by Oriana Small
“You were so great, baby! That was fucking hot and you were so sexy. You looked so innocent and sweet while they DP’d you. I want to do ass-to-mouth with you, too. You have to do it with me now. Did you see me hold the camera? I should start shooting, directing. Do you think they’ll use me some time? They’d be stupid not to hire you again. You have to tell them I have to be in it, too, okay?” Tyler was totally turned on by watching me get completely dominated by these two huge men. He still had a boner in his jeans that he couldn’t stop rubbing as he steered us back up the winding road on our way home. Tyler didn’t want me to cheat on him, but he encouraged me to slut it up for porn.
I was beat. Literally beat. My holes took a lot of pounding. It was as if the space between my twat and my ass was a thin thread holding on for dear life. I was hungry and exhausted. I didn’t even want any more coke. Since it was a long drive back to Hollywood, I did a few big bumps anyway.
Chapter Six
Jolly Roger
IT was cold and foggy like it always is in West Los Angeles in the morning. My call time was nine thirty, and I was going to be on time because Tyler wasn’t coming with me. He actually wasn’t allowed to come to this shoot. The director, Spike, specifically said, “No boyfriends.”
Though it wasn’t the first time I was to go alone to a porno shoot, Tyler threw an absolute fit. Again, it was for an Anabolic director. He so badly wanted to come and meet Spike. Maybe this director would give him a chance to be in a scene with me? Not today. Tyler wanted me to cancel. I refused. Tyler started packing up a bag to leave me after he yelled about how I didn’t love him anymore. It was five in the morning, and we were still up doing coke. I cried, “Tyler, please don’t go! I love you! I’m sorry,” same as always, lying sobbing on the floor of our tiny apartment. Half-naked, he continued to throw some of his clothes into a backpack. His face was a blood-shot mess of tears and runny coke nose.
“No, Ori! I am leaving you! You don’t fucking love me at all. Go to your scene and have a great time fucking without me!” He was so frantic as he screamed that he couldn’t even tie his shoes. He wasn’t upset that I was off to fuck another man on film, but only that he wasn’t going to be part of it. Tyler slung the backpack over one shoulder, opened the door, and left, slamming it so hard the entire building shook. He left without any money and no car keys. When he returned, he told me he just walked to the corner of Santa Monica, and he realized how stupid this was. He probably looked like one of the many hitchhiking male prostitutes out trolling the same corner. After a few more hours of rolling around, crying on the carpet, we made up. Tyler gave me the blessing to go to work.
We fought all the time. Tyler’s feelings bruised easily, especially when we’d been up all night. I hated wasting the cocaine buzz on arguing. Often, I would try to go silent and cold when he got upset. It never worked. It made Tyler even more insane. The only thing to do was scream and cry with him, often over things we would not even remember the next day. It didn’t matter so much that I hadn’t slept all night and was still super high on coke. The important thing was that my relationship was still intact. Tyler still loved me, so everything else would be fine. I got in the car and headed out to shoot some more porno.
Heading west on Washington Boulevard, I passed the address. It just didn’t seem right. My expectations of where we would shoot the scene were not terribly high, but I didn’t think I would be going to some sketchy crack den with hourly rates. I made a U-turn and pulled into the parking lot of the Jolly Roger Motel. Sitting in my car, I fumbled for my cell phone. “Um. Hi. This is Ashley. I think I’m here. Can you come find me?”
“Oh, yeah. I see you. I’m in room 213, upstairs. Meet me in the lobby, down in front.”
Spike sounded a lot mellower than Brett. Hopefully he wasn’t as grumpy and impatient. I grabbed my one small duffle bag containing all of my wardrobe selections. I traveled light in an effort to be as inconspicuous as possible. A lot of porno girls drag gigantic suitcases full of bikinis, heels, and other gear with them to scenes. I couldn’t bring myself to do that. A lesser parcel made me feel like less of a whore. I didn’t like to parade around in public. When I was among the general population, I didn’t want anyone to know what I did for a living, as if my porno life was still secret.
