The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz

by Ron Jeremy

  That five-minute montage perfectly encapsulates my experiences in New York City as a young porn actor.

  It was on the set of that movie where I first met Mike Feline and Barbara Burns. Mike, a burly hulk of a man with a wispy mustache, played my father, while Barbara, a slender and exotic-looking brunette, had a brief cameo as a nightclub dancer. We became fast friends on the set, and I learned that they were a happily married couple and lifelong swingers.

  They invited me to join them during their nightly escapades through New York’s bustling swingers’ scene. I had already been getting my fair share of sex, but this was a whole new world to me. I’d heard rumors about the “anything-goes” sex clubs and partner-swapping key parties that were a mainstay of Manhattan nightlife, but I’d never been brave enough to venture out and explore them on my own. I hadn’t even set foot inside Show World, the infamous sex emporium where many of my porn colleagues performed live sex shows every night. When it came to the city’s nightlife, I was a novice, but I was eager to learn. And Mike and Barbara were more than happy to show me the ropes.

  It was like a buffet of sex. There was enough available flesh for everybody to enjoy. On some nights, it was like a hectic race to see and do everything. We’d start at the legendary Le Trapeze, move on to the S&M-friendly Hellfire Club, and end up at the “Barnyard” in Brooklyn, a private swinging party hosted by a two-hundred-fifty-pound lesbian. Though I relished every new discovery, nothing could quite compare to the glorious debauchery I would find at Plato’s Retreat.

  From the moment I walked into the doors of Plato’s, I knew that I was home. It was a swingers’ club straight from the smuttiest edges of my imagination. Located in the basement of the Ansonia Hotel on the Upper West Side, it had once been known as the Continental Baths, an all-gay bathhouse that launched a young Bette Midler’s singing career. But in the late 1970s, it was devoted to heterosexual swinging, boldly promising a return to “the glory of ancient Rome.”

  Inside, it was like a sexual rumpus room, a playground for frisky adults. It housed a disco, several saunas and Jacuzzis, a swimming pool with waterfalls, and dozens of private and public rooms where sex was not just permitted but encouraged. Although clothing was optional, nudity was the norm, and it was unusual to meet somebody in anything more than a towel and a smile. On any given night, you could have sex with as many partners as you could handle or, if you felt in a more voyeuristic mood, just sit on a couch and watch the action. With more than six hundred couples visiting every night, the odds were definitely in your favor.

  I became a regular at Plato’s, stopping by at least a few nights a week and often staying until the wee hours of the morning. Almost always I’d bring a date, and once in a while I’d go alone, but I always ended up sleeping with somebody—sometimes a few somebodys. It was easy, especially when you were a recognized porn star with a famously large penis.

  On one night, a married man approached me and asked if I’d be willing to have sex with his wife.

  “It’s her birthday,” he explained, “and I want to get her something special.”

  It may have sounded like a filthy proposition, but it was actually quite beautiful. As I had sex with her, the husband sat next to us and held her hand. He was as excited as I was, but for very different reasons. He was just enjoying her pleasure, thrilled at her every orgasmic shudder. His penis was on the small side, and I was going places that he couldn’t begin to reach. Jealousy wasn’t a factor for them. They knew that I wasn’t a threat to their marital vows. I was nothing more than a prop, a human dildo for their sexual play. She didn’t even make eye contact with me while we were doing it. She just gazed at her husband, and if you could’ve seen the look on their faces, filled with so much gratitude and mutual appreciation and unmitigated love, it would’ve broken your heart, as corny as that sounds.

  The minute we were finished, they both thanked me and disappeared. I saw them later in another room, just sitting together on a couch and cuddling. It was probably one of the most romantic things I’d ever seen in this environment, and it made me understand for the first time how swinging and marriage could coexist. If it truly is a mutual experience, and a couple is able to distinguish between sex and love, swinging can actually bring two people closer together rather than (as so many critics are quick to claim) tear them apart.

  The couple told me that they’d been married for twenty years. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if they were still together.

  And then, of course, I had sex at Plato’s that had nothing whatsoever to do with love or intimacy. It was just nasty, lewd fucking between two anonymous strangers for no other purpose than feeling another person’s naughty bits. So in a lot of ways, Plato’s was the best of both worlds.

  I eventually met up with Larry Levenson, Plato’s founder and owner. We instantly took a liking to each other. I admired him because he was the self-proclaimed King of Swing, and he admired me because I was an up-and-coming porn star. Larry liked telling people, “I knew Ron back when he was just some young skinny kid with a big dick.”

  Larry was like a big teddy bear. He wasn’t the most gorgeous guy, but women flocked to him. I don’t know if it was his kindness (he was the most gentle man I’ve ever known) or his generosity (he threw cash around like it was peanuts), but I never saw him without a girl on his arm. He didn’t have a large penis by any means, but everybody who slept with him said he was a decent lover. Like me, he loved to give a woman head. Loved it more than anything else. That alone was enough to make him very popular.

