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Authors: Blue Blake

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BOOK: Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star
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Frontiers
magazine came out every two weeks and I picked up a copy to make sure my advert was in. It was like a ritual. The back of
Frontiers
was full of ads for escorts and masseurs, a lot of bodybuilders and a smattering of porn stars. Compared to London or San Francisco, the bodybuilding standard was high, and I quickly decided that if Gage came to Los Angeles, we could increase our visibility greatly with our old “Blake Twins” advert. I called him in London where he was languishing forlornly, having had a series of fights with his girlfriend Stephanie. He jumped at my invitation and literally caught the next plane to Los Angeles. Drunken Stacy accosted him upon arrival. By this time she was so consistently plastered that she kept forgetting to fill the roof top pool with water after it had been drained for cleaning. It was time for a new apartment, preferably furnished, as I was renting all the furniture and it was costing me a fortune. But where would I find one? My prayers were about to be answered.
Unlike San Francisco’s gay ghetto, the Castro, West Hollywood was totally rent controlled. I was astonished that you could rent an unfurnished two-bedroom apartment with a pool for twelve hundred dollars a month.
While riding my bike down Kings Road, a particularly attractive street in West Hollywood, I spied a glamorous redheaded female loading suitcases into a truck outside a luxurious apartment building called The Courtyards. On occasion I had seen the actress Bernadette Peters zipping in and out, so I knew the residents were of high caliber.
“Excuse me,” I said to the redhead. “I don’t suppose you know if there are any apartments to rent here, do you?” “Well, what a coincidence. I’m looking to rent out my apartment, but there’s only one problem.”
God, here we go, I thought.
“I’m moving to Aspen with my new husband, and I have to rent it out furnished and it has two bedrooms.” Yet again my fat had been literally pulled out of the proverbial frying pan. I smiled my biggest ingratiating smile and said, “You’re the answer to my prayers.”
Gage and I moved in the next day. Drunken Stacy begged us to stay because she hadn’t yet managed to get Gage to shag her. But I bought her a bottle of Harveys Bristol Cream and the last we saw her she was sitting by the empty pool, crying and sucking the sickly sweet liquor straight from the bottle.
The Courtyards was a glorious apartment building. There was a huge supermarket down the street and a big gay gym nearby. Gage would lounge by the pool of the apartment complex in a thong, which only he could get away with. There is something about thongs that make them extremely unsuitable for most men to wear unless they have buttocks of steel—and Gage, God bless him, looked better in a thong than supermodel Giselle Bund-chen. In weeks, everybody in the compound knew us. We became friendly with a porn star who lived in the building named Ted Matthews. I didn’t fancy Ted, although he was a good-looking guy. But he gave me some great advice. We were sitting by the pool one day and Ted was admiring Gage’s ass. Gage, as usual, was pretending to be oblivious.
A well-known COLT model, who also lived in the building, walked by with his Doberman.
“He’s a COLT model,” said Ted. Gage looked up. “So are we,” Gage shrugged. “Not that it did us any good; I made $600 . . . that Jim French can fuck off.”
“Wow . . . COLT models,” said Ted. “Have your pictures come out yet?”
“No,” I said, “but if you pick up a copy of
Drummer Magazine
you can see our movie,
The Blake Twins: Twincest Raw and Uncut
advertised in the back.”
“Who else have you worked for?” Ted was unimpressed.
“Nobody.” I replied.
“Why not?”
“Well, we only just arrived in Los Angeles. I really don’t know anybody in the porn business here.”
“Look in the back of
Frontiers
magazine. They always have ads looking for porn actors.”
I had glanced at these adverts before as they were placed alongside my escort ad.
“Well, I did study drama for three years.”
“I thought you were marines.”
“Yes . . . marines,” I fumbled. “Well, that was after I left drama school.”
Ted looked at me strangely then shrugged.
“Anyway . . . check out
Frontiers
in the jobs offered column. Tell them you won’t work for less than a thousand dollars a scene. That’s the going rate for bodybuilders.” Ted stood up, kissed me, winked at Gage (who didn’t like being kissed) and left the pool.
I ran upstairs to our apartment and grabbed my copy of
Frontiers
. I brought it back down to the pool. Gage leaned over my shoulder as I thumbed through the want ads.
“Fucking hell!” Gage shouted.
“What?!” I yelled back, jumping out of my skin.
“Look . . . in that personal training ad . . . it’s Chris Duffy!” He pointed to a picture of an enormous bodybuilder. Chris Duffy was a god amongst men. He had won the American bodybuilding championships and was always on the cover of
Flex
magazine and
Muscle and Fitness
. He was married to a female bodybuilder named Joanie. For years I had seen him in magazines and thought he was the hottest guy on the planet. He was hugely famous in the bodybuilding world. What the hell was he doing advertising in
Frontiers
? In the ad he reclined against a wall in a pair of posing trunks, all 300 pounds and 6-foot-3 delicious inches of him.
“I’m going to call him,” I told Gage.
“You don’t need a personal trainer,” Gage scoffed.
“No, but I need Chris Duffy’s knob stuffed in my gob.”
I had no problem paying for sex. I had never done it before, but I had been in the escort business long enough to know that everybody paid for a shag in one way or another. Whether you were buying your girlfriend a diamond bracelet or taking your boyfriend out for dinner, it was all in hopes of a booty call.
“He’s advertising as a personal trainer and he’s married,” Gage protested.
“He’s advertising personal training dressed in a thong.”
“I wear a thong,” said Gage.
Why did I get involved in these ridiculous conversations with Gage?
“Just shut up and pass me the damn phone,” I snapped. “I have a date with destiny.”
My sweaty little fingers punched in Chris’s number. The phone rang and then picked up almost immediately.
