Joey Brass was here to jerk off for my site marketed directly to gay dudes — No Way Am I Gay.

Before my days in this biz, gay porn disturbed me. I’m not a homophobe — really, I’m not — but the thought of two dudes doing it was, to me, the equivalent of watching a train run over a baby carriage…with the soft, gentle baby sleeping inside.

After shooting for a year or two, I ended up on a gay set. It really didn’t bother me knowing there were fags doing it in the same studio where I was hanging out, but, on the same note, I didn’t rush over to watch the dudes bang each other.

I did, however, wind up on set, and sure enough, homeboys were banging each other. To me, it was kinda like watching that train hit the baby carriage…you didn’t want to look, but you had a hard time taking your eyes off it.

I watched as 3 dudes took turns sucking and fucking each other. They said things like, “ohh gawd, that’s it, fuck me daddy,” and “God how does that big cock fit in my ass?” and “Shoot your hot load down my eager throat.”

I’m not sure how a throat can be eager, but it’s a fair adjective.

The whole reason I started a gay site? Simple…it’s the same reason I’m on porn: to make money. And apparently gay porn pays. Big. Think about it…in general, gay dudes have more disposable income, they’re more open to porno in general, and they love to jerk off, which makes them a lot like straight dudes, except straight dudes don’t like to admit they jerk off to anything…let alone porn.

Then I did some homework. What did I learn? Well…there’s Leather Daddies, and Bears, and Bear Cubs, and Hankey Codes, and Twinks, and tops and bottoms. I also learned gay dudes LOVE to bang straight dudes, cause, well…they’re not easily obtainable.

No Way Am I Gay!

At first, I shot all the scenes for No Way Am I Gay. But I didn’t like it too much. Then, for a while, I had my assistant, Cherry Poppins, shoot it…but that backfired, cause (apparently) gay dudes don’t like to hear a girl’s voice while they’re making love to themselves.

Now I have my boy wonder, Doron Pepperscone, shoot it. In case you’re wondering, Doron would be classified as a Bear.

But on to Joey Brass: “Hey Joey, I’m a straight dude, and so is Doron Pepperscone. He’ll be shooting you today. Ever shoot a solo stroke before?”

In fact, Joey had. For a guy named Randy Blue. “And you won’t believe what he paid me to jerk off,” Joey said.

I looked up at Joey. I was worried this was his way of working a few extra dollars out of me, cause we hadn’t even established a price yet. “How much does he pay?”

“Well, he paid me $1800 to jerk.”

I pay $150 for the same thing.

The first thing I did was scream. Not at Joey, or Doron Pepperscone…or at Adrianna Nicole, who just happened to be hanging out on set.

“Fuck me! I’ll jerk off on camera for eighteen hundred bucks!”

This caught everyone’s attention.

Joey continued: “He pays $2,500 for a circle jerk.”

That did it for me. I kinda came unglued. “WHAT! TWENTY FIVE HUNDRED TO JERK WITH SOME DUDES?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?”

Joey remained calm. “No. You don’t have to touch them, either. What a great gig.”

“I swear to Christ I’d do a circle jerk for $2,500!” I exclaimed.

I said that cause it’s true.

“I’d punch my dad in the face for $500,” said Doron Pepperscone.

He said that cause it’s true.

“Why don’t I have a ween?” Adrianna asked.

She asked that cause she really wants one.

Since then, I’ve somewhat retracted my statement on the circle jerk. I don’t think I’d do that, but I’d still do a solo stroke for sure. That is, if anyone wants to pay to see a middle aged chubby guy with a six inch ween stroke it.

And just cause you’re wondering, no way am I gay.

The Minion is dead.

Doron Pepperscone is alive and well and is kicking all sorts of ass as my PA. He does it all, and does it well. I’m a lucky guy, and I don’t know what I’d do without him.

OK.

I got that out of the way.

Last night Gia Paloma — my make-up artist — stopped by to get her stuff. I was in the middle of my new obsession — Criterion Collection movies — this one being Sawdust and Tinsel, written and directed by Ingmar Bergman in 1953. It’s bad to the motherfucking bone. I totally identified with Ake, the owner of the traveling circus; he also is the guy in the movie who has a whore for a girlfriend.

My life closely resembles a traveling circus, filled with gypsies and whores and whores and gypsies.

With performers off all sorts hanging out in the periphery.

I’ve had whores for girlfriends, too…and trust me, having a whore as your chick isn’t as bad as it sounds, for the most part.

Anyways, Gia came to get her make-up stuff. “What stinks?” she asked.

I walked over to her and smelt it, too; the terrible odor coming from the travel room, where Katie Thomas and Spring Thomas and Barbie Cummings and Ruth Blackwell stay when they come to Los Angeles to fuck black dudes.

“One of those silly whores musta left some food in here,” I said. “It was probably Barbie, cause that’s the way she rolls.”

Which is to say she’s a total slob.

We searched Barbie’s food: under the bed, on the top bunk, on the bottom bunk, in the armoire…everywhere.

Nothing.

Then, down next to the bed.

The Shoes.

His shoes.

Doron Pepperscone’s size 16 Jordan’s.

I picked one up and sniffed it. I gently sniffed it, cause I was pretty sure the shoes were the culprit, and I was right. Even with the gentle sniff, I gagged.

Gia gagged.

We gagged together.