  I never had to pay the $30 cover charge when Larry was around. In fact, he usually allowed me to enter the club without a girl, which was unheard of. Single men were not normally welcome because it offset the odds. If Plato’s was filled with hundreds of guys and just a few women, it cut down the chances of anyone scoring. But Larry liked me, and he knew I wouldn’t try to make a move on any of the girls unless I was invited.

  Actually, I was usually more interested in the buffet than the sex. There was always an amazing smorgasbord available for the guests, piled high with salads and meats, raviolis and pastas. I stuffed my fat fucking face. I spent more time with my face buried in a plate than in a vagina. Larry knew I was a gentleman with the women but not with the buffet. He didn’t mind, because most of the food went to waste at the end of the night. I credit a lot of my weight gain to Plato’s Retreat. You can see it in my movies. During the early 1980s, I gradually got fatter and fatter. I might still be thin today if it wasn’t for Larry and his goddamn bottomless trough of food.

  Larry taught me a lot about the swinging lifestyle. I learned about the etiquette of attending a club like Plato’s, which was more complicated than most people realize. For instance, he told me about “Tickets.” When a guy shows up with a date who has no intention of screwing around, she’s called a “Ticket.” She’s not going to be a part of any fair trade with another couple. She’s just there to hang out and suck up coffee and doughnuts, while the guy is trying to fuck everything that moves. It’s the equivalent of showing up single.

  Having more girls than guys is always preferable at a swing club. When there are too many guys looking to fuck around, and their dates are just having food or sitting by the pool, it messes with the gentle balance of the swing dynamic. There were a few nights a month at Plato’s when single men were allowed. I’d be having sex with a girl and I’d feel a finger tapping on my shoulder. I’d look over and there’d be five guys staring at me, asking, “You almost done with her?”

  It was right out of George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. The minute somebody started having sex, these zombielike guys would come out of the woodwork, their arms outstretched, muttering, “Pussy…pussy…we want pussy.”

  * * *

  Swinging Etiquette RULE #1

  If you intend on participating, always bring a partner to share. If you bring a wife or a girlfriend and she’s not interested in having sex, then there is a chance you’re not going to have
sex either. You can just watch together; that’s fine. But if you want to join in, be prepared to make a free and even trade, unless the other couple doesn’t mind your date just watching.

  * * *

  This rule can occasionally be amended, but only by invitation. A gang bang, for instance, is a perfect example. There are women who’ll book appointments for swing events, like at a lifestyle’s convention in Las Vegas or Reno. Women have asked their husbands to walk around and hand out their room number. “My wife wants to take on ten guys tonight.” In that case, it’s okay. Swingers’ etiquette is put to the side when a girl is specifically looking for a large group of single guys.

  There are also cases when only one person in a couple wants to have sex while the other watches, but this has to be an agreed-upon arrangement before any swinging exchange begins. You can’t lead somebody on with a certain expectation and then change the rules midway through. I saw many couples use this scam, and I even fell for it myself once.

  They were a young husband-and-wife team that had been swinging at Plato’s for several months. They invited my date and me to join them in a back room, and we jumped at the chance for a predinner screw. We split into partners, and I started eating out his wife while he did the same to my date. Within just a few seconds, however, he went right for the beans. He didn’t even pause long enough for a blow job. He just went straight for the insertion. I liked to take my time and really enjoy foreplay before letting my dick stampede toward the vagina, but apparently this guy was in a hurry.

  I should’ve known that something wasn’t right. It was all a bit too rushed, but I just told myself that some guys are a little more impatient than others. When I finally lifted my head and started crawling up toward her, ready to bring Mr. Happy in for a landing, she pushed me away.

  “No,” she said. “No sex.”

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “I’m not into that. You can eat me out a little more if you want, but I don’t want to fuck.”

  “But you said you were full, one hundred percent swingers,” I said.

  “I’m sorry if we gave you the wrong impression.”

  I looked over at my date, who was being pounded by the wife’s husband like a haywire jackhammer, then back at this woman. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Sorry,” she said, smiling sheepishly.

  At that exact moment, her husband pulled out, yanked off his condom, and came all over my date’s breasts.

  I stood up and tapped my date on the shoulder. “Uh, honey, we have to go.”

  “What’s the problem?” the guy asked, annoyed by the interruption.

  “You know damn well what the problem is,” I told him, leading my date away. “I’m on first base while you’re running to home plate.”

  I went straight to Larry and told him everything. He had received complaints from other couples already, but this was the icing on the cake. He took the couple aside and explained that they were no longer welcome at Plato’s.

  “Now hold on,” the guy growled at Larry. “It’s not what you think.”

  “I’m sorry, guys,” he said coolly as he escorted them to the exit. “It’s just not fair to the other guests.”

  * * *

  Swinging Etiquette RULE #2

  Always be up front with your swinging partners. If you’re willing to go only so far, let them know in advance.

  * * *

  I’m not a voracious sexual beast. I don’t expect every girl to put out for me. But fair is fair. I don’t like being lied to. Nobody does. Honesty is a virtue, especially in swinging. If you just want to get eaten out and your boyfriend or husband wants to screw, I (or my lady friend) may be fine with that. But I need to know ahead of time. Maybe I won’t care. There’s a chance that I’ve been having sex all night and I’m exhausted, but I’d still like my girl to get some good beefing. I may just say, “If she’s happy, go ahead and fuck her brains out.” But you’ll never know unless you ask.

