Super Fun E-Mails: “Fluffers Are Not A Myth!”

Fluffer Pics

Rob writes:

Hi Billy,

I gotta tell you that fluffers are not a myth in porn, your comments only show that you´ve never shot trannies before (good for you btw). I´m a fellow pornogapher from South America, and unluckily we don´t have the porn whores you can find in LA, we do work with whores but regular whores who only shoot because they need the money. The few ones that do want to be pornstars are not really hot 90% of the time, so that leaves us with below average female talent and not even enough of them to be able to make a decent living shooting straight porn. So what do we do? we shoot girls, but with something extra hehe. Now, shooting guys fucking shemales or vice-versa is not a problem, but imagine shooting shemales doing girls, or even worse, fucking other shemales, that´s when the “fluffers” come to play, and if you don´t have a male fluffer when shooting these type of scenes then you better pray for the viagra to kick in hard because otherwise you´re gonna spend 3 hours to shoot a 20m not-so-hot scene. I could go on about shemale fluffers but I´m not sure you´d be interested, I just wanted to give you another perspective on the topic and also say that I really enjoy the stories you write, if you ever need advice on shooting shemale or gay porn just lmk

Hi Rob!

Um, OK…your pal, Billy

And We Called Her “The Fluffer”

Fluffer Pics

One of porn’s greatest myths is the fluffer.

From the Urban Dictionary: 1. fluffer. (noun) a person in the adult entertainment industry whose job it is to give male porno stars blowjobs in order to get them ready to perform. Where’s my fucking fluffer, goddammit! 2. Fluffer. A fluffer prepares the cocks of pornstars for action on the set of an adult movie before the shooting of an explicit sex scene. That fluffer gobbled my knob with such vigor…that I almost blew yogurt raisens before my big scene! 3. fluffer. Pornographic film industry employee who is responsible for keeping male performers aroused (usually via oral sex) between takes during a shoot. Dammit, the lighting’s all wrong, we gotta change it. This will only be a couple minutes; have the fluffer work on Jeff to keep him ready.

Don’t get me wrong — fluffers exist. It’s just that you rarely ever see one. And usually a fluffer is nothing more than a porn whore on set who isn’t working. For example, a porn whore shows up on set with her girlfriend, and girlfriend is a porn whore too, and maybe she’s off that day, or she already did her scene…so she winds up hanging around set and the next thing you know she’s blowing the male talent.

It’s a scenario I’ve seen go down maybe once or twice.

As far as a porn girl working as a fluffer…well, shit don’t happen.

But I do have a fluffer story, and I think you’re gonna like it.

I’m in Vegas for a Porno Convention. Yep, porn’s an industry, and like all industries, we have conventions. Vegas is a popular destination for any type of convention, cause, well…you know.

Duh.

Anyway, I’m sitting at The Circle Bar with my lawyer, my male talent, and my new chick, and we’re waiting on Jaylynn Sinz. She’s today’s dicksucker, and she’s a good one.

Suddenly, I spot a little person intoxicated at the bar. Which is a nice way of saying I spotted a drunk midget — or a wasted dwarf.

To be completely accurate, this dude’s a dwarf, as midgets are very very rare, and you hardly ever see one; midgets are anatomically little straight across the board: their little fingers match their little heads match their little feet, whereas dwarves are a complete mess.

Turns out this dwarf bears a striking resemblance to Wee Man, Johnny Knoxville and Steve-O’s sidekick from Jack Ass. In fact, I’m convinced that it’s Wee Man, so I ask my lawyer if I should approach Wee Man and ask if he’ll let us film Jaylynn blowing him.

My lawyer looked at me like I was a retard.

So we both approach Wee Man, and he’s a jovial little guy, and the minute I ask if he wants to be in a porno, he loses his mind…in a good way. “FUCK YEA MAN! BRING ON DA BITCHES!!!”

“You’re Wee Man, right?”

“I’m Wee Mac!”

It’s loud in the bar, and I think part of me wanted so much for this to be the real Wee Man, cause I swore that’s what I heard: I’m Wee Man!

My lawyer was on it: he asked the little fellow what his real name was, and then, using his cell phone, he Googled Wee Man’s real name. Then, he looked at me and frowned, “He’s Wee Mac.”

Wee Mac laughed loudly and screamed, “I AM WEE MAC MOTHAFUCKERS AND I WANT MY DICK SUCKED!”

