by Asa Akira
Eventually, I got a hang of the whole thing. I started to drive my own car, first just to and from set, and then gradually everywhere. I even drove myself to San Francisco for a dancing gig, which was an eight-hour drive away. I passed the written test to get my permit on the first try. I was ready to become a licensed driver.
Feeling confident, I went online to make an appointment for the actual driving test. None of the DMVs close by had anything available for the next month. I started to look at the DMVs farther away, and found one in Lancaster that had an opening in two weeks. I took it. “I can’t wait that fucking long to get my license! I’m sick of driving around illegally, panicking every time I pass a cop car,” I argued to Van. An hour wasn’t too long of a drive. We would do it.
The drive there was exciting. After today, I’d be a licensed driver. I couldn’t wait to post it on my Facebook, and show off to all my New York friends. “Look at me! I’m a driver!” I planned on posting a picture of myself in my car, possibly even with the employee who would grant me my license. I insisted on doing the driving to Lancaster. “It’s enough that you’re coming with me,” I explained to Van.
As I parked my car upon finishing the test, I felt confident. No way I didn’t ace that, I thought. The testing lady went through her list, and explained to me all the things I did wrong. Just get on with it, I thought. We both know I passed. Imagine my surprise when the words “Unfortunately, I can’t pass you” came out of her mouth. I was floored. I was so sure I had done a good job.
Outside my window, I saw a teenage girl jumping with excitement out of her car to go hug her parents.
I sheepishly got out of the car and shook my head “no” when I spotted Van waiting for me. He knew what it meant.
The drive back from Lancaster was long. Having completely lost the confidence I had ten minutes ago, I asked Van to drive. I stared out of the window the whole ride home, tears flowing out of my eyes. “I never want to drive again,” I swore.
I repeated this same long-ass trip to and from Lancaster two more times over the next few months, before I had to take another written test to get my permit again. The permit is only good for three driving tests; after that, you lost that, too.
Eventually, I gave up on getting my license. I would just drive illegally forever. Surely, not every driver I saw on the freeway was licensed? There had to be people who were too busy to go to the DMV and wait all day. Plus, I was only driving illegally when there wasn’t a licensed driver over the age of twenty-one in the passenger’s seat. I did everything I could to justify it in my head.
My first ticket came a year after I started driving. It was late at night, and I was heading home from set. Still in my full-on porno hair and makeup, I was texting while driving on the empty freeway. When I got pulled over, the cops flashed their flashlights in my eyes. “We thought you were drunk driving,” one of them told me. Not that it was a surprise, but I was offended. My driving skills were so poor, they thought I was drunk. They saw I clearly wasn’t drunk and didn’t bother to ask for my license. I got off easy this time.
Over the next year, I would get pulled over once every month or so; I forgot to turn on my headlights, I was texting, I didn’t stop at the sign, that sort of thing. I quickly learned that having my videos in the car would come in useful. I only got one ticket, which was for “driving without a license.”
That cop was probably gay.
February 13
Guess who’s back—Toni Ribas!! He has me booked for his production tomorrow, and of course I’ll be doing my scene with him!
So excited . . . I haven’t seen him in months!! He’s a Spanish director/performer so I only get to see him a few times a year . . .
I hope he takes me out after . . .
February 14
My scene with Toni was fucking amazing. As usual. How romantic, right? An anal scene with my favorite cock on Valentine’s Day.
Shooting a scene always makes me feel a little bit in love, but with Toni it’s different . . . I still want to hang out with him after the sex. I want to sleep in bed with him and wake up with him in the morning.
I asked him to take me to the movies tomorrow, and he said he would. Agghhh!!
February 16
Toni took me to the movies last night and then slept over. I’ve missed him fucking me . . . I hope he comes back tonight.
February 23
I’ve been hanging out with Toni every single day. It sucks ’cause I know he’s gonna go back to Spain soon . . .