“This is Chris,” said a handsome, sexy voice.
“Hello,” I started, not even being able to conceive of the fact that I was talking to Chris Duffy. I was in heaven.
“My name’s Blue Blake . . . I saw your ad in
Frontiers
. I was interested in a little . . . personal training.”
“Have you worked out before?” asked the handsome voice.
“Hmmm . . . only for a year,” I lied. “I thought perhaps you could come round and give me some advice. My glutes are extremely undeveloped and need work.” Was I really saying this crap? I had a huge round ass, but I would say anything to lure my straight quarry.
Chris arranged to meet me at my apartment the following Monday night. I was a nervous wreck. I ran out and bought protein drinks, tuna, bananas . . . everything I thought a professional bodybuilder would eat to keep up his 300 pounds of studliness for an hour. I threw Gage out and told him to go bother the transvestites on the corner of the street and changed into an all-in-one wrestling suit. It had blue and white stripes and accentuated my man bosom the way I imagined a straight pro bodybuilder would appreciate.
Chris arrived at 6 p.m. sharp, and we literally fell into each other’s arms . . . Well, that’s at least how I remember it. I dragged him into the living room and we stripped each other bare. He was everything I imagined. He was absolutely massive with muscles of steel. It was like having sex with Superman. He fucked me with his big cock for hours. Afterwards we lay in each other’s arms.
“Have you been with a lot of guys?” I asked.
“You’re my first,” he said with perfect sincerity. I didn’t know if he was lying, and I didn’t care.
“What about your wife?” I asked.
“Joanie? It turns her on thinking about me with another guy. Would you like to meet her?”
“Uuuuhhhh . . . sure . . . I guess,” I said apprehensively. I didn’t want some crazed female bodybuilder attacking me with a bread knife for introducing her husband to homo love.
“She’s cool,” he laughed, reading my mind.
He got dressed and I handed him $200.
“I feel strange taking it.”
“Don’t,” I said, “I have no problem giving it to you.”
“Well, next time it’s free.”
Next time!!! Did this mean Mr. America, wanted to see me again? No, he was probably being polite.
“Call me,” Chris said, as he walked out the door.
Gage stood sulking in the hallway.
“Did you have sex with him?”
“Yes, and it was amazing!”
“Well, there’s no way you’ll ever see him again then you slag.”
I didn’t care. Even if I never saw Chris Duffy again, I had still had sex with Mr. America.
“Oh, by the way,” continued Gage, “that film company you called, Catalina? They called back, they want you to do a film for them tomorrow.”
“What!? A film? For Catalina?” I couldn’t believe my luck.
Catalina was a famous porn production company. I had found an advert in the back of
Frontiers
that that read: MODELS WANTED 18-35 FOR ADULT FILMS. There was a P.O. number, and I had sent them some pictures of myself along with my phone number.
“Yeah, there’s a message for you on the answering machine, it rang while you were out buying bananas for Chris Duffy,” said Gage snidely.
I hadn’t noticed the answer phone had been flashing. I ran over to it and pressed play.
“This is Catalina Video calling Blue Blake. We are shooting a film called
Seeds of Love
directed by Chi Chi LaRue, and we received your photographs and would like to offer you a role in the movie.”
I quickly wrote down the number they had left, picked up the phone and dialed it.
“This is Scott.”
“Scott . . . this is Blue. . . .”
“Blake,” he cut in. “Hi, we received your pictures. Are you free to do a scene tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I answered. Remembering what Ted Matthews had told me, I added, “I charge a thousand dollars a scene.”
“Well, this only pays five hundred dollars because it’s just an oral scene. We like to start newcomers out with just an oral scene before we offer them a full fuck scene.”
Five hundred dollars to get my dick sucked sounded OK.
“Well, that should be fine,” I said.
“Good, have you made films before?”
“Not really,” I said. I didn’t think
Twincest: the Blake Twins Raw and Uncut
counted.
“Well, this one is being directed by Chi Chi LaRue. So you’re starting at the top.”
Chi Chi LaRue was a legend. He started out a drag queen from Minnesota. Once in L.A. he got a job shipping videos for Catalina. Then one day a director fell ill and there was nobody to direct the film that was in production. Chi Chi jumped at the opportunity and in the process made a big name for himself. He now directed constantly for top companies like Falcon and Catalina. Scott filled me in on the rest of the details and told me Chi Chi’s address and said to be there at 9 a.m. sharp.
“Be clean,” he said ominously. Clean? What the hell did that mean? Wasn’t everybody clean on a porn set?
I lay awake all night with excitement. My first proper film role in
Seeds of Love
. Scott had told me I would be working with a guy called Hunter Scott. It was Hunter’s second movie, so we were both newcomers.
The next morning I dressed in jeans, muscle vest and a leather bike jacket. Scott had said my costume was to be white underwear that they would provide. Gage drove me to Chi Chi’s house in the chop-top cherry red Cadillac he’d bought the minute he arrived in L.A.
Chi Chi lived in a modest two-bedroom cottage on Melrose Avenue.
“This can’t be it,” Gage laughed. “You told me she was a famous director.”
“She’s a he.”
“Who’s named Chi Chi LaRue?” sneered Gage.
“Who’s named Blue Blake?” I retorted.
I climbed out of the card and hammered on the front door.
“Just a minute,” answered a gruff but sexy voice from inside.
Wow, Chi Chi has a hot voice for a drag queen, I thought. I turned and smiled at Gage who waited dubiously in the car. The door opened and I nearly fell over. There stood a stunning guy in white underwear smiling at me. He looked like a young Tom Cruise with muscles.
“Hello,” he smiled. “I’m Derek Cruise. Wow, you’re huge. Come on in, Chi Chi’s expecting you.”
BOOK: Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star
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