by Jason Luke
I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said. “It’s all about the cock,” I explained. “The physical appearance – the facial features – of a man makes no difference in a porn film.” I shrugged offhandedly. “It’s a bonus if you can find a guy with a decent physique, but that’s not even really important.”
Connie folded her arms and narrowed her eyes in a challenge. “That sounds like blatant hypocrisy,” she huffed. The color of her eyes had turned glacial.
I felt a bristle of temper. “It’s not,” I said. “It’s about understanding and identifying your audience – and the majority of my audience are men. Those viewers don’t care what the guy looks like. He could be a grotesque, two-headed monster – it wouldn’t matter at all. All the guys are looking at when they watch a porn film is the girl.” We were standing toe-to-toe, me towering over her, but Connie’s body was rigid with tension and defiance. “When I film, I focus on the girls,” I went on. “The guy might get one close up, and that’s usually his facial expression when we shoot the money-shot. Apart from that, every minute of screen time is dedicated to the actresses, their expressions, and the sex. If the guy appears on camera, it’s because he’s part of the scene. But he’s never the focus of the scene.”
“Well that’s sexism, then,” Connie growled persistently.
“Bullshit,” I said. “It’s sex… without the ‘ism’.”
There was a defiant snap behind Connie’s eyes and I could see angry words leap to her lips. I saw her expression flicker and change, and then gradually lose its ferocity.
She let out a long breath, like a boiling kettle lets off steam, restraining herself with a visible effort. She smiled at me but the expression was thin on her lips.
“Do you feel that porn films serve to objectify women?”
I frowned. “Jesus!” I said. “You sound like one of those conservative fucking feminists who scream at the top of their lungs every time women portray themselves in some way that is remotely sexy.”
Connie’s expression darkened. “I am not advocating that opinion, Mr. Cassidy. I’m merely asking the question of you. I want to know your opinion on the matter.”
“My opinion? I’ll tell you my opinion,” I said grimly. “I don’t know whether porn should bare the brunt of feminist criticism for objectifying all women as merely sexual playthings,” I said. “I think if women have been objectified then men are not entirely to blame. For a woman to be portrayed in a sexual way, the woman herself needs to be willing and compliant. You might want to blame men and blame porn for the way some people perceive women, but I don’t think it’s that simple.”
Connie gazed at me evenly. “What about you personally then?”
“Are you asking me whether I objectify women in my films?” I asked, my voice becoming lower and more resentful.
“No,” Connie said carefully. “I’m asking you whether you see women as sexual objects. I think it’s a fair question considering the work you do.”
I nodded, and my demeanor changed in an instant. “I think that’s a fair question too,” I admitted, and then said truthfully, “yes.”
Connie looked shocked. For long seconds her expression was blank, and then it began to fuse into a scowl. “You do? You admit it?”
“Yes,” I said, and then went on quickly. “When I first meet a woman, my initial opinion of her is formed in a sexual way,” I said. “I assess her on the basis of how she would look naked and performing in one of my films.”
Connie’s scowl became a look of outrage. “That’s not an opinion many people would admit to.”
I shrugged. “It’s the truth,” I said. “But,” I stabbed a finger into the air, “I believe I have that opinion because of the work I do.”
Connie looked disbelieving. She gave me a venomous glare. “Making porn films gives you the right to undress every women with your eyes the moment you meet them?”
“Yes,” I said.
“How can you justify that?”
“My objectifying of women is not because I am a man, or because I am sexist,” I explained patiently. “I objectify women because of my profession, in exactly the same way that a real estate agent walks into a house and their first thoughts are for the features of the home and what price it might fetch on the market.” I went on, hammering home my point. “My objectifying of women is exactly the same as a chef going to a restaurant for dinner. His first thoughts are for the quality of the food and the way it is presented. In every case our profession dictates the way we think. My profession is all about women and sex. How else would you expect me to think?”
Connie flapped her hands like sails that had lost their wind. She became suddenly fascinated with her fingernails, until the angry color had drained from her cheeks.
“When I got home last night, I went over my notes from yesterday and it occurred to me that I’m going to need some publicity shots to go with the article,” she said to change the subject and steer it away from the dangerous waters we had been floundering in. “Do you have any photos I could use?”
I nodded. “If you want a set of stills from any of my films, I can have them sent to you,” I said as I crossed the living room and reached into a desk drawer. “But I have these publicity photos if they will help.”
I laid several large color photos of myself out on the desk like playing cards. In one of the images I was standing naked, facing the camera with my arms folded. My penis hung long and heavy as a lead bar between my braced legs. I had shaved my crotch before the shoot – a trick to make everything appear even larger. In the image I was tanned dark brown. The photo had been taken in France twelve months ago. Since then the tan had faded, but the bulges and ripples remained.
“Oh, shit!” Connie gasped. She reeled away, her eyes enormous, her mouth agape. She clutched at her throat with one hand, a warm red flush spreading across her face.
“Don’t you have any publicity shots of yourself clothed?” she asked. Her voice was reedy and breathless.
“Why?”
Connie stared at me, stunned. “Because these are so… so confronting!” she explained. “They’re almost vulgar.”
