Girlvert: A Porno Memoir (5 page)

Several other girls I’ve come to know in the business have told me their own stories about Victor. The girls were all young, pretty, new, and on drugs, too. Like me, they were scheduled to get to the shoot hours before anyone else arrived. One girl told me she ran out of the house screaming. She had to borrow a phone to call her agent for a ride. She told everyone that Victor tried to rape her. Nobody cared or did a thing, because this girl was a beautiful, nineteen year old, crystal meth addict. There would be plenty more na
ï
ve, messed-up girls for Victor to prey upon.

Chapter Five

Spring Chicken

O
ne
scene I did for Anabolic was for a movie called
Spring Chickens
. It was the debut title in a new series of videos. Colby called the director, Brett, on my behalf. Brett was a “good friend” of Colby’s. All of the people Colby knew were either his “good friends,” his “really good friends,” or his “best friends.” Tyler had the same rating system. I was not so quick to call anyone a good friend. Colby was Tyler’s “really good friend,” so we trusted his opinion.

Brett’s porno name was John and he’d been doing scenes since the eighties. He was in porn’s Hall of Fame and was another one of Tyler’s idols. Brett/John committed suicide in 2006. Since we’d already met one of Colby’s other “really good friends,” Victor, I didn’t expect Brett to be cool. He was pretty laid back on the phone. He wasn’t rude, but quick and straightforward. It would be a DP with him and Mr. Marcus. Brett said it would be okay if Tyler came to the shoot, too.

We arrived at a huge house on Mulholland, basically in Calabasas. It was a new, sprawling, Spanish-style stucco monster with a long driveway that wrapped around the property. My instincts told me this wasn’t Brett’s place but belonged to someone a lot richer. Colby assured Brett on the phone that I was “real cute. Super cute.” I had no makeup on, and there wasn’t a makeup artist on set. It’s what Brett wanted, a young look—too young for makeup—and I had it all right. I was as fresh as could be. My hair was shoulder-length and flipped-out at the ends, and I had such an innocent smile. Except for the little cocaine addiction, I was the Girl Next Door.

Tyler hung out and tried to keep his spirits up by watching me take the naked stills before the scene. He was bummed out again because he didn’t get chosen to fuck. He longed to be in an Anabolic movie so he could wear his Anabolic hat and tee shirt with pride. Every so often I would look over at him, in between snaps of the camera, and he would be rubbing his dick on the outside of his jeans. He looked at me, my body, and would nod his head in approval. He smiled. It made me feel better.

I had a growing fear of Tyler becoming too resentful of me for getting all the attention. I didn’t want it all. He could have it. But I was the girl, and Tyler was sort of pimping me out. I didn’t mind how it was going so far. Everything seemed almost too easy for me, anyway. We did share all the money. It was “our” success. We were equal partners. I needed Tyler’s encouragement just like he needed me to keep getting fucked by all these other guys.

Nonetheless, I began to prefer doing scenes without him. Together, it had become too dramatic. I had to cater to Tyler’s feelings above anyone else’s during the sex. Not an easy task when there are at least one or two other people in the scene giving orders. Male talent want to own your ass for the two hours that they fuck you, and it was getting difficult to keep Tyler’s ego lubed. Tyler would get jealous if he thought I was too enthusiastic sucking some other guy’s cock when we were in scenes together. I thought that’s what I was expected to do, to act! All I wanted was to be agreeable and make everyone happy. Deeply, desperately, I wanted everyone to love me.

Marcus is a large, muscular, handsome black man, the second black man I would have sex with in my life. The first was Daryl, in the scene I did for Victor. Years later, in 2004, Daryl caught HIV. Marcus was another porno star that Tyler admired, a solid guy with a shit-eating grin. Brett, on the other hand, looked like a walking mug shot from the Aryan Brotherhood. Pornography should get more credit for bringing people of such different walks of life together harmoniously. Here we all were, gathered at this empty estate on multimillion dollar property in a wreck of a house with no furniture, ready to do acts that are considered illegal in some states. Is this what happens to mansions that house porno shoots?

