The Art of the Pimp: One Man's Search for Love, Sex, and Money (19 page)

E
ARLY IN THE SUMMER OF
1998, more than a decade after his first wife died, Larry Flynt got engaged to Elizabeth Barrios, his former nurse. I had been introduced to Flynt by Al Goldstein, and we’d gotten to know each over the years. Larry’s brother Jimmy called me at the ranch and asked if I’d help put together the “entertainment” for his bachelor party. A few days later I flew down to Los Angeles and showed up at a big rented house in Beverly Hills with a dozen of my girls.

Larry had invited 150 of his closest friends and they were all there to celebrate him. Without going into too much detail, let me just say that the wheelchair he’s been confined to since 1978 when he took a bullet for the First Amendment may have slowed him down some, but it didn’t put him out of business. By the end of the night the entire house
reeked
of sex and a good time was had by all. Especially Larry. His movements are limited as a result of that
paralyzing shooting, but his lips work fine and I didn’t hear a single complaint from any of my ladies.

Not long after, I flew down for the wedding, which was going to take place at Larry’s Beverly Hills estate. Larry told me it was going to be a sedate affair, in deference to his new bride, and that he hadn’t invited anybody from the sex industry except me. He asked me if I wanted to bring a date, but I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time, having recently ended things with Krystyn. I thanked him for being so considerate and told him I would come alone. Unfortunately, shortly after I landed in Los Angeles, I got a call from Ron Jeremy. For those of you Puritans who haven’t heard of him, Ron Jeremy is arguably the most successful male porn star in the business, ranked #1 on the infamous AVN list, “The Fifty Top Porn Stars of All Time.”

I had met Ron years earlier, through Al Goldstein, at a big dinner at Spago in Beverly Hills, and we had taken to each other instantly. In fact, a few days later, Ron invited me to a Phil Collins concert and he brought two girls with him — one for each of us. I thought it was funny. I owned a brothel. I didn’t need help getting laid.

After the concert, we went back to my hotel. Ron suggested a foursome, but I declined, and he tried to embarrass me in front of the girls. “What’s the matter? Don’t want me to see your penis? Afraid it won’t measure up?”

And I said, “I
know
it won’t measure up. That’s why I became a pimp, because I don’t have what you’ve got. Plus I like to be the only penis in the room.”

That was the beginning of our friendship. We both love sex, practical jokes, and adolescent humor. I don’t know how we ended up with such similar tastes because we come from wildly different
backgrounds. Mine you already know about. Ron is from a nice middle-class Jewish family, got his bachelor’s degree in education, a master’s in special education, and for a while was actually teaching in New York. But he got sick of being poor. He tried acting, and when that didn’t work out, found himself segueing into porn, where he was an overnight success.

“What are you doing tonight?” Ron asked.

“Uh, I’m going to a wedding,” I said.

He knew right away: “You got invited to Flynt’s wedding?! How the fuck did you pull that off?!
Nobody
got invited to Flynt’s wedding.”

“I don’t know. Larry likes me. He keeps putting my girls in his magazine.”

“Dennis, I need to go to that wedding! I want to be your date. Please take me, Daddy. I’ll be the envy of everybody in the porn business. They all want to go to Flynt’s wedding. Please, please, please! You’re my buddy. I love you. I’ll let you fuck a porn star.”

“I don’t need help getting laid, thanks.”

I don’t know how it started or why it happened, but Ron Jeremy had somehow become my bitch. Like the rest of my girls, he called me Daddy. And for some reason neither of us fully understood — and don’t understand to this day — I always refer to him as
she
. Still, I assure you, neither of us is remotely gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I got through to Flynt, asked if I could bring Ron, and he okayed it, a bit reluctantly. It should be noted here that Ron is the cheapest human being I’ve ever met. I’d known him for five or six years, I’d had dozens of meals with him, and I’d never once seen him reach for a check. On the contrary, when the check arrived, he was usually nowhere to be found.

I called Ron and told him to stop by the hotel at five; we were going to the wedding together. “But if you’re going as my bitch, I need you to take a shower,” I said. “And dress cute. You can’t go in your usual Ron Jeremy Scum Wear. This is a respectable event.”

So we went to the wedding. It was a nice affair, a bit on the sedate side. Milos Forman was there; he’d directed
The People vs. Larry Flynt
. Woody Harrelson and Courtney Love, who’d starred in the movie, were also there, along with Edward Norton, also in the film. The place was crawling with celebrities, including a number who had enjoyed discreet parties at my ranch.

Courtney couldn’t stop pawing Ron. “I’m such a huge fan! Where’s the photographer? I don’t want my picture taken with anyone here except Ron Jeremy!”

At one point I lost sight of Ron, which was a blessing; Ron is not only cheap, he is the most self-absorbed human being I’ve ever met. If the conversation stops being about him, his eyes glaze over and he falls asleep. And he calls this “narcolepsy”!

Anyway, I was making pleasant conversation with a Hollywood producer who thought my life would make a terrific movie when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Flynt’s bodyguard, Dougie. “Sorry to bother you, Dennis,” he whispered. “Larry wants to talk to you.” I excused myself and went over to see Larry.

“Dennis,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired. “Do me a favor.”

“Anything, Larry. Name it.” He indicated the buffet area with a nod of his chin, and I saw Ron in the near distance, chowing down. “Get Ron Jeremy away from the shrimp platter. He’s killing the fucking shrimp platter. There won’t be anything left for my guests.”

