Sinner Takes All: A Memoir of Love & Porn

by Tera Patrick; Carrie Borzillo

  I never said "no" or "stop." I felt like it was my fault because I enticed him. I brought it on. I flirted with him and kissed him. I had this way of flirting too far, where you push and push and push and tease and tease and tease until something finally happens. That's what this was. Later on, I didn't talk to the other models or my manager about it because I didn't want to get a reputation or lose jobs, so I just kept quiet. To me, at the time, it wasn't rape because I consented. But it wasn't right, either. I always thought I'd lose my virginity to someone like Joe Elliott, the lead singer of Def Leppard, in a field of flowers. This was not that.

  After we were done, I told him I was a virgin, and he asked, "Are you kidding?"

  "Nope. I am."

  "Wow, maybe I should have been gentler."

  "Why?"

  "Well, you don't treat a virgin the same way you treat any old regular girl."

  After that, we continued the photo shoot as if nothing happened. This is where "The Switch" kicked in. This is when I changed forever and it sent me on the path to porn. He was done. I was done. OK, I can move on and finish the shoot now. I was completely professional and acted like nothing had happened. I had a job to do and I was going to do it well. This switch kicked in where I could turn it on and turn it off at will. I could go through a painful, weird, drunken sexual experience and in the next second be back in front of the camera all smiles and ready to give it my all again. Have sex, move on. This MO would serve me quite well when I starting doing porn.

  I actually liked turning this sex queen on and off. It really did work well for me for a while, and not just in porn, but also in my real-life relationships. If that first sexual experience went differently, would I still be a porn star? I don't know. I think my emotional life would've been different, that's for sure. But I don't have any regrets, because if I wasn't a famous porn star, I wouldn't have been able to call up the man of my dreams from three thousand miles away and make him my husband. I wouldn't have millions of dollars and be recognized all over the world. As fucked-up as it may sound, if it weren't for porn, I probably would still be this shy little introverted girl nicknamed Spider. As violating as it may seem, that sexual experience made me who I am today, and I love who I am today.

  Two days after losing my virginity, I wanted to have sex again. I went out with a group of models--Alberto and Nancy from Holland, Cole from Florida, Kay from L.A. (who was dating Guns N' Roses bassist Duff McKagan), and Orly and Galit from Israel. We headed out to the Lexington Queen and I finally came face to face with one of my idols: Axl Rose of Guns N' Roses. The band was in town to play the Tokyo Dome, and I couldn't go to the show because I had a job, but we were all going to meet up after.

  I was sitting there on one of the couches, glass of champagne in hand, strobe lights pulsating away to the club music playing loudly. Over the music, I said to one of the other girls, "Oh, my God. This is so cool! We're going to meet Guns N' Roses." And just as the words left my mouth, Axl Rose came walking through the club in a long fur coat. I was so starstruck that I didn't speak to him. I didn't say anything. I just stared at everything around me. I was so intimidated being around this crowd of people, but I was also keenly aware of how cool it was to be so young and in a foreign country and among all these beautiful, famous people. I knew that I was now closer than ever to fucking a rock star.

  I was pretty sexed-up this particular night. I spent much of the evening chatting up some Guns N' Roses groupies who were much older and more experienced than I was. With a few drinks in me I felt loosened up enough to ask a question that was on my mind: How do you give a blowjob? I was already plotting the end of my night and I knew I wanted to fool around with someone, so I thought I should learn a few tricks, and who better to learn from than these gorgeous rocker-chick groupies. A really hot petite blond groupie gave me the best advice of my sexual life up to this point:

  "Here's what you do--practice on a popsicle. Get your mouth nice and wet and start by opening up wide and putting your lips out over the popsicle, then slowly slide the popsicle as far down your throat as you can go while making a sucking motion with your mouth. Alternate between sucking hard and fast and teasing it slowly with the tip of your tongue. Whatever you do, don't do the same motion the entire time. You have to change it up!"

