a child.

I was no longer breaking down and crying during my scenes. Instead, I made other girls break down. I got to become a different person as Girlvert. I was in charge. Jim and I controlled everything. The series brought me the praise and power I craved from everyone except Kris, who continued to put down all of my efforts.
Girlvert
installments were relatively inexpensive to make. Kris referred to them as cheap garbage even though I loved them. He was jealous of all the attention my “crappy, low-budget shit” received. I just threw myself into making the storylines even more bizarre. I felt like I had a purpose when we shot
Girlvert
. These movies were the most important thing in my life at that time.

Sometimes, though, Jim pushed me to do things I didn’t want to do. He wanted me to put a candy bar in my asshole and shit it out on a girl’s face. Things like that.

Jim said, “Jeff will love it. He told me you have to do it!” That’s all he had to say. I was scared of Jeff. When Jeff wasn’t happy, nobody could be happy. I didn’t want to get fired. I didn’t want to lose my contract. Jeff could threaten me with that at any time.

In some of the shots, Jim needed me to walk around in public wearing a backpack stuffed with giant dildos. They were hanging out in an array of rainbow-colored cocks.

“Ashley, no one will notice you. No one will care anyway. It will be classic. Don’t worry about it. I’ve just got to shoot you walking around in front of cars and stuff.”

Jim pushed me on in his usual non-threatening way. He was slick at persuasion without seeming aggressive. I gave in and walked around Northridge in my outfit. He was right. It is classic on video. I have to admit that some of the things I was uncomfortable with doing at the time proved to be unforgettable moments in the movies, like walking down Reseda Boulevard wearing a backpack full of dildos and flipping off cars. We went through the drive-thru at Wienerschnitzel and I shoved my hand down my throat at the window. We had a group of girls throw bloody tampons at me. I walked in front of high schools and on community college campuses dressed in schoolgirl outfits with my ass hanging out of my skirt. Most of the
Girlvert
scenes were extremely embarrassing, but that is what makes them superb. There was nothing typical or boring about them whatsoever. They are simply outrageous.

As I grew, the Girlvert grew. My weight went up and down, and so did my spirit. I made a concerted effort to not be fucked up on coke or Xanax during the tapings of
Girlvert
movies. My head had to be sharp enough to think of dialogue for the role. I had to be clever for the character to work. I tried my best to make them as humorous as possible. I would get totally drunk, though. I felt even more comfortable when everyone drank lots of beer on set. The girls would feel more relaxed, and the guys would be a little more comfortable being a bit rougher during the sex. We all relied on the beer. It kept up the morale for Jim, too.

Despite the ups and downs, even the darkest points of my career, these movies have remained consistent. I will never be able to show them to my sister, but I still see them as some of my greatest achievements. I feel lucky to have been part of such a unique project. Yes, these are triple-X-rated videos, but they are more than that. Those who are open-minded will get it. They are performance art.