“Vulgar?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
She nodded her head vehemently.
My lips pressed into a thin bloodless line and anger blazed behind my eyes, so that when I spoke my words were a simmering hiss. “If I was a cop, you would want photos of me in uniform. Same if I was a solider or a pilot. If I were a scientist, you would expect to photograph me at a desk behind a telescope – and if I were an astronaut, you would want to photograph me in my spacesuit. This,” I stabbed an angry finger at the photos, “is me in my uniform. This is my work – my career. I’m not ashamed of what I do, Connie,” I felt my temper simmering, right at the brink of boiling over.
Connie seemed to recoil, maybe shocked. There was a peculiar blankness in her eyes, edged with the residue of her defiance.
“They’re tasteless,” she said softly.
I blinked.
I stared.
Then I snapped.
“You know something,” I said suddenly, “you’re a very rude woman.”
Connie glared at me. She flinched, and a flush of color spread hot across her cheeks.
“How dare you criticize me,” my voice crackled like a bushfire. “I didn’t ask for this interview – your magazine requested it. The last thing I expected was to be judged by some arrogant, narrow-minded woman who has a grudge against the porn industry.”
Connie stood, rooted to the spot. The color in her cheeks blazed and the expression in her eyes became disconcerted.
I lost the last of my control.
“Fuck off,” I said with an impulsive hiss of decision, and the final shreds of Connie’s bravado collapsed in an instant. I snatched up her handbag and hurled it through the open front door. It hit the top step and landed in the garden. “I don’t need to be interviewed by ‘Infinity’ magazine.” She seemed to cringe beneath the lash of my v
oice. I seized Connie by her wrist and marched her out the door.
Slammed it closed behind her.
That felt good.
I closed my eyes, threw my head back and let out a long tense breath – shrugged off the anger like a heavy cloak.
I heard the patter of light footsteps behind me and opened my eyes to see a naked young woman coming down the hallway with a radiant smile on her face. She had long dark hair, and exotic features. Her voice was a sultry purr.
“Ricky, darlink!” the woman threw her arms around my neck and pressed her breasts against my chest. Her accent was European, her English fractured. She kissed me hot on the lips, and then leaned back and smiled into my eyes. “I’ve missed you very great much,” she said. “Will you be fucking into me today?”
“Hannah, you look beautiful, baby,” I said with a smile that never reached my eyes. My arms were resting lightly on the woman’s naked hips. She molded her body against mine shamelessly.
“You fuck me, Ricky?”
I shook my head and pretended to be saddened. “Not today, I’m afraid,” I said. “But Roland and Victor will give you all the cock you need.”
Hannah screwed up her face into a petulant, sulky pout and I felt her hand high on my thigh and then her fingers grope for me. “This is all the cock I need,” she whispered. Her eyes were enormous and inviting. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and then began to rub my length with the palm of her hand.
I took a step back, held her at arm’s length with my hands on her shoulders. I gazed into her eyes. “Hannah, nothing would make me happier than another chance to fuck you, baby,” I put a hint of hardness into my voice. “But I’ve already worked out the scenes we are filming today, so we’re just going to have to wait for another time.”
Hannah made a disgruntled huff in the back of her throat. She shrugged theatrically. “Okay,” she said. “But can I have Maxine then?”
I nodded and smiled. “Deal,” I said. “You can play with Maxine before the two guys take turns with you.”
Hannah flashed me a deliciously wicked little smile. “This is good,” she said huskily and nodded her head.
There was a sudden rap at the front door, and I narrowed my eyes. I left Hannah standing naked and flung the front door open, expecting to see Connie standing in the doorway.
She was. But she wasn’t alone.
Standing beside Connie was a blonde teenager, with a Californian tan and a mop of long curly blonde hair. The girl flashed me a brilliant white smile. Her eyes were big and blue, her lips painted red. The girl was wearing a yellow sleeveless top that was cut off about three inches above her navel, and a pair of skin-tight denim shorts. The young girl’s face lit up with recognition.
“You’re Rick Cassidy.”
I nodded. “I know,” I said. “Who are you?”
The girl cupped her hands beneath her breasts and then ran her splayed fingers all the way down her body to her hips like she was smoothing out the wrinkles of a dress. “I’m Lily,” she smiled. “John Bellamy sent me. He promised you would fuck me.”
I raised an eyebrow in recognition and then nodded. I held the door open and the girl drifted passed me in a cloud of cheap perfume. I stood there. Didn’t move. Connie stared at me.
She was standing on the bottom step, a tragic kind of haunted expression in her eyes.
“Rick… I’m sorry,” she said, “I went too far. I was rude.”
My expression stayed stony. “Fuck being rude,” I said. “You were unprofessional.”
Connie nodded, and lowered her eyes, chastened. When she looked back up at me, she had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. “Can we start again – from the beginning?”
I held the door open for her and she came up the stairs, relief obvious on her face. She stood in the middle of the living room floor like an uncertain visitor. I waved her over to the sofa. “Take a seat,” I said.
Connie perched herself on the edge of the sofa, feet flat on the ground, knees pressed together, sitting upright and attentive. She had her hands clasped in her lap, kneading her fingers with anxiety.
