by Oriana Small
Luckily, Tyler and I were getting along great that morning. We were excited to meet this guy, Roach. He sought us out and spoke to both of us on the phone for hours. He told us all about the porn business and how he made a success out of his wife, Guinevere. They were millionaires from doing porn. Guinevere was the anal queen and he taught her everything she knew about anal sex.
Tyler was eager to work for this man because Roach was the first person who was happy that I had a boyfriend. Everyone up until then had been very rude to Tyler. He tried to prove we were a cool couple and that he loved the fact that I fucked other guys. Tyler was actually the opposite of all of the other porno boyfriends we’d met, guys who stared at the ground and seethed with anger while their girlfriends got fucked. Some just chain-smoked cheap cigarettes and fidgeted, waiting for the girlfriend’s paycheck. The boyfriends tried to act tough, talking about how they’re used to beating asses. There were a lot of what we called suitcase pimps, boyfriends that carried their girlfriends’ porno clothes and shoes and drove them to set. Pussy guys that don’t like to work. They spend their days controlling the money of the porno girlfriend. The suitcase pimp is a staple in the porn industry. It’s a full-time job created by these special circumstances. For instance, when a girl is too drugged-out or belligerent to make it to a shoot, her suitcase pimp will drive her to work and wait for her to finish getting fucked. Many suitcase pimps sit around and smoke pot and drink soda on a given day of production.
Different directors and other male talent made it a point to try to make Tyler feel insecure. Victor disrespected Tyler and said plainly that we would probably be broken up by the business. So did some other male porno stars. They were all jealous of us, we thought. Nothing was ever going to break us up. Porn was just porn, not our entire lives. We were in love. They just didn’t understand. My boyfriend was special. He encouraged me during my scenes. He wanted to see me get double penetrated and get covered in cum. Without Tyler behind me all the way, I wouldn’t have been pushing the limits of my sexuality. I had his full support.
Roach told Tyler to hold on to me, that I would be a star and that we could be a very successful couple just like him and Guinevere. Instead of predicting the time it would take for us to break up, Roach gave Tyler and I hoards of advice. Save the money. Do every scene we can. Work for everyone. Don’t have an agent. Don’t be late. Work together as much as possible. Don’t let me get a star attitude or put on airs once I’m famous. Always call him if we needed to talk about someone or something going wrong. We could count on Roach. He was on our side.
We made it to Tujunga at exactly eight o’clock. It was the first time Tyler and I had ever been on time going to a shoot together. We made sure not to oversleep. I took the extra precaution by staying up all night, sniffing coke, the ritual. I was high, as usual, and ready to shoot my porno scene. I could get away with it, somehow. I guess it’s because I was only twenty. Despite the runny nose, I still looked sweet and innocent. I was happy. I knew that all the attention would be focused on me when I shot a scene.
Roach looked nothing like I’d imagined. Hearing his voice on the phone, I could only think of a friendly, nurturing, and only sort-of insane nice man. Totally harmless, I thought when we spoke. But Roach looked like a person who would harm you. He had tattoos covering every inch of his body, except his face. His neck, arms, chest, back, and fingers were inked. All of them crappy jail tattoos. One of them on his chest read “WHITE TRASH.” He was bald, but covered it up with a black bandana tied around his head. I wasn’t sure if he was sensitive about his hairline or if it was a skinhead thing. All of his clothes were black, including his boots. He smoked Winstons and wore silver jewelry.
“Ashley Blue! And Trent! It’s great to meet you. We are going to have a killer and knockout scene today, right? I hear that your scenes are the best around right now. It’s going to be all hardcore and anal. We’ve got to have high energy and hard fucking today! Let’s get you ready, and then we’ll go upstairs to start the scene. Before we begin, let’s fill out the paperwork, then talk about what we are going to do. We’ve got to go for the extreme. Ashley, are you going to show me how you can push yourself to the outermost limits? Are you going to give me the hardest-core scene of your entire career?” Hardcore anal were the movies Roach was all about, what mattered most in life.
