Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn (46 page)

“You won’t feel the same when you look down at my dying face,” she said many times, trying to make me feel guilty.

One day my sister called to tell me Mom was sick. But everyone in the family was well aware of her lifetime of crying wolf. Even at this stage we didn’t know whether to believe her or not. She had, however, been on oxygen because she was having a hard time breathing. The doctors told her she couldn’t smoke when she was on oxygen, but she did it anyway. The woman basically microwaved her lungs.

Once we realized Mom was, in fact, very ill, my sister stayed with her the whole time. She kept telling me I needed to come to Florida. But I didn’t feel guilty about not being there. It was her own damn fault with the cigarettes. Besides, when I was lying in quarantine with spinal meningitis as a kid and told I could die, I don’t remember her being there — my dad was. I loved her because she was my mother, but I don’t think she would have done the same for me. It was a love built on obligation. Everyone’s supposed to love their mother, right? But that was as deep as it went.

I finally told my sister straight out, “I’m not coming to Florida.” Mom was going to die and that’s all there was to it. Now it was a waiting game.

I did speak to her when she was in the hospital. I think she knew she was dying because out of nowhere she shocked me by saying, “I love you, Dottie.”

I’m convinced it was her guilt speaking. I never felt she loved me at all and this was just her way of saying sorry to me.

She died in Florida. I didn’t cry a single tear then and haven’t since.

Mom wanted to be cremated and my sister said, “I don’t know how I’m going to pay for this.” I told her to look through Mom’s papers. Shockingly, she had actually taken care of it. I think it was one of the few times she ever listened to me, because she knew I meant what I was saying about not doing it all for her.

Since much of the family was still in Virginia, they brought her ashes there and we sort of had a family reunion/ picnic/funeral. My brother decorated little boxes with my mother’s ashes in them. He put her initials on the outside of them. This was a nice gesture since he clearly put a lot of effort into it. At an outdoor pavilion, everybody brought a dish for lunch, and there were pictures of my mother by the boxes of ashes.

The little boxes were distributed among us, while some of her ashes were spread along the river. She certainly caused enough turmoil during her life, but on this day my mother, Peggy, was divided up amicably.

I brought my box home, where it sat on a bookshelf in my office for the longest time. Working on the computer one evening, I heard a noise. I had an eerie feeling. One of Mom’s initials on the box had fallen off. I picked up the letter, threw it in the box, and said, “Damn, woman, you’re bothering me from the grave.”

I put her in the closet, where she remains with a bunch of my old movies. It’s kind of ironic. She’s safe and secure anyway. May she rest in peace.

51.
Sibling Rivalries

Most families have some degree of sibling rivalry.

Mine, however, are more like lifelong wars.

I’d never been close with my brother and sister. As the youngest child, you kind of look up to your older siblings and feel they’ll protect you. Yet, I was devastated when the entire family deserted me and never really got over it. Should I have? Of course. But no one ever apologized! How do you forgive someone who doesn’t ask for forgiveness? It can be done, but it sure ain’t easy. Granted, they were just kids at the time, but they could have at least mentioned me when my mom came to school to take them the day they all left. Where did they think I was? Couldn’t either of them count to three and say, “Someone’s missing”?

I never felt the same way about them since.

But it goes beyond that. If we were not family, I would not choose them as friends.

When I was grown, I’d start getting collection notices on credit cards and at first had no idea what was what. When I investigated, I found my mother and sister, Deborah, had run them to the limit on their little spending sprees and expected me to pay them off.

Very nice.

I may have made an unusual career choice that many people frown upon, but at least I make a living for myself. I don’t try to live off someone else. And I certainly make every attempt to honor all my debts.

I wouldn’t talk to my sister for four or five years after the credit card incident. But I cared about her two sons very much so when she finally called me, I let it go. She acted like nothing had happened. But this little voice in the back of my head was saying, “What does she
really
want? There has to be an ulterior motive.”

And of course, there was.

After my mom passed away she started calling, telling me she hired lawyers to sue a company where my mother worked when I was a kid. But she wouldn’t give me all the details. It had something to do with my mother’s illness. She wanted to sue the company for asbestos-related disease, even though I doubt there was evidence she actually had that. She also knew what brand of cigarette Mom had smoked and had a lawsuit against that corporation as well. The whole thing smelled of scam to me.

“What are the lawyer’s fees? How will any money from the lawsuit be distributed? Is this being done on a contingency?” I got no answers. All I knew was my sister would be in charge of everything. It seemed pretty obsessive on her end, and while going through these lawsuits she had a stroke. Her memory and speech were pretty bad for a while. She lost use of her one side, although it’s come back since.

It was like my mother’s body died but her spirit went into my sister. I finally found out there were legal fees and I’d be expected to pay one third if they lost. When I refused, the lawyers eventually dropped out of the case. Deborah called and was absolutely furious with me.

“I don’t want you to ever darken my door again. I do not want to ever hear your voice again.”

“No problem.” And I meant that. I haven’t spoken to her since.

It wasn’t like it was that big a deal to me anyway. She had never really been part of my life. She’d never been there for me when I needed an older sister. There was no real connection. I’ve always managed to live my life to the best of my abilities without her or my brother.

One day, my brother Ray called me out of the blue because he wanted a truck. Of course, he didn’t have the means to pay for it so I not only loaned him money for it, but traveled all the way to Texas to help him fill out the loan application papers because he couldn’t manage it on his own. We went to the dealership together, where he told them for whatever reason that he wanted to modify the truck. When they informed him straight out it wouldn’t work properly, he nonetheless insisted.