That’s Ron Jeremy for you. I love the fucking guy.

Caressa Kisses

I’m from a small town in Texas and I’ve always been very sexual. When I was eighteen, I had one of the first adult websites on the Internet and I did private shows. It was very tasteful, though. I never showed my face and body at the same time.

Then one of the local news stations did a piece about my website and people figured out where I lived. Strangers began driving by the house. That scared me, and I stopped doing the show. But one of my fans kept reaching out to me. He said he wanted to have sex for money and I kept telling him that that was illegal, and that I wasn’t interested. He told me about the BunnyRanch. I was curious, so I got in touch with them. Dennis asked to see my tapes, which I sent, and then he told me I should talk to Suzette to get the application squared away. I sent her some pictures and told her I already had an interested client. Suzette said I would have to go see the sheriff to get licensed, and she told me about the weekly medical checkups. Then the fan paid my plane
fare to Reno, called the BunnyRanch, and put money on the books in advance.

I was terrified. I was a couple of months shy of my nineteenth birthday. Luckily my fan wanted the whole girlfriend experience, so we went bowling, had dinner, and then came back to the ranch.

Meanwhile, Jenny Jones invited me on her show, which led to a job with ESPN Radio, where I spent two years as the “Hottie Handicapper” picking horses. One reporter called me a “prognosticating prostitute.” From there I did Howard Stern, Ricki Lake, and every other show under the sun. It was great.

Dennis worked with me every step of the way. He was a best friend and a wonderful lover. He’s an amazing man. He loves women, idolizes them. He always says “God is a woman.” But sometimes I think he wishes he could be a woman.

• • •

The craziest party I can remember was actually with one of Air Force Amy’s clients. She came to my door and knocked and she had a guy on a leash, on all fours. He was gagged and had a huge dildo in his ass, and she was smacking him and telling him to behave, even though he wasn’t doing anything. Amy said, “I need you to help me beat this man and fuck him in the ass.”

I said, “I don’t think so. I’m not touching that guy.”

And she said, “How does $20,000 sound?”

And I said, “Where would you like me to start — and where are the gloves?”

We really worked him over. I’m kicking him as hard as I
can with stilettos, beating him with paddles, you name it. He was in his late fifties, bald and heavyset, but he took it — he couldn’t get enough. I rode him like a horse all over the ranch. Amy found the biggest dildo on the property, rammed it in his ass, and kicked it as hard as she could, and he loved it. I put in eight hours, with breaks from time to time, and ended up making $70,000. I don’t know how much Amy made, but I know it was a lot more than that. She kept him for a week.

My most profitable party was with a guy who booked me over the Internet. When he showed up at the ranch, all the girls were jealous. He was in his late thirties and built like a Greek god. We walked into my room and he reached into his duffel bag and handed me $75,000 in cash and said, “You’re mine for the next week.” I said, “If you want a whole week, that’s not going to be enough.” So he reached into his bag again and gave me another identical wad, another $75,000. And we partied.

After eight hours of nonstop partying, I was exhausted, so I asked him to let me bring in another girl. I brought in two girls and they each got $10,000 for a few hours. This guy had serious stamina. I suddenly understood the Superman tattoo he had on his ass. He then asked for two more girls. He ended up partying with every girl in the house and he made me stay with him for all of it. After three days he had finally had enough. He spent around $400,000.

I had one experience that was so bad I had to take a break from the industry for three months. This guy walked into the parlor for the lineup — one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen. Gorgeous, young, fit, tanned. He wanted an out-date,
so we went to a hotel in Carson City and I spent two days with him, partying like crazy. And then he flew home and murdered his wife. He choked her to death in front of their newborn baby.

A few days later, the police contacted me and e-mailed a picture of him in court in an orange jumpsuit. They found me because on his way to the airport for the flight home, he had been texting me to say how hot I was and what a great time he’d had and everything. When the police told me what happened, I could hardly breathe. It affected me horribly. I felt like I’d slept with a demon and it just made me sick inside. I still get chills when I think about that.

But that was my only really bad experience. I love what I do. I don’t understand why people still attack prostitution. I guess nobody wants to offend the little church lady, so they make us out to look like terrible, damaged people. But I don’t feel damaged at all. I feel I’ve found my place in the world. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I know some girls put on an act or become a certain “character” for a few hours and then go back to being themselves, but I’m not into make-believe. I live in the real world, here at the BunnyRanch, and I love it.

WHEN I GOT BACK TO
the ranch two days later, there was a new girl in town. She was a beautiful Texas blonde who called herself Caressa Kisses and she showed up with a friend, a little firecracker, also from Texas, called Tara. I didn’t know which one I wanted to fuck more, but for some reason I ended up in bed with Tara, who didn’t disappoint. Amazingly, she’d never had an orgasm
until that night and she was hooked. Wait, that’s not entirely accurate. She’d had
one
orgasm before, with Caressa, but never with a man, and as much as she liked Caressa, she wasn’t really into girls.

I was living at a suite at the Gold Dust at the time because Krystyn was still hunkered down in the Carson City house, and Tara would come to see me there when she wasn’t working. The story with her is as follows. Back in small-town Texas, she was a good little girl attending Christian college, and then she made friends with Caressa and lost her virginity to Caressa’s boyfriend. Shortly thereafter, the two former virgins came to Nevada to start working and both ended up doing very well.