I looked at my lawyer and he looked at me. I said, “It’s still a midget getting blown by a hot porn chick. And he does look exactly like Wee Man. I think it’s good” and my lawyer said “fuck yea it’s good.”

Turns out Wee Mac has an adviser, and I had to talk to the adviser, and the adviser had to get on the phone and make a bunch of calls, and when it was all said and done I would have to pay Wee Mac in the “five figure range” to film him getting a BJ.

I passed.

That’s about the time Jaylynn showed up.

How did I get on midgets and dwarves and little people and Wee Mac and $10,000 BJ rates when this whole thing was supposed to be about fluffers?

Oh yea: as I’m working Wee Mac and his adviser, my male talent is working a sloppy drunk girl at the bar. And Sloppy Drunk Girl is intrigued that we’re Porno.

“I wanna be in a porno!” Sloppy Drunk Girl said.

I said “you can fluff.”

“What’s that mean?”

I defined it for Sloppy Drunk Girl, and she was down, and the next thing you know we’re in a room making dirty movies.

Drunk midgets and dirty movies and fluffers and Jaylynn Sinz blowing two dudes in a hotel room in Vegas while my lawyer snapped pictures.

And you thought your life was weird.

Super Fun E-Mails: “Spit and Rinse.”

Jaylynn Sinz

My Pal Marty writes:

Hi Billy, I have to agree with JR about the male talent with one exception…Brandon Irons and Loadmymouth. He is an old fuck like you and he asks the questions I want to hear like, What’s the oldest guy you ever did it with, How old were you the first time you swallowed, Why are you here, How long have we known each other and one of my favorites…Are there any other holes open for business.

I have been a whore monger for many years and I have never come across the level of talent that I see on your sites. Are any of these girls escorts. I’d love to get a manojob from someone that looks like Chelci fox or even Jaylynn Sinz. How do you find these whores so willing to take a load in the face or show off the load in their mouth before they swallow it down. I’d love to do something like that but it isn’t usually available. Even in Vegas. Sure you can cum in their mouth but then they run for the bathroom to spit and rinse. Any tips on convincing them to do the right thing would be appreciated. Your pal, Marty

Dear Whoremonger Marty:

Thanks so much for the compliments! I dunno what to say! I mean your stamp of approval says a lot, and I mean that with all sincerity! Like you said — you’re a whoremonger — and you know finding tramps that look this good ain’t an easy task. I work really hard, dealing with all the scuzzy (and not-so-scuzzy) agents in Porno Land to harvest only the finest talent available.

Look at Jaylynn! What a piece of ass!

And Chelci Fox! Wowzers!!

Some porno girls do escort. Sometimes they’re referred to as “privates”. What a bargain, eh? Have one of your favorite porn stars come to your Vegas room for a private!

Not all of them do escort, but if you poke around the internet, there’s a site (or two) that will tell you, for the most part, which ones do…and get ready to shell out the fun tickets, cause they ain’t cheap!

I dunno what to tell you about the whores that spit and rinse, except this: the Porno World is like a small family. Really, it is. Almost everyone knows everyone, so when Jaylynn’s booked for a swallow scene, or, for example, I book Alexia Skye with Brandon Irons, and she’s getting paid to swallow…well, they usually know each other, there’s HIV tests readily available, so the swallow goes down without a hitch.

Whores are different than Porno Whores, and while I don’t know a whole lot about them, I know this — you’re a stranger, I’m sure you didn’t just show your recent HIV test to the Vegas whore you’re about to unload a wad of jizz into; hence, she’ll run to the bathroom, and spit…and rinse. Maybe you should build a relationship with one of your whores.

Become a regular.

Then, eat a healthy diet and pay her a little extra and I bet you’ll get your swallow…time and time again. She might even play along with your perverted, filthy questions.

Who knows…treat her right, and all her holes might be open for business, too.

Just make sure and bring your Jimmy Hat, yo.

Your pal — Billy

Year 5

Kinzy Jo

It was August of 02 I left the Normal World of The Workplace — working 9 to 5; working a 40 hour week; break rooms and gossip; suits and ties; overtime pay; office drama; office flirtations; holidays and vacation time; coffee makers and secretaries and briefcases.