The scene did not take place inside the mansion. Brett led us around the driveway to a garage. The four of us climbed a narrow staircase to a little attic. The ceiling was sloped so you couldn’t stand straight up at one end of the room. There was a bathroom and a stained twin mattress in the middle of the floor.

Good thing I was too embarrassed to ask things like, “Where are we going to do it and for how long?” Brett and Victor had said at separate times that one of the lamest things a girl can do is ask questions. It pissed off most directors to have a girl wanting to know when she’d be done. They called it the Hooker Mentality. Girls that just went along with everything were the cool girls. I wanted to be cool. I didn’t ask about—or object to—anything. Brett took the lead. I tried to be the perfect girl. We were getting started. Brett held the camera and put it close, right to my face. Then, in a gruff voice, he asked, “What’s your name? Why are you here?”

I didn’t know how I was supposed to answer, so I just smiled and looked really happy. “Ashley…I’m here to get fucked.” Marcus grabbed my face and pulled out his giant black cock. Both he and Brett were still in their jeans and had their cocks out through the zippers. Very roughly, they pushed my face onto each one, all the way down my throat. I sucked and gagged, spit flowing out of my mouth. It was all so fast. I didn’t have any control whatsoever. They just tugged me back and forth, like a rag doll or a party favor. Although it was much more intense than I could have imagined, I liked it. I said I liked it rough, and I could take it. I knew that at any time I could have called to Tyler to come save me. But I didn’t need saving. This was
my
pornographic experience.

Tyler sat in the corner of the room, near the tiny bathroom. He was watching and dying to jump in and be part of the scene. He was probably taking a few notes in his head, learning a few techniques from Brett. This guy did it all. He slapped me a little, held my head down on his cock while I deep throated it. He called me a whore and mercilessly shoved his dick into my ass. There was lube this time, but it still hurt. Brett had one of the biggest heads that a penis could have. The whole dick was big, too, eight inches and thick enough. But this huge helmet of a tip seemed like double the width of the entire thing. He just popped it in. I actually felt it go “pop” when it went in and out. I don’t think the Anabolic video rulebook contains an item instructing male talent to ease large cocks into the new girls’ assholes.

When I had to take a second to collect myself, trying to hold back tears from the pain, Brett rolled his eyes. He looked at Marcus as if to say, “Oh, so this girl said she can really take it, and now she wants to cry. I guess she’s not so ready for this after all.” It killed me to have to admit any defeat or that I was hurting. My ass was stinging and burning from Brett’s enormous mushroom cap being rammed in all at once. I rubbed my butthole and wiped the forming tears from my eyes. “I’m fine. I’m okay. Can you just be a little easier on me? I’m not used to them being so big”—my way of compromising.

Marcus nodded his head and agreed to take it easier. He was stroking his cock with some lube, getting ready for his turn to go in. This big, beautiful, childish grin came over his face and convinced me that he wasn’t there to hurt anyone. Brett looked pissed off and said, “You know, we’re not even some of the biggest guys. You’ll have to get used to it if you’re going to stay in this business. Everyone is a least this big or bigger.” I hated him for saying it.

I was bent over in doggy when Marcus started fucking my ass. His was much thicker but felt better because he didn’t have that awful head that Brett did. Still, I could barely take Marcus all the way in. This was still one of my early scenes, and these were definitely the biggest cocks so far. I smiled through the pain and tried to enjoy it.

Then Marcus pulled his dick out of my ass and shoved it straight into my mouth. That was something I’d never done, not even at home. I was too afraid to put anything from my ass into my mouth. Didn’t they teach us in school to never do that? I was afraid to stop and ask if I was going to get sick from it. Brett became so irritated the last time I had to take a break that I just kept going; even if I wanted to, I
couldn’t
stop to ask, because my mouth was stuffed full of cock. Sympathy be damned.