I shot with a girl today who stuck her finger in my belly button while we post-scene showered. I freaked out. You can stick your entire hand inside my asshole, but don’t you dare put even the tip of your finger in my belly button.
I’m cringing just thinking about it.
February 26
Real whores work on Sunday.
Off to my shoot.
February 27
Went to get massages with Toni today. I blew him before the massage, when the masseuses left the room so we could strip down and get under the sheets. He told me, “Fuck happy endings; if I had a place, they would give happy beginnings.”
I think he’s on to something?
March 2
Guess what.
1. I had pussy every day this week.
2. Toni extended his stay in L.A.! He thought he was going to have to go to Greece for a production, but it’s delayed! Yayy!!
March 6
I just learned what a “Power Bottom” is. It’s someone who is enthusiastically submissive. I think that’s me.
March 8
Been dancing in Hawaii for the past two nights. I miss Toni : (
Sunbathing by the pool before I get ready for my last night in my blue thong bikini.
The lady next to me is not amused.
But her husband is.
March 11
Heading to Cabo for vacation with Toni!
There is a serious abundance of white boys with mustaches on this flight.
March 14
Cabo is fucking magical. I’m starting to really fall for Toni. He’s in the shower now . . . I feel like I am falling in love.
I met Toni three years ago. It was before I had ever done an anal scene, before I had hardly even had much anal sex in general. Being a fan of his, I requested him for a boy-boy-girl threeway scene, and I was so turned on by him, it turned into my first anal scene, and ended as my first double penetration scene.
The next day, I called him and went over to his apartment. He was still living in Spain at the time, so he had rented a small one-bedroom apartment in the Valley whenever he was in the United States—which was only a few months out of the year. He came down to get me in the parking lot, and we fucked as soon as we got up to his apartment.
I was in his bathroom, sitting on the toilet waiting for the cum to fall out of my pussy, when I noticed red flag number one. A bottle of conditioner.
A bottle of conditioner in a single man’s bathroom is much more than just a hair maintenance product. It is a symbol of another woman’s presence. Not just a woman, but most likely women. This man likely fucks either 1) so many women that he was sick of hearing “Why don’t you have conditioner??” or 2) one woman so often that she brought her own bottle of conditioner to keep at his house. No man buys a bottle of conditioner for himself, unless he has long hair—which is a red flag in itself, and in which case, I wouldn’t be sitting on his toilet with his cum slowly dripping out of my pussy in the first place.
I have a few rules when it comes to dating, some things that I absolutely do not look over or let go. I’ll meet the perfect man, but if he is guilty of defying one of these rules, I walk away as soon as I can.
“I gotta go, I have to go meet Spiegler.” This was my go-to excuse to leave at the time. Now it’s “I gotta go, I have to clean my ass for tomorrow’s anal scene.” It’s usually true.
We fucked one more time, and I left. Over the next month, I continued fucking him, but I never treated it seriousl
y. He fucked me in a way that had me entranced, and it was the best sex I had ever had in my life—which was saying a lot.
Toni has one of the strongest Spanish accents I’ve ever heard. Because of this, whenever he called, I hit “ignore” and texted him, making up an excuse as to why I couldn’t physically talk on the phone. In person was one thing—I could see his facial expressions, hand gestures, etc. and we communicated just fine. But on the phone, without any visual help, I could barely understand a third of what he said. For this, we texted a lot. And here is where red flag number two lay.
The emoticons.
I see you tonight : )
Can’t wait to fuck you >.<
Come over : p
A man who is so well versed in emoticons can only mean one thing: He texts many, many women.
But on the bright side: He has no kids, isn’t “best friends” with any of his exes, isn’t a registered sex offender (I asked), and he doesn’t wear Crocs. I think I’m willing to overlook a couple of red flags.
March 15
Back home from Cabo.
We are both sick as fuck. We both have a cold and Toni has pinkeye in both eyes.