And I entered into porn whores and agents; no holidays and vacation whenever I want; working a 70 hour week; make-up rooms and gossip; flannel PJ’s with a cap on backwards; porno drama and porn whores; cameras and strobes and lube and baby wipes and pop shots and waiting forever on pop shots and wood and waiting forever on wood and no wood at all and HIV tests and chlamydia and gonorrhea and porno drama and porn whores and cameras and lube and baby wipes.

Did I mention dildoes and vibrators?

How about Gloryholes and Manojobs?

Or Spring Thomas and Chelci Fox?

I can’t say that I’ve got the best job in the world…nor the worst.

I can say I’ve got the best job I’ve ever had, which is way better than the worst job I’ve ever had, which was jackhammering a hole all summer long under an acid vat at the Union Carbide factory near Chicago…an acid vat in which they processed hot dog casings.

They would take those casing and squirt meat into them and package them and ship them to grocery stores and sell them and then you eat them: acid-washed casings filled with meat.

Here’s a secret recipe for ya: pour some chili con carne over them and YUM! Chili dogs! What a special treat!

Hold on.

Come to think of it, the worst job I ever had was selling Nissans in the desert heat.

No wait — the worst job I ever had was selling jewelry cleaner at Sam’s Club.

No wait — the worst job I ever had was selling penny stocks over the phone.

No wait — the worst job I ever had was substitute teaching in the middle school.

Yep, that’s it. Remember how you behaved when The Sub walked in?

Now, I Shoot Porn.

Barbie Cummings and Bella Donna and Sasha Gray and Gia Paloma and Hillary Scott and Haley Scott and Gwen Diamond and Lauren Phoenix and Nina Hartley and Adrianna Nicole and Fiona Cheeks and Katie Thomas and Candy Monroe and Riley Shy and Cherry Poppins and Ruth Blackwell and Erin Moore and Avy Lee Scott and Jayma Reed and Jacky Joy and Jenny Carmichael and Makenzie Wilson and Gianna and Riley Mason and Bree Olson and Trisha Rae and Chelsea Rae and Sativa Rose and Kitty and Jasmine Tame and Leah Luv.

Um, who’d I forget?

Eh, you get the point.

What a ride it’s been, and the way it looks, it’s nowhere near being done.

Super Fun E-Mails: “drunk again.”

Ragnarok

JR writes:

Hey Billy.

It seems the only time I ever write you is when I’m loaded. Fair enough; I won’t rant too much, I promise.

My question is why the FUCK do modern gonzo/”reality” internet content producers, almost across the board (present company, I believe, excluded), insist on having a fucking cadre of dudes (usually of high-school droput-level intelligence) standing around making commentary on the action and cracking idiotic jokes (and even worse, often denigrating the women), esp. during climax? Don’t these fuckers know that not only does no one care, but they are actively ruining the reason people purchase and consume porn? They’re not making Dude Where’s My Car here, or a home video, but they seem to think it’s about them.

It isn’t.

SHUT THE FUCK UP, DOUCHEBAGS.

P.S. Only you can save Winehouse at this point…get that gal a sandwich and some methadone, holy shit.

JR — I couldn’t agree with you more. I remember the first time watching Bang Bus scenes and wondering when the fuck Dirty Sanchez would shut his pie hole and let the couple fuck.

But you can’t argue with success, and those guys are just about the most successful site ever, so the copycats came out of the wood work, and there you have it.

Your complaint is the number one reason I kept the dicks silent on Manojob, and now, whenever I shoot a scene for The Dick Suckers, I do the same thing: keep the male talent silent.

Let the girl do all the talking.

It’s one of the reasons why Manojob is the all-time greatest handjob site ever.

Well, I’d like to think so, anyway.

And poor Amy Winehouse. She is indeed a mess. Judging from the picture, she’s probably shooting smack, and you know the junkies call heroin “The King”, and there’s a reason why.

At least she made one good record.

How To Become a Pornographer, Part 2

Jaylynn Sinz and Billy Watson

The first thing I did was research equipment. You don’t necessarily have to buy the most expensive stuff, but don’t settle for cheap, either. Cutting edge in ’02 was a 3 chip video camera; now it’s HD. But I don’t buy HD…yet. Meaning, of course, I think you can definitely make great movies without committing it to HD. Don’t forget there’s HD and HDV, and there’s the internet and bit rate compressions, and DVD is dying a slow death, and the medium in my industry is still up in the air, so just do your homework and have a little bit of a budget and you should do fine.

