I also abused men any chance I was given. In my private life, I had several male slaves who took care of me. I never once paid my electric bill during the last few years of my sex career. My slaves took care of things like that. I didn’t even pump my own gasoline. Everywhere I went I dominated men and told them what to do. It was as if, no man could say no to me.
In my professional life, I continued to war with men in front of the camera. Every movie I made became a combat zone and I was determined to conquer. I was relentless. I even demanded movies be made in my apartment where I could control the atmosphere. With the Ouija Board by my side, demons in every corner and inside of me, I had full reign over my victims. I thought I was in total control of the darkness. I was not.
Unfortunately, when no one was looking of course, I fell apart. Tormented by demons every night, I lay on my bed for hours and listened to their vulgar and hateful words. I was so tormented that whenever I went outside and there was a full moon, the face on the moon cursed me and told me it hated me. I thought it might have been the drugs and alcohol but when I asked people around me to tell me what they saw, they turned to me in fear and asked me if I had been playing with the Ouija Board again.
I opened up a demonic world I wasn’t prepared for and Satan wanted my life for it.
I cried out to God over and over to save me from Satan and myself, but God didn’t seem to answer. I couldn’t understand why God would not rescue me. I never doubted God or who Jesus was the entire time I was in the sex industry. But I doubted God’s love for me. How could God allow so many bad things to happen if He was a God of love?
Blinded by the lies of pornography and Satanism, I continued on into the darkness. We all did. A world of fraud and wooden nickels, we ignored the obvious: Glamorous porn stars were jaded drug addicts. Friendly pornographers were machines of cruelty. Sexy purple couches were discolored beds of disease. Bathrooms were stations of human filth. Nothing was sacred in porn. Everything was diseased, destroyed and damned.
We were children of wrath, gratifying our sin natures with no thought of consequences. Some of us died in our ignorance. Some of us were waiting to die.
And then it was my turn.
The clock struck 10 and I felt it. A tiny bump on my labia, I wondered what it could be. Of course I ignored it like I ignored everything else in my life. Ignorance is bliss in the porn industry.
I was with a married couple that night. They saw one of my movies and requested time with me: a private date with a porn star.
As I walked out of the bathroom and adjusted my panties to hide my newly discovered “bump”, I requested the lights be dimmed. I really wasn’t interested in frightening the young married couple who hired a prostitute for the first time. Nobody needed to know about my little “bump” but me.
A week later I was abruptly awakened by a stinging between my legs and a high fever. Rolling out of bed, my lower back hurt terribly.
What is wrong with me? I thought.
Still drunk from the night before, I sluggishly walked over to the bathroom where I looked into the mirror. In shock I stared at an image of me with cracked lips and red sores. I looked like a monster. As I swallowed back the shock, my throat stung. A closer look into the mirror, I opened my mouth to examine my sore throat and discovered a HUGE quarter sized red sore on the back of my throat.
“What is THAT??” I blurted out loud.
I pulled my lips back and red sores were everywhere in my mouth. I was horrified. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what it was.
This is bad, I thought.
I peeled off my panties to look for possible further damage. Fluid-filled blisters were everywhere. I grabbed my hand held mirror to look from behind.
Oh my God, I thought.
Blisters were everywhere on my vagina and anus. I didn’t dare touch myself lest they get on my hands. I stood up, mystified and in awe. Nothing like this had ever happened to me.
I threw on some clothes, jumped in the car and drove down to the nearest medical clinic. When it was finally my turn to be examined, the insensitive Indian doctor exclaimed, “Oh my, you have huppies.”
“What the hell is huppies?” I demanded to know.
He explained to me I had a bad case of Genital Herpes, a non-curable disease, and took a sample of my blood for more testing. I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe it. If I scared the doctor with my Herpes, it must be really bad.
Oh my God, I thought again. I have an infectious non-curable disease.
An evil laugh interrupted my shocking thoughts and a low voice spoke to me, “No one will love you now. You are nothing but an ugly monster. No one will want you. You might as well kill yourself.”
Yeah, I nodded my head. I should just kill myself.
That day I drove home and took over 30 prescription pills. This time I was serious. My life was a wreck. I had nothing to live for. Everyone hated me. Nobody loved me. My parents didn’t care. God didn’t care.
Why should I care, I thought.
And I overdosed again, only this time I suffered through it alone in the darkness with a pack of demons by my bed crossing their fingers it would finally be over.
“Die, Shelley. Just die. We hate you. You are worthless. You’re a piece of shit. Nobody wants you. God hates you. Just die!”
The evil voices hissed at me all night long.
But somehow I woke up. And then I disappeared. I quietly left the porn industry forever. I stopped taking calls. I stayed away from porn parties. I pretended like it never happened.
With no other options available to me, I soon went back to prostitution where I could at least use a condom. Nobody would have to know I had Herpes. That would remain my little secret. I called up old tricks and was on my way to work one day when a Voice interrupted my thoughts,
“Shelley, you’re going the wrong direction.”
