What’s Your Favorite Porn Whore’s Damage, Yo?!

Luxury and her huge melons

Check me out…burying my face into Luxury’s beautiful ebony melons. They clock in at a size GGG, and they’re as firm and soft as your mind can imagine.

Why do I like to bury my face in a pair of melons? Well, I love sex. That’s a start. I love women, too. I love melons. I love asses, too; and, in fact, if Luxury would have backed her rear end up into my face, I’d shriek in joy. Then I’d lick her butt hole. Cause I’m a pervert. A filthy fucking pervert. I love nasty, nasty things — as long as the people involved are consensual about those nasty things, and everyone’s having a good time.

Or making money.

Or both.

Cause that’s how I roll.

I’d stop short of calling myself a sex addict, although I’ve often wondered if I am. Why not take a quiz and find out, here and now? Oh hey…while I’m at it, let’s see if you’re one, too:

From Psyche Central: Answering “yes” to any of the questions below indicates that you might have a problem with sex addiction. The questions are adapted from Don’t Call It Love: Recovery From Sexual Addiction by P.J. Carnes (1991).

* Do you regularly purchase sexually explicit magazines?
* Are you preoccupied with sex?
* Do you feel that your sexual behavior is abnormal?
* Does your spouse ever complain about your sexual behavior?
* Do you often feel bad about your sexual behavior?
* Do you hide aspects of your sexual behavior from your partner?
* Has your sexual behavior ever interfered with your family life?
* Have you been unable to stop your sexual behavior even though you know it’s inappropriate?

Before I got into the porno biz, I’d jerk to dirty movies about once a week. Sometimes less…sometimes more. Depended on whether or not I had a girlfriend. If I did, then less…and if I didn’t, then at least once a week. Sometimes more…but not usually.

Does that qualify me as a sex addict?

I don’t think so. But I guess you could find a specialist somewhere who would disagree.

As far as the rest of the list, I’m OK. Which is to say I none of the others pertain to me.

Well, wait. I’m a little concerned over the word “preoccupied” in the second statement. I’d need a more precise definition of “preoccupied”. Aren’t most dudes preoccupied with tits and ass and pussy? I know I was when I was 14 (or so) and, I think, up until now. But my preoccupation to sex comes from my occupation in sex, right?

Who knows.

Did I mention I love sex?

And women?

“I’m a sex addict, and I love women” — Chas Michael Michaels.

On to The Next: why am in the porno biz? Well…I’m lucky here, in as much as I can answer this question with relative certainty: if I woulda gotten tenure, I’d be there (Academia) — and not here (Splooge Land).

Which is to say when I didn’t land the coveted tenured-track position at the community college where I was teaching, I had pals in the porno biz, and they offered me a spot the day I walked out of the college with all my books in boxes…and, by the way, knowing someone in the Porno Game is the segue for about 90% of the people in porn.

Certainly for the dudes in porn, both in front of, and behind, the camera.

I do well in porn cause I am a perv, and I love sex, and I work hard, and blah blah blah on what I’ve already covered.

I also do well in porn cause I’m a creative person, and I’m not really a 9 to 5’er (although I’ve survived in that world) and, for the most part, I’ve always been intrigued (maybe “fascinated” is a better word) by people who aren’t The Norm.

I find The Norm terribly…well, normal.

And boring.

I have a lot of friends that are married, with 2.4 kids, and work in a suit and tie, and leave the house at 8, and come home at 5.30, and look forward to their weekends…and while there’s certainly nothing wrong with that, it just isn’t me.

When I was in part of The Norm, I used to watch porn, and I’d ask myself something like, “what in the world would make that cute girl do what she’s doing while someone is filming it for the whole world to see?”

Then, I’d blow a big load.

Usually all over myself. But sometimes I’d finish in the bathroom, directly into the toilet, to make clean-up a snap.

I’ve talked about this before, but usually not as specifically as I’m about to. Also, I’d like to point out I’m not about shit talkin’ Porn Whores, or Porno Dudes, or anyone, for that matter. I just think I’m a bit more qualified to answer the question I used to ask myself right before I’d launch the creamy stuff all over my big ol’ belly.

And let’s face it — you do the same fucking thing.

What in the world would make that cute girl do what she’s doing while someone is filming it for the whole world to see and then Ka-Blammo!!! you’re looking for the box of tissue to clean yourself up.

Hopefully before your wife walks in.