  Instead of going home with one of the guys in the band, though, I went home with two models, Alberto and Cole. Alberto was tall and skinny with thick black wavy hair and a black beard he kept neatly trimmed. He had a really sharp nose and square jaw and piercing ice blue eyes. Like many models, he was a chain smoker, and I found it sexy. Cole had thick brown wavy hair and had more of a husky, football-player build with a great broad chest.

  They got me drunk on a drink called Cookies & Cream, which was a sickly sweet concoction containing lots of Bailey's Irish Cream.

  I was feeling like a sex kitten and it made me feel in control. I wanted to wrap my arms and legs around every hot guy I saw and just rub my body on them. I just loved men and even though that first experience wasn't great, I wanted sex again. It made me feel powerful. It still does. So the guys took me back to their apartment in Tokyo and I couldn't wait to put the Guns N' Roses' groupies' advice to use. There was no time to practice on a popsicle; the real deal was happening right then and there. I remember putting Alberto's dick in my mouth for the first time and being excited to drive him crazy. The groupie girl's words echoed in my head: "Whatever you do, don't do the same motion the entire time." With that in mind, I was all over his cock. I went from taking it deep in my throat to flicking the head with my tongue to sucking him hard and fast to taking his hard cock in and out of my mouth as he begged for more. It was easy because he didn't have a big dick, so I was able to really go to town on it. I'm sure it was the worst blowjob ever, but he seemed to like it. We had sex after that while Cole jerked off and watched.

  At the time, I couldn't figure out why I was doing what I was doing. I was so immature. Just a little kid. All the other girl models were like, "What the fuck is her problem?" I think it was obvious to everyone that I was drinking and slutting around more than the other girls, especially girls my age. It wasn't that bad, though. I only slept with two guys. But I fooled around with three others. For a girl my age it was a little out of control.

  A week later, I couldn't sleep and Galit gave me Valium. I'd taken it before, but taking it this time set me on a bad path. At first I took it just to sleep, but pretty soon I was taking it all the time.

  I was fourteen years old, living on my own in a foreign country, and sleeping with guys twice my age. How much could a few pills hurt?

  CHAPTER 3

  The Party's Over

  When I wasn't working, I would take a handful of Valium, pass out, not eat for two days, and aimlessly walk around Tokyo spending the majority of the money I was supposed to save for college. I was earning money hand over fist every week and would blow it on expensive designer clothes (and lots of boots) at ritzy boutiques in town. Looking back, maybe they shouldn't have paid a young girl directly. Maybe it should've gone through my dad so he could put more away for college and just give me what I needed to live on.

  I took Valium every day and I was full-on addicted. I took it mostly so that I could sleep, but I was always sleeping, up to twelve hours a day. And I wasn't exactly Sleeping Beauty. I was looking pale and thin. My hair was falling out and my nails were getting brittle. I wasn't going to castings because I'd oversleep. And when I did get up in time, I would look like such shit that I'd end up blowing off a job.

  I was a not-so-beautiful mess. From ages fourteen to sixteen, I was living in Tokyo by myself with no structure, no family, no rules, and lots of money. It's what I thought I wanted, but it was lonely. I was really missing home. Some days I was on top of the world and I was so happy to shoot and work. And other days, I couldn't drag myself out of bed. I didn't understand what was going on with me. I didn't realize that I needed help, because no one was there to tell me. I was on my own.
/>   I was calling my best friend back home, Ally, and my sister a lot. But my sister was younger than me and Ally was my age, so they didn't exactly have any words of wisdom for me. Besides, they were wrapped up in their own lives. Life was going on without me, and it was starting to get to me.

  My worst night was the night Ally told me she lost her virginity.

  "Who did you do it with?" I anxiously asked her.

  "Seth," she replied.

  Seth?! I was shocked.

  Seth was a guy who'd had a crush on me before I left for Tokyo. We were actually kind of boyfriend/girlfriend. And when I left, he moved on to her. It hurt badly. I was jealous. Because she lost her virginity to a guy she really liked and my first time was shitty.

