I got quite a bit of work from that designer, and he put me in touch with a different, more up-market agency he used who put me on their books. They also fixed me up with a better place to stay. It was a big house with half a dozen models in it, a couple of ’em were top shelf or second shelf at least. They were snooty bitches and didn’t talk to the likes of me. I got loads of lingerie work, they like big tits you see. Also some magazine work for fuller-figured girls and a few ads including one on the telly. So all in all I think I got the better end of the deal with that designer. Problem was he’d turn up from time to time expecting sex. We weren’t supposed to have men at the house, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Eventually one of the other girls blabbed about it and I got thrown out.
I wasn’t sure what to do, I didn’t have much savings and without the agency the work was drying up. But then Bob came along and saved me. I’d met him before; he was a photographer on one of the lingerie catalogues. I told him about my misfortune.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you some jobs. Lovely girl like you should never be out of work.’ I liked Bob. He took me for a drink and was a perfect gent. Nice-looking too, which helped, though he had a bit of a beer gut.
He told me to meet him at a place in North London. When I got there I realised at once this was a different sort of modelling. In the studio was a king-size bed, and next to it was a clothes rail stuffed with a bewildering variety of lingerie. Crotchless panties, see-through negligees and what-not.
‘You’re shooting porn?’ I asked him, more surprised than shocked.
‘It’s glamour modelling,’ he insisted. ‘I’m not asking you to fuck anyone. Not yet anyway.’
So apparently that’s the line of distinction, ladies and gents. If you just take your knickers off, then you’re a glamour model. Stick something up you and you’re a porn star. Anyway. I’d already made my decision, weeks before in the studio with the designer. I modelled the crotchless panties, a leather bra that chafed something wicked, the see-through camisole, the frilly knickers, everything. Then we did some shots with me starkers.
‘How do you feel about touching yourself?’ he asked.
‘How do you feel about doubling the money?’ I replied.
We negotiated a bit, but it soon became apparent that the more I did, the higher the price went. It was all the same to me. I’d stepped over the line and was determined to make sure I got my money.
So there I was. Lying on a bed at some anonymous address in North London. Legs spread wide while I rubbed my clit and tried to look sultry for the camera. Fact is I was getting worked up, and Bob could see this. He took a couple more snaps, and then he put the camera down and just stared at me for a while as I continued to work my clit. I could see the bulge in his trousers and wondered what he might be like naked.
I stared back for a good thirty seconds, thinking it over, then said, ‘Come on then.’
He didn’t need to be asked twice, and had his trousers and pants off before he hit the bed. He kissed me and I rolled him over until I was on top of him. I was determined this time to do it my way. I wanted to be in control, you see.
I reached down between my thighs as I kissed him and took hold of his cock. He was a bit bigger than the designer, but as I was wet and ready, I figured he’d go in easy enough, and I was right. As I slid down over his pole I moaned without meaning to. He seemed to like it too and thrust his hips up at me. But I told him to lie still while I did the work. The designer hadn’t just got me my start in fashion; he’d shown me a few other things too. I got me arms around his back and lifted him up, leaning back at the same time so we were both half sitting, with my legs crooked over his thighs. In that position we rocked back and forth, slowly, while I kissed him, the four or so inches at the end of his cock sliding gently in and out of me. He seemed to like that and I could feel him getting even bigger. Then he held me close to him, sat stock still and shuddered as he came. His orgasm lasted a long time and I don’t think he’d had anything quite like that before. The look I saw on his face after was gratitude, not satisfaction. I think from that moment on he’d decided he’d do anything for me.
I’m sure Bob did well out of that little photo session, I saw those pictures floating around for years afterwards, and they weren’t bad. I moved in with him that night. I had nowhere else to go and he seemed nice enough.
Truth is, he wasn’t a bad bloke. He was just in a bad business. A couple of days after he moved in, he told me he had some more work for me, if I was interested. This time though we were talking films rather than pictures. Was I interested? I shrugged, what difference did it make to me?
