Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn

by Seka

  There was a guy around ninety who came in one day with a raincoat on. He suddenly opened the coat and flashed me. I said, “Oh, you ridiculous jackass!” He immediately got a boner — exactly the reaction he wanted. He came in the same exact time the next week and exposed himself again. Ditto week three. By the fourth time, I was ready for him.

  When he came in that day, I looked at my watch and nonchalantly said, “You’re late; come on in.” He looked like he was going to cry because he didn’t get the same shocked reaction from me. He never came back again.

  Occasionally, women came in with their husbands or partners, but most seemed pretty timid. On the day the films changed, there were fifteen or twenty people in the back cruising each other and I’d say, “Okay boys, down with the quarters and up with the pants.” I knew what was going on, but I wasn’t in the mood to get that close to it for fear of being pulled into it. Gang rape was not on my bucket list.

  In the beginning it seemed surreal to me, like a Salvador Dali painting. There was an older guy who cleaned the place up. Part of his job was to mop up the cum in the booths, which was where most of the action — solo or otherwise — was going on. It was the seventies, a liberal time, and I didn’t care what anyone else did as long as it didn’t involve me against my wishes.

  Some of the customers did hit on me, but all in all they were respectful. Feeling burned by my marriage, the last thing on my mind was dating one of those guys or being intimate with anyone. I just wanted to keep to myself and get a paycheck.

  Meanwhile, Frank and I continued to argue over my job for a couple of weeks. We had been married maybe eight or nine months and I was already looking for a place of my own. I found a little farm house outside of town in the country. It was away from everyone and I liked it, especially the garden. The owner said the rent was around $250 a month for three bedrooms and one bath. At eighteen, it seemed like a mansion to me, but it was just a little old farmhouse and nothing more.

  I knew I had one foot out the door, although Frank was clueless and in denial. Since the massage parlor incident, I’d totally withdrawn from him and he hardly even noticed. I suppose he expected we’d just go on like that forever, which might have been fine with him, but not with me. I didn’t love him anymore and I didn’t believe he loved me in the way I felt I deserved to be loved. We had yet another argument over my job. I finally had enough and told him about the place I found and that I was going to move out. We were in the kitchen standing next to the refrigerator and there was a long window. The fight grew more heated and he grabbed me by my arms and was shaking me pretty good. My back hit the window and it shattered. That scared the shit out of me. I guess it jolted him, too, because he immediately released me.

  “I’m done. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  He just turned and walked away. I don’t think he realized how upset I was. The look on his face told me he felt bad it had come down to him getting physical.

  I left the next day while he was at work. I felt sad on so many levels. Even though I was the one doing the leaving, it brought back all the feelings I’d held inside me when I was abandoned at age eight.

  I went to the landlord of the new house and told him I needed to move in earlier and why. He understood and accommodated me. Unhappy as I was, it seemed kind of fresh because I was doing it on my own. It was a new beginning.

  11. Daddy’s Home

  My dad came by the first two weeks to help me paint. He was a professional house painter. I hadn’t seen him since the wedding about a year before. The whole marriage was only about a year and a half from the time I said “I do” to the time the divorce papers were finalized.

  I was very excited to see my dad, as we had always gotten along very well. I had no resentment at all towards him, even though he wasn’t really in my life. I was still the baby in the family and Daddy’s little girl. He really didn’t say anything to me about the marriage. He didn’t ask me any questions. More than anything, he just wanted me to be happy.

  I told Dad what I was doing. I even told him about the flasher, which he thought was hilarious. But I didn’t tell him about the massage parlor job because I thought it would hurt him. It would have bothered him that his baby was in that environment, touching people. The bookstore was more sterile — no touching allowed. The only concern he ever had with my job was working night shifts. “I know how those soldiers are,” he said. But I was working the day shift, so he was appeased.