After I did it once, the ass-to-mouth didn’t stop. They fucked me until they had enough footage. It was about an hour of the hardest sex my body could take. Two positions of DP, a double blowjob, and a couple positions of anal were all I could handle. When it came to the pop shots, Brett told me, “Get down on your fucking knees, whore.” I kneeled on the floor with my head back and eyes open. They both came on my face, one and then the other.

With the press of the pause button on the video camera, the whole thing was over. Brett jumped into the shower faster than anyone I’d ever seen. He mentioned before we started, during a little pre-fucking chitchat, that showering after the scene was the first line of defense against sexually transmitted diseases. Bright guy.

I got up and rinsed out my mouth with soap and water. The cum in my eyes was not my main concern. My main concern was the ass in my mouth. I gathered enough courage to ask Marcus if what we did would make me sick. “Is it okay to go in my mouth after it’s been in my ass?” I felt so stupid, but who else was I going to ask? I thought a professional would have the best answer.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Girls do it all the time. You’ll be all right.” He laughed at my innocence. But Marcus was correct. I was fine. My body was built for it, I suppose.

Tyler was beaming with pride. He was the fly on the wall and even got to hold the camera for Brett at one point during one of the DP positions. We all dressed hurriedly. I got paid twelve hundred dollars in a check.
Hopefully we’ll see each other soon, bye!
I got into the passenger seat of my car and Tyler drove. He couldn’t stop raving about the performance.

“You were so great, baby! That was fucking hot and you were so sexy. You looked so innocent and sweet while they DP’d you. I want to do ass-to-mouth with you, too. You have to do it with me now. Did you see me hold the camera? I should start shooting, directing. Do you think they’ll use me some time? They’d be stupid not to hire you again. You have to tell them I have to be in it, too, okay?” Tyler was totally turned on by watching me get completely dominated by these two huge men. He still had a boner in his jeans that he couldn’t stop rubbing as he steered us back up the winding road on our way home. Tyler didn’t want me to cheat on him, but he encouraged me to slut it up for porn.

I was beat. Literally beat. My holes took a lot of pounding. It was as if the space between my twat and my ass was a thin thread holding on for dear life. I was hungry and exhausted. I didn’t even want any more coke. Since it was a long drive back to Hollywood, I did a few big bumps anyway.

Chapter Six

Jolly Roger

I
t
was cold and foggy like it always is in West Los Angeles in the morning. My call time was nine thirty, and I was going to be on time because Tyler wasn’t coming with me. He actually wasn’t allowed to come to this shoot. The director, Spike, specifically said, “No boyfriends.”

Though it wasn’t the first time I was to go alone to a porno shoot, Tyler threw an absolute fit. Again, it was for an Anabolic director. He so badly wanted to come and meet Spike. Maybe this director would give him a chance to be in a scene with me? Not today. Tyler wanted me to cancel. I refused. Tyler started packing up a bag to leave me after he yelled about how I didn’t love him anymore. It was five in the morning, and we were still up doing coke. I cried, “Tyler, please don’t go! I love you! I’m sorry,” same as always, lying sobbing on the floor of our tiny apartment. Half-naked, he continued to throw some of his clothes into a backpack. His face was a blood-shot mess of tears and runny coke nose.

“No, Ori! I am leaving you! You don’t fucking love me at all. Go to your scene and have a great time fucking without me!” He was so frantic as he screamed that he couldn’t even tie his shoes. He wasn’t upset that I was off to fuck another man on film, but only that he wasn’t going to be part of it. Tyler slung the backpack over one shoulder, opened the door, and left, slamming it so hard the entire building shook. He left without any money and no car keys. When he returned, he told me he just walked to the corner of Santa Monica, and he realized how stupid this was. He probably looked like one of the many hitchhiking male prostitutes out trolling the same corner. After a few more hours of rolling around, crying on the carpet, we made up. Tyler gave me the blessing to go to work.