He took me to another warehouse, this time in West London. Inside there was a film studio. I didn’t think much of the set, just a few shabby old sofas in a fake living room. The lights were too bright and there were too many people about. I started to have second thoughts, especially when Bob introduced me to the bloke I was supposed to be in the scene with. He was dodgy-looking. He wore a manky old dressing gown and he hardly acknowledged me.
‘This is Trevor “The Truncheon” Collins,’ Bob said. ‘He’s been in this business a long time and he’s a total professional.’
I must have looked nervous, because Bob said, ‘Hey, don’t worry love; I’ll make sure you’re okay. And think of the money. Look, have some of this if you like.’
He offered me some pills. ‘They’re happy pills,’ he said. ‘It’ll get you in the mood.’
This is in the days before ecstasy, or even Viagra. God knows what he was giving me.
I thought about it for a second, and then decided no. I needed to be in control. If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it knowing exactly where I was, who I was and why I was doing it. I shook my head.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to be honest with you; you only got this job because another girl pulled out. She had an overdose so won’t be back anytime soon. The money’s bloody good. These sorts of jobs don’t come up too often. You turn this down and it’s back to the crappy lingerie stuff.’
I knew he was right, back in those days there was no internet. It was all about VHS and there was good money to be made in the right niche, but there were a lot of hungry girls out there ready to do pretty much anything. I couldn’t afford to be squeamish.
I stripped off and got into the skimpy dress they wanted me to wear. It didn’t fit at all well, but that was okay I suppose, my boobs were so far out my top it looked like I had two bald men in there head-butting each other, which I suppose is about right for this kind of film.
Anyway, there wasn’t much of a script. I was supposed to be this horny housewife playing with herself when suddenly, by massive coincidence, the doorbell rings and there’s a bloke to fix the washing machine, or tune the piano or something, I don’t remember exactly.
In fact, the only thing I do remember about that film was the size of Trevor’s truncheon. It was more like an axe handle really, in length and shape. I was a bit scared when I first saw it, and the director loved the look on my face. I wished I’d had the pills then. The Truncheon had certainly had his. I’d been well lubed though and he was pretty good with it. When they say size doesn’t matter, it’s what you do with it, that’s true only to a certain extent. Size helps a lot, and if you’ve got a big dick and you know what to do with it, well, most girls wouldn’t say no to that.
He was a professional, and he certainly tuned my piano, I can tell you. I didn’t have to act. I forgot about the lights, I forgot about the crew, I forgot about Bob. I just closed my eyes and felt that huge cock pounding into me from behind and I knew I’d found what I wanted to do. That was the first orgasm I’d had from a bloke. On screen. There were to be many more over the years.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t enjoyed the sex I’d had with Bob, or even the designer for that matter. It was mostly okay. But it wasn’t until that day on that mouldy old sofa in an echoing warehouse in Acton that I understood how good sex could be.
&nb
sp; And how much I wanted more.
Chapter Six
After the day’s shoot, the director invited everyone back to his pad for a party. The film was finished apparently, and the entire cast came along, there were a dozen or so girls and three guys, but the numbers were evened up by the crew, who were mostly men apart from the makeup girl, who didn’t seem entirely happy with the whole situation, but she came along anyway. I liked the look of her; she seemed down-to-earth and not far off my age.
The director’s pad was huge. A giant loft-style apartment in Shadwell, it was, overlooking the river. There were drinks, and cocaine for those that wanted it, but I stayed away. Bob got stuck in to the Charlie though, as did most of the girls and the crew. It was just me and the make-up girl who stayed straight. I’d done my own for my scene, so we hadn’t properly met. I smiled at her and she came over to chat, introducing herself as Maya. She was attractive, petite and olive-skinned.
‘How’d you get mixed up in this?’ I asked.
‘He’s my brother,’ she said, indicating the director. ‘I got into a little trouble and needed a straight job, or at least, as straight as you can get in this business. He helped me out. I don’t know much about anything but I do know how to put on make-up.’
