by Oriana Small
The only reason he was driving on this particular morning was because I needed to do more coke in preparation for work. I couldn’t drive and sniff cocaine at the same time. Tyler went slow and careful so I didn’t spill all the drugs. He wanted me to save some for him. He had just taught me how to balance small amounts on the end of a credit card. I quickly moved up to getting huge piles of it up my nose that way. All of my credit cards had cocaine stuck in the numbers. The GapCard was my favorite because it was a slick, translucent white and you couldn’t see how much of the stuff was crusted on it.
There was an actual crew of people hired for this movie, a feature with more production value than we were used to. There were lights set up and an all-day make up person. It seemed so legitimate. There was even food provided. Not that that mattered to me. I was so high that I couldn’t appreciate it. The only makeup applied to my face was lip gloss and mascara, which is all I usually wore anyway. I couldn’t use foundation on my skin because I would get sweaty from doing drugs. Sweat and foundation is the perfect storm for volcanic pimples. Thankfully, my skin had drastically improved from what it was when I was a teenager. Once I turned twenty, nature decided I’d done enough time in bad-skin hell. Now it is lovely almost all the time. I don’t even need foundation.
There was no script, which was normal. Good, because Tyler and I would have made a mockery of it. Both of us could only act one way when we were together, which was goofball stupid. Plus, it felt false to have to act from a script when we knew the only thing that mattered was the fucking. There was a story, however. Fantasy is great if you get to put your own dialogue to it. We were to play a young couple named Trent and Ashley who were being shown a house by a real estate agent. When the agent leaves us in the house alone to decide if we want to make an offer, we have sex in it. Later on, I learned the real reason why some producers feel that pornos need stories to lead into the sex. It protects the movie from looking too much like prostitution or rape. People need a wholesome reason to fuck or else it seems too obscene. Even if the movie is about prostitution or rape, there still needs to be a story.
Aside from all the coke I was on, I was nervous because of Tyler. All I could think about was his cock and that it had to stay hard. If it didn’t, I would be the one to blame. He would tell me that I wasn’t being attentive to his needs and that I cared more about the movie than him. Every time his dick had gone limp in front of other people he would start frowning and holding his breath. He would shake his head in disapproval while he shook his wet ropy noodle of a penis. When it happened, I knew he was resenting me, that it was my fault somehow. Even if the cause was obviously drugs, Tyler expected me to remedy the problem ASAP.
Not a lot of directors like to shoot real couples having sex on film. Couples tend to bring all of their relationship problems into the sex scene and feelings always get hurt. Tyler and I were one of those couples. I preferred to wait until we got in the car to fight, but he liked to slam bathroom doors and pull me aside in front of the other porn people. We would be standing just a couple of feet away from the camera, naked with tears in our eyes, arguing about the amount of love I actually had for him. Every little thing he did at home to irritate me got dragged into the scene. If he smoked in my car or forgot to replace the roll of toilet paper, I would complain about his fingers being too rough in my ass or not let him slap my face during the blowjob.
Our sex life was great at home. We spent every second of the day together. Days and nights were just time slots to fill with different ways to have a good time. All we did was go out to restaurants, shop, go to the movies, drive around, do coke, and hang out with our friends. Porn paid a lot and left us with plenty of free time to just screw around. Sex was habitual once it became a job. We fucked every day. If I was too sore during my off days I would give Tyler blowjobs. I hated having oral performed on myself. I didn’t like being bored, just waiting for my man to come back up so we could get to the penetration. I like to be in action. I was way too impatient to let Tyler go down on me for very long. I prefer to be the giver rather than the receiver.
To my relief, Tyler had a rock-hard and reliable erection throughout the whole Barely Legal shoot. About halfway through, we took a break. I used the opportunity to run for the bathroom and fill my nose with coke. Tyler joined me for a line before we had to get back to the sex. He was excited to show me something.