I felt a very serious warning wash over me as I continued to drive on the 60 freeway heading west to Los Angeles.
“STOP!” the Voice boomed in my head.
Tears filled my eyes and I argued back, “God, I don’t want to go back. I hate prostitution. But you’re not helping me.”
“STOP!” the Voice boomed again.
I couldn’t shake the awful feeling that something very bad, something worse than what I could ever imagine was about to happen. I gulped down some Jack Daniels to ease my anxiety. I put in a cassette tape to drown out the Voice.
Everything will be okay, I reassured myself.
A sudden crash flipped my car up into the air and I saw the road flip upside down and around and around while I watched my life flash before my eyes.
“CRASH, BOOM!”
My car landed perfectly right side up. In shock, I grabbed the rear view mirror. No blood on my face. I looked down. No blood on my knees. I looked to the side. The car door was smashed in. I turned my head. The back window was shattered.
Everything was crushed except me. I didn’t have a scratch.
I crawled out of my window and ran as fast as I could in shock. I looked behind me to see police lights driving up to the wreckage. I motioned to a driver to pull over and pick me up. I told him to take me home. He wanted to take me to the hospital. I told him my daughter was home alone and that I needed to pick her up first.
I lied. My daughter was at the babysitter’s but I needed the ride home.
As we drove away, I watched the view in the mirror of black and white police cars pulling up to my crashed in red Miata convertible.
The only thought on my mind: I don’t want to get a DUI.
I went home and called the police and lied that someone had stolen my car from a party. When I hung up the phone I just sat there in shock.
Maybe God was talking to me.
Oh yeah, I sarcastically thought. Between Herpes and a near fatal car accident, God is SO talking to me.
A few days later I went down to the police impound to claim my crushed vehicle. I walked toward the red wreck in awe.
The car was half the size it was before the accident. That’s how crushed it was. I reached inside to grab some of my things and noticed the tape player still had the cassette I had popped in before the wreck.
It ejected out and I jumped back. The song that was playing during the accident was “Last Chance” by Duran Duran. I had no idea.
Gulp. God was definitely talking to me.
Admit One
act IV
Two Worlds Collide
XIV
Admit One
Poof, He’s Here!
Chapter Fourteen
I was so bored. I had no car. I couldn’t drive anywhere and I was sick of asking sugar daddies to drive me around. They couldn’t keep their hands off of me. I was so sick of men.
During my “off” time I pulled out my New Age books and practiced my psychic techniques. I figured God was trying to talk to me so I should try to go to the other side. At least that’s what the “voice” told me.
I believed in Jesus and God and remembered when Jesus told me I was special. I was only six years old but I never forgot the vision I saw of me preaching to a crowd of thousands of people. Maybe there was still a chance? I mean, He did just save my life from a near fatal car accident.
I got really good at my powers. I practiced them all day long where I sat on the floor surrounded by white candles. I loved candles. Of course I did, I was a creature of the dark!
At first the voice seemed friendly and I was sure the Holy Spirit was talking to me. Even the Ouija Board told me my spirit guide was Jesus Christ. It also told me I was a Chosen One and had been given great healing powers. Of course my ego loved to hear how special I was.
From mind over matter to energy manipulation, I used my powers for everything. If I wanted the phone to ring, poof it rang. If I wanted a curtain to move, poof it moved. I was moving and manipulating things left and right. In fact, I even poofed my four year old daughter who fell over on the other side of the room! Everything in the psychic world came so easy to me. Of course, I was already a master manipulator.
After about six weeks of being locked up in a New Age world, I finally got my car back and wanted to mess with peoples’ minds. I was also low on cash and needed to pull a few deals. I ended up at a bar in Covina where a couple of bands were playing.
Minding my own business at the bar someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around to a tall American apple pie looking guy who asked me if I wanted to play pool.
I coolly replied, “For drinks, sure.”
I knew I could beat him. He obviously didn’t know who he was messing with. He was just a little boy to me. He looked no older than 23.
Probably lived with his parents, I thought.
When he popped a quarter in and racked the balls tightly within a minute, I started to worry. This guy was no stranger to the pool table. The hustler in me quickly rose up. I didn’t lose well and I certainly wasn’t about to lose to this guy. That’s when I started poofing.
“POOF!” I said while I aimed my hands at his pool stick. He looked at me like I was crazy, laughed and then made the shot perfectly. This guy wasn’t even bothered by any of my poofs. I downed a shot of Bacardi and resorted to other means of manipulation: I pulled my top down. That’s when he missed the shot.
We ended up downing Kamikaze shots -- on him, of course. That’s when he asked me to play darts. Okay, darts was for nerds. But I was bored, he offered me free drinks and besides he was a nice guy. He didn’t once talk to my boobs.
That was different.
As he was sharing his personal information, which I didn’t listen to any of it, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he was hitting the bull’s-eye almost every time! This guy was a hustler or something. He intrigued me. But of course I wasn’t interested in love or anything. I was interested in his skills and especially his wallet. Maybe behind this smart guy was a rich guy. A diseased prostitute could only dream.
