Girlvert: A Porno Memoir (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Double Anal

A
rare
occasion: I showed up sober to my next shoot with Spike. There wasn’t a huge fight with Tyler beforehand to send me off, either. I was happy to shoot with Spike again. I respected him after shooting the POV. He didn’t try to come on to me outside of our professional sex scene. I thought we were on the same page when it came to making porno. It was good and “real” when the camera was rolling, but we didn’t need to pretend that there was anything else going on afterward. Spike didn’t need any validation besides what he got from the movie, and certainly neither did I. My plate was full of Tyler when I got done with my scenes.

The location for our next scene was in Venice, at the old Anabolic office, basically an empty warehouse with some carpeted offices upstairs. It really didn’t matter what the rooms looked like. We didn’t need any furniture or civilized surroundings. Bare essential Gonzo hardcore fucking and no story was definitely my specialty. Just a camera in my face and on the areas being penetrated for all of you wonderful watchers at home.

This time, Spike was only directing and holding the camera. He would not be fucking me. I was all set up to get DP’d by two other performers. Their names were Jack and Mick. Both of them were white, normal dudes. Mick was tall and had a huge, thick, nine-inch cock. Jack’s was a lot smaller than what I was used to. They were both totally pleasant to be around because of their nice blue eyes. Since I was already very comfortable around Spike, I was eager to have him tell me what to do. There was a sense of camaraderie now that we had fucked. It was like I was “in.”

It seemed to me that I was now a pro at doing DPs. My asshole had been trained to take more and bigger cocks than when I had first started doing them for porn. Mick and Jack were funny and nice to me. I went back and forth from cock to cock, blowing and drooling all over them for the double blowjob. Having two dicks to suck was also very normal for me. Tyler and Colby had me well versed in double cock-sucking from our private late-night group sex sessions.

Mick and Jack took turns fucking my ass. Each of them slammed it in hard and it was far from easy. I was ready for it though, and willing. By now, I knew what to expect from porn fucking. It was going to be hard because it had to be, or else it wouldn’t be worth watching. The kind of porn I wanted to be in was the kind that was rough and insane, where even a smaller dick like Jack’s could do some damage. If either of these guys had started kissing me, or gently caressing my body, I would have felt weird. I didn’t want to be physically comforted by these strangers. My intention was to make a porno, not to make love.

Tyler and I agreed that it didn’t look good when a girl got fucked slowly. It was a bore. It looked dead. If people were going to be watching, I should be getting slammed. Give the camera and the voyeurs the maximum heat. My mascara should be running down my cheeks, my eyes watering during a blowjob, a good gagging. Always, I had to make sure and swallow, too. Or else, what’s the point? Happily, I bounced along from cock to cock. My entire body was dribbled like a basketball between both guys during the DP positions. Mick and Jack were really into me, and I liked that. I was having so much fun that when we took a small break for some water, Spike pressed the pause button on the camera and asked, “So, Ashley, do you want to try double anal?”

“Sure,” I answered without reservation. “I could try it. If you think we can do it, then, okay. I’ve never done it on camera. But I’ve done it at home.” I shrugged and took a sip from my water bottle.

I could trust these guys. I’d only just met them, but they were decent enough. I wanted to do a memorable scene for Spike again. I wanted everyone to think I was a great performer and that I could rise to any sort of challenge. There was so much I had to prove to myself, too. If I did things like double penetration and double anal, could it mean that I belonged in porn and didn’t have to feel guilty for doing it anymore?

I sat on Mick’s dick while he was lying on the floor. Jack faced us both and crouched on one knee. He got between my legs, missionary style, but instead of putting it in my twat, he crammed it into my asshole. Both cocks were now side by side, rubbing and pulsing in and out of my ass and against each other. My hands were clenched into fists as I endured the pain. All the lube in the world couldn’t make it easy, but it made it easier. Thank god for lube. It was a happy agony. I was yelling out “Aaahh!” as I held my legs back. That hole was so stuffed. It felt like it was going to breach like a dam on the brink. We tried another position of double anal after, my body facing the other direction. The cocks went in my butt again with me in doggy. Have you ever seen stars? I saw them, with a smile. After that, my ass was ruptured. The levee broke. I could take no more cock. It was time for the pop shots.

Spike was really excited. “All right! That was great! I’ll pay you extra for this, too.” He was smiling as he wiped his lens.

The scene was phenomenal. I wasn’t just a trooper—that wasn’t enough to describe me. I was a captain! An admiral! A decorated soldier of sex hell-bent for glory! Jolly Roger Spike paid me fifteen hundred dollars for doing double anal. I was showered with praise and compliments. Compliments were a temporary and empty sort of love I began to fiend for to keep me from feeling used. Everyone agreed that I was going to do very well in this business.

Chapter Eight

Tyler’s Blue Pill and
Ashley’s Little Brown Predicament

W
orld
Modeling booked Tyler and me to shoot together for a scene in
Barely Legal
. This time we were both getting paid to fuck. Tyler was to get five hundred, and I would get a thousand, my going rate for anal. This was exciting. Not only would we get to fuck each other we were doing it for Hustler, about as close to mainstream as hardcore porn gets. Tyler already had a Hustler tee shirt. He loved to advertise that we did porn with what was written on his clothes. His wardrobe included an array of Hustler and Anabolic wear.