“Look,” he was holding out a blue pill that was shaped like a football. “Cosmo gave me a Viagra. Should I try it? He says he gives them to new guys when he’s never shot them. Just as insurance to do the scene. I’m going to take it.” He grabbed my water from off the bathroom counter and gulped the pill. He was thrilled. Tyler got off on new drugs.
The last half of the scene was reserved for anal and the cum shot. Anal is the only way that sex really feels like work. It takes such preparation to do it well and keep it clean. Initially, I had no idea what an enema was. I would just starve myself for two days before a scene or when we did anal at home. I learned quickly on that day why enemas are a must-have.
Tyler bent me over on the couch and eased his straight and solid cock into my asshole. Getting fucked in the ass was nothing new, but before porn we never had to change positions or get “long strokes” in there. Doing it for the camera meant a lot more minutes. Having anal sex at home is not the same as performing it in front of other people. You want to be clinically clean when the camera is rolling. Any unsightly poo or blood is absolutely mortifying!
Tyler pulled out his cock after we’d done it long enough in doggy. There was a little piece of poop on the end of his cock. It came from my ass, and everyone saw it. The director noticed and called out in his thick, Scottish accent, “Aye. We’ve got a little poop.” He seemed a little excited by it. I, on the other hand, was horrified! I wanted to die. I walked off set to the bathroom to wipe my ass. There was none on me. The little turd came from deep inside my intestine. The cock must have dredged it out. It had been at least two days since I had eaten a bite of food. This was impossible. My diet had been strictly cocaine and zero-calorie soda.
Nobody else seemed to be affected by any of this. For me, it was the end of the world. Tyler had never even seen me poop at home. Now, in front of ten strangers and my boyfriend, I had a piece of shit come out of my ass. I can’t think of any other situation in which shitting in front of a group of people is part of the norm. Shit is an everyday occurrence in porn. But when it comes out unexpectedly during sex in front of an audience for the first time, it’s the most unwanted thing, ever. It’s so crushing. I think I really finally understood the true and entire meaning of the word humility. No longer did I feel like this little “sex star,” but instead a lowly human being. The fantasy I had built up around what I was doing, and the fictitious person I pretended to be, came to a screeching halt when the poop appeared.
Now, I really love seeing poop. It fascinates me. When it comes out of other girls during their sex scenes, it’s interesting. As long as it’s just a little bit. Something about an unexpected and small amount of feces makes me feel like what I’m watching is real. You can’t fake a turd like you can an orgasm.
I returned to the scene. I told them all I was too sore to do any more anal. They all saw the poop. I knew that. I also knew that they had all probably seen worse. I was being lame, acting like it never happened. Too sore, that was the story and I stuck to it. I apologized for it, and we went on to the pop shot.
After the scene was finished and we had hung around long enough to make new friends, we got in my car to leave. We were fifteen hundred dollars wealthier once again. As I drove the car, I thought, Screw the poo, this porno stuff is so damn easy! It felt pretty good to be doing this full-time. I wanted to get better at it. I needed to practice doing enemas and keep working on getting used to some insanely big cocks in my ass. This could be something I could do really well, I thought. Tyler sat next to me in the passenger side with his shirt off. He went shirtless a lot. He had a good body an
d he knew it. But he looked unusually red. His face was really flushed and his eyes were more spacey than normal. His hands were feeling around on his chest. Alarmed, I asked, “What’s the matter, Tyler? What’s wrong, are you still fucked up?” I wasn’t anymore. I’d finished the coke by the end of the shoot.
“No, I’m not okay. I don’t know. I just feel high, really high. Like I’m on some kind of super speed. My heart is beating so fast and hard. I am so fucked up. I think it was that pill.”
