Girlvert: A Porno Memoir Page 4

  “I’m sorry, Tyler! I’m so sorry! I do love you, more than anyone.” I thought he wanted me to do a scene for Victor. Victor, his hero. And we had worked with other people, so far we both had. “You got that blowjob scene for Cinderella without me,” I reminded him. “And I’m sorry, but I was shy in front of Victor. It’s not fair that he put me on the spot like that. I just couldn’t think straight. I’m still fucked up!” We flew down the 101 toward Hollywood, screaming. Then Tyler conceded.

  “You’re right. We have worked with other people. I’m sorry. I’ll go back and prove myself to him another time. Maybe Colby can get us all to hang out together and we can show him how crazy we are off camera. I can show him how good I can fuck with you and Colby.” Tyler was staring straight ahead, fantasizing about the great big orgy we would all have with Victor, how he would show this guy what a great fucker he was.

  “Yeah, sure. Sounds good,” I lied. No way did I want to hang out with Victor. He made both of us feel like shit. I solved the quandary by saying, “Hey, Tyler. Call Ernesto. Make sure he’s on his way home.”

  I was supposed to be at Victor’s eight o’clock Wednesday morning to do a cover shoot—or so I was told, anyway—for the video he was putting me in. Terrified that I would oversleep and make this guy angry, I stayed up all night on Tuesday. I never stopped doing coke. I arrived shaky, but not late. We weren’t doing the scene until Thursday, so I felt like it was a real honor. He must think I am special, I guessed. I didn’t know anything.

  A very cute pregnant girl was there to do my makeup. I’d never had my makeup done professionally before. Too bad I was too coked up to enjoy the experience. Her name was Charley and she made me feel happy about being in a porno. She was sweet, bubbly, and from Simi Valley, close to where I grew up in Thousand Oaks. After she finished by putting a barrette in my hair, Charley packed up her stuff and left. What? Why did she have to leave? Now I was alone in the house with Victor. I tried to keep as calm and agreeable a façade as I could. Secretly, I panicked.

  Victor led me up the stairs to a bright pastel yellow bedroom. The photos were going to be taken in there, on the bed. It was a very plain room with an open window, big enough to jump out of. Victor was cold and calm. He wasn’t mean, but he ordered me to kneel on the bed. He didn’t ask.

  “Turn around and bend over. Push your ass out. Arch your back.”

  I strained a smile as he snapped off a couple of pictures. Then he left the room. I was confused. He just left me there on my knees in my white cotton panties. What am I supposed to do now? Should I stay in this position until I am told to relax? Is this how it is in porn? Does everyone assume the right to tell me what to do because I’m here, I’m the slut, and I’m asking for it? I was still trying to distinguish between the blunt feeling of a filmmaker’s direction and the bluntness of feeling manipulated. When Victor walked back into the room, he had a video camera in his hands. He wasn’t looking at my body directly anymore. He viewed it through the LCD screen. He came close to my face with the lens.

  “Pull my cock out and suck it.”

  The camera was on me, and I didn’t know if this was going to end up as part of the scene or what. Sex was not scheduled for this day, just the photo shoot. I did what he told me to do. The camera made it safe, I thought. I feared Victor would be mad at me if I said no. He was the director, and I was the actress who was supposed to like this—or, at least, to act like I like it. This is my job, I thought. If I say no, I shouldn’t be doing porno, right?

  “Suck it, all the way down,” he muttered. He held my head firmly and offered up some banal groans of praise. It was a big, thick cock, and I put it all the way down my throat. I submitted completely to whatever Victor wanted. I was afraid not to. I never wanted anyone in the business to be mad at me.

  Victor pulled his cock out of my mouth, and I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on my arms. My ass hung off the bed now, and Victor pointed the camera between my spread legs. Without saying a word, he pulled my white underwear to the side and pressed his erection against my butthole. The object itself spread my cheeks apart. I didn’t move or make a sound. This was supposed to be enjoyable? How was I going to make this look enjoyable on film? Victor pushed his hard dick into my asshole. It was dry, no lube or spit. None of this felt good. It burned as my skin was torn apart. Once he got it in, he went deep and just methodically fucked me in a monotonous rhythm. I sat there, facing Victor as he held the camera and watched himself penetrate my ass through the lens. It must have felt good for him; nobody as big as Victor had ever been in there. I held onto the backs of my thighs, paralyzed by the pain, my mind racing with questions I didn’t know how to answer. Should he have asked? Will Tyler be upset with me? Is he going to put this in a movie? Is Tyler going to accuse me of cheating again?

  I didn’t know what normal behavior was anymore. Victor hadn’t shown me his current HIV test.

  The doorbell rang downstairs. Victor’s face changed immediately. He was emotionless, as if the last half hour had never happened. He pulled his cock out of my ass, put it back in his pants, and zipped up. He never even took his clothes off. He walked out of the pastel yellow room to go answer the door. I just sat there stunned on the bed, with my panties dangling from my right ankle.

  Victor returned with a skinny guy in a floppy baseball cap carrying some more professional looking photo equipment. “This is the still photographer. He’s going to get some different poses. Keep it really young-girl and innocent looking. This is for the box cover.” Victor then moved about the room, looking busy. He and I didn’t make eye contact at all. I still had no idea what was going on. I wish I had asked, but I didn’t know I had to: What the fuck? I thought Victor was taking the picture for the box cover. Why did I have to get there two and a half hours early? So he could fuck and molest me?

  I felt ashamed of being so clueless. I let Victor force his cock in and dry fuck my asshole. I didn’t even know if it was okay to be upset about it. The guilt from being so high on coke and doing porno in the first place outweighed everything else. I assumed I had signed over my basic rights as a human being—respect, personal will, self-determination—as soon as I decided to be a porno girl.

  The real photo shoot only took about forty-five minutes. When I got home, Tyler eagerly asked how it was. I replied, “It was fine. I think I did a good job.”

  “Did anything happen? Did he try anything with you?” Colby told Tyler that Victor was notorious for fucking all the new girls he shoots off-scene. Thanks for the heads-up. I’d had no knowledge of this. How could I tell him that his hero Victor was a sexual predator?

  “No, nothing happened. Nothing like that at all. He was really nice. He said to tell you hello.” God, I am such a horrible liar. It shows all over my face and in my body language. I have a tell: When I lie I shake my head and plead with my eyes. My upper cheeks scrunch, which creates a forced dimple, a liar’s dimple.

  Tyler wouldn’t understand, I thought. He would never believe that I didn’t like it. He thought Victor was a superstar. In Tyler’s eyes influential, attractive people, especially porn stars like Victor, don’t have to force someone to fuck them.

  I worked for Victor a few more times. I did what I thought was the professional thing a performer should do: I didn’t talk bad about him to anyone. He was more popular and powerful in the business than I was. I was afraid that I would look like someone who made trouble. Producers and directors don’t like girls who cause trouble. What legitimate accusations could I make and be taken seriously? Rape? I was new to the business, fucked-up on coke, and not yet aware of the power I still had to say no. Victor took advantage of that, sexually and otherwise.

  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 he
r 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 naïve, messed-up girls for Victor to prey upon.

  Chapter Five

  Spring Chicken

  ONE 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 i
t. 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.