I’ve always said some of the most sure-fire ways to turn your daughter into a Porn Whore are: don’t pay any attention to her…or leave her altogether; cram a whole bunch of Religion down her throat on a daily basis; and live in poverty. Oh sure — there’s other factors I haven’t really covered, but don’t let anyone tell ya those aren’t The Big Three.

The Shylock — Mark Speigler — is a super agent who once told me an old joke. I knew the punchline before he told it to me, but out of respect I pretended I had never heard it.

“How do you tell when a whore is lying?”

Her lips move.

With that said, there’s two kinda of liars — pathological and compulsive — but I think the number one thing you’re dealing with when you’re dealing with a Porn Whore is Pathological Liars:

Pathological Liar: from The Truth About Deception — “A pathological liar is usually defined as someone who lies incessantly to get their way and does so with little concern for others. Pathological lying is often viewed as coping mechanism developed in early childhood and it is often associated with some other type of mental health disorder. A pathological liar is often goal-oriented (i.e., lying is focused – it is done to get one’s way). Pathological liars have little regard or respect for the rights and feelings of others. A pathological liar often comes across as being manipulative, cunning and self-centered.”

If your favorite Porn whore isn’t a pathological liar, she probably suffers from a bi-polar disorder:

Bipolar disorder: “Also known as manic-depressive illness, is a brain disorder that causes unusual shifts in a person’s mood, energy, and ability to function. Different from the normal ups and downs that everyone goes through, the symptoms of bipolar disorder are severe. They can result in damaged relationships, poor job or school performance, and even suicide.”

Finally, they used to call them “sociopaths”, but now there’s a politically correct term: “anti-social personality disorder“, and, all they need are three of the following seven traits to be classified as such (one of my very favorite Porn Whores clocks in with all seven):

1. Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest;

2. Deceitfulness, as indicated by repeatedly lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit or pleasure;

3. Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead;

4. Irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults;

5. Reckless disregard for safety of self or others;

6. Consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations;

7. Lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another.

Now, before you get your panties all up in a bunch, and go hatin’ on me. Let me make one thing perfectly clear — there’s a lot of people in porno that aren’t liars, bi-polar, or sociopaths.

Really…there is.

A lot of people in the porno game are kinda like me — they’re creative, they’re perverts, and the old 9 to 5 routine just ain’t their game.

Oh, did I mention I love sex?

And I love women?

I’m certainly not normal, either.

But, as Barbie Cummings always said, “I’m not normal, and I’m OK with that.”

Chas Michael Michaels

Deep Thoughts, by Billy Watson.

Remember Jack Handy? He was the SNL character you never saw, but he’d give you some of his “deep thoughts”, and most of them were really funny? He’s a real person, by the way; he’s not Steve Martin, or Al Franken, or a person made-up by the SNL writing crew.


DeepThoughtsByJackHandey.com

I have no idea why I just cut and paste that code into my blog, except it’s kinda cool. And I don’t have to prep a pic to post, either.

My deep thoughts aren’t funny. Well, I might try to be funny on some of them. But they won’t be anything like Jack’s. Promise. I just wanted to do this cause I wanted to blog, but I didn’t have any ideas to really flesh out more than, say, a paragraph. So here goes:

What’s up with Rush Limbaugh hoping our new President fails? When Bush was elected, I kinda hated him…but post 9-11, I really hated him. I hated that silly MoFo more than almost anything I can think of right now, but never once did I ever hope Bush failed. I think we need to try that fat fuck Limbaugh for treason. Serious. He’s spreading shit like this on our airwaves, which is totally treasonous, so let’s just get it over with and off him. Hang the hill-billy heroin eatin’ fat boy ASAP. And do it in a town square. Have a fish fry afterward. Catfish, preferably. Or cod.

I now weigh 225. Six months ago, I tipped the scales at 255. I had a hard time bending over to reach the strawberry-banana cream pie on the bottom shelf of the fridge to shove down my pie-hole whilst getting stoned with the beautiful Audrey Elson whilst watching the tele. Now I’m jogging, going to the guy, walking up the Hollywood Hills to the observatory, and doing yoga. That’s right, yoga. I can hold downward facing dog without a problem. Soon, I will be able to suck myself off.

I have not started my French lessons. The CD’s are sitting on my shelf, and I can see them from here, and I have no idea what’s keeping me from cracking that box open.

