Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn

by Seka

  Juliet Anderson was known as Aunt Peg. I never knew her age, but she was older than the rest of us. She was probably the original “MILF.” I didn’t know her off the set, so I can’t say I had any real feelings towards her. Nor can I put my finger on just what made her tick, but it did seem like she was pretty much willing to do anything they asked her to do. And she was certainly fun to work with. I was sorry to hear she suddenly passed away in 2010.

  I also liked Ginger Lynn a lot. She was cute, tiny, perky, and bubbly. She had this kind of sweetness and innocence to her. She was just a lot of fun. I never did movies with her, but we did Club Magazine shoots together.

  I worked with Amber Lynn at Club as well. She was the polar opposite of Ginger. She was tall and statuesque with this animal magnetism about her. It was like she was more grown up than Ginger.

  As far as “the boys,” I did a lot of work with John Holmes. I heard many years later, in a book written about the terrible murders he’d somehow been involved with, he told everyone I was his favorite co-star. That’s flattering.

  Another frequent co-star was Paul Thomas, who was almost too pretty to be a man. He had done some legitimate acting, was always a gentleman, and kind of quiet. The first time I worked with him we were in a car. I remember feeling he could have been a descendant of a chinchilla because he had hair in places that people don’t have hair. It was soft like fur. He had beautiful, sparkling blue eyes and wavy blonde hair — just a pretty boy. And he was very nice and sweet. It didn’t feel like work when I did movies with him.

  Jamie Gillis was also an absolute pleasure to do movies with. He also had a legit acting background, having done New York theatre. You never knew what Jamie was going to do, which made it interesting. He was dark, swarthy, and mysterious. He certainly had a mystique about him. Sometimes you’d glance at him and he looked like Satan himself. Other times he’d look angelic. One night I walked into the Show World Theatre in Times Square. There was a circle of mattresses lying around and when I walked in he was doing a live sex show there. So I did a show with him because it was Jamie and I felt like doing it. There we were with tons of guys in the peep booths watching us as we went at it. You could hear the quarter machines going crazy, because you had to keep pumping them in or it would close down on the viewer. It was fun and a great turn-on. From time to time I had sexual thoughts about Jamie because he’s dead sexy. When we did have the opportunity to see each other or speak to each other after not being in touch for a while, it was an absolute delight. When I heard of Jamie’s passing it was a sad, sad day. It was like losing a family member. I always adored Jamie and always will. He lives on in my heart.

  Mike Ranger was my housemate at one time. He rented a room from me since I gave him cheap rent. We were always platonic off screen. He was like the All-American guy. Sandy brown hair, blue eyes, but he had one hell of a dick on him. He was a really nice guy, fun to work with, and could cum on cue. He was always prepared to do his lines, his penis came up when he wanted it to, and he was always sweet to the girls. I don’t know where he is today; he totally fell off the grid.

  Richard Pacheco had the All-American boy look as well. When he’d start to do a sex scene, Richard would have a difficult time if he didn’t like the person or if there was a crowd of people on set making a lot of noise. He also had the tendency to ad-lib and throw these big long intellectual words into the scene and the director would stop him. “What are you talking about? It’s porn. The people won’t know what you’re saying.” They’d make him dumb down the dialogue. He was a very pleasant guy. It was always fun to have sex with him because invariably in the middle of a scene he’d make you laugh. Today he is very in tune with his family and lives in Berkeley, California.

  John Seeman was bald with a big bushy moustache. He was a nice guy, but looked like an accountant. I have no idea how he got into the business. Working with him was interesting because I didn’t find him sexually attractive. But I didn’t mind him either, because he was just so pleasant. He’s still in San Francisco, but I don’t know what he is doing.

  John Leslie became a director and his films reflect the John I knew back then. He was kind of violent towards the women. Very aggressive. And that’s why I didn’t like to work with him. He recently passed away.