It didn’t take long for him to realize the dealership had been absolutely right. He tried to return the truck and they wouldn’t take it back. Meanwhile, he never tried to repay me. Then I got a call from him a year or so later. He told me he had a court case regarding this truck. I knew he never should have messed with the truck in the first place, so I just didn’t see the point.

“You have to come down here,” he demanded.

His lawyer called to tell me the very same thing. I told the lawyer, “I’m not going to lie and perjure myself for my brother. And if you insist on me being in Texas, then he’s going to pay for my airfare and hotel, because I am not going to incur these costs on his behalf.”

My brother has not spoken to me since. He also believes I betrayed him. Guess I’m two for two in the betrayal department.

Intelligent, capable people should channel their energy into positive avenues. I didn’t believe in either of their legal cases, nor did I want any part of them. The whole thing was white trashy bullshit; using the legal system to get something for nothing.

My brother, after many failed marriages, has finally met “the right woman.” His current wife is the closest thing you’ll ever find to angel on this planet. And they’ve raised lovely children. I’m sad they don’t have Aunt Dottie in their lives, but in spite of our differences, I’m happy Ray has started to put some of the pieces of his own life together. Hey, he is my sibling after all.

For whatever that’s worth.

52.
Cream Pies

All lot of men and women like cream pies — all sorts of cream pies. And I learned a long time ago there’s no pie in the sky. But what I didn’t know is you can make a good payday getting pie in your eye.

Yes, Seka does fetish films.

I knew there was a whole world of fetish, from grown men in diapers, to girls joyfully popping balloons, to people tied up and hanging from ceilings, and an endless array of other kinks. To each his own, but none of this really did anything for me, and I never had any desire to pursue these markets as far as film work. But I was doing the Glamour Con show in Chicago a few years ago and this nice fellow approached me at my table about doing “pie videos.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s some nudity but no sex involved. You get pies thrown at you. We pay $200 a day.”

I just laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

They wanted a big name porn star for one of their movies. But $200 doesn’t get you Seka. Especially to get butter cream pies thrown in my face. And in several scenes no less.

Several years went by and I had pretty much forgotten about it. Out of nowhere the owner of the company called to tell me they were starting up again and wanted me. I hadn’t done anything on film in years. But there was no sex involved. Just out of curiosity I said, “How much are you paying?”

And the pay had risen dramatically.

Hell, Soupy Sales, The Three Stooges, and every silent film comedian I had ever seen had taken a pie or two to the face.

So Seka was about to get “pied.”

They took care of all my expenses to come down to Florida and put me up in a lovely hotel not far from the shoot. I brought a hairdresser friend of mine; God knows I was going to need her.

The set was a nice big house where all the other models were staying. There were palm trees and even fruit trees, so it was a relaxing and classy setting. Everywhere I looked there were nude and semi-nude young women running around getting ready to shoot their scenes. I was used to nudity from my years in adult films. But what I found odd was seeing hundreds upon hundreds of pies stacked up around the house. Who ever knew pies were a fetish?

While I was there, I watched their other films being shot. There were huge gallon cans with chocolate and vanilla pudding. The fetish is called “being slimed.” They also had a giant tank filled with pudding and the girls would get dunked in these tanks and come out covered from head to toe. It was like they were human desserts.

There was one guy on set who had a thing for washing girls’ hair to get the pudding out. He’d do it with a garden hose. He was famous for getting an erection when he washed women’s hair. He was harmless enough I guess, so I joked with him, “If you get a boner, I’m going to knock you out.”

Another set of films they were shooting involved underwater masturbation scenes. People are into everything I suppose. Again, whatever floats your boat — or floats to the top of your pool.

We used the outdoor area by the pool to do the movie. There was a huge tarp to help contain the mess. Each fifteen-minute scene was pretty much the same. Girls would be talking to each other and suddenly start throwing pies. That was it, basically.

This company has a huge fan base. The fans themselves write and pay for the scenes, including my own. It’s their personal fantasies, filmed for a price.

I quickly learned the “rules” specific to this genre in which I was ironically a virgin. You are not allowed to wipe the pie off your face. And you’re supposed to stay composed while being hit.

During my first scene, I didn’t even have to take my clothes off. I wore a black turtleneck and a tight skirt. I was supposed to play a Russian comedian and have an accent. Seka was suddenly Olga the Russian Comic.

“Vat do you get when you cross a pair of panties and an ocean liner?”

“A panty liner.”

Rim shot, please.

It was all pretty goofy. And every time I did a punch line, they’d throw a cream pie in my face. I lost it I was laughing so hard. I’d say the next joke and they’d hit me in the face again. Then one boob. Then the other one. Next came my butt. All in all there were about thirty pies per scene thrown at me and I was scheduled to do several scenes that day. Funny thing was, I had the best time. It all seemed like fun, like kids playing. Even when I started taking off clothes in other scenes, it didn’t seem sexual to me.

After I finished one scene, I had around ninety minutes to shower, clean up, and redo make-up and hair before the next. I ended up hit with well over one hundred pies that day.

The filmmakers were wonderful. It was a joy to work for them as they were some of the nicest, most interesting people I’ve ever met. Lenny, the owner, is one of the kindest people. He’d take us to beautiful restaurants and give us nice gifts for a job well done. I was thinking, “Who is this person and where did he come from?” You never meet anyone like this in my business.

The aftermath was I found my skin was the softest it’s ever been, although I smelled like cream pie for a week. And I wasn’t exactly running down to the bakery as often as I used to.