Going Down in La-La Land

by Andy Zeffer

  Always being strapped for cash, however, I was not above doing another kind of modeling. And LA was the capital for this sort of modeling. I had done nude modeling before in New York, when Candy gave me the number of her hung-like-a-horse photographer friend. If I did it back there, I could do it again here.

  After getting out of Acclaimed one night, I drove to the nearest magazine stand and grabbed XXX Showcase Magazine. In the back it had the Adam Gay Video Directory which listed all the gay adult film companies. I was sure I could call some numbers out of the back of this and find some jobs that would help me out with some extra funds to pay my bills.

  I even recalled the name of a company that an aspiring independent director I met in New York told me about. His name was Perry Bristol, and he supported himself and his mainstream film aspirations by moonlighting as a director of porn.

  The company was ingeniously titled HUNG Video. Perhaps if I told the people there that I knew Bristol, their star director, they’d come up with some gigs for me right away.

  In the meantime, life at Acclaimed Talent Agency continued. Surely I could find a better job in a week or so; it couldn’t be that hard. After all, I found a job at this shit hole after only a few weeks in town. I had shot myself in the foot before, quitting a job without having another one lined up. But this place was just making me miserable, with no time to interview for anything else. And my misery must have really showed.

  “You might think you are too good for this job, but we all have a job to do and you need to do yours too,” Matthew the head receptionist said one day in a sharp tone that basically conveyed all the venom and contempt he had for me.

  Management had begun to split up Kim and me, for fear that we were getting along too well and not paying enough attention to the phones. The consensus was we were not behaving stoic and serving enough to visitors.

  Which was kind of the truth.

  Still, it didn’t feel any better to be treated as though you were kindergartners who had to take their mats to opposite corners of the room during nap time.

  And to top it all off, I knew the Mexican valet guys were reckless with my new car, noticing some dings on it already and hearing them come around the corner like Speed Racer. One valet in particular liked to fart in it before I got in, so it stunk to high heaven. And man, could he ever break some foul wind. I could just see them laughing at as I drove off, joking in Spanish about stinking up the gringo’s car. That was a real slap in the face, or rather an assault on the nostrils, after working a demeaning job.

  The farts in my car were the final straw. Patience had never been a strong virtue for me; if anything, I am way too impulsive. And it got the best of me again. One morning when I really didn’t feel like being there I walked into the administration’s office and gave my notice.

  “Oh no,” Whitman cooed, tilting his head to one side and doing his best to sound surprised and disappointed, despite having gone through dozens of receptionists during his tenure there.

  “Where will be you going?”

  “I got a job working on a friend’s film,” I lied.

  It sounded a lot better than “I don’t have shit to go to, but if I stay here one more day I’ll throw myself out the window.”

  Less than two weeks later I was out of there for good, marking my end on the phones at Acclaimed Talent Agency forever. It also marked the beginning of my slide into the seedy underbelly of La-La Land.

  HUNG Video

  Where the interaction, social hierarchy, and manic personalities at the talent agency were unbearable, the porn industry was just plain mind-boggling. I would come to find out both environments had plenty of larger-than-life characters. The difference was in the porn world people actually treated each other better and lacked the big egos. Those involved were realistic about the kind of work they did, and that they were considered the bottom of the barrel by the rest of Tinseltown. Yet at least they were honest and up front about being money-grubbing pigs and users, which was more than I could say for the suits at the agency. It was sad but true, the dirty world of porn was nicer than the legit business world, whether it be a television network or Wall Street.

  As far as taking my clothes off, I had no problem with it. I always said that if it came back to haunt me, I would tell the truth.

  “I was poor, broke, and needed the cash,” I would fantasize myself crying to an interviewer upon getting famous someday, my past being found out. Boo hoo, boo hoo.

  Everyone has to pay the bills somehow. And if you are an artist of any kind, be it actor, writer, painter, or whatever, at times you had to be very creative to make ends meet.