The producer, Cosmo, and his wife were kind to us. They made us feel like we were both very cute and special creatures. They went on about how groundbreaking the
Barely Legal
series was. Porno producers love to brag about their work. Tyler and I were to feature in number twenty-seven. At first I didn’t know how to feel about being cast for all of these “young girl” roles. I couldn’t understand why it was so sexy to be a “young girl”—maybe because I still was one. The term
Barely Legal
didn’t seem like a compliment back then. The women I thought of as sexy were adults, not teens. I was greasy-faced and an emotional wreck as a teen. In many ways, the teen years were gross. I wanted to be a hot, grown woman. Tyler assured me it was far better to be thought of as a “young girl.” When I asked why, he replied with something about pigtails being used as handlebars for sucking dick.
Tyler drove us in my car to the location. I usually insisted on driving us to the shoots. Tyler was an absentminded driver and a daydreamer. I would catch him staring at his shoe instead of watching the road. He would always be singing loudly along to the radio and miss freeway exits or forget to turn the right way. Being his passenger was an infuriating experience for the control freak and coked-out, paranoid nag in me.

The only reason he was driving on this particular morning was because I needed to do more coke in preparation for work. I couldn’t drive and sniff cocaine at the same time. Tyler went slow and careful so I didn’t spill all the drugs. He wanted me to save some for him. He had just taught me how to balance small amounts on the end of a credit card. I quickly moved up to getting huge piles of it up my nose that way. All of my credit cards had cocaine stuck in the numbers. The GapCard was my favorite because it was a slick, translucent white and you couldn’t see how much of the stuff was crusted on it.

There was an actual crew of people hired for this movie, a feature with more production value than we were used to. There were lights set up and an all-day make up person. It seemed so legitimate. There was even food provided. Not that that mattered to me. I was so high that I couldn’t appreciate it. The only makeup applied to my face was lip gloss and mascara, which is all I usually wore anyway. I couldn’t use foundation on my skin because I would get sweaty from doing drugs. Sweat and foundation is the perfect storm for volcanic pimples. Thankfully, my skin had drastically improved from what it was when I was a teenager. Once I turned twenty, nature decided I’d done enough time in bad-skin hell. Now it is lovely almost all the time. I don’t even need foundation.

There was no script, which was normal. Good, because Tyler and I would have made a mockery of it. Both of us could only act one way when we were together, which was goofball stupid. Plus, it felt false to have to act from a script when we knew the only thing that mattered was the fucking. There was a story, however. Fantasy is great if you get to put your own dialogue to it. We were to play a young couple named Trent and Ashley who were being shown a house by a real estate agent. When the agent leaves us in the house alone to decide if we want to make an offer, we have sex in it. Later on, I learned the real reason why some producers feel that pornos need stories to lead into the sex. It protects the movie from looking too much like prostitution or rape. People need a wholesome reason to fuck or else it seems too obscene. Even if the movie is about prostitution or rape, there still needs to be a story.

Aside from all the coke I was on, I was nervous because of Tyler. All I could think about was his cock and that it had to stay hard. If it didn’t, I would be the one to blame. He would tell me that I wasn’t being attentive to his needs and that I cared more about the movie than him. Every time his dick had gone limp in front of other people he would start frowning and holding his breath. He would shake his head in disapproval while he shook his wet ropy noodle of a penis. When it happened, I knew he was resenting me, that it was my fault somehow. Even if the cause was obviously drugs, Tyler expected me to remedy the problem ASAP.

Not a lot of directors like to shoot real couples having sex on film. Couples tend to bring all of their relationship problems into the sex scene and feelings always get hurt. Tyler and I were one of those couples. I preferred to wait until we got in the car to fight, but he liked to slam bathroom doors and pull me aside in front of the other porn people. We would be standing just a couple of feet away from the camera, naked with tears in our eyes, arguing about the amount of love I actually had for him. Every little thing he did at home to irritate me got dragged into the scene. If he smoked in my car or forgot to replace the roll of toilet paper, I would complain about his fingers being too rough in my ass or not let him slap my face during the blowjob.

Our sex life was great at home. We spent every second of the day together. Days and nights were just time slots to fill with different ways to have a good time. All we did was go out to restaurants, shop, go to the movies, drive around, do coke, and hang out with our friends. Porn paid a lot and left us with plenty of free time to just screw around. Sex was habitual once it became a job. We fucked every day. If I was too sore during my off days I would give Tyler blowjobs. I hated having oral performed on myself. I didn’t like being bored, just waiting for my man to come back up so we could get to the penetration. I like to be in action. I was way too impatient to let Tyler go down on me for very long. I prefer to be the giver rather than the receiver.

To my relief, Tyler had a rock-hard and reliable erection throughout the whole
Barely Legal
shoot. About halfway through, we took a break. I used the opportunity to run for the bathroom and fill my nose with coke. Tyler joined me for a line before we had to get back to the sex. He was excited to show me something.