It’s eighty degrees outside but we have the fireplace going.
Maybe going in the Jacuzzi in Mexico wasn’t such a good idea after all.
March 20
I’m in Florida, and I’m still sick as fuck. I’m supposed to be shooting but I swear I’m too sick.
Last night when I landed, I told Spiegler I wouldn’t be able to shoot today. He texted the producer for me:
“Asa just landed in Miami, but she isn’t feeling well.
“She has a fever.
“She isn’t a complainer, so please go easy on her tomorrow if she isn’t 100%.”
Not a complainer. Ha-ha-ha.
March 21
Feeling a little better. Rocked my anal scene. Going back to bed.
March 23
Currently on the plane to Vegas for a shoot.
1) It’s 2012. There should be moving walkways everywhere. My favorite thing to do is walk at a normal pace on a conveyor belt (is that what they’re called?) and see all the people I pass who walked on normal ground.
2) People who travel with their own pillows are probably assholes.
April 1
Shot a DP scene today with Toni and Michael. I feel like this might be the last time Toni and I shoot this kind of scene together . . . His face looked angry while Michael was fucking me.
I liked it.
April 10
Did an interview for a documentary about Hello Kitty. I think they were trying to make me cry. They told me about a pedophile who lured victims in with Hello Kitty, as opposed to the usual candy . . . I stayed strong and didn’t let out a single tear.
I’m pretty impressed with myself that I made it out of highschool without a Hello Kitty tattoo. That’s exactly the kind of idiot I was (am?).
April 11
Just had the best fucking sex ever. At one point Toni hit my face a little too hard and now my lip is turning blacker by the minute . . . I kind of like it. I keep pressing the bruise with my finger. It hurts kind of good.
I went to get hash from the clinic this morning (for Toni) and I’m pretty sure I got high just by being there. I was scared to change lanes on the freeway, so I drove 50 mph on the far right lane all the way to set.
April 12
The XRCO Award show was tonight. I won three awards, including Performer of the Year!
For the most part I think my black lip was covered by my lipstick.
I still brought it up to every person I ran into, “Hey, how’ve you been? By the way, this black lip is from sex, not domestic abuse.” I think it ultimately made me sound more suspicious.
I also just realized, why don’t women whose husbands beat them just say that they are into kinky sex? I mean they always give the old “I fell down the stairs,” or “I walked into the door again, I’m so clumsy,” which no one believes anyway. Domestic abuse is obviously wrong, but if they’re gonna stick through it and give excuses, why not give a believable one?
April 21
I’ve always wanted to see someone slip on a banana peel.
April 22
I’m down to three cigarettes a day, but I’m stuck—No matter how hard I try, I can’t do less than three!
I’m fine when I’m on set; it’s when I’m at home . . . I need to get a hobby. The writing is one, but it’s not enough. WHAT ELSE IS THERE?
April 23
Bought SingStar for the PlayStation, Toni and I have been karaoke-ing all day with the windows wide open.
I’m really only good at one song, which is “You Know I’m No Good,” by Amy Winehouse. I play it over and over and sprinkle in a little Britney here and there.
Bet my neighbors wish I’d go back to smoking on the balcony and fucking loudly.
Also:
They asked me to host the AVN Awards this year!
Holy fuck. What am I going to wear? What if I trip?
I’m so excited.
April 26
Getting really good at SingStar. It’s now a daily ritual, wake up at six, drink coffee, sing for half an hour (windows open, of course), work out, go to work.
May 17
Just woke up in San Francisco, dancing here for the next three nights.
I can’t stop masturbating, but that’s okay—I don’t have to be anywhere for another seven hours.
May 19
I fucking love this club! Money is great, and they let me do a dildo show at the end of my set. I’m not a good dancer, so any kind of distraction is a good one.
The only thing I hate is the one-dollar bills. I’m too embarrassed to use them, so I end up leaving thousands of dollars’ worth of singles in my car, for “valet money.” It’s strange, I don’t even think twice before I show my inner organs to the world—but paying for things in one-dollar bills is just too mortifying.