Tyler grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I didn’t know what to do. He was running so hot. I had the air conditioner on, his shirt was off, and he never wore underwear. I panicked. His pants were unbuttoned. “Look,” he managed a crippled laugh and pointed to his cock. He pulled it out of his pants and it was cement hard. It was all red and looking like it was ready to lift off into outer space. He just held his cock out of his jeans all the way down the freeway. It mesmerized him. He was in awe of his penis and all its Viagra glory. His heart palpitations and other symptoms of cardiac arrest persisted but took a back-burner to the miracle between his legs.
“Isn’t that stuff for older people? Like for guys in their thirties? You are only twenty-five! You don’t need to take it.” I had an ex-boyfriend who took Viagra, and he was in his mid-thirties. Little did I know it was actually for guys in their sixties. I didn’t tell Tyler I’d seen the pill used before because it was the guy I’d cheated on him with. “What are you going to do? Why is it still hard? You came over an hour ago.” He didn’t answer. The look on his face told me the entire plan.
As soon as we got back to the apartment, I was on my knees blowing him. He came in my mouth. Then we fucked and I blew him again. The boner lasted all night. It withstood an entire gram of cocaine, too. Tyler was thrilled about being able to keep hard and do coke all night. It was a new discovery, yet another drug Tyler could not get enough of.
Chapter Nine
Ecstacy Dealers?
TAKING ecstasy was one of our favorite ways to party. Tyler and I convinced ourselves that it was helping our relationship. We’d heard somewhere that the history of the ecstasy pill originated with couple’s sex therapy. We said it made us stronger and was something we could share to become more intimate. For whatever bullshit reason, we took that drug regularly. It did make me more open to the double anal and double penetration going on at home, but that isn’t exactly couple’s sex therapy.
Ecstasy made us into emotional idiots. For every night of “ecstasy” there was at least a week of intense depression, but that did not dissuade us. While cocaine made me numb and powerful, ecstasy was a “feel-good” high, all about sharing and equality. I wanted everyone else to feel good on ecstasy, too.
What money we didn’t spend on coke went into the pill fund. Even before the porno started, Tyler and I would foolishly buy “E” pills with what little money we had to spare. I remembered simpler days when Tyler and I were so broke that we lived off of frozen edamame and ice cream. That is when you really feel in love for the first time, when you’re poor. We had nothing but each other for comfort and entertainment. It was a beautiful time.
Now we had all of this money. Overnight, we had instant success in the porno business and could buy as many drugs as we wanted. We were still young and had our looks, too. The party never had to end.
There were many different people who sold us drugs. Tyler always found someone with stuff for sale. He was like a divining rod in a crowd. His inner coke-fiend would gravitate to whoever had anything for sale. This boy had no shame, no bashfulness about asking as many people for drugs as he needed to in public, even in broad daylight. We would be at our favorite bars, like Birds or The Cat & Fiddle, and Tyler would be hitting up random people for coke. I used to be embarrassed when he would walk right up to strangers and ask, “Hey man, do you party?” Time after time, Tyler’s charm prevailed. I had to hand it to him.
One of our dealers was this scrawny dude named Jay-Jay who hung out at Perversion, the Thursday gothic-industrial nights at Club World. This was the first club I ever went to when I turned eighteen. I was there almost every weekend, dancing to eighties music and looking for guys to fuck before Tyler had entered my life.
Jay-Jay never wore a shirt. He didn’t need to. His chest, back and arms were completely littered with tattoos. He always had a backpack. Anyone sporting a backpack at a club sells drugs. You can spot them a mile away. Jay-Jay liked us. We bought pills from him every weekend. We had such a reliable reputation for buying that Jay-Jay would extend us a line of credit when we ran out of cash for the night.
After buying six pills off of Jay-Jay one night and taking them all, Tyler had a plan. “Hey, these pills are really good, these new ones he has now. We should buy what he has left and sell them ourselves. To our own friends.” Tyler’s attempt to be business savvy. We were going to invest our porno money in the ecstasy market.
“I don’t know. What if we get caught?” I had issues with dealing. It crossed a line. Doing them and ruining my own life was one thing. Selling them to ruin other people’s lives was immoral.