  Herschel Savage is tall, dark, handsome, sweet, and mischievously sexy. I never really hung out with him much but really like him. One thing for sure was you never had to worry about Herschel being able to perform.

  Randy West was the All-American, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy next door — make that MAN next door, for Randy was all man, all the time. Personally, I was never really attracted to blond guys, but there was just something that drew me to him. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it because of the blond hair, but Randy West is even better looking today than he was in the seventies or eighties. Today, I would definitely like to put my finger on it.

  Bobby Astyr was married to Samantha Fox. He was a little, tiny guy with curly hair. He was a nice Jewish boy from New York, as were so many of the guys from my era. What was it with Jewish guys and porn? He came across as a slapstick comedian. Even though he did the sex scenes, he was more of a character actor. He looked better with his clothes on. I’ve always liked comedians, but there was something kind of handsome about him because I just loved his personality and comedic style. He didn’t blow my skirt up sexually, but he was so much fun to be around. He, too, passed away far too young, from lung cancer.

  Richard Bolla wasn’t a bad person, but there was nothing exciting about him as far as appearance or sexuality. He didn’t do anything bad to me; he just plain didn’t do anything for me, period.

  Ron Jeremy is a really, really nice guy. He comes from a good family, an intelligent family. I admire him for the sheer fact he’s remained this long in the business and stayed healthy. He’s one of the true classic woodsmen left. Woodsmen are the actors who don’t need Viagra to get or stay hard. Ronnie’s been called the Clown Prince of Porn, but the Ronnie I know is a very sensitive guy. Back in the day, Ronnie had that whole Saturday Night Fever/John Travolta thing going on. He was sexy. But he let it go and now, I believe, he covers over a lot of his insecurity with humor, God bless him. Ronnie just needs to change his clothes once in a while. He wears the same pair of gym pants and black T-shirt all the time. I love Ron to death, but damn Ronnie, change your clothes!

  I have a lot of respect and admiration for these people because they were in the industry at a time when it wasn’t easy. It was a time when you had to hide what you were doing. It was taboo and not as readily accepted as today. You couldn’t reveal where you were working. Cops, vice squads, and overzealous DAs loved to stir things up by busting in on us like they were breaking up a terrorist ring or something. One thing that has proven itself over time is once you’ve been in this business, it’s hard to find a nineto-five. It’s okay for the vanilla world to watch, but they don’t want you to be in their world.

  A lot of the folks I mention have families and children. I know Veronica Hart does. Gloria Leonard has a daughter. John Leslie was married. Howie Gordon (Richard Pacheco) has kids out the yin-yang. Ginger has a child, as does Serena. But at times it’s difficult for a husband because their friends or peers wonder, “How can you marry that person? She’s done porn.” But it doesn’t mean we don’t like to garden, travel, or go out to dinner. It’s not like our whole lives are drenched in sex. It’s quite the opposite, really. The people who watch us are more likely to be the obsessed sex addicts. For most of us, it was simply a paycheck and a place on the outskirts of movie stardom. A lot of us — not me, but others — really wanted to make it in acting but either weren’t good enough or couldn’t catch a break. It’s like the people who spend their careers doing TV commercials — only with orgasms.

  The camaraderie and the relatively small number of us working regularly in the business was also what helped differentiate us. There was a frat house feel to a lot of what we were doing — a private club
only we knew and understood. We could laugh at ourselves; we could console one another if someone was having a rough time for some reason. I hear Broadway is a lot like that, too, much more than Hollywood.

  A lot of that seems to have changed over time, though. Now girls seem to come and go in a year or less. Most don’t stick around long enough to find a following or even get to know many of their contemporaries. When we did full-length features on film in the days before video, we had regular Hollywood-style premieres with red carpets and all. We had fans. Real celebrities — not just from the adult world, but from the mainstream world — would come out to see us. As I said, it was the last gasp of the free love era, and what we did played a role for a lot of people who grew up in the seventies and eighties. We were part of the culture of the era, just like rock and roll and bad hairstyles.