Of course I would do my hardest scene. Roach’s enthusiasm made me feel loved. Tyler and I felt appreciated. I got ready as best as I could. There was no makeup artist to turn me into a whore. I had to do it myself. I didn’t really know how. Roach wanted big hair and dark eye makeup. How do I look like that? I didn’t even own dark makeup. My look was a fresh, young girl, not a cheap, overly-done stripper. As for the hair, it’s still a mystery how some porno stars can even get it that big. When I had done all I could with a can of aerosol hairspray and some sticky Mac lip gloss, I emerged from the bathroom. I was plenty high. I brought extra coke with me to get me through the day. I always brought more with me when I was doing heavy anal scenes. It was a way for me to get energy without having to eat. Eating before and during an anal scene is taboo. Your bowels have to be completely empty when big porno cocks are pounding and gaping the asshole. If you eat, there will be shit. It’s like Newton’s Law or something.
Two massive Kino Flos were lying on the brown carpet in the bedroom upstairs. The room was plain as usual. Only a bed and a dresser for furniture. There was plenty of room for a guy named Quasar to move around. He was the cameraman. Roach came in to direct us all into what he called one of his masterpieces. He was absolutely radiant. I had never seen a man so enthusiastic and crazy about shooting pornography before. Roach called it “decadent anal love.”
“Ashley Blue, would you follow me, please,” Roach ordered, not asked. He had the best intentions though, I was sure. “You come, too, Trent. I want to show you both something.” He guided us over to a laptop. The images on the screen were ones Roach had taken for Guinevere’s website. “This is Guinevere’s site,” he said with pride. “It makes thousands of dollars a month. Do you know why? I’ll tell you. Because it has the most extreme and hardcore content. That is what sets her above the rest of the girls in porn. Guinevere has broken world records with what has gone into her ass. She holds the world record for putting the most chopsticks into her ass—one hundred chopsticks. Look at this.”
Roach clicked on a photo gallery and a startling image appeared. Guinevere was lying on her side and looking back over her right shoulder, smiling. Her tiny arm reached back behind her, reaching her ass. The hand was not in the picture. Or was it? It was. Only, the hand wasn’t visible because it was completely encased inside of her butthole. She was fisting her ass. It looked incredible!
“Is she fisting it?” I gasped.
“Yes. She’s fisting her own ass. Isn’t it amazing? I taught her how to do that. Today, I’m going to teach you, Ashley Blue.” Roach grinned and put his hand on my shoulder. His blue eyes were sparkling.
“What? I don’t know. How is it going to get in there? It’s too big!” I looked at my own hand. Involuntarily, it had already gone into a fist as soon as I thought about the possibility.
Roach grabbed my fist. He wrapped his own fingers around my knuckles. Then he pulled his hand away, sizing my hand. “See that,” he pointed to the measurement of my fist in the open “O” of his hand. “That’s Mark Davis, right there. His dick’s no smaller than your fist. You can do this, easy. You’ve taken Marcus in the ass. He’s way bigger than your hand. Don’t worry, I’ll show you.”
I lied down on the bed. With the camera rolling, we began the intro to the scene. Roach needed some build-up to the fisting and the sex. He handed Tyler some things to stick in my ass. A beer bottle and a candle, which they lit. It was just for show. I wasn’t going to get fucked with those. Then Tyler’s fingers went in. They were big and rough. I hate scratchy man fingers going into my ass. They are never manicured and often have gnarly hangnails or jagged edges. His callused di
gits continued to dry-fuck my hole, in an effort to stretch it. It only made me tighten up from being so uncomfortable.
I was relieved when it was my turn to put fingers in. Thank god it was my own hand that was going to do the fisting. My hands are lovely, I must say. I am vain about my hands. Roach poured an oil-based lubricant all over the hand that was going inside. I was on my side lying down. My arm came around my side; I put my hand in between the ass cheeks. I found the butt-hole. Slowly, I pushed all four fingers in. The thumb went next. All of the fingers were in and I kept on easing the rest into the anal cavity. It was a shock how easily my knuckles slid in there. I was relaxed and eager to accomplish putting the whole fist in.