I have not started my screenplay. The Whores v. The Zombies will happen, though…at least in my head. Yours, too.

My friend Steve Steele makes super hero porn. I love it. By far the cheesiest, whackiest shit ever; hence, me gusto mucho. You should check it out…or at least look at a few trailers. I think I will write a full blog about it, soon.

I love our new President. I love that he got on Arab TV and gave an interview. I love what he’s about to do. I think he’ll do more in his first 100 days than Dip Shit accomplished in 8 years.

Just Call Me Randall P. McMurphy, Part 2.

Spring Thomas Interracial cougar

Since he’s no longer in porn, I think it’s OK to tell you what happened after Jason’s phone call. If you haven’t read about it yet, it’s the first part of this blog, and it should be right below this one. So you might want to read “Just Call Me Randall P. McMurphy” before you delve into Part Two.

Anyways, Jason was good on his word. The next day he came to my studio to show me his “something”. When the buzzer rang, I thought it was one of the dudes for the Blow Bang I was about to shoot; instead, it was Jason Brown. And, being the kind of person I tend to be, I welcomed him in to my studio.

Without looking at anyone, Jason said, “Billy! I need to talk to you…NOW!” He pointed at the sofa and demanded I sit down. He took off his jacket and pulled off his back pack and tossed it on to that sofa, then he put his cell phone down on top of all his other stuff, and then he looked at my bookkeeper and ordered her to leave the room…immediately.

I looked at him and said, “Who the fuck do you think you are, bro?” Then I told him, “This is my office. That is my employee. Never, ever walk into my place of business and tell me or any of my co-workers what to do.”

He apologized, and I walked him back to the front door and out to the street.

Then, he started. First, he showed me the thing he had to show me — his athletic uniform. It’s a very special thing to him, and as he started to explain to me why his jersey is so important — as well as the number on his jersey — a clock was ticking in my head. He had exactly five more seconds to tell me whatever it was he needed to tell me, which, of course, was never going to happen. If I gave him an hour, I don’t think he could cover all the territory he felt he needed to cover. He talked about Manchester-United, which I remember from a Rod Stewart song, and his dreams and aspirations when he was a child, and then, when he started in with more of the oxymoron talk, I told him to have a great day.

He begged for me to listen. I walked back in, grabbed his stuff, and handed it to him. I wished him luck, and he threw everything on the ground and told me to wait…he had something that, to him, signified his career in porn, and he wanted to give it to me as a symbol of his retirement. I rolled my eyes, shut the door, and locked it. His stuff lay there, in the public foyer, and I didn’t give a fuck. I walked back in to the studio to see how my crew was coming along with their paperwork, and to see how long until the Porn Whore was out of the make-up chair.

Just then my buzzer rang again.

I opened the door, and Jason handed me what he needed to hand me, and then he bolted past me, and into my office.

“Dude, you need to leave,” I said.

“No! Absolutely not!! I have to go back into your studio and talk to the guys!!! I need to tell them The Truth!”

“Dude, you need to leave. Now.”

Jason screamed. “BILLY! DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!” and then he made a mad dash for the Blow Bangers — all eight of them. And the Porn Whore.

I stood there, dumbfounded, and contemplated my next move. And just as fast as he went to the studio, he was back, and out my door. He scooped up his stuff and hauled ass.

Maybe Tone Capone and The Crew mad dogged him out of there?

Then, I got a text, apologizing for his actions. And to me, nothing works better than an apology, cause no one does that sort of thing anymore. At least it seems that way to me.

So I shot my Blow Bang, and I went about my business.

Later, I was making my way home after a long day, and I was thinking how fucking weird my life is, and here’s Jason Brown — once more — calling to tell me something.

I like Jason Brown. Even after all this, I really do. He’s been one of my best guys going on 5 years now. A “go-to” guy. He always showed up on time, never really had a problem on set, and did pretty much whatever we needed to get done. That’s one of the reasons I answered his call.

The other was just to hear what was coming next…and oh, boy, was it worth it.

“I fucked up,” he said. “I was a total asshole.”

“Yea, well…we all have bad days,” I said.

“No, dude, you don’t understand. I really fucked up. I simply misread the signals He sent me. I thought it had something to do with you, but I was wrong.”

Uh huh. You heard me. I couldn’t believe it, either, so I asked, “Jason, does God send you signals?”

Jason said yes, and he misread the ones he had just received, and he apologized once more. “It wasn’t meant for you.”

