When I started this blog (seven years ago next month!) I made it a point not to turn it into a shit-talkin’ gossip column. Not that there’s anything wrong with that sort of thing, but it’s just not my style. And, like all the stories I tell, this one’s the truth.

The first six or eight months of Spring Thomas were shot far, far away from Porn Valley. Well, not that far, really. But far enough that we didn’t fuck with the male talent. Eventually that would change, though, and when it did, I have to admit I was kinda star struck — to a degree — when The Big Hitters started rolling in: Jack Napier, Mandingo, Shane Diesel — and Mr. Marcus.

Yea, I walked on eggshells when I was on set with all those dudes, cause I really didn’t know them, and don’t forget this: the work in Porn Valley was completely different then. These guys were working. Thirty and forty scenes a month wasn’t unheard of back then, and really the only reason a performer of any sort of caliber didn’t work, it’s because they didn’t want to. So when these dudes started saying “yes” to our offers, my boss and I were excited.

Spring was, too.

And because I was at that point in my career, when I called Mr. Marcus an hour after his call time, and asked him, “Is everything OK?” and he said, “I’m stuck in traffic,” I went with it.

I told Spring, “Traffic must be a bitch.” She just kinda nodded her head and kept texting away. She wasn’t tweeting. She wasn’t Facebooking. She wasn’t even mySpacing. She was texting, cause it was 2004, and that’s what you did then.

When Marcus was two hours past call time — and he didn’t pick up his phone when I called, I asked Spring if we should just pack up our gear and head to the airport.

“But I need to make my money! Change my flight if you have to!”

So I called Marcus again, but not after a bit of hesitation. I didn’t want to piss him off. Telling this story now, I have to laugh at myself. Last week when Rico Strong walked on to set 45 minutes late, I already had him replaced. And when Rico copped an attitude after I told him he’d been replaced, I kicked him out of the studio. But this is 2012. In 2004 I hesitated to call Marcus even after he was 2 hours late, and when he answered this time, I politely asked, “bro, we’re getting a little concerned over here. Call time was two hours ago. She’s gotta catch a flight.”

“My bad! I’m not that far. Really…traffic is murder.”

At 3 hours past call time, he was “right around the corner.”

Four hours past, the bell rang, and I opened the door to Mr. Marcus holding out a styrofoam container of a dozen BBQ wings. Almost all of them were eaten. He asked, “want a wing?”

I looked at him, and then at wings, and back up at him, and let him walk by. I was pissed, and Spring was pissed…but at least she was gonna make her money. It also closed out our 4-shoots-a-month contract with her, which was the other reason I waited four hours for Mr. Marcus. I didn’t want to go into the next month a shoot behind schedule, and I didn’t want to ask our boss to advance Spring a scene due to being impatient with Marcus.

I can’t remember if I told you this, but I like to shoot all my pictures before I roll video. Stills are a perfect time for talent to get acquainted with each other, and while I take them I make sure we go over what’s expected in the scene. We also go over any rules, like, “you can call me a whore or a slut but not a cunt”. Then I’d ask the male talent if it’s ok to drop the N word. If you know about Spring, you’d know why I did that, and if you don’t know about Spring…oh well.

I can’t remember what Marcus said. Mandingo wouldn’t let that fly. Shane Diesel would; in fact, it turned him on when Spring said shit like, “fuck me you nasty nigger!” It turned Charlie Mac on, too. “My grandpa owned your granpa!” she once told Charlie Mac, to which he replied, “I love your white skin!” One performer whose name I can’t recall (really) steadfastly refused (I don’t want my son to grow up and see a scene where some girl calles me a “nigger”) but then suddenly had a change of heart when we went to video. “Look Billy, if it makes the scene better, she can call me a nigger.”

Oh yea, Bishop said that. You probably don’t remember him.

Anyways, I never directed Spring’s dialogue. Ever. I never once told her what to say. What came out of her mouth was pure Spring. Just like Katie was Katie, and Ruth was Ruth, and Candy was Candy…and Barbie was Barbie. Looking back at it now, I think dropping the N word was Spring’s way of coping with what she did for a living; at the time, though, I thought she was just putting on a show.

Where was I? Oh yea — I’m taking pictures of Marcus and Spring, and we’re almost done when I notice Spring’s vag is looking a bit creamy. Not creamy as in yeast infection, and not creamy as in she’s turned on and just super wet.

Creamy as in Cream Pie Creamy. Which it was. That’s cause Marcus shot his fucking load in her at the end of stills. I wasn’t sure until I walked into the bathroom to ask Spring what’s up. She was standing over the toilet with her fingers jammed up her snatch. “What’s up? What’s up?! I tell you what’s up. That nigger just came in me. Don’t ever book him with me again.”

“You didn’t even have to tell me that. Let’s just get this shit over with so you can catch the late flight home and relax.”

Marcus’s performance was sub-par at best, and when it came time to pop, well…he squeezed hard to push out the few drops that remained in his sac.

I didn’t hear from Marcus again til I bumped into him a few months later at AVN’s. He apologized and said something like, “that wasn’t a typical Mr. Marcus performance.” I remember him specifically saying that, cause it was the first time (but not the last) I’ve heard performers refer to themselves in the third person.

But it turns out it was typical. Pure Mr. Marcus. Consistently. Through and through. Cause whenever I’d tell this story to other producers and directors, they had a similar tale of Mr. Marcus woe.

So when my lawyer called me a few days ago to tell me what was going down — and that Marcus was suspect — it didn’t surprise me. Then, I thought about it a little bit…and it did. I was surprised. Marcus may be chronically late to set. Marcus might cream pie a girl whether or not the scene calls for it. Marcus might walk on to set, check out his female talent, then tell the director he forgot something in his car…so he can haul ass to get out of fucking a girl he didn’t wanna fuck.

Marcus might be a lot of things, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy to fudge a test.

Not unless he’s got some sort of golden parachute out of this mess, which is kinda what I’m thinking right about now.

I wonder who packed it for him.