  Swingers’ etiquette is not filled with hard-and-fast rules. There are always exceptions. But you have to be open and sincere about what you expect, or somebody is going to end up feeling taken advantage of.

  (I’m just here to help, folks….)

  Plato’s was by no means restricted to anonymous swingers. As the club’s fame grew, it attracted celebrities from coast to coast. On any given night, you might end up mingling with Sammy Davis Jr. or Richard Dreyfuss. He’d visit Plato’s once in a while, and though he never had sex on the premises (at least not that I saw), he did a bit of watching.*

  But the biggest stars, or at least the most fawned-over stars, were usually the porn actors. This was, after all, the holy sanctorum of sex. We were the high priests and priestesses of smut, and we were worshiped within the walls of Plato’s like living gods. The porn elite came to Plato’s in droves, and on some nights, there were more porn actors in attendance than actual swingers. You might see Sharon Mitchell chatting with Screw magazine publisher Al Goldstein, or Herschel Savage and Laurie Smith having sex in the pool, or Amber Lynn showing off her new lingerie to Freddie Lincoln and Luc Wylder. It was a who’s-who of adult films, and I was happy just to be invited to the party.

  I wasn’t easily starstruck, but there were occasions when even I felt like a fan. Such was the case with Jamie Gillis.

  I’d always admired Jamie Gillis. He could somehow bring himself to do anything sexual and make it believable, regardless of how nasty or degrading or downright disturbing it might be. Those of us who knew him called him a trisexual. He would try anything. He could fuck a pound of calves’ liver and keep a boner. He was into T&A, S&M, B&D, IUD, IOU…anything with three letters.

  During one night at Plato’s, I heard that Jamie was in the building. I decided it was time to say hello. I’d just been cast in a movie called Dracula Exotica, in which Jamie himself would be starring in the title role. I searched around the club but couldn’t find him anywhere. But I did find a female admirer who was eager for a quick roll in the hay. If only to calm my jitters about the upcoming Dracula shoot, I took her up on her offer.

  A few hours later, I retreated to the bathroom to wash my dick in the sink. All good Jewish boys wash their dicks after they have sex. It’s not just hygienic, it’s one of the reasons I’ve stayed healthy all of these years.

  You think I’m kidding? You do know whose autobiography you’re reading, don’t you? I practically have a PhD in sexual diseases. In fact, this seems as good an excuse as any for…

  * * *

  SEX Advice from DR. RON JEREMY

  Part 1:

  SEXUAL HYGIENE

  Okay, class, please take out your No. 2 pencils.

  Let’s face it, sex isn’t always safe. And if you’re like me and have sex once in a while with multiple partners, without always using condoms, sex can be dangerous. But there are a few precautions you can take to better protect yourself from being inflicted with any number of annoying and potentially life-threatening STDs.

  First of all, use a condom. If you’re a stubborn bastard and don’t want to use condoms, there’s another way that you can at least cut down on your chances of getting infected. Here’s my step-by-step guide to keeping your penis clean and relatively disease-free.*

  1. After having sex, jerk your cock as hard as you can. No, smart-ass, you’re not trying to get another erection (at least not yet). You’re trying to squeeze out any germs that might’ve crawled up into your urethra. Give it a whack with your hand a few times, and jerk it like you’re trying to rip the little bugger off. What you’re basically doing is milking out any possible germs. Take a look at the hole to see if anything’s coming out. If it’s clear you’re a-okay. I hate to break it to you, ladies, but this technique is just for the fellas. You can beat and pound on your labia all you want, and all you’ll get is one sore pussy.

  2. Now stick it in the sink—or if you’re a prude, the shower—and wash it with hot water and liquid soap. Give it a few more slaps, just to be on the safe si
de. Don’t go easy on it. Give that one-eyed snake a thorough scrubbing until it’s squeaky clean.

  3. Finish by taking a pee. This’ll flush out anything that might be left up there. We have an advantage over women because our urethra is the passageway for both semen and urine. Peeing after sex flushes out the passageway. Women don’t have it quite so easy. It’s still a good idea for women to pee after sex anyway, because it’ll cut down on the chances of urinary tract infections.

  * * *

  And that’s it. It sounds deceptively simple, I know, but it works. Obviously, this isn’t going to protect you from everything. You’re not going to avoid catching HIV with a little dick slapping and sudsy water. But for many of the sexually transmitted diseases, this will help keep you relatively clean and safe.

  I assume that most of you don’t believe me, but I’m living proof that my postsex ritual works. I’ve been in the adult business for more than twenty-five years and have had sex with a few thousand women, many without condoms, and I haven’t caught a thing. I’ve only had an STD once in my life. It was gonorrhea, and I got it from a girlfriend back in college, long before I started my porn career. I’ve been on porn sets where everybody in the cast came down with an infection except me, and I may have been the only one who bothered to scrub the hell out of his junk after scenes.