I saw her eyeing the cocaine being hoovered up by a gaggle of actors off the glass coffee table. She had a wistful look in her eye. I didn’t need to ask what sort of trouble she’d been in.
It was pretty rowdy by that point, and the heat was stifling. ‘Shall we get some fresh air?’ she suggested. I agreed and we went out on to the balcony. I sipped my wine and gazed out over the twinkling lights of south London, ended beneath by a sweep of the inky Thames.
‘You seem different to the others,’ Maya said. ‘A bit more … straight?’
‘Really?’ I laughed, looking at her in surprise. ‘I’m anything but straight.’
‘Good,’ she said, and then she leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth.
I was too surprised to push her away, but I didn’t kiss her back. She pulled away, a questioning look in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I think I must have given you the wrong idea. When I said I wasn’t straight …’
‘But you’re a porn actor,’ she said, ‘You’ve done girls haven’t you?’
I hesitated for just a second, and then nodded my head. ‘Sure,’ I lied, ‘Sure I have.’ Then she kissed me again, and this time I kissed back.
What I started off thinking, as the kiss began, was that keeping the director’s sister happy was a good move for my career. What I ended up thinking, as she slid her slippery little tongue into my mouth and licked my teeth, was that I wanted to fuck this girl. I had a rough idea what you did with other women, but absolutely no experience. Luckily she took control. She turned me around so I was standing at the rail. She dropped to her knees behind me and I felt her delicate hands slide up my thighs, under my skirt and take firm hold of my panties, I parted my legs slightly and she slid them down in one smooth movement.
Then she hefted my skirt up so my backside was exposed to the cool September air and after a pause, during which she ran her hands gently over the smooth globes of my behind, I felt her lips kiss me at the spot where my spine slips down between my cheeks. She was so gentle, and her face so soft against my skin.
She worked her way down, licking each cheek in turn, and then forced my legs still wider. She paused again for a moment. I stood there, arching my back, and gazing out over London.
Then it happened. I felt her mouth against my pussy and my knees buckled with the sweet ecstasy of the sensation. I felt her jaw moving against my mound and her tongue slipping out and flicking against my clit. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Suddenly a flash of light over the rail distracted me: it was reflected London light off the wine glass I’d been holding. I’d lost control of the muscles in my hand and let it slip. I watched it tumble down away from me, in slow motion, as I was tongued from behind. I came when it hit the ground, both the glass and I shattering into a million pieces simultaneously.
Then we heard cheers from inside and we turned to see the others had drawn the blinds before the glass doors to the balcony and were standing there watching us, whooping and hollering. I smiled despite my embarrassment – I didn’t mind being watched – but Maya hissed in disappointment.
After that we went in and the party really started. It just seemed that all of a sudden everyone was naked, or next to, and getting it on with everyone else. Looking around I could see Bob and another guy roasting a bird like it was Christmas come early. The director was being worked on by three girls, hands, mouths, pussies, everything they could think of to get into his next film. I found myself on a couch between Maya and the lighting guy, who wasn’t much to look at, tell you the truth, but what the hell? He certainly knew how to handle a boom.
He slid me on top of him, so I was facing away and he slipped his cock inside me. I was still horny as hell and, while I’d enjoyed the girl action I’d had from Maya, a good, firm cock helped a bit too. Maya rubbed my clit as I rode him. Never did learn his name. I remember his big, strong hands reaching around and holding my tits as he grunted and thrust himself into me. I liked that. I guess he’d had a bit of Charlie cos he kept it up a long time. I came again. Then hopped off while Maya had a go. She was watching me the whole time. I dropped to my knees in front of them and leant forward to get closer to the action. I watched him pump that cock into her tight little fanny for a bit while I got myself worked up again, then I lowered my face and started lapping at her clit as she rode. She pushed herself forward into my face, groaning, still grinding his slippery cock.