Spike was a pleasant guy. He was probably in his late thirties, and he had the look of a heavy drinker. His skin was tanned and weathered, and his eyes were glassy blue—an ex-surfer type. He seemed sluggishly tired but prepared. He emanated such a lack of enthusiasm that I suspected the scene would be with some other guy—that Spike would just be filming it, the camera guy. When we got into the room he started checking the camera and labeling the tape. I showed him the clothes I brought, which were all cute, normal, young-looking girlish outfits. He chose a skirt and light blue crocheted top. Funny, I thought: I technically still shared that top with my cousin. Her sister gave it to us after she went to Bali. If only they knew what was about to become of it.
I excused myself to the bathroom to prepare. I had to do an enema and keep doing coke. Luckily, I had almost an entire gram with me. I needed it to stay alert and have energy for the scene. When I emerged about fifteen minutes later, it was still only Spike and me in the room. He shot a roll of photos of me alone on the bed being sexy. I’d spent more time applying coke to my face than makeup, but that was okay. I looked fresh without makeup. Young and innocent.
“Um, Spike, when is the guy supposed to get here?” I finally asked.
“It’s with me. This is a POV. I have a POV series. That’s okay, right?”
I was relieved. I didn’t have to ask what the initials stood for. I figured out that it meant point of view. Spike would be holding the camera and fucking me at the same time. I didn’t have a problem with that. I was actually quite curious how he was going to manage both tasks. This would be interesting. One of his hands would be tied. Maybe I would even have control.
Spike courteously showed me his HIV test, not making me ask for it, which was still awkward for me to do. I didn’t ask any more questions. This director had my trust now, he seemed like he’d done this a hundred times. I didn’t come to have orgasms. I was there to fulfill my strange desire to be videotaped having crude sex with a stranger and then go home with a thousand dollars.
“So, since this is POV, I want you to look directly into the camera. Talk to me through the lens. Be vocal and say stuff to it, like you’re talking to the guys watching this at home. They should feel like they’re the ones here fucking you.” Spike directed me well. Basically, he was just the prop and it was my show. I could do that. He got naked and we started with the obligatory blowjob.
Getting naked was always the uneasy part of having sex with strangers when I did it outside of porn—the point when I thought the guy could be having second thoughts or might be scrutinizing my body. Regret might sink in. Porn wipes away any such fears and criticisms. It’s a sure thing that we both wanted it—especially if we wanted to make money. Stripping down nude was just preliminary to the course work. The pressure was off as soon as the clothes were.
I looked up at the lens as I was down on my knees sucking Spike’s cock. He said few words. It was like there wasn’t a man there at all. Just a camera with a dick. It’s always easier looking up at a camera than it is into someone’s eyes. Spike’s body was tan all over, and he had muscles underneath his slouchy posture. We were alone in a skanky motel shooting a scene for a porn movie. It was an anal porn movie. Spike was a stranger, but I felt safe. I was turned on by the taboo of it all. It reminded me of when I would have one-night stands with strange, older men when I was a teenager. I was no stranger to sex with strangers. Maybe I would have been doing this even if there weren’t a camera and a bag of coke in the room and a check waiting for me at the end.
I didn’t care about the world outside of this Jolly Roger Motel room. Spike held the camera very steadily even as I got on top of him, forward and reversed, and bounced on his cock. I leaned
back on top of him with his dick in my ass, and I stared into the camera. It was pointed at the penetration. Every so often, I would take a glance at the screen. I loved it. I truly got off on this experience. Not in an orgasmic way. It was more in my head than my body. I didn’t know this guy at all. So much business in porn relies on trusting the word and arrangements of others. We just met, but I wasn’t just fucking Spike. I was fucking Spike and the camera.
We fucked until Spike got about forty minutes of usable footage. His cock wasn’t a monster like Marcus’s or Brett’s. I took it in my ass no problem. My asshole was getting used to the big dicks now. Brett was right about that, I had to adapt to the larger-sized penises. I was proud to be able to take them, with a smile. As soon as the last cum drop had drizzled into my mouth, Spike pressed the pause button on the video camera. He let out a gasp. He did a beautiful job of keeping quiet during the entire scene. Now his soul could be allowed into the room. He looked refreshed and alive. He was hardly the same person that first greeted me in the lobby.