  There was also a sort of theater-like “repertory company” feel to our industry back then. Our movies, even our loops, had plots, thin though they might be. That required casting. For example, you wouldn’t have Juliet Anderson — Aunt Peg — playing the young girl next door. Yet we all worked, so how did they do it?

  A lot of times it was like classic movie casting. They’d have a script (believe it or not) that called for a male lead who was a real son of a bitch. Calling John Leslie! Nearly every film he did, Leslie played a prick — and not the good kind. There was often a lot of improv going on, both from the actors as well as from the director as we began shooting. Some of us were rather limited as actors (me), so we’d change things around a bit so what we were filming was more believable and stayed within our range.

  This provided us all with our own individual personas. People ask, “Are you the same person in real life as you are on screen?” In porn, the answer is more apt to be yes, whether you’re asking me or any of the others from my era. I was the cool, detached, quiet one — the ice queen, the unattainable statuesque blonde — the girl you couldn’t have. Never the innocent, even when I was rather innocent, because when I went on the set I usually put on a “don’t fuck with me” front, which was my way of protecting myself. It all fit who I was at the time, at least to the people in the industry. As I said, I didn’t hang; I didn’t date my co-stars. I showed up on set, ready to work, then left at the end of the day and went to bed — with any luck, not having to put out again. Today, I’m more of a talkative broad, cracking wise and funny.

  Jamie Gillis could play anything. He may have been the best actor of all, which meant he was never out of work. Randy West, though, played Randy West — the John Wayne of erotica. And like John Wayne, he did it so convincingly you’d be crazy to try to make him play the fool or the wimp. Maybe he could, but who would pay to see it? Richard Pacheco was a really, really nice guy, so that’s what he always played on film.

  I feel about the old gang the way most people feel about their high school graduating class. It’s good when we have reunions every now and then. Some I’ve kept up with and some I haven’t. Some I loved and some I didn’t care for. Many have passed on, which is sad and makes the living among us feel all the more mortal. But I suspect as long as a few of us are still breathing, we’ll still get together once in a while and reminisce about the good/bad old days.

  24. Casting Couch Minus One

  There was a big buzz around Hollywood that a major director was going to put adult stars in a new film and there was going to be a casting call. At the time, Bill Margold was booking me and I got a call from him that John Frankenheimer wanted to see me. I was very nervous. I didn’t know what to expect or what he wanted. Why me? There were quite a few good-looking women who had been around longer than I had, and others who were younger and fresher. I guess I was naïve and thought I was special or something.

  Ken and I were given directions to his office. John was a tall, distinguished-looking man with full, wavy hair. He was built nicely and casually dressed with a presence about him. I imagined his Hollywood office would be more elaborate. The furnishings were nice but modest. It wasn’t that large, maybe eleven by sixteen.

  He had his secretary get us something to drink. He started telling us about 52 Pick-Up, which eventually starred Ann-Margret and Roy Scheider, and I was so mesmerized I didn’t hear a word he was saying except for him mentioning a pool scene orgy in which I would be prominently featured.

  “What do you mean, ‘There’s an orgy?’” I asked.

  He hesitatingly answered, “Or you could play the hostess of a swingers’ party.”

  Well, was it an orgy or a swinger’s party? I said, “Excuse me, what are you talking about?”

  That’s when he went in for the kill.

  “You wouldn’t have to do anything. I really just want to take pictures of me fucking you. We could do it right now. I have a camera here.”

  My ever-gallant boyfriend jumped right in and said, “Okay, we’re ready.”

  “Ken, are you out of your mind?” I blurted out.

  I turned back to Frankenheimer. “You want me on your casting couch so I can play a character in a movie having sex, when I already have sex on camera? I’m not doing this. I wouldn’t fuck you even if you paid me. You’re a rude, ignorant man.”

  I got out of my chair and glared at him. He looked pretty pissed off. Ken was still desperately trying to convince me to reconsider as I walked out.