Once my hand got past the knuckles, Roach gave me the final cue. “Okay, Ashley Blue, close your hand,” he said.
I folded all four of my fingers and one thumb into a fist, while they were still in my ass. As soon as I did this, my hand went in a little further, too. Closing the fist made room for the entire hand. I did it! I could fist my own ass. I could trust my own hand. I could control it and it couldn’t hurt me unless I commanded it to. It was a different kind of power than being at the mercy of taking a big cock controlled by another person. The feeling in my hand was different than I expected; in a warm, wonderful little pocket, it seemed like the walls of my pussy were muscular and firm in comparison. No wonder guys love fucking girls in the ass. I was so excited and proud of myself. Everyone else was proud, too. From that point on, Tyler and I had the utmost respect and faith in this new friend of ours, Roach.
The fact that I was now an anal-fisting porno girl changed my status as a performer. I was as hardcore as it gets. To me, it meant confidence. I could take on anything now, and it would be no problem. Directors saw me as unbreakable. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it made me a star. It did give me a false sense of durability, though, that nothing could ever hurt me. I thought, Hey, if I can fist my own ass, then I am the toughest girl on the planet. I came to find out later, the hard way, that I was wrong.
Chapter Fifteen
Ass Herpes
TYLER and I had to start grooming like professionals. Every couple of days, we would take turns shaving each other’s ass. He would take a shower and soap up between his legs and butt cheeks and bend over. I would help him spread it open and glide a razor up and down the area. Everybody in porno shaved their pubic and butt hair and we wanted to fit in. Everyone said it was much cleaner to be hairless. It must have been helpful to some degree because we’d never heard of anyone having a case of crabs on set.
I shaved my vagina a little at first, but not much. The stubble on my twat was much more disgusting than any amount of hair could be. So, I let mine stay, but I trimmed it with a pair of eyebrow scissors to keep it nice and short. Guys I fucked told me I had nice hair. Their opinions meant everything to me. My self worth has always depended on what men have or have not said to me—determining how attractive I feel.
Tyler became really self-conscious about his body hair as soon as he’d done a few scenes. Some girl called him Sasquatch during one shoot. He bought an electric trimmer for his legs because he thought it was too effeminate for him to completely shave those. Many men in porno had shaved arms and legs. It scared Tyler to trust me with the razor. I am a little rough with sharp objects, such as knives and scissors. My moves are more abrupt than delicate or careful. Twice, when Tyler was bent over with cheeks spread, I accidentally nicked his hole. He screamed and snapped straight upright, swinging the shower curtain in my face.
“Aaaaaaaaaagggghhhhhhh!! You cut me! I can’t believe you cut me! Get away from me.”
I would laugh at him. Not for the fact he was bleeding from his butthole, but because he was scared of me. “Ooops! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear!” I’d cover my face with my hand so he wouldn’t see my amusement.
“You think this is funny? You’re sick!” he would shriek at me from within the pink-tiled shower. I peeked inside and laughed even more at the sight of him huddling in fear under the stream of hot water.
I cut his balls, too. On a different occasion. He wanted to try my way of grooming. Instead of shaving his ball sack, Tyler wanted to just snip the longer hairs, so it would be more natural looking. I was flattered because he wanted his pubes to mirror my style, and also because he was going to trust me with a sharp utensil again. I’d ruined my shot with the razor on his ass for the last time when I went over a little red bump and skinned it off. There was blood.
In our purple and pink bathroom, Tyler stood naked with his legs apart and his fingers lifting his balls. This would be no problem. “I do it all the time to myself, it’s easy,” I reassured him. The eyebrow trimmers were in my firm grip and I began to snip the blonde pubic hair. He let out whimpers of cowardice every time I got too close to the skin. I scoffed at him. He had to put one of his legs up on the toilet for me to get in between his ass and sack. In porn, this position is called standing doggy. This was the trickiest part of all, the taint. It was dark under there and I couldn’t really see. I didn’t think it was all that important, so I just cut without looking. I did it all the time to myself, and I was fine.