Then I asked him, “Hey, Jason…ever feel the Porno Biz has skull fucked you so hard that your brains have turned to mush?”

“Yea,” he said.

To which I concurred.

Just then I looked up and saw the green neon lights of the Vista Theater. It’s one of my very favorite places in Los Angeles…for a few reasons: I’ve sat next to some of my very closet friends in that place and watched some great films; its Egyptian facade restored to its past splendor makes it a place I’d go and sit through a movie just because…of that place. And in the 70’s, it was a seedy porno house; I even scored a leaflet at a Paper & Ephemera show advertising the weekly stag flick at the Vista. Before it was a stag house, Ed Wood Jr. — one of my very favorite film makers — kept an office right above the theater.

I wonder if Ed Wood’s actors received signals from God.

Maybe Ed Wood himself talked to God. How else would you explain the masterpiece that is Plan 9 from Outer Space?

Just Call Me Randall P. McMurphy.

Spring Thomas Interracial cougar

I just hung up the phone with Jason Brown. He called to tell me that, in addition to not being able to make tomorrow’s blow bang, he was retiring from porn altogether.

Effective immediately.

Jason Brown is male talent, and I don’t talk a whole lot about male talent; even though they’re just as whacky as the female talent…mainly cause they’re lacking mammary glands and a vagina, so you really don’t wanna hear about the dudes, right?

But this one is just too good to pass up.

That’s Jason sitting next to Spring Thomas, and he’s about to bang the shit out of her. Jason’s really great talent, and he’s a nice guy…but tonight’s phone call got really fucking weird.

“Hey Billy, you got a sec? Cause we need to talk.”

I know Jason well enough to know he likes to talk a lot, and it takes him a while to get to the point, and I just wasn’t in the mood. “Are you coming to the blow bang tomorrow or not?”

“That’s what we need to talk to you about. Tell me something…are you happy with your life?”

Uh huh. As in uh huh, this is really where the conversation was going, and I knew it was gonna get interesting. And, like I said, I wasn’t in the mood to fuck around with him on the phone. “Dude, it’s a yes-no answer. That makes it simple. It certainly isn’t rocket science. Are you coming to the blow bang tomorrow or not?”

Jason said, “No, I’m not, and, in fact, I’m quitting porn.”

This kinda surprised me, which made me all ears: “OK, I’m listening. What’s up, Jason?”

Jason asked, “Do you know a lot about the world?”

To which I replied, “Is this a trick question?”

“No man, I’m serious.”

“Well, I thought I knew a few things about the way the world works, but after being in porn a few years, and spending time with people who make their living in the sex business, I’d say I’m back to learning more and more. What’s on your mind Jason?””

Then Jason asked me, “Are you a happy person?”

I had a pretty good idea what was coming next, but the anticipation was just killing me…so I went with it. “Yea, I guess. For the most part. What’s on your mind Jason?”

“Do you know what an oxymoron is?”

I kid you not. I wish I was making this shit up, or exaggerating…but nope. Neither. “Um, yea, I think I have a pretty good understanding of oxymorons. What’s on your mind Jason?”

“I love you Billy. This is why I need to talk to you. About oxymorons, and this Earth, and if you think you’re a good person — or a bad person. You know good and bad, right? It’s an oxymoron, and I think you need to be a good person on this Earth. You’re a good person, I think. Do you think you’re good, or bad? And are you happy with what you’re doing?”

I kid you not. I wish I was making this shit up, or exaggerating…so, in order to fuck with him a little, I said something like, “I have good days and bad days. I try and treat people with courtesy and respect. And I think I know a better oxymoron for you to think about, but it’s the cliché of oxymorons, so I hope it doesn’t disappoint you — so here goes. Jumbo shrimp.”

“Exactly!” he said. “That’s what I’m talking about! When a person tells you one thing and brings you something else!!”

I kid you not. I wish I was making this shit up…or exaggerating. But I’m not. And so far, I have no fucking idea what Jason is saying to me, but I think I know what direction he’s going. Cause all of a sudden he’s talking about God — in addition to oxymorons, the good and the bad, the Earth, and his overwhelming need to “show me something”.

Oh, and jumbo shrimp. I’m just glad I didn’t bring up military intelligence.

“What theology do you want to talk to me about, Jason?”

“It’s not that. I just need to show you something!”

“What specific theology would you like to talk about, Jason?”