  I figured I could just be in some solo videos and pose for some naked pics. Perhaps HUNG Video had production work I could do as well. I wouldn’t have actual sex on camera though. What if someday I did come to a position where it came back to haunt me? Jerking off in front of the camera alone was one thing; fucking another guy was something entirely different.

  I was still paranoid about sex anyway and never fully relaxed when it came to it. I have always practiced safe sex (or safer sex, as it is called now) but still suffered from a bad case of nerves after every time I fucked a guy I didn’t know well. Hypochondria and prostitution don’t mix very well.

  I spoke to the man in charge at HUNG Video, a guy named Ron. He sounded very Middle America, almost like an insurance agent from Missouri.

  “Hey, Ron. I’m Adam,” I introduced myself on the phone with some trepidation. “I’m looking for some work, and thought I’d give you a call. I got your name from Perry Bristol; we met a few months back in New York.”

  “What do you look like?” Ron cut to the chase.

  “Well ...I’m six-one, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, swimmers build, and I’ve been told I’m a good-looking guy,” I answered honestly, not wanting to overexaggerate.

  “Can you come by this afternoon?”

  “Sure,” I answered. That was quick. Good thing since I needed some bucks badly.

  Ron gave me directions. HUNG Video’s offices were located on Hollywood Boulevard, just a few blocks east of La Brea in an old high-rise that had obviously been constructed in the 1960s. The cavernous garage smelled like piss and the lobby of the building was in bad need of repairs. The directory had those white, blocky letters straight from the 1970s, very retro. I took the elevator up. A guy at the front of the office steered me along while checking me out.

  “Go down the hall and make a right at the last door.”

  On my way down the hall I passed a room that was obviously where the graphics must have been designed. Porno cases were scattered everywhere. Images of men with oiled-up bodies and tan lines stared at me from every direction.

  I stepped into the right office and found Ron sitting behind his desk. He looked like a high school football coach. Actually, he looked exactly like Dave from the Wendy’s hamburger chain—same white hair, dopey blue eyes behind glasses, and lumpy build.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” he spoke loudly into the phone. “And make sure he gets that invoice paid for . . .”

  He even spoke with the same slow, flat accent. Not exactly what I was expecting. More or less I pictured the owner of a porn company to have a few gold chains, chest hair coming out of his shirt, a diamond pinkie ring, maybe frosted hair—that kind of thing.

  Ron continued speaking on the phone as I sat down. He motioned he would be a minute with a wink of an eye and point of a finger. As I waited I looked through the windows. The office was on a corner and everything below was a massive grid with cars moving like ants across a picnic blanket.

  “Sorry about that!” he said as he hung up the phone with a smile. I sensed that he was pleased with what he saw.

  “So let me ask you, what exactly do you want to do, both in front of the camera and off the camera?”

  “Well, right now I’m looking to make some extra money since I just moved here,” I answered, unsure of what to say. “I thought maybe you could use some help on shoo
ts and stuff.”

  “Cause if you want, we can get you in front of the camera in some upcoming scenes,” he answered back, getting right to the point. “I’ve got a gang bang shoot scheduled in a week.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that at this point,” I answered cautiously, not wanting to insult him or sound like I was too good for that kind of thing.

  “You sure? I got a cute blond kid with an ass like two volleyballs stuck together flying in from Denver for a gang bang. And the other guys are mighty hot too,” he persisted.

  It wasn’t that I saw anything morally wrong with it in my mind. In fact, I found the idea arousing and a turn-on and almost wanted to say yes. But it just seemed that once you crossed that line, there was no going back, kind of like entering Hades. Tragic thoughts of people who became caught up in the world of porn with nothing to fall back on after they were dried up and burned out came to mind. Like that chick Savannah who fucked all the rock-and-roll stars and then blew her head off one night after crashing her Porsche in front of her home. Not that I was expecting to sleep with Slash from Guns N’ Roses or own a Porsche anytime soon.