  I didn't have a mother or even a mother figure to help me deal with these new feelings and emotions. So, I did the only thing I knew would make me feel good: I took three Valium, went to bed, and cried and cried and cried. Sometimes I'd sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

  The days were getting rougher. I was becoming more of a mess. I had no friends anymore. The models I had befriended now thought of me as this stupid little drug-addled slut. Mean, but true.

  I knew my dream was crashing down on me, but I was ready to go home anyway. I was so tired of being sick all day from the pills and champagne. Work stopped coming my way. I wanted to get away from the guys I'd had sex with. I didn't save nearly as much for college as I had planned or my father had hoped for. I was ready to leave, but not brave enough to do it. The decision ended up being my dad's. He caught wind of what my life was like in Tokyo and called up my agency and warned, "She's underage. She's drinking. You're going to get in trouble for this. And I know she's having sex. She's only sixteen." I know I spilled to my sister Debby that I'd had sex and it was supposed to be our little secret, but then she went and told my dad. I felt so betrayed. Next thing I knew I was on a plane back to America, my dreams of becoming a famous supermodel gone forever.

  CHAPTER 4

  Homecoming Scream

  I was sixteen years old and already a washed-up model. Lovely. My father was so pissed that he didn't even pick me up at San Francisco Airport when I returned home from Tokyo. My agent, Yumi, picked me up instead, and I detoxed from the Valium at her house. A few days later, I had to face my father.

  He sat me down for a serious talk. "What do you want to do when you grow up?" he asked.

  "I want to be a fucking model!" I cried.

  "Well, you had two years to do that and you fucked it up. It's time to grow up and be part of the real world," he replied sternly, very fatherly.

  "Fuck you" was all I could say. I was pissed too. Pissed that I wasted this great opportunity. Pissed that I was forced to come home. Pissed that deep down I actually missed home and brought this on myself. Pissed that I disappointed my father. Pissed at my father for making me come home. I was so pissed, in fact, that I asked to stay with my mother in Merced, California, near Modesto. Yes, the mother I hadn't talked to or seen since our horrible fight when I was ten.

  Living with my mother again was hell. Nothing had changed. We fought every day. She wasn't happy that I was smoking and making friends with older people in the building. Every time she'd get mad at me, she'd throw my failed modeling career in my face. "Oh, well, the supermodel doesn't like it. What's the supermodel going to do about it?" she'd say. It went on for six months until we finally had it out in her Hyundai on the way to the mall when she called me a "crazy chain-smoking supermodel bitch." I called my father and gave in. "OK. I'm ready to be normal and come home." I didn't talk to my mother for another sixteen years after that.

  But this time, it wasn't because she beat me. I was just being a rebellious teenager and figured if Mom wouldn't let me live the way I wanted, I'd go to Dad's. I was playing both sides. I didn't realize I was hurting her or abandoning her. Like many sixteen-year-olds, I hated my mother. And I never worked through the reality of her beating me when I was a child. I just buried those feelings and pretended like it never happened. At that age, you don't have the emotional maturity to work it out or the wisdom to know that I should've let her be a mom and guide me. Instead, I took the easier way out and just left and never dealt with it. At the time, I didn't know how to handle my feelings or confront my problems. I just knew how to move on. Besides, she was condescending and mean and I just didn't want to deal with it anymore. So, back to Dad's I went.

  When I showed up on Dad's doorstep in Gresham, Oregon, where he was teaching horticulture at Gresham College, he looked at me and said, "Welcome home. I love you. You're going to college."

  One thing I liked about being back home with Dad was his girlfriend, and my soon-to-be new stepmom, Kara. She was only about ten years older than me and I thought she was really cool, hip, and pretty. We got along great. I craved a female relationship. I craved a mother. She was like a cool big sister and a mother all in one. She liked the same music as me; she'd take me shopping and even taught me how to drive a stick shift. And I could easily talk to her about my problems. And she brought youthfulness to my father, which I was grateful for. I didn't want him to end up with some cranky old lady. I was happy he found a younger woman who could make him happy and feel young again.

  It was in Oregon that I learned how to fuck. Sure, I was experienced by then, but I didn't really know what I was doing until I met Paul when I was sixteen. Paul was twenty years old with long, straight blond hair, muscles, and a demon tattoo on his shoulder blade. And he drove a badass lime green Barracuda muscle car and worked out a lot. That combination spelled instant love for me.