May 23
Just saw the review for a scene I did and I can’t believe my eyes.
It’s for a site called Shesgonnasquirt.com. The funny thing about that, is that I’m not a squirter. It can happen, but I’m not in control of it; if a guy knows how to finger me and press all the right buttons to make me squirt, then it happens. It doesn’t necessarily feel good, or bad. I’m still not sure if it’s piss, or something else; if it’s really supposed to coincide with orgasming, or if it’s just a myth, like blue balls, or “just the tip.”
“I’m telling you, I’m not in control of it,” I fucking told Spiegler when he called me about the booking. “I can’t guarantee I’ll squirt.”
“I told them. They want you anyway.”
When I got to set that day, Dave explained to me what was going to happen. They were going to cut during the sex, fill a disposable douche up with water, empty it into my vagina while the penis was in my asshole, and start rolling the camera again when the water was all coming out of me. I had seen scenes like this before and thought they were completely unbelievable and embarrassing for everyone involved. But being that I was already on set, and the male talent was one of my favorites, Johnny, I kept my mouth shut and went along with the plan.
The scene was every bit as ridiculous as I had predicted. About three times per position, we cut and did the douche trick. So much water came out, and there’s no way with that many cuts, the scene came out looking smooth. I was so sure everyone was going to know this was fake.
But today. Today I read the reviews.
“I’ve watched Asa a hundred times, and I’ve never seen her squirt like that!”
It’s too much sometimes.
What’s the deal with squirting. Is it piss? It doesn’t feel like it coming out, but sometimes it has a slight yellowish tint to it, and it certainly smells and tastes like it. Does it coincide with cumming, ever? It didn’t for me, but I had seen numerous movies where it seems like the squirting happens while girls have the most intense orgasms of their lives
. Were they just exaggerating for the camera, like me? Or am I missing out on something amazing?
May 27
Been shooting nonstop since I got back from SF. Got into an argument on set today on whether or not blue balls are real. I called bullshit; it’s just a way for guys to get their nut off.
I got home and asked Toni if they’re real. He said no. But I can’t tell if he just wanted me to shut up.
June 1
Toni shit with the door open today. I acted disgusted but I’m secretly super-excited. We are a real couple now.
June 7
I just spent the last two hours reading sixty-six pages of celebrity gossip on the Perezhilton.com. If I didn’t have anal sex on camera for a living, I’d be a total waste of human life.
June 10
Today is the Puerto Rican Day parade in NYC. More like the Puerto Rican Day Rape parade. I swear someone gets raped there every year.
No one in L.A. has heard of it.
I remember in highschool my friend Christina’s brother was in jail ’cause he allegedly raped someone at the parade in 2001. She told me he was innocent.
“They all are,” I told her. We both knew what I meant.
June 15
Fucking shit! I didn’t get off set until 2 a.m. last night, and halfway home, I got a flat tire. I was too tired to change my outfit to go home, so I was wearing a mini T-shirt that said “Will Flash for Booze” across the chest.
This is exactly how rapes happen!
Luckily Anastasia was still up and came to get me. Her roommate changed my tire while we sat in her car and sang Alanis Morrisette songs.
June 18
Just finished the first night of a dance gig in Atlantic City, tanked. And I mean . . . tanked. Archie (my roadie) kept saying, “That was fucking brutal” every time we returned to the greenroom.
There were never more than six guys surrounding the stage. And the stage was huge. In one corner were two black guys who didn’t look at me once, no matter how hard I tried to force their attention on me. I walked all the way across the stage, about twenty seconds, to the opposite corner, to a drunk man who stingily fed me single dollar bills. I thought he was a fan, until I leaned in close to him and he asked me what my name was.
Tonight I felt like how the world portrays strippers: sad, pathetic, futureless.