“No dude, you’re not listening to me!”

I repeated myself, again.

“Look, I’m a Christian, and I believe in God, and I really need to show you something.”

To which I replied, “Jason, I’m late. I’m meeting some friends for dinner. I wish you nothing but success and good fortune with your future endeavors. Take care of yourself and — ”

I was about to say good luck, but he was gone. Jason had either hung up on me, or he had lost his signal. So I called him back, cause if that Silly Mofo hung up on me, I was gonna be pissed.

So I called him back. “Jason, did you just hang up on me?”

“What just happened Billy? Can you tell me what just happened?!”

I couldn’t wait to hear. Really…I couldn’t. This was the best shit I’ve heard since, well…let’s see. It’s the best shit I’ve heard since another dude I used to shoot told me I wear t-shirts on set with the sole purpose of “fucking with his head”.

“Let’s see. Um…either you hung up on me, or you lost your signal.”

“I hung up on you, but there’s a reason I hung up on you!”

So, as Jason tried to explain “realities” and “perceptions” to me, I thought about Ken Kesey’s great novel, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. You might have read the book; I’m sure you saw the movie.

Cause, for a quick moment, I had this totally surreal thought in which I suddenly became the main character of Kesey’s book, and all these fucking crazies who have surrounded me now for years had made me as crazy as they are.

Or am I the one who’s truly whacked out of his skull — and they’re sane?

The thought only lasted a few more seconds before I cut Jason off and wished him luck and all the other nice things I mentioned earlier — like future endeavors and good fortune.

Then I grabbed my gear and hauled ass to dinner, cause this whole silly ordeal lasted way longer than it should have. And now I’m kinda pissed, cause I have to spend my dinner time calling various black dudes to see which one of them wants to get paid to get their dick sucked tomorrow morning.

Interview with a Porn Star (#58) — Ashli Orion

Ashli Orion interview

I Shoot Porn: Let’s talk about what happened in your college class the other day.

Ashli Orion: In my child development class, we were talking about twins, and how twins are created in the uterus. So I raised my hand and asked my professor if it was possible for fraternal twins to be from different fathers. And the whole class looked at me like I was a whorish freak. So my Professor said something like, “I wouldn’t know a girl to be slutty enough actually to have that happen.” I’m thinking to myself, I just took three cream pies last night from three different dudes…why wouldn’t that be possible?

ISP: Is that the craziest thing you’ve done off-camera?

AO: Um, lemme see. I let a guy pierce my nipples while we were fucking. I got DP’d at a frat party at my college. I love public sex, so I have sex all over the place. Once I did it on top of one of the oil derricks in Long Beach.

ISP: You got into an oil derrick?

AO: Yep! We climbed over a gate and got up the mountain and climbed some stairs that were totally shaky, cause they were getting repaired. We actually fucked on that thing…that thing. What do you call it? The thing were workmen work on?

ISP: Scaffolding?

AO: That’s it! We fucked on the scaffolding so hard were were afraid it was going to break and the cops would show up.

ISP: So what’s your damage?

AO: My dad had a black box — one of those things that let you get every channel on cable. So, after midnight, I could watch The Spice Channel! Thank you dad for having illegal cable with all those dirty movies!

ISP: So you’re a perv — or is this all for a paycheck?

AO: I’m just a pervert. No one molested me, but I kinda wanted it. No! Don’t write that! Seriously.

ISP: OK, I won’t.

AO: But I did like my dad’s friends.

ISP: Ever blow one of them?

AO: No. I was too shy. I was a secret pervert.

ISP: Elaborate.

AO: Um, let’s see…I would make sure my panties were accidentally showing when my dad’s friends were around. I’ve put water balloons in my shirt when I was really young. I did tap dance, and I liked to dance on stage for all the dads in the audience, and it’s funny, cause once you get older, you realize, OH! That’s why I liked it! I was horny, and I didn’t even know it!

ISP: What’s a deal breaker for you?

AO: For sex? Like, during sex?

ISP: Yea, exactly. You’re about to get it on with someone, and they do something to just make you walk out.

AO: I’m pretty much open to anything except shit. I love eating ass, as long as it’s clean…cause I keep mine clean.

ISP: What if you were eating ass and the dude blasted a fart in your face?

AO: I’d probably laugh and smack his ass and then burp in his face.

ISP: Do you have an eating disorder?