“Wow, Ashley, you’re great! That was a good scene.” He was happy with me, he liked me. That meant everything. I picked up the strewn articles of clothing from around the bed. I found my panties, skirt, and I wiped my face off with that crocheted top from Bali. While Spike took a two-minute shower, I shoveled in as much coke as my nose could hold. He got out and dried off before writing my check. We set a date to shoot another scene. Now that I had passed the tryout, I could be booked for a DP.
As I drove home, down Lincoln to Venice Boulevard, I couldn’t help but feel good about myself. Leaving a good sex scene with all that money gave me a feeling of accomplishment. I was young and hadn’t done much in my twenty years on this planet. When porno directors praised me and paid me, it was powerful.
There was a Bank of America inside of a Von’s on Lincoln. I needed to deposit my check. I didn’t like to have the checks in my possession for very long. I was on drugs all the time and really bad at misplacing important papers. I always used the automatic teller machines to make the deposits. I hated seeing the bank tellers reading who the check was written from, looking at me weird with their suspicious eyes. I felt like a total whore in the bank, depositing all of my dirty money. I didn’t need some snarky bank clerk being inquisitive about my big check from Spike Johnson Productions.
As I was slipping the envelope into the ATM machine, I reached up to my face to brush some hair off my forehead, when I felt something stuck there. It was some crusty stuff in a trail down my cheek, chin, and neck. It was dried cum, and it was all over my face and a little on my chest. I looked around to see if anybody was watching while I finished my transaction.
A couple of soccer moms passed by as I bolted from the store. I pressed the automatic unlock button to my car and dove in headfirst. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw where I had completely missed wiping off the load. I scraped some off with my fingernails. Then I stopped. I was laughing so hard. What kind of filthy sex-worker shit was this? Just a new occupational hazard, like bruises on the knees. The feeling of disgust only lasted a second. I was secretly proud of myself.
Chapter Seven
Double Anal
A RARE occasion: I showed up sober to my next shoot with Spike. There wasn’t a huge fight with Tyler beforehand to send me off, either. I was happy to shoot with Spike again. I respected him after shooting the POV. He didn’t try to come on to me outside of our professional sex scene. I thought we were on the same page when it came to making porno. It was good and “real” when the camera was rolling, but we didn’t need to pretend that there was anything else going on afterward. Spike didn’t need any validation besides what he got from the movie, and certainly neither did I. My plate was full of Tyler when I got done with my scenes.
The location for our next scene was in Venice, at the old Anabolic office, basically an empty warehouse with some carpeted offices upstairs. It really didn’t matter what the rooms looked like. We didn’t need any furniture or civilized surroundings. Bare essential Gonzo hardcore fucking and no story was definitely my specialty. Just a camera in my face and on the areas being penetrated for all of you wonderful watchers at home.
This time, Spike was only directing and holding the camera. He would not be fucking me. I was all set up to get DP’d by two other performers. Their names were Jack and Mick. Both of them were white, normal dudes. Mick was tall and had a huge, thick, nine-inch cock. Jack’s was a lot smaller than what I was used to. They were both totally pleasant to be around because of their nice blue eyes. Since I was already very comfortable around Spike, I was eager to have him tell me what to do. There was a sense of camaraderie now that we had fucked. It was like I was “in.”
It seemed to me that I was now a pro at doing DPs. My asshole had been trained to take more and bigger cocks than when I had first started doing them for porn. Mick and Jack were funny and nice to me. I went back and forth from cock to cock, blowing and drooling all over them for the double blowjob. Having two dicks to suck was also very normal for me. Tyler and Colby had me well versed in double cock-sucking from our private late-night group sex sessions.
Mick and Jack took turns fucking my ass. Each of them slammed it in hard and it was far from easy. I was ready for it though, and willing. By now, I knew what to expect from porn fucking. It was going to be hard because it had to be, or else it wouldn’t be worth watching. The kind of porn I wanted to be in was the kind that was rough and insane, where even a smaller dick like Jack’s could do some damage. If either of these guys had started kissing me, or gently caressing my body, I would have felt weird. I didn’t want to be physically comforted by these strangers. My intention was to make a porno, not to make love.