Tall, blonde and not very handsome, he was only 22 years old and worked at a box plant. Okay, he doesn’t have money. Forget it, I told myself.
“Hey, what’s your number?” he asked me.
“Um, I don’t date for free. I’m a stripper. Cash only.” My eyes zeroed in on his pocket. He realized I was all about the money and so he lied and said he needed a stripper for a bachelor’s party.
“Right,” I told him. This little boy would probably pee his pants if he ever saw a naked woman, I snickered. I handed him my card just in case he really needed a stripper.
“Three hundred an hour, babe. See ya,” and I walked out of his life forever.
A week later the phone rang.
God, I hope it’s not someone from the porn industry, I worried.
I answered the phone in a fake English accent, “E-llo?”
“Hey um, Giovanni, you wanna play pool tonight?”
“Who is this?” I asked in an irritated English accent.
“This is Gary. We met at the bar a couple weeks ago.”
Okay, I had to think about this one. Everywhere I went I met guys. I paused a second to try and remember. Okay, I gave up.
“No, I don’t remember you.” I went back to my regular voice.
“I’m the guy you played pool with at Boar’s Head and shot darts with.”
“Ohhh, okay I think I remember you. Um, well, it’s Friday night. I have to work tonight.”
“I have to work too,” he said. “I just thought we could hang out a few hours before I go to work at ten.”
“No, not tonight, but thanks.” I hung up the phone. I didn’t have time for little boys. I needed to make some money.
But the guy kept calling me! Over the next month I told him “no thanks” repeatedly and that I needed to work. I mean, he could have offered me money. I hinted enough.
Finally on another Friday night he called me again. This time I was sitting home alone tired of trying to figure out if I was officially back in prostitution or not. I hated stripping. I hated prostitution. Maybe this guy called me on the right night.
“Okay, I’ll play pool with you but you buy the drinks,” I told him bluntly. I figured I would at least get something out of it. Not to mention, maybe make some “deals” at the bar. I could pull a trick anywhere.
“Sure, see you soon!” He sounded like a giddy school boy.
What have I gotten myself into, I thought.
We met at the bar and the guy totally surprised me that night. Not only did he drive like a speed demon but at one of the bars we stopped off at, he walked right up to the pool table and lined it with speed.
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. “Where the hell did you get all of that meth?” I looked up at apple pie guy in shock.
“I always have it. You like to fly?”
Well, of course I like to fly, I thought. I missed my speed. The porn industry was my main drug supplier so it had been a little while.
Wow, I thought. This could be the beginning of a beautiful long lasting relationship.
If only I had known.
Gary started coming over with his meth. We snorted. We talked. We stayed up all night and laughed. He was really a nice guy. He never tried to make a single move on me.
A burned out prostitute could get used to this, I thought.
One night he brought over checkers.
“Um, what are the checkers for?” I said with a funny look.
“They’re to play with, silly.”
“Um, I don’t play checkers.” He laughed and set the game up. When he said he could beat me at any game, that’s when he pushed the right button. I was extremely competitive not to mention a major control freak. No one dared me to a game and won. No one!
The creep beat me. I hated him. Of course I wanted to play again and again and again. No way could I let this guy win.
We played Gin Rummy, 5 Card Stud Poker, Texas Hold ‘em, and more. We just played games. It had been years since I played games with anyone.
I still hadn’t told Gary my past or even my horrib
le present. I was hoping we could just stay “game” friends for a while. But one night he came to my house and saw me signing an autographed picture for the security guards.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Well, um, I was a porn star.”
“Oh, okay.” He just walked into the house and set up checkers. That was weird.
I marched right into the house and blurted out, “Don’t you know what kind of woman I am? I’m a hooker, a prostitute, a stripper and I worked in porno movies!”
Unaffected he asked me, “How did you get into stripping?” I couldn’t believe it. Most men would have asked me to have sex by now. Not Gary. He really wanted to know what happened to me. So, I told him how I got kicked out of the house at 18 and ended up on the streets of the San Fernando Valley. I told him a pimp lured me in and offered me money when I was homeless. He was shocked, even appalled by my tragic story. His whole face changed and he reached his hand out to hold mine.
“Shelley, that’s terrible what happened to you.” I thought I was going to throw up.
Oh shit, I thought. This guy actually cares about me. I ripped my hand back.
Nervous, I quickly changed the subject and asked him how he got into drugs.
“Dad and Mom were pastors.”
What? I thought. Gary is a Pastor’s kid?
“Yeah, my dad cheated on my mom with the church secretary when I was 17. Our home was never the same. My dad became a sailor mouthed alcoholic and it drove my family apart. I started doing drugs when I was 20 years old.”
“You’ve only been doing drugs for two years?”
“Yep.”
Oh wow, I thought. This guy is ripe. I wondered if he still lived with Mommy and Daddy.
Truth Behind the Fantasy of Porn Page 8