AO: No! (Laughs). I eat too much cause I smoke too much weed!

ISP: How do you prefer the marijuana to be delivered into your lungs?

AO: I usually smoke out of my bong. But I like smoking blunts while getting fucked, too.

ISP: What did you want to be when you were 10 years old?

AO: I wanted to be an actress, a singer, a movie director, and a teacher, and a writer, and an artist. I wanted to do everything, and that’s pretty much what I do now.

ISP: What did you want to be when you were 20 years old?

AO: I decided to do porn, cause I started one year ago, and I’m 21 now.

ISP: How did you get in?

AO: I researched a lot off Google and I lurked Sexy Jobs. That’s how I found LA Direct’s website. It looked the most professional to me, so I sent them my pictures. That’s not a very exciting story, is it?

ISP: What’s the dumbest thing a director’s ever asked you to do?

AO: Put on my clothes.

ISP: Gotta mySpace?

AO: mySpace.com/AshliOrion.

ISP: What’s one thing I can’t book you for?

AO: Poo things. But that’s illegal. And I already said I don’t like poop.

ISP: Would you do a horse?

AO: No…wait. I would blow a horse it the money was right…and the horse was happy.

ISP: Let’s talk about your dating life…your private, dating life.

AO: That’s boring. I’m a masturbater. I get cock every day at work and then I go home and use my magic wand and think about the cock I just got.

ISP: How would you react to a fan saying you’re full of shit? Cause lately, my readers have been calling the porn girls out for lying. Example — Andi Anderson said she’d blow a horse, too, and my readers called her out on it…but she was serious.

AO: You know, people tell me they don’t believe me all the time. But I have a crazy life, and that’s how I like to live it. I’m a thrill seeker.

ISP: Would you find it thrilling to blow me really quick?

AO: I already did. That’s how I got my job today, remember?

Ashli Orion interview

In Which I Bang A Coog At A Swinger’s Party.

Nina Hartley Interracial cougar

Stories of sexual conquests are nothing more than tall tales from an insecure braggart, so keep that in mind when I tell you about the time I banged Joey Lynn at a swinger’s party a while back.

And how can they be “conquests” when there really wasn’t any sort of conquering going on?

At least not in my case.

Before I go any further I’d like to say Pavement is one of the greatest bands to come out of the 90’s, and, while they might not be as important as, say, Nirvana, they’re just as fucking great. And it seems almost no one wants to remember them, but I’m judging that solely on their mySpace stats and their lack of radio time on Sirius Radio.

35 friends?

Are you kidding me?

Maybe it’s a fake mySpace? I dunno.

Maybe mySpace is done?

And it’s all about Facebook now?

Pavement’s mySpace certainly looks real, cause Stephen Malkmus is their top friend.

I was lucky enough to watch them play a gig in Phoenix way back in ’94, I think. Maybe 1993. And I bring this all up cause when I blog I play my music loud, and this time it’s Brighten The Corners.

And I was listening to Sirius’s “Lithium” channel on my way to pick up Joey Lynn for our night out, and wondering when (and if) I’d ever catch a Pavement song.

Our night out included a movie…and then on to a swinger’s party.

A swinger’s party. Can you believe it?

I met Joey a few days before I shot her for Blacks on Cougars. Agents do thing thing called “Go-Sees”. I can’t remember if I ever told you about them, but they’re basically what they sound like they’d be: an agent (pimp) drives a bunch of wanna-be porn starlets (whores) around to various directors (pervy pornographers) in order to get them work.

Joey Lynn was one of my Go-Sees, and I liked her, so I booked her, and then I shot her, and we became friends, and a few days later her agent called me to say Joey wanted me to accompany her to a swinger’s party that was going down in Porn Valley that weekend.

I’d never been to a Swinger’s Party before, and I dunno if you have, but let me tell you they’re kinda weird.

No…they’re really fucking weird.

The people are nice enough, but the whole thing is this kind of contrived show in which regular people fuck in front of each other for the sport of it. I think that’s the way I wanna put it. Which is to say — in this particular instance — I walked into a house party with Joey (which happened to be right across the street from Bobby Brown’s house) and there’s food and drink and people kinda hanging out in small groups and even though everyone’s small talking and doing the same shit everyone does at a house party what they’re really waiting for is someone to start fucking…presumably so they can start fucking, too.

Which makes for this weird, contrived feeling I told you about a second ago…cause I dunno how else to explain it.