“Look,” he was holding out a blue pill that was shaped like a football. “Cosmo gave me a Viagra. Should I try it? He says he gives them to new guys when he’s never shot them. Just as insurance to do the scene. I’m going to take it.” He grabbed my water from off the bathroom counter and gulped the pill. He was thrilled. Tyler got off on new drugs.

The last half of the scene was reserved for anal and the cum shot. Anal is the only way that sex really feels like work. It takes such preparation to do it well and keep it clean. Initially, I had no idea what an enema was. I would just starve myself for two days before a scene or when we did anal at home. I learned quickly on that day why enemas are a must-have.

Tyler bent me over on the couch and eased his straight and solid cock into my asshole. Getting fucked in the ass was nothing new, but before porn we never had to change positions or get “long strokes” in there. Doing it for the camera meant a lot more minutes. Having anal sex at home is not the same as performing it in front of other people. You want to be clinically clean when the camera is rolling. Any unsightly poo or blood is absolutely mortifying!

Tyler pulled out his cock after we’d done it long enough in doggy. There was a little piece of poop on the end of his cock. It came from my ass, and everyone saw it. The director noticed and called out in his thick, Scottish accent, “Aye. We’ve got a little poop.” He seemed a little excited by it. I, on the other hand, was horrified! I wanted to die. I walked off set to the bathroom to wipe my ass. There was none on me. The little turd came from deep inside my intestine. The cock must have dredged it out. It had been at least two days since I had eaten a bite of food. This was impossible. My diet had been strictly cocaine and zero-calorie soda.

Nobody else seemed to be affected by any of this. For me, it was the end of the world. Tyler had never even seen me poop at home. Now, in front of ten strangers and my boyfriend, I had a piece of shit come out of my ass. I can’t think of any other situation in which shitting in front of a group of people is part of the norm. Shit is an everyday occurrence in porn. But when it comes out unexpectedly during sex in front of an audience for the first time, it’s the most unwanted thing, ever. It’s so crushing. I think I really finally understood the true and entire meaning of the word humility. No longer did I feel like this little “sex star,” but instead a lowly human being. The fantasy I had built up around what I was doing, and the fictitious person I pretended to be, came to a screeching halt when the poop appeared.

Now, I really love seeing poop. It fascinates me. When it comes out of other girls during their sex scenes, it’s interesting. As long as it’s just a little bit. Something about an unexpected and small amount of feces makes me feel like what I’m watching is real. You can’t fake a turd like you can an orgasm.

I returned to the scene. I told them all I was too sore to do any more anal. They all saw the poop. I knew that. I also knew that they had all probably seen worse. I was being lame, acting like it never happened.
Too sore
, that was the story and I stuck to it. I apologized for it, and we went on to the pop shot.

After the scene was finished and we had hung around long enough to make new friends, we got in my car to leave. We were fifteen hundred dollars wealthier once again. As I drove the car, I thought, Screw the poo, this porno stuff is so damn easy! It felt pretty good to be doing this full-time. I wanted to get better at it. I needed to practice doing enemas and keep working on getting used to some insanely big cocks in my ass. This could be something I could do really well, I thought. Tyler sat next to me in the passenger side with his shirt off. He went shirtless a lot. He had a good body and he knew it. But he looked unusually red. His face was really flushed and his eyes were more spacey than normal. His hands were feeling around on his chest. Alarmed, I asked, “What’s the matter, Tyler? What’s wrong, are you still fucked up?” I wasn’t anymore. I’d finished the coke by the end of the shoot.

“No, I’m not okay. I don’t know. I just feel high, really high. Like I’m on some kind of super speed. My heart is beating so fast and hard. I am so fucked up. I think it was that pill.”

Tyler grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I didn’t know what to do. He was running so hot. I had the air conditioner on, his shirt was off, and he never wore underwear. I panicked. His pants were unbuttoned. “Look,” he managed a crippled laugh and pointed to his cock. He pulled it out of his pants and it was cement hard. It was all red and looking like it was ready to lift off into outer space. He just held his cock out of his jeans all the way down the freeway. It mesmerized him. He was in awe of his penis and all its Viagra glory. His heart palpitations and other symptoms of cardiac arrest persisted but took a back-burner to the miracle between his legs.

“Isn’t that stuff for older people? Like for guys in their thirties? You are only twenty-five! You don’t need to take it.” I had an ex-boyfriend who took Viagra, and he was in his mid-thirties. Little did I know it was actually for guys in their sixties. I didn’t tell Tyler I’d seen the pill used before because it was the guy I’d cheated on him with. “What are you going to do? Why is it still hard? You came over an hour ago.” He didn’t answer. The look on his face told me the entire plan.

As soon as we got back to the apartment, I was on my knees blowing him. He came in my mouth. Then we fucked and I blew him again. The boner lasted all night. It withstood an entire gram of cocaine, too. Tyler was thrilled about being able to keep hard and do coke all night. It was a new discovery, yet another drug Tyler could not get enough of.