We fought all the time. Tyler’s feelings bruised easily, especially when we’d been up all night. I hated wasting the cocaine buzz on arguing. Often, I would try to go silent and cold when he got upset. It never worked. It made Tyler even more insane. The only thing to do was scream and cry with him, often over things we would not even remember the next day. It didn’t matter so much that I hadn’t slept all night and was still super high on coke. The important thing was that my relationship was still intact. Tyler still loved me, so everything else would be fine. I got in the car and headed out to shoot some more porno.

Heading west on Washington Boulevard, I passed the address. It just didn’t seem right. My expectations of where we would shoot the scene were not terribly high, but I didn’t think I would be going to some sketchy crack den with hourly rates. I made a U-turn and pulled into the parking lot of the Jolly Roger Motel. Sitting in my car, I fumbled for my cell phone. “Um. Hi. This is Ashley. I think I’m here. Can you come find me?”

“Oh, yeah. I see you. I’m in room 213, upstairs. Meet me in the lobby, down in front.”

Spike sounded a lot mellower than Brett. Hopefully he wasn’t as grumpy and impatient. I grabbed my one small duffle bag containing all of my wardrobe selections. I traveled light in an effort to be as inconspicuous as possible. A lot of porno girls drag gigantic suitcases full of bikinis, heels, and other gear with them to scenes. I couldn’t bring myself to do that. A lesser parcel made me feel like less of a whore. I didn’t like to parade around in public. When I was among the general population, I didn’t want anyone to know what I did for a living, as if my porno life was still secret.

Spike was a pleasant guy. He was probably in his late thirties, and he had the look of a heavy drinker. His skin was tanned and weathered, and his eyes were glassy blue—an ex-surfer type. He seemed sluggishly tired but prepared. He emanated such a lack of enthusiasm that I suspected the scene would be with some other guy—that Spike would just be filming it, the camera guy. When we got into the room he started checking the camera and labeling the tape. I showed him the clothes I brought, which were all cute, normal, young-looking girlish outfits. He chose a skirt and light blue crocheted top. Funny, I thought: I technically still shared that top with my cousin. Her sister gave it to us after she went to Bali. If only they knew what was about to become of it.

I excused myself to the bathroom to prepare. I had to do an enema and keep doing coke. Luckily, I had almost an entire gram with me. I needed it to stay alert and have energy for the scene. When I emerged about fifteen minutes later, it was still only Spike and me in the room. He shot a roll of photos of me alone on the bed being sexy. I’d spent more time applying coke to my face than makeup, but that was okay. I looked fresh without makeup. Young and innocent.

“Um, Spike, when is the guy supposed to get here?” I finally asked.

“It’s with me. This is a POV. I have a POV series. That’s okay, right?”

I was relieved. I didn’t have to ask what the initials stood for. I figured out that it meant point of view. Spike would be holding the camera and fucking me at the same time. I didn’t have a problem with that. I was actually quite curious how he was going to manage both tasks. This would be interesting. One of his hands would be tied. Maybe I would even have control.

Spike courteously showed me his HIV test, not making me ask for it, which was still awkward for me to do. I didn’t ask any more questions. This director had my trust now, he seemed like he’d done this a hundred times. I didn’t come to have orgasms. I was there to fulfill my strange desire to be videotaped having crude sex with a stranger and then go home with a thousand dollars.

“So, since this is POV, I want you to look directly into the camera. Talk to me through the lens. Be vocal and say stuff to it, like you’re talking to the guys watching this at home. They should feel like they’re the ones here fucking you.” Spike directed me well. Basically, he was just the prop and it was my show. I could do that. He got naked and we started with the obligatory blowjob.

