Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn

by Seka

  Seka and I go way back. Long before I knew her as a close friend, I knew her from the very first porn tape I ever bought, back when Betamax video machines first came out (God, I’m so old. But there was a time when Betamax was the new Blu-Ray). The only erotica I’d seen up to that point was in some dimly lit, sticky little booth near Times Square, furiously feeding my hard-earned newspaper route quarters into a battered slot, which sounds like a perfect metaphor for the entire porn industry. But buying the tape meant I could now be home in my bed with not just Seka but dozens of new girlfriends. But Seka was the first. A boy’s first porno is right up there with losing his cherry — it’s something you never forget.

  And I’ve never forgotten meeting Seka for the first time. In my early standup days I had a joke about my new “Seka (not Seiko) watch — and you should see her at a quarter to three!” (It’s all in the telling. Believe me, LIVE that joke used to kill.) I’m working a club in San Francisco and my friend, Paul Rosenberg, shows up with a hot blonde on his arm. And she looks like Seka. And I’d comp him thinking it just might be Seka. I’d play SF every few months and Paul would always have a new hot blonde and he’d always get comped ’cause he’d always say he was there with Seka. It became a running gag between us because except for that first one, NONE of them actually looked like Seka, although they were always smokin’! Anyway, one overbooked Saturday night at a tiny, misshapen club (The Gollum of nightclubs) the guy at the door comes into my dressing room to tell me, “They don’t have tickets but Paul Rosenberg is here with Seka.” This is a sold-out show, he hadn’t called first, and now he wants a freebie and a table near the stage. The owner was already worried about a visit from the fire marshal so I told the doorman to tell Paul I couldn’t get him in. He’s back a few minutes later with, “Your friend doesn’t think you understand. He’s with Seka.” Now I was pissed. For months Paul had been getting in free; tonight I just couldn’t do it so I go through the crowd as they were entering to tell Rosenberg to stop fucking showing up at the last minute expecting to get in. And he’s there at the front door — WITH SEKA! In the flesh! That motherfucker!!

  I can still hear Seka’s first words to me as I escorted them into the club like visiting royalty: “It doesn’t look like there’s anywhere for me to sit.” (A great straight line if I ever heard one but I didn’t take the bait but please, insert your own joke, and just a joke, here.) Turns out there were two seats up front being held for friends who never showed (and if they did it didn’t matter cause neither of them was Seka!) so we were good to go. The goddess who’d only existed on Betamax was now at my show, laughing and loving it. Showbiz heaven for me is not on a cloud with Elvis and Bogie and Sinatra. Seka in the front row enjoying my set like she was family; that’s my showbiz heaven. She gave me her number after the show and told me to call whenever I played Chicago. And I did.

  I played Chicago at least once a year and I’d always call Seka (not the 900 number!) and she’d come to my show and we’d have drinks after. I always wanted to go see any comic friend of mine who might’ve been in town doing a late show, show up at the door, and have the doorman relay the message, “Bobby Slayton’s outside. And he’s with Seka.” But no such luck.

  One night after a show Seka mentions that an old friend is playing a great after-hours blues club. It was already late and the small club — not much bigger than that Times Square photo booth where I’d first met the virtual Seka — was packed.

  There was a table upfront waiting for us. I assumed they always put the only white people in the place there but Seka assured me it was because of her clout. The music was awesome and Seka was nudging me to stick my head under the table (Get your minds outta the gutter!) and do a blast of coke off her fingernail. Now it might’ve been a blues club and I might’ve been a stand-up comic BUT THAT WAS FUCKING ROCK AND ROLL!!!

  When I told my wife about it (AND I TOLD EVERYBODY!) she didn’t quite share my enthusiasm. She somehow didn’t care that I’d been hanging out late, late, late at night doing blow and drinking with the country’s most famous porn star. Funny thing, when they finally met my wife embraced Seka like they were old friends. The feminists are right: sisterhood is powerful. Of course the cartoon bubble over my head had the one word “THREESOME” in bold caps, but that’s not my wife’s thing and the pressure on me to perform, and I mean really perform, would’ve been too great… but a boy can dream, can’t he? (Although to be honest, my wife would not have been in that dream. Or that threesome. Debbie Harry maybe. Seka, Debbie and me. Now that’s a dream.)

  And a dream is not what Seka’s life has been. Which is why her book should be required reading for anyone who thinks that broken relationships, a crappy childhood, and dirty business dealings are things that happen to other people. Because Seka endured all of those things and more and came out the other side stronger and more committed to life than ever. She continues to look forward and not backward, and I can honestly say I learned about life from Seka in three different media: on Betamax, in real life and now, especially, in the pages of her true-life story.

  One last thing: This book is so real and honest it makes sense for me to call her by her real name, Dottie. But I can’t. She was my first. She’ll always be Seka.

  BOBBY SLAYTON, comedian/actor.

  About the Authors

  SEKA is an Adult Video News (AVN) Hall of Fame performer and former talk show host on Chicago’s The Loop 98.9 FM. She has appeared on Saturday Night Live, Larry King Live, The Oprah Winfrey Show, Howard Stern, The Today Show, Sally Jesse Raphael, Thicke of the Night, Montel Williams, and Donahue. She appeared on stage in the play Vampire Lesbians of Sodom. She has been profiled or interviewed by numerous magazines and newspapers, including Playboy, Esquire, Vanity Fair, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today and The Village Voice. She also wrote a column exclusively for Club Magazine, a job she continued for almost ten years.

  Seka supports such charities as battered women’s shelters, the Make-A-Wish Foundation, and Rainbow House. Seka is an avid Chicago Cubs fan, amateur photographer, gourmet chef, art collector, pet lover, and webmistress. She describes herself as a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.

  KERRY ZUKUS’S debut novel, The Fourth House (Madison Park Press), was a Featured Selection of the Book of the Month Club, the Doubleday Book Club, and The Literary Guild, as well as a finalist for the James Jones First Novel Fellowship. An alumnus of the Berklee College of Music in Boston, he has ghostwritten or collaboratively written forty-three books and counting. Born amidst the coal mines of eastern Pennsylvania, today he lives at the wonderful Jersey shore.