Have fun with lighting…both video and photographs. It’s something I’m still trying to figure out to this day. Just do your homework and make sure you get some help. I’d hire a pro for 1/2 day or a day…and if you don’t have the money to do hire a pro, find it. Or, read up on it.

Once your lights and camera are set, time to find the whores. Here’s where it gets tricky. I’m in LA now, where there’s tons of pimps all over the place. Professionally they’re known as “agents”. When I began looking for whores before I figured out the LA scene…well, I did the best I could. Ads and word-of-mouth work…sometimes. Referrals work sometimes, too…just gotta find other producers in your area, and hope they’ll share information with you. Some do, some don’t.

I realize the negative connotation “whore” carries, but when I refer to a porno girl as a “whore”, I’m not degrading them. I used to use “Porn Star” when I referred to any girl who did naughty things in front of a camera, but I don’t anymore; a porn star transcends the biz and their name becomes recognizable to people who don’t watch porno on any kind of regular basis.

Jenna Jameson and Ron Jeremy are porn stars. Anna VonTrap and Riley Winters are not.

Besides, it wouldn’t bother Anna or Riley if you called them a whore. Really, it wouldn’t.

So, you got yourself a whore, and you got your equipment, and you’ve learned your cameras and you got yourself a place to shoot your smut, and you’ve made yourself familiar with local laws concerning the production of smut (Los Angeles County is the only place in the country where shoot smut is legal), and you’ve decided exactly what kind of smut you’re gonna make (for example, interracial or handjobs or ass eating or dick sucking or solo girl or gay.).

You’re Porno, baby!

Did you remember your baby wipes and lube? Enemas and douches? Dildoes and vibrators?

And once you’ve shot your whore, how much do you pay her? Here’s current LA rates for a girl shooting straight content (give or take) and this isn’t the first time I’ve posted this information:

Solo / Masturbation / Toy Show – $100 (or so) an hour.
Handjobs – $200 a scene.
BJ’s – $300 a scene.
Girl / Girl Lezbo – $600 to $800 per girl a scene.
Boy / Girl Sexy Time – $900 – $2000 a scene.
Add a dick for $100 (or so) per dick, until the porn whore says “that’s enough!”

I could go on, but I think I’ve covered this before, so I’ll cut it short now, and if you’re really into jumpstarting your career in smut, poke around the blog a little and I’m sure you’ll do just fine.

I’m gonna go watch 300 now.

Me and Barry.

Barry Bonds

Once upon a time I was a jock.

And a very, very good jock.

Like all good jocks I scored points for my team so they’d win win win, and I’d practice hard, and I’d take my studies for granted because I didn’t pay for them, and I’d fuck around and never take anything seriously except for my sport, and I’d take “jock classes” cause they were classes for jocks cause they were easy and the professors were softies when it came to handing out grades to jocks while they were enrolled in their jock classes and it was in one of these classes for jocks I sat down almost every day next to Barry…well, I sat next to Barry when me or Barry actually decided to come to class, and when we both actually came to class on the same day.

Barry and me were cool.

We weren’t on the same team, but we were both jocks, and when we didn’t see each other in jock classes we’d see each other in jock places: locker rooms, training rooms, weight rooms, and bar rooms where the jocks hung out and did things like drink beer and chase girls.

Come to think of it, we didn’t see much of each other in class rooms, cause we didn’t go to class a whole bunch.

What a shame it is to look back on that foolish young man who squandered away a free college education so he could be the very best jock he could be.

Hey — at least I graduated.

My coach always said, “C’s Get Degrees!” and he was certainly correct.

Last time I saw Barry and he acknowledged me was at Costco, right after he signed with the Pirates. It was ’87 or so, and we walked right into each other at the check-out line, and we caught up on things, and he was with his chick, and I can’t remember who I was with, and I congratulated him on being a Pirate, and we reminisced about our jock days, and that jock class, and how he got booted out of jock class one day for bad behavior, and we laughed when I said something like dude, you’re the only guy I knew who was ever tossed out of class at the University level for acting like a jack ass.

Last time I saw Barry and he refused to acknowledge me was at the 1998 All-Star Game in Denver Colorado. I was standing about five feet from him during home run derby, and he had just struck out, and I was kinda drunk and yelling for him to come over so we could reminisce about the time he was tossed out of a college class for acting like a toolbox; he looked right through me before he descended into the National League’s dug out, and looking back at it now, I don’t blame him, cause in all actuality I was really drunk and acting like a tool box.