“Ooooooowwwwww, not again! Psycho! Get the hell away from me with those!” Tyler jumped away. I’d been kneeling on the floor to get a good angle. One of his hands gripped what was left of his genitalia, the other swatted at me.
I looked at what I’d done. The skin on his ball sack had a half-inch long cut on the left side. It was near the bottom and dripping blood. My eyebrow scissors had blood on them. From then on, Tyler shaved his own ass and balls, without my help whatsoever. It’s actually quite easy to do yourself. I managed to shave my butt solo just fine by feeling for the stubble and going slow. I imagine that’s what every person (who has ever shaved their own butt crack) already knows.
One afternoon, Tyler called me into the bathroom. Maybe he had forgiven me for my clumsiness and was going to give me another try with the blades. Something about grooming him got me off. I liked it, similar to how monkeys care for each other. The intimacy was primal.
“Ori, what’s this?” He bent over and spread his butt cheeks wide with both hands. “It hurts. I don’t know, I think it just started. What does it look like?”
I lowered my face down, really close to his asshole. Nothing struck me as being odd. “I don’t know, Tyler. What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. I just want to know what it looks like right there. Is there something? Like a rash or something? Do you think we caught something again? Is it herpes?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t see any bumps, but it is kind of red.” I was concerned, but not in a fret like him. His butt just looked like he’d wiped it too hard too much. “Don’t worry. If you have something, then I probably have it, too. It’s okay.” A rare moment of equanimity on my part.
“I hope not! Do you feel anything? It probably came from you, because you’ve done more scenes than me! You’ve been with way more guys than I have girls.”
So much for composure. I started crying. Now I was the one who brought herpes into our lives. First it was gonorrhea and chlamydia, and now herpes. Tyler was convinced of it, and the guilt felt heavy enough to bury me underground. Then Tyler leaned down to where I knelt on the bathroom floor. It was a tiny space, but he squeezed his tall body around me and put his arms around my sobbing shoulders.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s not all your fault. I could have gotten it from one of those nasty chicks I’ve fucked. Don’t cry. It doesn’t matter who gave it to whom. Please, baby, don’t be sad.”
I stripped down and he checked my ass for anything unusual. There was some redness around my butthole. That was normal though. My asshole got pounded a few times a week by large cocks. It was bound to have a fair amount of tenderness. There wasn’t enough irritation to tell what was going on in my butt. We did do cocaine every night, so the bathroom was frequently used, too.
Tyler would not b
e pacified by just having me look at his problem. We did the right thing and went back to the Adult Industry Medical Healthcare Foundation clinic. For a medical facility, it was filthy. The floor was always dirty and sometimes there were junkies there getting clean needles. It smelled sour. Other medical offices smelled like pressed linen and the air had a cold crispness, like the carnation cooler in a florist’s shop. Our adult clinic was dusty and warm. A giant birdcage with a green macaw was a fixture in the waiting room. The workers were visibly flustered and held back nothing when it came to expressing how tired they were or how annoyed they felt. As untidy as the place was, we were all very lucky to have it. The people who ran it did so because they cared. If it weren’t for AIM, who knows how many more cases of HIV would have infected the adult community? They even helped drug addicts with rehabilitation resources, in addition to giving out clean rigs. You can go in crying, bleeding, yelling, high, dripping in green stuff, and they will help you. No matter how ornery they can sometimes be, the people at AIM truly care about the talent and all of their fucked-up drama. The poor staff is flawed and criticized, abused and taken for granted every day. They are not superheroes, just superb human beings when all is said and done. They were heroes to us. They do a job that I never fucking want to do. Listening to so many problems and flaky people, trying to heal them and send them back to the industry, prepped to get their next infection. It’s a thankless toil. Damn it, we needed AIM.
The alternatives to risky porno sex are not promising. The Los Angeles county bureaucracy wants to enforce safer sex, but people won’t want to watch it, download it, or buy it. Condom requirements? I don’t think anyone will shoot in Los Angeles anymore if condoms become mandatory. No swallowing? The SoCal adult film industry would collapse. The dream will be over. The Truffula Trees will all be gone, and the Lorax will disappear, too. Fly off one day by the seat of his pants.