Getting naked was always the uneasy part of having sex with strangers when I did it outside of porn—the point when I thought the guy could be having second thoughts or might be scrutinizing my body. Regret might sink in. Porn wipes away any such fears and criticisms. It’s a sure thing that we both wanted it—especially if we wanted to make money. Stripping down nude was just preliminary to the course work. The pressure was off as soon as the clothes were.

I looked up at the lens as I was down on my knees sucking Spike’s cock. He said few words. It was like there wasn’t a man there at all. Just a camera with a dick. It’s always easier looking up at a camera than it is into someone’s eyes. Spike’s body was tan all over, and he had muscles underneath his slouchy posture. We were alone in a skanky motel shooting a scene for a porn movie. It was an anal porn movie. Spike was a stranger, but I felt safe. I was turned on by the taboo of it all. It reminded me of when I would have one-night stands with strange, older men when I was a teenager. I was no stranger to sex with strangers. Maybe I would have been doing this even if there weren’t a camera and a bag of coke in the room and a check waiting for me at the end.

I didn’t care about the world outside of this Jolly Roger Motel room. Spike held the camera very steadily even as I got on top of him, forward and reversed, and bounced on his cock. I leaned back on top of him with his dick in my ass, and I stared into the camera. It was pointed at the penetration. Every so often, I would take a glance at the screen. I loved it. I truly got off on this experience. Not in an orgasmic way. It was more in my head than my body. I didn’t know this guy at all. So much business in porn relies on trusting the word and arrangements of others. We just met, but I wasn’t just fucking Spike. I was fucking Spike
and
the camera.

We fucked until Spike got about forty minutes of usable footage. His cock wasn’t a monster like Marcus’s or Brett’s. I took it in my ass no problem. My asshole was getting used to the big dicks now. Brett was right about that, I had to adapt to the larger-sized penises. I was proud to be able to take them, with a smile. As soon as the last cum drop had drizzled into my mouth, Spike pressed the pause button on the video camera. He let out a gasp. He did a beautiful job of keeping quiet during the entire scene. Now his soul could be allowed into the room. He looked refreshed and alive. He was hardly the same person that first greeted me in the lobby.

“Wow, Ashley, you’re great! That was a good scene.” He was happy with me, he liked me. That meant everything. I picked up the strewn articles of clothing from around the bed. I found my panties, skirt, and I wiped my face off with that crocheted top from Bali. While Spike took a two-minute shower, I shoveled in as much coke as my nose could hold. He got out and dried off before writing my check. We set a date to shoot another scene. Now that I had passed the tryout, I could be booked for a DP.

As I drove home, down Lincoln to Venice Boulevard, I couldn’t help but feel good about myself. Leaving a good sex scene with all that money gave me a feeling of accomplishment. I was young and hadn’t done much in my twenty years on this planet. When porno directors praised me and paid me, it was powerful.

There was a Bank of America inside of a Von’s on Lincoln. I needed to deposit my check. I didn’t like to have the checks in my possession for very long. I was on drugs all the time and really bad at misplacing important papers. I always used the automatic teller machines to make the deposits. I hated seeing the bank tellers reading who the check was written from, looking at me weird with their suspicious eyes. I felt like a total whore in the bank, depositing all of my dirty money. I didn’t need some snarky bank clerk being inquisitive about my big check from Spike Johnson Productions.

As I was slipping the envelope into the ATM machine, I reached up to my face to brush some hair off my forehead, when I felt something stuck there. It was some crusty stuff in a trail down my cheek, chin, and neck. It was dried cum, and it was all over my face and a little on my chest. I looked around to see if anybody was watching while I finished my transaction.

A couple of soccer moms passed by as I bolted from the store. I pressed the automatic unlock button to my car and dove in headfirst. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw where I had completely missed wiping off the load. I scraped some off with my fingernails. Then I stopped. I was laughing so hard. What kind of filthy sex-worker shit was this? Just a new occupational hazard, like bruises on the knees. The feeling of disgust only lasted a second. I was secretly proud of myself.