When I was a jock I took steroids and I don’t regret it…not for one second. I did what I had to do to be competitive and that’s that.

I have no idea if Barry’s ever taken a steroid in his life, and to tell you the truth, I could give two shits; with all the juice I was on, I shoulda hit a baseball into the next county…or at least into the Salt River.

But I couldn’t hit a ball out of the infield, and that’s something people just don’t understand: steroids don’t make anyone a better athlete.

I just wish my undergrad GPA was higher than 2.02…but hey, C’s get degrees.

Super Fun E-Mails: “Ragnarök!”

Ragnarok

DC writes:

Hey!

How the hell are you!!

Just wanted to let you know that I think you are the biggest disgrace to the face of humanity. It must really empower you to think that your exploitation of my sisters is somehow noble. What a twink you are… I’m sure you life is just such a joy.

You will unquestionably be one of the one who feel the power of the hammer during Ragnarok

Enjoy you 15 minutes, twink. Your time will come.

Heya DC:

Wow. You really caught me off guard here…on two levels, really.

From what I’ve come to learn about the gay sex world, a twink is akin to a “barely-legal” girl…a hairless, young dude who’s gay. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not gay, nor am I young. And while I’m not hairy, I’m certainly not hairless.

But what really caught me off guard is your reference to “Ragnarök”, something I’ve never, ever heard of. And thank Odin for the internet and Google, cause in about 15 seconds I got a Wikipedia full of Ragnarök, as well as Jötnar, Æsir, and the rest of that great Norse myth.

Why do people think women are exploited when they act in dirty movies? And why are there so many men who try and save them from this exploitation without doing a little homework, first? Honestly, good dudes like you are actually hurting women (and women’s rights) more than me.

That’s right, me — a Damned Twink Pornographer who deserves to get bonked on the head with Thor’s mighty Hammer.

Isn’t it True Empowerment when a woman — or anyone for that matter — exercises the free will we’re given as human beings called autonomy? Total and complete autonomy?

In other words, a girl gets the right to chose what she does with her body, without any sort of input from anyone…including a guy? And even if, in hindsight, that decision may (or may not be) considered “good”…or “bad”?

Imagine this world: a girl can do whatever she pleases — as long as it’s legal — and not get hassled, or told what to do, or how to do it, or how not to do it, or get judged, or be called names, or even bonked over the head with a hammer when she chooses to do something that might piss a dude off.

Guess what? In the city where I work, making dirty movies is legal! And in the five years I’ve been making them, I’ve never once asked a girl to do something she didn’t want to, nor have I ever heard of such a thing happening.

Hard to imagine, huh? I mean that there’s girl out there who actually *love* sex and don’t care if they’re filmed during it.

The greatest myth ever perpetuated about my business is the actress who is coerced to do something against her will. This myth can be traced back directly to Linda Lovelace, who claimed (later in her life, after she found Jesus) that a gun was held to her head while shooting Deep Throat.

This is a myth that’s now been circulated more than once since Linda’s day (anyone remember Traci Lords?), and for one sole reason: the women who disavow their porn careers do so in order to seek approval from whoever it is they’re hanging out with at that particular moment in time…usually a boyfriend who’s recently discovered her “secret”.

Meanwhile, she’s spent all the money she made starring in dirty movies (which was *way* more she ever woulda earned working outside the sex industry), and she’s got absolutely nothing to show for it…so she’s kinda pissed, too.

They gave me drugs! They gave me alcohol! They held a gun to my head! I swear to God honey I would never, ever do that sort of disgusting thing if I wasn’t _________!!!

Fill in the blank with “forced” or “high” or “drunk”.

And The Suckers buy it — hook, line, and sinker.

I’m sorry you’re so pissed, DC. I’m just shocked you’re so pissed you actually took time out of your important day, running your computer networking business, in order to let me know just how pissed you really are.

Just one question for ya, DC, and trust me, this is a rhetorical question…which means I don’t want you to answer. In other words, when someone asks you a rhetorical question, they just want ya to think about it.

In other words, please don’t e-mail me again.

If you hate porn so much, how did you find my blog?

I’m sure you’re not surfing for porn, are you DC? I mean you’re so worried about exploiting women and all that there’s no way in the world you would ever beat your meat to porn, right? In fact, I bet you don’t masturbate at all. You probably just stumbled across my blog by accident.