  If it weren't for Paul, I'd probably be a bad lay today. With him, I finally enjoyed sex for the first time. I was so in love with Paul that it made the sex all the better. We did it every day. He taught me how to fuck, how to have an orgasm, and how to master my blowjob technique. I used the blowjob tips I got from the Guns N' Roses groupies in Tokyo, but Paul was really the one who helped me take my BJ to the next level. He showed me the trick where you give a hand job while you are sucking and once the dick is all wet and slobbery, you twist your hand around the head of the penis after you come up the shaft. Paul also taught me how to be dirty and introduced me to sucking balls.

  The first time we had sex was the first time I ever had sex on top, and it changed everything for me. It's truly best when you're on top. He flipped me up on top of him and rubbed my clit with his thumb and bit my nipples and I just kept coming and coming. He had me at that fuck. He was doing everything he could to please me. I was hooked on him instantly.

  With my teenage hormones raging, I told my father, "Dad, I'm in love with Paul and I want to be with him." He must have thought, "What do you know about love, little girl?" That night, my dad and my new stepmom went out and I was left alone in the apartment in Gresham. I packed a bag and left for Paul's place. I found out later that when he returned home, he shut the door to my room and cried. I put my dad through so much.

  At age eighteen

  But I was in love. Really in love. And I was having fun. Paul's parents paid our rent. We were total bums. I'd drink champagne all day and he'd drink beer. And we'd fuck. He would touch me and I would instantly crave him. It was magnetic. He made me go crazy. I was finally having sex that I really, really enjoyed and I didn't want it to stop. I wanted it every day, every way.

  Paul treated me great, but he was very jealous and that ended up doing us in. He would take me to rock concerts and I would fantasize about having sex with Paul and the lead singer of whatever band was playing, so one day I asked Paul for a threesome. He said no. I wanted a threesome so badly, but he was just too jealous to deal. The fantasy of having sex with two guys turned me on more than anything else, and it was driving me crazy that I couldn't have it. If a guy even looked at me, Paul would be like, "What the fuck are you looking at?"

  Our relationship ended when I was eighteen and I couldn't control my raging hormones anymore. I really wanted to fuck the singer in this local band named Ter
ry. So, I did. He was a total scumbag with long straight hair he'd wear in a ponytail, and he wore a dirty leather jacket. I was bored. I'd been with Paul for two years and I was getting restless. Paul wasn't letting me act on any of my sexual fantasies, and frankly, I just craved a different cock. So I cheated on Paul with Terry and Paul flipped out and kicked my cheating ass out the door.

  "Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking slut!" he said.

  In a fit of jealous rage, he ripped the blinds off the kitchen windows and punched holes in the wall. I thought he was going to beat the fuck out me, but he didn't. He just made me feel horrible about how I'd hurt him.

  "I can't believe you did this!" he yelled. "That guy is a fucking scumbag."

  I was still basking in the glow of fucking that fucking scumbag. All I could do was smile and say, "Yeah, well, you know . . ."

  CHAPTER 5

  Serial Heartbreaker

  I'll admit it. I was a serial heartbreaker. I was only up for a sexual thrill. After Paul, I jumped right into two more long-term relationships in a row--with Clayton and Roland. And I can't believe I was engaged to them both. They were hollow engagements, though. I said yes, took the ring, played the fiancee role, but I never really planned to live my life with either man. Poor fellows. They never saw it coming.

  But before those two ill-fated back-to-back engagements, I had a sexual experience that would send me further in a direction that I seemed destined for anyway. I'd had my first taste of voyeurism when I fucked Alberto in front of Cole in Tokyo. But that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to my desire to be watched, to let strangers in on my most intimate moments, and to be the fantasy girl that only some can touch. I let that freak flag fully fly when I met a fireman from Boise, Idaho, when I was eighteen. I'd moved to Boise the year prior to move back in with my father, who was teaching at the University of Idaho at the time.