Tyler and I agreed that it didn’t look good when a girl got fucked slowly. It was a bore. It looked dead. If people were going to be watching, I should be getting slammed. Give the camera and the voyeurs the maximum heat. My mascara should be running down my cheeks, my eyes watering during a blowjob, a good gagging. Always, I had to make sure and swallow, too. Or else, what’s the point? Happily, I bounced along from cock to cock. My entire body was dribbled like a basketball between both guys during the DP positions. Mick and Jack were really into me, and I liked that. I was having so much fun that when we took a small break for some water, Spike pressed the pause button on the camera and asked, “So, Ashley, do you want to try double anal?”
“Sure,” I answered without reservation. “I could try it. If you think we can do it, then, okay. I’ve never done it on camera. But I’ve done it at home.” I shrugged and took a sip from my water bottle.
I could trust these guys. I’d only just met them, but they were decent enough. I wanted to do a memorable scene for Spike again. I wanted everyone to think I was a great performer and that I could rise to any sort of challenge. There was so much I had to prove to myself, too. If I did things like double penetration and double anal, could it mean that I belonged in porn and didn’t have to feel guilty for doing it anymore?
I sat on Mick’s dick while he was lying on the floor. Jack faced us both and crouched on one knee. He got between my legs, missionary style, but instead of putting it in my twat, he crammed it into my asshole. Both cocks were now side by side, rubbing and pulsing in and out of my ass and against each other. My hands were clenched into fists as I endured the pain. All the lube in the world couldn’t make it easy, but it made it easier. Thank god for lube. It was a happy agony. I was yelling out “Aaahh!” as I held my legs back. That hole was so stuffed. It felt like it was going to breach like a dam on the brink. We tried another position of double anal after, my body facing the other direction. The cocks went in my butt again with me in doggy. Have you ever seen stars? I saw them, with a smile. After that, my ass was ruptured. The levee broke. I could take no more cock. It was time for the pop shots.
Spike was really excited. “All right! That was great! I’ll pay you extra for this, too.” He was smiling as he wiped his lens.
The
scene was phenomenal. I wasn’t just a trooper—that wasn’t enough to describe me. I was a captain! An admiral! A decorated soldier of sex hell-bent for glory! Jolly Roger Spike paid me fifteen hundred dollars for doing double anal. I was showered with praise and compliments. Compliments were a temporary and empty sort of love I began to fiend for to keep me from feeling used. Everyone agreed that I was going to do very well in this business.
Chapter Eight
Tyler’s Blue Pill and
Ashley’s Little Brown Predicament
WORLD Modeling booked Tyler and me to shoot together for a scene in Barely Legal. This time we were both getting paid to fuck. Tyler was to get five hundred, and I would get a thousand, my going rate for anal. This was exciting. Not only would we get to fuck each other we were doing it for Hustler, about as close to mainstream as hardcore porn gets. Tyler already had a Hustler tee shirt. He loved to advertise that we did porn with what was written on his clothes. His wardrobe included an array of Hustler and Anabolic wear.
The producer, Cosmo, and his wife were kind to us. They made us feel like we were both very cute and special creatures. They went on about how groundbreaking the Barely Legal series was. Porno producers love to brag about their work. Tyler and I were to feature in number twenty-seven. At first I didn’t know how to feel about being cast for all of these “young girl” roles. I couldn’t understand why it was so sexy to be a “young girl”—maybe because I still was one. The term Barely Legal didn’t seem like a compliment back then. The women I thought of as sexy were adults, not teens. I was greasy-faced and an emotional wreck as a teen. In many ways, the teen years were gross. I wanted to be a hot, grown woman. Tyler assured me it was far better to be thought of as a “young girl.” When I asked why, he replied with something about pigtails being used as handlebars for sucking dick. Tyler drove us in my car to the location. I usually insisted on driving us to the shoots. Tyler was an absentminded driver and a daydreamer. I would catch him staring at his shoe instead of watching the road. He would always be singing loudly along to the radio and miss freeway exits or forget to turn the right way. Being his passenger was an infuriating experience for the control freak and coked-out, paranoid nag in me.