We took turns gagging…me, then her.

Her, then me.

My gags were kinda violent, and, more than once, I thought I was gonna barf…which is a pretty big thing for me, cause I haven’t barfed since 1982, after leaving a frat party my freshman year in college with a girl named Sharon who ended up being my girlfriend for about a week and a half.

After we took turns gagging, Gia got her stuff and left, and I watched the rest of the movie.

I called my Ex last night.

It was the first time we’d really spoken since The Break Up, and no, you have no idea who she is, cause I’ve never blogged about her once. She’s a Whore for Porn, though, so you might know who she is; and, in fact, there’s a clue as to her secret identity somewhere cleverly hidden in this blog entry.

I may blog about our relationship in the future, but I’ll never mention her by name….well, maybe I’ll call her Miss Thang from now on.

I will say this: we started dating around the 4th of July, and we were together until the beginning of October. And, for the most part, we had a good time together.

I think it’s smart not hang all your laundry out to dry.

Anyways, last night we had a really nice talk. It started after my work day ended — which is usually 10 pm when I’m in LA shooting — and, by 1 am, we were still on the phone. So we really caught up with each others’ lives. I told her porno stories, cause that’s all that ever happens in my life anymore — and she told me about her new man.

“His name is Savoy. He’s a pick-up artist. He teaches guys how to pick up girls.”

“Guys like that actually exist?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Is he the dude on that TV show?”

“That’s someone else.”

“Guys with names like Savoy who teach dudes how to pick up chicks actually exist?”

She nodded. “And they get laid all the time. Except my man, cause we’re monogamous.”

Then she told me Savoy charges something like 75 bucks for his book, and two grand for his weekend seminars, and people really pay it, and after classroom lectures and lots of intensive note taking, they proceed to the “field” where their practicum goes down.

“They go to bars and pick up chicks?” I asked.

“They do. And it works!”

“Sure does. He got you.”

She laughed, and she admitted that Savoy’s Jedi Mind Tricks worked on her, and then we hung up the phone…and I walked out to let her in my studio.

Cause she lives across the street.

Cause she was coming over to smoke some dope with me and eat cookies and milk and watch late night TV.

Cookies and milk and Bubba OG Kush and Jimmy Kimmel and ex’es coming over at 1am don’t usually mix too well, but in our case, it did.

In addition to cookies and milk — which was mostly all me — she has some spinach lasagne from Trader Joe’s. I whipped it up all special-like, making sure to defrost it in the micro before I set the dial for Full Nuke. It came out quite nicely.

We talked some more and watch TV. She told me all about her boyfriend, who happens to be hung like a donkey and can shoot back-to-back loads, which happen to be as big as his dong.

Suddenly, I found myself getting turned on. She started telling me this story about blowing him in an elevator when I got a boner.

“Can I play with myself while you tell me about blowing you new man?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Will you call me Savoy II while I’m jerking it?”

“Absolutely not.”

How pathetic I am!

How hot it was listening to my most recent ex tell me stories of sucking and swallowing her new dude!

What’s wrong with me?

I asked her to spit on my dick.

“Absolutely not. That’s cheating.”

“How can it be cheating when you’re not touching me?”

“Good point,” she said. “I’m still not doing it.”

I looked up at the clock, and it was almost 2 am, and I had a 9 am call time, and I need my sleep, damnit, so I put my boner back in my pants and walked her home.

At 3 am my phone rang. It was Brian Pumper. Nothing good can come from porno talent calling you at 3 am, so I didn’t answer. Pumper was the male talent for my 9 am scene, in which he was going to be paid to invade Nadia Style’s colon for the World’s Great Interracial Sex Site, Blacks On Blondes, but I just couldn’t deal with whatever it was he needed — or wanted — at three o’clock in the morning.

At 6 am my phone rang. It was Brian Pumper. Nothing good can come from porno talent calling you at 6 am, but with this second call, I knew something was wrong. I answered, mainly cause my eyes couldn’t see my LCD screen on my phone, and my brain was still in its night time fog.

“Dude, I’m outside your studio. I know you wanted me to be on time, so here I am. Plus, I was down town until late, and I didn’t want to go all the way out to the Valley then come back here, plus I don’t have any gas, and it’s cold out here cause I’ve been sleeping in my car since I got here 3 hours ago.”

Uh huh. I’m not making this up.

And I got up, walked to the street, and let him in, where I led him to the guest room, where girls like Katie Thomas and Barbie Cummings and Ruth Blackwell stay when they’re in town.

Back in my warm, cozy bed, I started to worry.

Is this some sort of joke? Does Brian Pumper want to steal all my gear all haul ass? Maybe he wants to kill me! Maybe bludgeon me to death!!

And then I fell back asleep.

Until 9 am, when my phone chirped. It does that when it’s put on vibrate mode, and there’s lots of people trying to get a hold of me. Sure enough, my female talent, my make-up artist, and my PA were waiting on me, cause I overslept…cause sometime either after Pumper’s first or second call I turned my phone to vibrate.

I jumped out of bed, got my day going, and now it’s 6 pm and there’s an ex-Marine at my door who’s about to jerk off and say things like “No Way Am I Gay!”

So I have to go work some more.

At least I’m pals with my Ex again…and yes, all you motherfuckers — including you, Miss Thang — can start calling me Savoy II, as of right fucking now.