“Listen, Connie,” I began reasonably. “I get it. I understand. You don’t like me, and you don’t like the work I do.” I waved a hand in the air. “But if you’re going to hang around with me for the next few days, there are some things you need to understand.” I crossed the living room floor and perched myself on the edge of the desk. “First, I expect you to do your job – nothing more, nothing less. That means I don’t want to hear you criticize my lifestyle. It also means I don’t want a commentary,” I stared her hard in they eyes. “Just observe… and then vilify me and demonize me in your article – but until then, you hold your fucking tongue unless it is to ask questions. Clear?”
Her face flushed hot and red. “As a bell,” she said tightly.
“Good.” I slid off the desk and snatched up a half-glass of whiskey that someone had left on a table. I swallowed the contents in a single gulp and then winced. The stuff tasted like drain cleaner.
“Now, I have to film two porn scenes today,” I kept my voice level and controlled. “The first one I am shooting this morning,” my eyes flicked to the wall clock and I realized there wasn’t much of the morning left. “That scene is going to involve two of the girls and the two men that you met in the kitchen. This afternoon,” I began to pace back and forth across the room, “I am going to do another scene with two other girls and that pretty blonde who was on the doorstep when you were leaving. I have to fuck the blonde.”
Connie tilted her head. “Have to?” she asked delicately.
I nodded. “Have to,” I confirmed, “as a favor to John Bellamy,” I said. I glanced over my shoulder, suddenly wondering where the blonde had disappeared to. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “I promised John I would fuck her because she wants to make it in the industry, and to do that she needs to be screwed by some big names. That’s how a young starlet gets a reputation these days.”
Connie’s expression became inquisitive. “Yesterday you told me that you didn’t like working with inexperienced actresses.”
“I don’t,” I said grimly. “I don’t like working with any girl I don’t know, and I’m not comfortable with. I don’t have the time to waste filming some empty-headed bimbo who knows nothing about camera angles, and nothing about performing on film.”
“But you’re going to do it anyhow, right?”
I nodded. “I don’t have a choice,” I said. “This industry is like a house of cards – it’s held together by a network of favors and paybacks. If someone does you a favor, you gotta pay back the debt. I owe Bellamy for the help he gave me way back when I started producing my own films. Fucking this young girl for him is payback.”
I went hunting through the house for the girl and found her in the bedroom, laying on her back with Hannah lying beside her. The two girls were kissing passionately, and Hannah’s experienced fingers were between the young blonde’s spread legs, cunningly teasing the folds of the teenager’s shaved pussy. The young girl had her eyes closed, her lips parted in a soft silent moan, while in the bed beside them another of the actresses was sitting quietly with her back against the wall. Her legs were spread and her knees were bent, her fingers dancing lightly across her sex while watching on.
I stood in the doorway for a long moment.
Despite myself, I felt my erection growing thick within the confines of my jeans. Girl on girl sex is my weakness, and I gazed upon the intensely erotic scene until Hannah tore her lips from the blonde’s and began to trail wet kisses over the teenager’s breasts towards her parted thighs.
Okay… Maybe just a few more minutes…
Hannah swept back her long hair from her face and held it behind her neck as she began to gently lap her tongue along the glistening folds of the young blonde’s pussy. The girl arched her back and gasped a breathless moan. Her tiny hands fisted into the bed sheets and then her breath seemed to lock tight in the back of her
throat as Hannah moved her mouth to the sensitive nub of the girl’s clit.
“Sorry to interrupt your fun, girls,” I said at last, with genuine reluctance. “But I need everyone outside and ready for makeup. You can continue this after filming.”
When I came back into the living room, Connie had made herself more comfortable on the sofa, seeming more relaxed now. She had her notebook open in her lap. “Did you find the blonde girl?”
I nodded. “She was in one of the bedrooms having sex with one of the other actresses.”
Connie blinked, flinched. “Actresses?”
I nodded casually. “Sure,” I said. “Just about every porn actress is bisexual. In fact, it’s just about a job requirement. Most guys are like me, Connie. The one male fantasy that seems a common thread between all guys, is the idea of seeing two beautiful young women enjoying each other’s bodies on a bed,” I said. “That kind of bisexual interaction is something that’s very, very common on film.” I dropped onto the sofa beside where Connie sat and turned my face to hers. “In fact, I don’t think a girl could work in this industry unless she was into other girls as much as she needs to be into fucking guys.”
Connie did a thing with her mouth, but said nothing. Instead, she glanced down at her notes and then back to me.
“Do you have time to answer some questions?”
I glanced at the clock on the wall again. “A couple,” I said. “The rest will have to wait until after I shoot this first scene.”
From the corner of my eye I caught a flicker of movement and Connie and I both turned our heads as all five girls came down the hallway. They were all naked, and unaffected by their nudity. Hannah and the blonde had their arms comfortably around each other’s waists. The girls paraded passed us, wiggling hips and flirtatiously jiggling their breasts as they filed out through the glass doors towards the swimming pool area.
Connie had a distracted, peculiar expression on her face. She blinked as though to clear her mind.
“You said all the girls in the industry need to be bisexual if they want to work, right?”