Again, purely rhetorical.

Now, don’t lemme stop ya from saving your sisters from The Evil Twinks like me.

May The Force Be With You — Billy

How To Become a Pornographer, Part 1

Jaylynn Sinz and Billy Watson

I was teaching as an adjunct professor in an inner-city community college district working desperately toward a tenured position.

I spent close to four years at that place busting my ass, too: besides working over-time all the time, I volunteered a lot, as well as sat in on every faculty meeting I could (even the ones that weren’t required) making sure to contribute everything I had up my sleeve just for a shot at that coveted gig — tenure.

When the gig was officially announced, I was one of 400 (or so) candidates for consideration.

A month later, there were three: myself, The Competition, and The Other.

The Competition was a middle-aged woman who was very competent — and excellent instructor who cared about her students — and happened to be hard of hearing. I think she was legally deaf, but I’m not sure. All I knew was she had a disability, and I didn’t; hence, she was one up on me…and it was a big one up.

The Other was a poet who just earned his MFA and taught the 6th grade. He wasn’t much of a threat; after all, he wasn’t qualified for the position, and I knew the only thing The Other had going for him was his close friend was a poet as well. His close friend taught at the college with me, and that’s the only thing that had gotten The Other as far as he had gotten. After all, The Other hadn’t taught a day in a college classroom.

I had almost four years in the classroom at that college under my belt, an unsurpassed student rapport, high evaluations from my superiors, and all sorts hours volunteering.

So did The Competition. Plus, did I mention she was deaf?

We interviewed for a committee of five. I got a fresh haircut and wore my very best suit…one that I used to wear when I sold stocks and bonds and taught wanna-be brokers how to pass the Series 7. I was very confident, too; three of five of the committee were my pals; one I scored “boo” for when his supply was dry.

I called this The Equalizer — she might have been deaf, but I scored weed for one of the committee members who sat on the hiring panel.

Weeks went by without a word. No one, it seemed, was getting hired. We were all tense, but we pretended like it wasn’t a big deal. Then, the word came down from administration: “Due to a lack of diversification in the hiring pool, the position will be offered as an adjunct professor for a one-year-only contract.”

Administration in inner-city schools believe minorities learn best from other minorities. In other words, a young black man, for example, learns best from a black professor, which is an opinion I highly agree with. But what happens when there are no minority candidates qualified for the position? Well, in my case, just take the position away, offer it again the following year, and hope to God a qualified minority applies.

All three of us agreed to take the adjunct position — if it was offered to us — and reapply the following year for the tenured job.

That same day I was axed, leaving The Competition and The Other.

I was stunned. What went wrong? Did I say something? What part of my hiring packet was incomplete? Did I fuck up my application? Maybe the lesson I presented The Panel was off?

I went to see Professor Boo. I really liked Professor Boo…I still do. He was an old beatnik poet, and he lived in a cold-water flat in Greenwich Village in the 60’s, and he was the kind of worker who dies before retirement, and he could tell some great stories: one of my favorites was when he would catch Thelonius Monk at the Five Spot in, and he’d show me how Thelonius would just jump up from his piano in the middle of a tune and dance around the stage and then plop himself back into his bench and hammer out more notes without ever missing the beat.

Professor Boo was no where to be found. I did find Professor Cunt, who was a big mouth know-it-all with a PhD from NYU (I think) so I guess that means she was a know-it-all, but there’s cool know-it-alls and know-it-alls you can’t stand, and no one could really stand Professor Cunt. She wasn’t on my hiring committee, but the way people talk in academia, I knew she would know why I wasn’t hired.

“My dear, don’t you realize that being gay is a diversification?”

This made immediate sense to me, but you won’t understand this…until I tell you that The Other was gay, and, in fact, he was The Lover of The Poet who taught in my department. Professor Cunt was smiling, and she might have even giggled a bit, but I wasn’t smiling…or laughing.

“So if I wear a dress tomorrow and start sucking a whole bunch of cock do you think I have a shot at the position next year?”

She stopped smiling. And I went into my office, grabbed the biggest box laying around, and packed my shit and hauled ass.

That week a friend of mine called. He had started some dirty websites on the internet, and he needed original content for them, and he wanted to know if I was looking for work.

The next month I was up in the hills of Malibu, high above the Pacific Ocean in a very secret place, working for a dude named Dogfart and a site called Blacks On Blondes.