  In addition to painting, he started fixing my screen doors, fixtures, plumbing, and anything else he could. He was extremely handy. I was happier than a pig in poop. I really enjoyed being around him. We had similar interests. We both liked baseball. He pitched in the Army and for a team from Austinville, Virginia. The New York Giants offered him a contract at one point, but my Mom vetoed it because she wasn’t willing to leave. He always regretted not seizing that opportunity. He loved baseball. Maybe that’s why I love baseball so much today.

  It was almost like a vacation with my dad, as I had never spent much time with him before except when I was a little kid. And I was finally of legal age to drink. He was an alcoholic and I had seen him drunk a couple of times. He was a mean drunk, not a happy drunk. But during this time I never saw him out of control. I just wouldn’t bring a lot of alcohol into the house.

  He absolutely adored traveling and wanted me to do the same thing. He was a big Greyhound bus rider. It was a way for him to travel, because he really couldn’t afford to travel outside the U.S. Whenever he wanted to go somewhere, he just got on a bus. To this day I have a bug for traveling. It can be as little as three hours away, but it’s fun for me.

  “You’re your own person. Take some time for yourself. Enjoy yourself. And then figure out what you want.”

  What I wanted at that point was some peace. I was happy being on my own for the first time in my life, without being in a children’s home or married or having to live with family. Leaving Frank, I wasn’t as upset as I thought I’d be. I thought I would feel like a failure, but I didn’t. It was actually nice waking up in the morning alone, not having to answer to anybody. I made a living for myself. Paid my bills. I could eat and have a roof over my head. It felt like an accomplishment.

  Frank didn’t even call. He was out of my life completely. I didn’t want to date. I didn’t want to get that close to having a relationship. I lived out in the country so there weren’t even a lot of people around. I got to know a few of my neighbors and some of them had house parties and hung out at home, but all in all I didn’t do a lot of socializing. I didn’t drink much. If I went to a bar it was a stretch for me to figure out what to order. I would drink a beer and a little wine once in a while, but that was it.

  When I went back to work and did my nine-to-five, Ken was in and out of the store as always. He went to Baltimore to buy inventory and he’d bring the merchandise back to stock the shelves. The one thing I did see in the store that was a little odd, to me at least, was bondage stuff. Clamps and masks and things. I thought, “Was there a prison somewhere I didn’t know about?” I just thought it was really weird. I came to learn bondage was different than S&M. You were bound and disciplined, as opposed to S&M, which involved physical pain. Being a clerk in a store like mine, you had to know stuff like this, believe it or not. I figured if that’s what floats your boat, fine. But it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I had no desire to inflict pain on someone or have it done to me.

  Some guys would go to the magazine racks and, because of the way the store was set up, you’d just see the top of their head down to their nose. They’d stand in one place but shift around like they had to pee real bad or something. I’d come down from the counter, walk around the corner, and see a guy standing there beating off.

  “Oh, man, don’t do that in the middle of the store. Buy the magazine or take it in the booth. You know I have to touch that stuff… .”

  Some would drop the magazine, turn beet red, lose their hard-on, and put it back in their pants —
the hard-on, not the magazine. Some would go in the back and some would leave. The ones who would leave you wouldn’t see for a week or so and then they’d come in, buy their quarters, and go straight to the back. I thought, “I turned that guy into a paying customer.”

  I tried to find an amusing take on everything that happened in the store. Women masturbate, but by and large they do it at home. I adore men, I really do, but they are such strange beasts.

  Ken paid me in rolls of quarters and I paid for a car in cash with all that change. I told the salesman to bring a wheelbarrow to the trunk of what I was driving because it was filled with silver. He looked at me and said, “You must be in the dirty book business.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  All in all, this was a happy period in my life. Ken told me he was going to take me on some of his buying trips. We’d start in Baltimore, where I’d never been before. I’d hardly ever been out of the state of Virginia, so it sounded like Paris to me. I was excited about the travel, but also because I was getting established at a job. Maybe it didn’t sound like much of a career to most people, but to me, it felt like I was going places. At least I wasn’t the guy with the cummy mop.