  Still, this was just dabbling for me, just something crazy and out of the ordinary to do until I found a permanent job, something better than the phones at Acclaimed Talent Agency. I hoped that would be in a few weeks.

  “Well then, would you be interested in doing a solo jerk-off video?” he pressed.

  “Sure.” That seemed harmless enough, and I was perfectly comfortable with that.

  “How does this coming Saturday look for you?” he asked.

  “Great.”

  “I’ll call you with a time. And I’d like it if you could go to a tanning bed for some color. Your body would look even better. I’ll reimburse you for it; just save the receipt. And if you change your mind about the group shoot next week let me know. Otherwise we can use you as a production assistant, have you pick up the boys at the airport, help set up the equipment, that sort of thing,” he rambled on.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  My first starring role in LA, and the plot was jerking off. My right hand was to be my costar.

  The solo video took place a week later, in a one-story building on Santa Monica Boulevard. These were facilities used by HUNG video, where they duped their tapes, kept equipment, and also did much of their filming. Before I shot the video I had to have some still photos taken of me with a full erection.

  As I sat on some folding chair in the cold cement studio I was interrupted by a voice.

  “Hey, I’m Brian.”

  I turned around to see a cute dark-haired guy in his mid to late twenties with both arms full of photography equipment.

  My day just got a whole lot better.

  Brian was a cute ex-UCLA student who was now an aspiring pho-tographer/filmmaker/actor/model/whatever. I couldn’t get his story straight. What I did understand is that he worked on the side for HUNG video, under a different name.

  “All right,” Brian said when we got down to business. “Let’s start with some shots of you taking off your shirt.”

  “No problem,” I said. “So how’d you get involved with HUNG Video?” I asked, eager to keep the conversation going. The camera clicked and whirled.

  “Word of mouth. I approached some other companies first and one thing led to another. Helps out with the bills. And I always hit it off with the guys,” he added.

  “I bet,” I said, and Brian smiled sheepishly.

  I didn’t know if he was this flirtatious with every model, but he and I were hitting it off like hotcakes. I could sense he was attracted to me. We talked college lingo, spoke about classes, that sort of thing. As we spoke I hoped he thought I was out of the ordinary from your average models.

  When he finished with the tame series of shots it was time to get to the nitty-gritty, full-out, in-your-face hard-on shots with my butt stuck up in the air, ass pouting, and winking in the camera.

  “I gotta go next door and pick up the lights and reflectors,” Brain said while placing his camera down.

  “Let me help you,” I offered, eager to oblige.

  “Cool. Thanks,” he smiled again boyishly.

  After we set up the lights it was time to get naked and grow some wood. The room where we shot the pictures was large and empty with cold cement floors, making it difficult to get aroused. The reason it was empty was so when they needed to film some scenes, they could bring in some cheap props for whatever kind of set they wanted to create. Not that the set was all that important to them. There were some mats stuck in the corner of the room and that was about it.

  “Do you need some magazines?” Brian offered when he saw me close my eyes, turn around, and vigorously start yanking at my cock.

  “Brian . . .” my voice trailed off, eyes still shut tight.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think I could . . .” my voice trailed off again.

  “To hell with it,” I moaned, and opening my eyes up I walked across the mats to where Brain was standing and unbuttoned his fly, pulling a beautiful, plump dick out of his jocks and enclosing it in my mouth.

  He didn’t resist.

  The warmth of his flesh in my mouth was a relief from the damp cold of the cement block room. The friction of his trimmed body hair and firm flesh against my face helped even more. His hands gripped my head firmly as he moaned gently.

  Now I was as hard as the concrete walls around us.

  I released his cock with a slurp and let it slap back against his belly. Then I gasped, “Okay! Let’s do this.”

  The clicking and whirring of the camera started again. Bulbs flashed furiously as I thrust my pelvis forward and flexed my muscles.

