Girlvert: A Porno Memoir (4 page)

We did a few clumsy and easy-going positions. Our DP was just like any regular one we did at home. All of it was purely amateur. Tyler came, a creampie in my puss. Ed came in his condom and then squeezed out the contents onto my chest. I guess it’s what he had to do to prove to the viewers that he still had it in him. When everyone’s fluids had been properly secreted and exchanged, we were done. The tripod didn’t have to budge. Everything was captured on tape. From beginning to end, Tyler and I were out of there in about four hours. We left happy and fifteen hundred dollars richer. The ass-fucking sobered me up, as it always does. We cheerfully said goodbye to nice old Ed, thanking one another for such a good experience.

Backing down the long driveway, I noticed that it was still the same lovely spring day. I wasn’t nervous anymore. I was giddy and elated. I felt light and excited in my stomach and on the bottoms of my feet. There was a strong momentum going straight up and forward in my body. I could have pushed the car back to Hollywood with all the excitement that I felt.

“Tyler, do you feel bad?”

“No! No way, I feel great! That was so cool and so easy.”

“Yeah, neither do I. I mean. I feel…good. I thought it would suck and be scary, but it was the opposite!”

“Can you believe we just did that?” He laughed as he steered the wheel.

“No!” I was smiling and laughing. We were so happy. It was such an authentic and unexpected feeling. I thought we would be devastated, hanging our heads, regretting it all straightaway. Phrases such as “What have we done?!” were supposed to come out of our mouths, not “cool and easy!”

“It’s not like we’ll do it forever, just for now,” Tyler rationalized.

“Yeah, I want to keep doing it, but not long-term,” I agreed.

“We’ll just make a bunch of money, and we’ll get out of it.”

“I can save up money for school. Back to college in the fall!”

“We can do this and open up a restaurant! I’ll start cooking again!” Tyler had lived in Barcelona for three years, where he studied gastronomy and culinary arts at a prestigious school before moving to Los Angeles. Originally from Houston, Texas, he spoke the most beautifully fluent Spanish I’d ever heard coming out of a white person.

It all seemed so simple and inspirational. Porno was how we would subsidize our dreams. We felt lucky. By the time our movies came out, we would be long gone from this business. I would be back in school, studying for my fine arts degree. Tyler would be opening up his own restaurant. He would call it Chez Naomi, after his grandmother. We had so much hope. Porno was the land of opportunity.

We continued to chuckle and discuss the highlights all the way home. Our friends would never believe it. I thought that I would feel more like a prostitute when it was all over. We were paid for sex, technically. But that wasn’t how it felt at all. What we did was completely legal, no matter how taboo. We didn’t get paid for fucking Ed. We were paid to make a movie, a product. Videotape was the focal point. It wasn’t all about getting this old guy off. Our job was to make a sex tape. There is a difference.

Tyler drove and I sat in the passenger seat doing key bumps of coke out of the leftover gram. It was still our little secret, porn. Our own little moment to share. We had just put one over big-time on everyone. We felt like we’d broken the rules, and it was magnificent. It was all just some big, unreal, and crazy joke.

Chapter Four

Breaking Me In

W
e
started to get more work, sometimes alone, usually together, and we didn’t get all of our porno references from World Modeling. Coincidentally, our casual DP partner, Colby, did some music for a porn company called Anabolic. Anabolic produces “gonzo” porn—very hardcore movies that have no story, no script, and a handheld camera pointed at the girl getting fucked. There are no frills. It’s all bare mattresses and butt-fucking. The attitude is Go For It, with no distraction from the penetration. Gonzo is notorious for guys getting rough with the girls. The object of an Anabolic porno is for the girl to be degraded and fucked very, very hard. Not for anyone sensitive to the word “whore.”

Tyler was a big fan of the Anabolic movies. Anabolic produced films with three or more guys on one girl, with lots of anal and ass-to-mouth, or ATMs. Tyler bought a couple of Anabolic movies with a porn star named Belladonna in them so I could see what “cool porn” was. The name calling, slapping, and choking made a lasting impression on me. It did not intimidate me because it was similar to games that I already played during sex, but it made me want to take it all to a higher—a professional—level. Tyler called me slut and whore and got rough and slapped me when we fucked. I would hold my chin steady and try not to tear up. I knew he couldn’t really mean it. Sex allows people to lose their rationality. Tyler got to be a tough guy when we had sex. I loved him and wanted him to enjoy that.