  At my mother’s house in St. Petersburg, FL, 1973.

  At Virginia Beach in 1974.

  With the first boy who ever kissed me, Larry Webb.

  Mike Ackers, a boy I dated one summer.

  With my Cousin Pop.

  12. Ken

  Ken looked like Elvis Presley. Especially his hair. And he had the attitude that he was a real cool cat to go with it. With stores in Newport News, Norfolk, Petersburg, and pretty much wherever there were Army bases or naval bases, I thought he was rich. Although he spent his money pretty well, anybody who made more than $10,000 a year seemed rich to me.

  As time went on, I became very attracted to him. Maybe it was because he was my boss, an authority figure, combined with all the other things he seemed to have going for him. I was so excited to go with him to Baltimore. I had never seen a distributorship for adult material before. It was a gigantic warehouse — just enormous. They had 8mm movies, magazines, bondage material, all kinds of rubber goods; anything that you could possibly think of in the adult line. I was overwhelmed there was actually that much stuff available. That’s when it hit me just how big this industry was.

  We ordered what we needed and I thought to myself, “Maybe I should be hooking up with this guy, because there’s a lot of money in this.” I wasn’t a goldigger, but the idea of being with a man who could actually take me out to a nice dinner once in a while seemed like a fairy tale to me.

  Ken was very nice to me. He treated me well and spoke to me as an equal. Back in those days, women weren’t always treated with dignity. Ken spoke to me in a more respectful manner than most men had in the past, especially employers. He was also a lot more sophisticated than Frank. He didn’t work for some big company. He had his own businesses and did as he pleased.

  He had a home in Baltimore, but reserved a hotel room for us. I was so excited by everything I didn’t really think about the sleeping arrangements. He said we weren’t going to be in town long, so why get two rooms? God, I was so naïve.

  It was great being in a hotel — it was my very first time! Ken told me to get dressed, as we’d be going out to dinner after he ran a few errands. I was thrilled to death. It was like being a kid in a candy store.

  We went out for a nice dinner and he didn’t really drink. Ken was pretty straight-laced as far as drinking or doing drugs. He drove a red and white Cadillac with white leather interior, which also impressed me. You had to be rich to have a Cadillac, I thought. He always had Elvis’s music playing as we drove.

  I thought he dressed really sharp with the big collars on the shirts, and white belt and white Bailey shoes. Ken also always wore a Pulsar watch. It was digital, which I’d never seen before. And there was a lot of polyester. A whole lot of polyester. You have to understand, though — polyester was the poor man’s silk and satin. Roughnecks didn’t wear it, only “rich” guys like Ken. As tacky as it all seems today, in that place and time, this guy seemed like a movie star.

  We went to dinner and had a good time. He loved live music, which was really cool to me. There was a lounge next door where we went dancing for a while before heading back to the hotel.

  As we approached the hotel, it was kind of weird because I was working with him and it suddenly hit me that we were sharing the room and what his intentions were. It was okay, though, because I was into him. I appreciated how he had treated me up to this point. He didn’t make it seem like I owed him a lay or anything like that. He wasn’t all hands and there were no threats of losing my job if I didn’t put out. I figured what the heck; I hadn’t slept with anyone since Frank. I didn’t see any downside to it. I figured, “I’m sleeping with the boss. Now I’ll be treated even better.”

  The sex was good, but I don’t remember having romantic thoughts like, “Where is this going to lead?” I wasn’t in love with the guy, but I liked him well enough and he turned me on. I figured I was free, single, and on my own. I didn’t have to feel bad about it.

  We got up the next morning and I didn’t feel any different. I had a good time and was treated like a lady. My impression was we would probably do it again and it might lead to something or it might not. But I wasn’t really looking for a committed relationship with anyone. It was just nice knowing I could do what I wanted.

  We got back to the store, I worked my shift, and when it was over I went home. When I went into work the next day, he asked me what I thought about Baltimore and the warehouse and I said, “Look, I had a really nice time. It was an interesting scene.”