  “Great! Now turn you torso a little to the left,” Brain gave orders. “Stop there! Perfect!” the camera snapped some more.

  When I felt my hard-on faltering, I went back on my knees and took his dick back in my mouth, pulling it in and out, slapping it across my cheeks.

  “Okay, good to go again!” I’d wait until my cock grew to its fullest size once more, and we went back to shooting again. This went on a few times until Brain got all his shots.

  “You did that like a pro,” Brian said while peering across at me with mischievous eyes.

  “Thanks,” I said and stretched across the mat. “I was glad for your help.”

  “Glad to oblige,” he answered, and began walking toward me when the metal door of the hallway crashed open, startling us both.

  “Yo!” a booming voice shouted in the air. A tall and beefy fellow with a happy-go-lucky disposition came sauntering into the room.

  “Hey, Dale!” Brian greeted him while retreating from me.

  “What up, Bri?” he bellowed then turned to look my way.

  “You must be Adam,” he said walking toward me. As he got closer I noticed his cheerful, sexily slanted eyes and boyish face. Even his haircut was schoolboy, with straight short bangs cutting clear across his forehead.

  “That would be me,” I said with a bit of a snotty edge to my voice. I was annoyed at being interrupted with Brian, and this guy acted like he owned the place.

  “Dale Warren,” he said, sticking a strong hand out toward me. “You ready to do this thing? Don’t mean to rush you, but I got a lot of editing yet to do today.” As he spoke he walked away to pick up some bags he left by the door.

  “Well, I should go,” Brian said. “I have some business to do with Ron. Adam, it was great meeting you.”

  “Same here,” I smiled.

  “Brian, I’ll see you at the shoot!” Dale pointed at him.

  “Shoot?” Brian looked perplexed.

  “Yeah, the army gang bang. You’re doing stills, right?”

  “Oh, right, right . . . yeah, I’ll be there,” Brian said. Cute he was, but a bit of an airhead.

  My spirits rose when I heard Brian would be at the shoot. That was the one Ron wanted me to make my sex debut on, but that I was just planning on helping
out with behind the scenes.

  “You can just leave the equipment here since it is in a few days, Bri,” Dale said. “No sense in trucking it back and forth. I’ll make sure everything is locked up good.”

  Brian expressed his thanks and was gone.

  Dale and I were left alone. He had a rough kind of demeanor that sort of reminded me of the guys you’d expect to see in shop class. Nothing about him struck me as giving the impression he was gay until we started to speak and he made comments about his attraction toward the same sex.

  “Yeah, the guy a few weeks ago had a sweet ass,” he said while getting things together. “But you! You look like you could be a model!”

  “Thanks,” I said. A lot of people told me that. If they only knew what a colossal failure my actual attempt at modeling was.

  Thankfully, a solo jerk-off scene was a quick and easy way to earn cash. I was set up with my legs lying on the floor, my back leaning against the wall. Dale threw some large pillows behind me and placed a large potted plant on the side to add whatever atmosphere he could to the place.

  During the filming Dale talked me through it. He took on the role of a dirty narrator, asking me questions off camera.

  “So,” he’d start in a gruff voice. “How many times a day do you play with yourself?”

  “At least twice a day,” I breathed back heavily. “Once in the morning and before bed at night.”

  Then Dale began telling me what piece of clothing to take off. The whole thing was so narcissistic and silly to me that I decided to have fun with it. I already had blue ball from wanting to nut all over with Brian. Now after playing with myself for minutes on end I was ready to spray the ceiling. My cock looked like a bright red torpedo about to soar. It was slick and glossy from the big pump of WET lubricant a few feet away.

  “Ah . . .” I moaned in earnest as a searing sensation traveled to the tip of my penis.

  “Yeah!” Dale yelled gruffly. “Let me see it rip, you hot cocksucker!”

  “Here it comes!” I yelled before I knew it was staring at white ooze flying from the slit of my dick to my face, hitting me on the bottom lip and chin.