  I was proud of my sticking to my guns. A lot of my peers in the industry thought I was insane not to jump at the opportunity, and virtually all the chicks from the adult industry did end up in the film. He even got Ronnie, Herschel, Randy, and Jamie, although I doubt the boys had to fuck Frankenheimer to get their parts.

  And it did absolutely nothing for any of their careers.

  One of Frankenheimer’s peers at the time was a major studio head known to be a womanizer. All I heard was he had a huge-budget blockbuster — not 52 Pick-Up, but another film — and he wanted to see me. He was going to be in New York and offered to fly us there and put us up at the incredibly ritzy and exclusive Carlyle Hotel.

  We got there and checked in and I was, of course, extremely impressed. I said to myself, “Damn, this little country girl just stepped out of the woods and into high society.” Meanwhile, our famous host was conveniently situated in the suite next to ours and he invited us over.

  I thought, “I hope this isn’t another Frankenheimer moment.” There was so much caviar and lobster and Cristal champagne I couldn’t help but be impressed. I feasted my eyes on chandeliers, antiques, and gorgeous, gorgeous furniture. I just hoped my mouth wasn’t wide open like Ellie Mae’s.

  I was handed a script. It was a period piece set in the thirties, which interested me because I like that time period. But he didn’t ask me to read. Another fellow came in and started to play the piano to give me an idea of the music of that era. I said, “This is cool. I like the music.”

  “We’re all going out to dinner this evening. Would you like to go?” he offered.

  Believe it or not, I wasn’t with Ken this trip, but with my gay makeup man, Fred, because after the Frankenheimer incident I didn’t want to be alone with these “respectable movie” people. Fred, of course, said yes.

  Everybody practically tripped over themselves to get us a table. We were out with a nice enough group of people and it was a mellow evening with good conversation. The mogul asked us to meet him the next morning around 10 a.m. for breakfast. Since it was fairly early, Fred and I decided to hit the town. We went to almost every gay bar in New York, like The Anvil, Hell’s Kitchen, and The Eagle. We danced, we drank, and the boys treated me like a queen. I was a tall, big-titted blonde and back then there weren’t as many gay porn films. They love boobs — I don’t know why, but they love boobs. But nothing sexual happened, obviously. It was just a fun night out in the Big Apple. Back in those days I could roll into bed at 4 a.m. and still look cute in the morning.

  The breakfast itself was uneventful and mundane. It dragged on into the early afternoon and I thought it was going on forever. Nothing had been
said about the part, the pay, the shooting schedule, or anything else. I wasn’t a total idiot. I knew some of this stuff had to be covered, so I was getting kind of leery.

  We broke after lunch and I said, “I’m going to have a little nap.”

  Suddenly he said, “I’d like to have dinner with you alone.”

  Here it comes, I thought. I was scared. Not that he would hurt or rape me, but that I wouldn’t know how to handle the situation with the decorum I thought this person deserved should something happen. Strange as it may sound, I just didn’t want to be rude to him.

  Fred said, “Don’t worry, she’ll be ready.”

  He tried to reassure me it would be okay, but something told me it wouldn’t. I was really nervous.

  There was a knock on the door as Fred was doing my make-up. A gentleman was at the door with a box. Inside was a man’s tailored shirt that had been made for me. It was an absolutely gorgeous shirt with Mr. Mogul’s name on the back and a note that said, “It’s going to be a casual evening. Please wear jeans and this shirt.”

  It fit nicely, but I thought it was really strange. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and when I went to meet him, he couldn’t stop complimenting me on the shirt.

  Odd.

  We went to a really nice steakhouse. There were linen tablecloths and napkins, and the service was quite good, but it wasn’t over the top with guys with white gloves or anything like that. There was a lot of heavy Mahogany wood, which kind of reminded me of those private New York men’s clubs you see in the movies. It was a place for real meat lovers. I was suitably impressed. God knows Ken didn’t take me to places like this. My nerves settled a bit and he informed me he was expecting some guests to join us.