Colby was so excited for us. He wanted to help us out in any way he could. Having a close friend not judge us or think less of what we were doing was a huge relief. Colby was upbeat about the whole thing. He congratulated us in his thick Norwegian accent. It was as if we’d just announced our wedding engagement.

“I know you two will do really good in it! I’ll introduce you to all the people I know at Anabolic. I’m friends with all those guys. I’m going to call my really good friend right now. Have you guys heard of Victor Viewer? I just saw him today. We’re going to have lunch together tomorrow.”

The next afternoon, a Tuesday, Tyler and I drove to Woodland Hills. Among a group of newly constructed, peach colored condos, we found Victor’s. Tyler’s eyes lit up when he saw Victor Viewer open the door. You’d have thought he had a gay crush, but
Wow, I want to be just like you
, was the sentiment.
The best
. Pure envy. Dozens of times, Tyler had watched this guy fuck in videos, and now we were at his house. Tyler was ecstatic to meet him. He assured Victor that we were crazy for sex and told him all about our orgies with Colby, but it all dripped off Victor without impression. With blasé resignation, he agreed to take some photos of us.

I started to feel uneasy. I was coked out of my mind, but that was normal. I instantly got the vibe that Victor was not a kind person. I didn’t know my instincts well enough back then to trust or act upon them. I was so young and on drugs, I just went along.
Everyone deserves a chance, right?
I told myself.
Don’t be so judgmental
! So instead of his demeanor, I just tried to focus on Victor’s body, which was interesting enough to look at—a miniature body builder, big biceps and pectorals, dark silky hair.

Victor told us to take a seat on the couch. I didn’t notice how short he really was until Tyler stood up to undress for the naked Polaroids. At six foot one, Tyler towered over this man, who could have only been five foot four. Victor was handsome in the face, despite his cold eyes. He talked to us condescendingly about the business. I wasn’t listening to what he said. I just kept smiling and using my big, straight, white set of teeth as armor for my trepidation. I’ve never had braces. Somehow, I have been blessed with a terrific set of teeth. It is a rarity to find healthy, pretty, and authentic teeth in pornography. Mine were often my shield. There was just something that radiated from Victor that made me ill at ease. I can’t point out one specific thing he said or did to give me the fear, just an overall eeriness, an aura of badness. Tyler and I got naked for our Polaroids, which was the ritual of every porn director thus far. For me, a frontal, back, and bent-over shot.

Tyler had to be hard for his photo. To his (and my) horror, he couldn’t get it up. He jiggled, wiggled, and jacked, but his dick just hung limp, lifeless. I think Victor’s bad energy got to Tyler’s dick and poisoned it. We went into the bathroom for a couple of minutes. Tyler kissed me, felt up my boobs and ass, trying to make the connection. I sucked it for a minute. Nothing was bringing blood into that shaft. It might have been all the coke we did right before our arrival. I don’t know. His dick just refused to work.

“Well, look, if you can’t even take this picture, I can’t use you in any of my scenes. Sorry, man.” Victor shrugged it off, smirking at Tyler’s failure. Then he added, “I need my guys to be solid. One hundred percent. No exceptions.”

Victor could definitely use me in a movie though. How about Thursday? Sure, a DP, and I do interracial, right? Of course! I wanted to prove to the world that I wasn’t a racist. I’d never even kissed a black guy before porno, but I loved to fuck them on film. Amorously, I have always been into tall, pale, blue-eyed artists. I was afraid I’d end up becoming a racist if I never fucked a black man. I wasn’t a bigot, but I also didn’t fully understand how people became bigots. Members of my own family are shameless racists, and I was willing to do anything to dissociate myself from them. I thought about doing black guys the first day I walked into World Modeling. I wanted the opportunity to deconstruct myself and society with no emotional strings attached. Porno gave me that.

When we left Victor’s place, we felt awful. Tyler was humiliated, and I felt guilty for succeeding alone in what we came to do together. Tyler started yelling at me.

“Why didn’t you help me out? You could have paid more attention to me! Act like you love me once in a while? I thought we were only going to work together, with each other. Why didn’t you insist that I be in the scene? You didn’t stick up for me at all! Don’t you fucking love me? Do you?” Tyler’s hands were punching the passenger seat. He lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke against the windshield as he became more and more upset. One thing that I cannot stand—that always escalated arguments behind the wheel—was smoking in the car.

“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.