All these swinger couples network, too, mostly on internet message boards. And they all have fake names — kinda like porn star names…but not always. Some of them are really dumb names, too, and I wish I could remember a couple so I could tell you now, but I don’t.

As we walked around the house, we started walking into rooms where couples were fucking. If I wasn’t a porno director, I’d find it completely weird and surreal all at the same time, but since I make smut for a living, I’d simply call this a surreal experience. Some rooms had just a couple fucking while other rooms had a few couples fucking. And we’d walk in, watch them for a few minutes, and then walk out.

Big whoop.

But that’s about the time Joey asked me if I wanted to fuck, and I kinda did — but I kinda didn’t, either. I’ve always thought sex was a spontaneous thing and something that isn’t a “plan”, and this whole night was planned, and to me it wasn’t as hot as, say, walking into a normal house party that turned into a freak show…but that never really happens, I suppose.

So we found a comfy place and started to get it on. By “comfy” I mean no one was around, but it certainly was out in the open, and sure enough, the second we started doing it people started lurking around to watch us, which added to my surreal experience in all sorts of ways.

Who the fuck wants to watch me get in on with anyone?

What if someone totally shitty jumps in? Am I suppose to just pretend like it ain’t happening and just keep going?

How am I measuring up? (In more ways than one).

My wiener stayed hard, and we got it on a while, and people came and went, and then Joey asked if I wanted to go to a more private place, and I was all for that.

Once there, Joey asked, “Would you take a picture with my cell phone of your dick in my mouth so I can send it to my husband?”

“Um, sure”, I said. Joey sent it off, and a few minutes later I was taking all sorts of pictures of my dick in Joey’s holes and Joey sent them off to Hubby as fast as I could snap them and hand her the phone.

“Oh! He loves these! Now he wants you to cream pie me! Don’t worry, I’m fixed!”

One of the definitions of “surreal”: having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream; unreal; fantastic: surreal complexities of the bureaucracy.

Or, the surreal complexities of A Swinger’s Party.

An hour or so after our cell-phone photo session, we went and got a late-night dinner at a restaurant on Ventura. Usually I like breakfast for dinner (especially this late at night) but I think I opted for a 1/2 corned beef sandwich (lean) on rye with some Grey Poupon and a Diet Coke.

Like all the porno whores, Joey didn’t eat a thing, even though she ordered some food; I just can’t remember what it was.

A Short Fairy Tale

Bachelor dude

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl “Will you marry me?”

For whatever reason, the girl said, “no”.

And the guy lived happily ever after and rode motorcycles and went fishing and hunting and played a lot of golf whenever he wasn’t playing his electric guitar and drank beer and scotch and smoked cigars and looked at dirty magazines whenever he felt like it and walked around his messy house in his underpants and left the toilet seat up and farted whenever need be.

The End.

Cougars. As in “Coogs”. As in Blacks on Cougars!

Nina Hartley Interracial cougar

A long time ago my little brother was telling me about some of his single friends heading out to “Cougar Dens” to try and get laid.

“Try” is a bad word…so let me start over.

A long time ago my little brother was telling me about some of his single friends heading out to “Cougar Dens” and banging the shit out of “coogs”. “You should really go with them,” he said. “You’re single. You’ll get laid for sure. Well, maybe not. Coogs love younger guys.”

It was one of the first times I started to feel old. Kinda like when you told your grandparents about your favorite rock back, and they’d look at you like you’re speaking Latin to them.

“What the fuck is a Coog?!” I asked.

He laughed at me. “Coogs. Cougars. They’re middle-aged women, and they’re on the prowl!”

He was serious.

Middle-aged women don’t fuck around then it comes to sex. You probably know this already; whereas younger chicks run in pairs and triplets just to “watch out” for each other (cock block), Coogs are lone wolves.

And they’re out for one thing: Younger Dick.

Did I mention I got to work with The #1 Coog in the Whole Wide World — Nina Hartley?

Check her out! Doesn’t she look great?! It was really cool to talk with Nina. I love the history of my biz, and Nina’s got some great stories. And she fucks with the best of them, too.

India Summer was another hot Coog I shot. She played a nurse, and she treated poor Ice Cold…cause he had a Dick Ache.

Don’t ya just love cheezy porno story lines?

Blacks on Blondes to Blacks on Cougars …what in the world could possibly be next next?!

Just wait, my friend.

Just you wait.