Then I felt someone behind me getting into position and before I knew it I had another cock inside me. I didn’t bother turning around. Maya and the lighting guy came at the same time and I settled back onto the mystery man’s pole behind me. I came for a third time as he fucked me from behind. When I turned around I saw it was the director, he’d been doing me doggy style while I licked his sister’s pussy. Now that’s a bit weird. But whatever floats your boat. I’d already stopped being surprised by this point. It was anything goes as far as I was concerned.
Anyway it did the trick, because I got plenty of work out of him over the next couple of years. He went to jail eventually, after they found some of the girls he’d been using were underage.
In hindsight, I suppose my success in porn wasn’t that surprising, when I look back at pictures of myself from that time. I looked pretty good, slim, but not too thin, big tits, nice and firm even before the boob job in ’92. I was willing to do anything. My first anal scene opened my eyes and more besides that, but it wasn’t long before I was doing double penetration. Remember I was still a teenager and everyone wants a good-looking blonde eighteen-year-old willing to do DP and girl-on-girl on the same day.
The thing was I loved it. I was enjoying the sex. Most of the other girls said they liked it, but when they got drunk they’d tell you what they really thought. Some of them hated it, some were in it for the drugs, some for the money, some cos they’d got mixed up with the wrong man. They mostly hated the actual sex, especially the rough stuff. Some preferred doing other girls, but a lot of them were squeamish about that.
So I was kind of the exception. I loved what I did and I wanted more of it. I soon lost interest in Bob; the only time we’d have sex was when he brought other people back to the flat. Once I had enough money I moved out and got myself my own pad. I didn’t bother giving Bob the address. I didn’t feel bad about it. He’d used me, after all, and ultimately I’d used him to get where I needed to be. I had a fantastic big flat in Chelsea, a burgeoning career and sex with beautiful people whenever I wanted it. I’d stayed off the drugs and didn’t smoke and apart from the odd glass of wine didn’t drink either. I was self-contained and in control.
I got myself an agent and started to make some real money. I was in demand. The reason I was able to ask for such big money was
that I never bothered with a cunt double like some girls did. Everyone gets sore after a while, sometimes the big names would ask for another girl to do some of the close-up work, particularly when the guy was big, or there were massive dildos involved. I did it all myself, which gave the director the freedom to pan up and show my face as I was pounded from behind.
Also, I think it was always clear that I was genuinely into it on screen. I rarely had to fake an orgasm.
I started to accept more hard-core stuff, including an S&M flick. They dressed me up in leather and I had to whip some bloke, and then walk all over him. They made me stand on his balls which seemed a bit odd, but the guy seemed to like it. That was a rough set. In one scene two girls held me down while some guy pretended to anally rape me. I was lubed up so it wasn’t too bad. For once I had to act, but in this case like I didn’t enjoy it. The handcuff stuff was great. But it was always better when I was the one calling the shots. I guess it’s this control thing again.
Around this time I started to get a little voice in my head telling me something was wrong. Quiet at first, and I couldn’t make out what it was saying to me. Just that my life wasn’t as perfect as I was telling myself.
I was offered a lead role in Tiberius. You might remember it, it was the biggest-budget porn film ever made, still is, I think. This was the time when internet porn was just starting to damage the movie business, and this was the industry’s response. I was Marissa the Slave Girl, cruelly abused by her master, then rescued by a courtier and taken to live in Tiberius’ palace in Rome.
The orgy scenes were incredible. One of them took three days to film. We stayed on set pretty much the whole time, the food they brought in was real and we were drunk most of the time. Most of the sex was undirected. My character is brought into the ballroom as the orgy is underway. I was inspected by the Emperor and his wife Vipsania, who decide to break me in on a low dais in the centre of the room as everyone watches. Tiberius was played by Johnny Brooks, possibly the best-looking male porn actor there has ever been, with a massive 10-inch sword spoiling the line of his toga, so I was happy about that. Vipsania was played by Jessie Pink, legendary in the business. She was nearly forty by then but still had a fantastic body and a wrinkle-free, beautiful face.
Confessions Page 6