  “Maybe when I go back, you can go with me,” he said, simply enough.

  “That would be nice.”

  “Meanwhile, I want to teach you a few things about the store so if I go somewhere, you can run things.”

  He showed me how to price the merchandise, where the new items went, and how to rotate the old and new stuff around the store. He was very good at placing things in the right area to get the best sales. Another responsibility was taking the money out of the machines, because each one had its own individual lock. You’d know which movie was doing the best and those would stay up longer.

  I was left in charge and it felt wonderful. Somebody finally thought I was capable enough to handle something on my own. And I did a good job.

  When Ken left my store, I never asked him where he went. I still thought of him as a boss as opposed to a boyfriend. I’d go out with him occasionally. It was very comfortable. We didn’t see each other on any set schedule. When he was in town, I’d go out with him if he asked me. And if he didn’t ask, I wasn’t hurt.

  When he got back from his trips, it was payday and I got my check in an envelope. The first one even had a bonus. I said, “What’s this for?” For a second I was worried — like it was one of those tips I was offered at the massage parlor and he was paying me extra to sleep with me.

  He said, “You took on more responsibility, so you get more money.”

  Relieved, I thought, “Could this get any better?”

  13. Pin-Up Girl

  I don’t think I was ever in love with Ken, but we started going out more often. He needed a place to crash near the store I worked; I had a place, so we both figured it would be cheaper if he moved in and we shared the rent. He said it wouldn’t be like roommates, but rather boyfriend and girlfriend. I said, “I’m not sure how well that would go.” I hadn’t lived with anyone but Frank, and that was only after we were married. Other than that, I never even spent the night with a man, let alone shared a drawer or a closet with one.

  When he told me he wouldn’t be around much because of his other stores, I figured, “What the hell? Why not? I could save more money.” But something inside me said this wasn’t a great setup.

  At first everything was pretty good. After a short time we moved out of my little place in the country a
nd into a nice house in Newport News, but it was kind of unsettling because I didn’t know anyone there. When Ken left for his trips, it was weird. I don’t get lonely easy. I’ve been a loner most of my life. But I get a little scared at night, afraid something bad might happen, like someone breaking into the house.

  I worked in a different store he owned in Newport News. The other store was by an Army base, but this one was by a naval dry dock. The Navy guys didn’t have a whole lot to do since their ships were there to be repaired. They’d come to the store in droves.

  The funniest time was when a ship came in from Indonesia. All the sailors were Indonesian and they couldn’t find anything to do in town. Right down from the adult store was a game room that Ken owned. The guys were always hanging out there, but they complained there were no ping pong tables, only pool tables. So we put in ping pong tables and they loved it. I learned to play, too. What more could a shipload of Indonesians like better than a big-titted blonde to play ping pong with? They would come in to see me, so I was reassigned to the game room. They’d spend more money that way. Besides, I thought it was a lot more fun.

  I started organizing ping pong tournaments to keep them in the building. They were very competitive, but the guys who came in to shoot pool got pissed because they didn’t have tournaments. So we started one for them, too. It was an awful lot of fun, much better than getting flashed by old pervs or stopping guys from jerking off in the aisles.

  There was a transient hotel above the bookstore and an old man lived there. Everyone on the street called him Pops. Pops would clean up the peep show booths for me. I sure as hell wasn’t going back there to clean that stuff up! Technically, he was a street person who made enough money for alcohol and a room by mopping up the booths. He smoked cigarettes and his mouth was kind of sunken in. He was never completely clean-shaven. He looked a little like Popeye and he got drunk and stayed drunk. But never so drunk he couldn’t mop the booths. He needed the wherewithal to do the job or he wouldn’t have enough money to buy his next bottle. He was a nice old man, wasn’t lazy, but made just enough for booze, cigarettes, and a meal or two a day. In his own way, he got exactly what he wanted out of life.