“Listen Ori, I know how to do it. I’ve sold drugs lots of times. I sold hash when I lived in Barcelona. When I was in high school, I sold acid to seventh graders,” he proclaimed, as if that made it okay.
“What? You sold drugs to little kids?” I had to chuckle to hide my disgust. “That’s awful.”
“It wasn’t real acid. I just took postage stamps and dipped them in Drano. These dumb kids down the street would buy them for five dollars apiece. They’d take them and always come back for more the next week saying, ‘Whoa, that shit was so good. We were wasted, do you have any more?’ So I’d go, ‘Let me go see.’ And I’d just go dip some more stamps.”
I remembered buying a twenty-dollar bag of oregano when I was thirteen. “No Tyler, it would be weird to take money from our friends. I’d rather just give them away.”
“Ori, it’s easy. It’s not brain surgery. Lots of our friends will buy them if we just take them with us and pull them out when we all want them. How many times have you heard someone say ‘I wish we had some ecstasy right now?’ Almost every night. We’ll go to Colby’s house or to a party and everyone will want one. I’ll take the money from people. Come on, we’ll make all of our money back and still have some for ourselves. Don’t you trust me?”
I gave in. It wasn’t like he was going to stop bringing it up if I said no. I decided to try it out before judging the idea too hard and putting it down completely. Ultimately, I didn’t care, as long as I could do some, too.
Jay-Jay sold us fifteen pills for eleven dollars each; a perfect amount, because we already decided not to get too caught up and become drug lords. We were quiet about it. Someone might set us up. We were ecstasy dealers now.
When we got home, I went ahead and took a pill. It was my obligation as a supplier to test my own product. Tyler did two pills with me. It was customary to split each pill in half, take a half first, then, thirty minutes later, take the other half. The process solidifies the high. You want to peak as long as possible. When you start to peak, swallowing the second half will keep it going. An hour went by, and I didn’t feel anything. Something was wrong with the pill. I hadn’t done coke in hours, so the feeling of the ecstasy should have been stronger than usual. “I’m not feeling it at all. Let’s take more.” I never thought about the risks of overdosing. My mother and my father were drug addicts. Drug abuse was in my DNA. Nothing was ever going to kill me. I was built to withstand any kind of self-abuse possible. Overdosing never crossed my mind for even a second.
“Let’s split one more, I still can’t tell if it’s working.” The only change in my body was a slight stomachache from my cocaine and cigarettes diet. Two and a half hours after we first started, we were lying on the bed, feeling weird. What was in these pills? Not ecstasy. Maybe it was mescaline or speed? No. We felt wretched and tired. I wanted to go to sleep. Our pills seemed to be duds.
We got under the covers a
nd turned out the little green lamp at the foot of the bed. It was totally dark except for a small nightlight in the bathroom. That light stayed on because I was scared of the dark. Things got even weirder on the pills in the dark. Oddly, I couldn’t close my eyes. They would only blink for a split second, snapping open again. What the hell? The room wasn’t still. It was quiet, but things were moving on the ceiling. I couldn’t tell if what I was seeing was just the normal blobs that are present while adjusting to darkness.
“Can you sleep?” I asked Tyler.
“No, I can’t. I’m wide awake now,” he sighed. Then he started laughing.
“Tyler, why is the ceiling moving around? And the walls! Do you see that?” I was pointing at the fragments of foam insulation dancing above our heads, and laughing too. But it wasn’t funny.
“Yeah, I see it. Oh hell,” he busted up with laughter. “I think what we took had a little bit of white blotter, or something like it.”
“What do you mean, like acid?” I spoke up in a loud voice that sounded like someone else’s. Who said that? Fuck! I didn’t want to take acid!
“The ecstasy must have been mixed with it. That’s why we felt so different from the last times. It’s all right. It’s not too strong.” Tyler had lots of experience with this drug, I presumed. He wasn’t upset at all.