Interview With a Porn Star

by Jason Luke

  I kept filming.

  I shot long minutes of the two actresses kissing tenderly as Maxine drifted down from the clouds of her ecstasy.

  I kept filming.

  I videoed the girls embracing, their hands wandering over each other’s soft curves until Hannah rolled onto the hard sun baked pavers and Maxine crawled between her legs.

  I kept filming.

  I zoomed in tight as Maxine lowered her mouth to Hannah’s thigh and her lips fluttered soft kisses all the way to the core of her lover.

  Hannah turned her head to the side, eyes closed, and there was a dream-like smile on her lips until Maxine’s mouth found her clit and Hannah flinched and then bucked with urgent arousal.

  “Oh, God. Yes!” the words burbled up from Hannah’s throat. Walter brought his camera close to Hannah’s face and kept it there while I moved to film the touch of Maxine’s tongue on her pussy.

  It was great footage – that priceless, genuine moment that was rare in reality, and even rarer on film. Hannah’s body began to ripple, and then the crashing waves of her orgasm dashed against her and left her spent and exhausted.

  Maxine turned her face slowly to the camera. She licked her lips with a blissful expression of guilty pleasure.

  “Cut,” I murmured softly.

  I shut the camera down and handed it to Walter. I turned, and Connie was standing there, right behind me. There was a hectic flush of color on her cheeks and something decadent in her eyes. She glanced passed my shoulder to where the two actresses lay, and then her eyes shifted back to mine.

  “Well? What did you think of that?”

  Connie shook her head, made a wide-eyed expression. “I honestly don’t know what I think,” she said.

  I frowned. “How do you feel?”

  She made a mouth like she was gulping for air. She sounded breathless.

  “I… I thought it would be like some kind of perverse lecherous scene… like the kind of thing men in dark raincoats would watch through bedroom windows,” Connie said. “I thought it would be like a vulgar voyeuristic thing…” she tried again.

  I watched her, bemused.

  She shook her head. “But it wasn’t like that at all. I found myself being quite disconnected from the sex,” she confessed. “Even though I didn’t have a camera in my hand, watching what just took place became like a practical exercise – moving around to film from different angles felt more like a function rather than a creepy fantasy.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll take that,” I said. “At least you didn’t hate it.”

  “I don’t think the finished scene you put in your movie is anything I would ever watch, Mr. Cassidy… I’m not saying that,” Connie insisted primly. “What I am saying is I can understand that in your role as a filmmaker, I now appreciate that making movies like this is not some sleazy way to get cheap thrills – it seems to involve a lot more creative and practical considerations than I had first expected.”

  I threw my head back and laughed, and then impulsively slapped her on the shoulder. “Spoken like a fucking politician!” I smiled. “You just said a whole lot, without saying a damn thing at all.”

  Connie pursed her lips. Apparently she had decided she had said more than enough.

  Chapter 9.

  The shade of the living room was a cool relief after filming in the midday sun. I went straight to the kitchen and filled a glass with whiskey. As a compromise to the heat, I dropped in two cubes of ice.

  “Would you like something to drink, Connie?”

  She nodded. “Anything non-alcoholic, thanks.”

  I screwed up my face. “Shit… I don’t know if we have anything that doesn’t contain alcohol.”

  Connie smiled thinly. “Water would be fine.”

  I carried her drink to her, and we stood close together in an awkward uncomfortable silence like strangers on a blind date. Muted sounds of water running hummed in the background. Connie cocked an ear.

  “Shower,” I said. “Everyone will be taking turns, or maybe even sharing the shower.”

  Connie nodded and did a thing with her lips that made it clear to me that she didn’t want to know anymore. So I explained…

  “After we film a scene everyone showers,” I said, rolling my tongue gloatingly around the next words, “and often the girls get in together and soap up each other’s glistening smooth bodies until they’re covered in creamy bubbles of lather…”

  Connie tried to stifle a grimace.

  “… and sometimes the guys join in as well. It’s amazing how quickly porn actors can get hard again, even straight after filming a sex scene like the one we just did,” I twisted the knife with merciless delight. “Hell, I’ve known times when the shower after filming turns into some massive orgy of flesh. In fact, I bet if we went into that bathroom right now…”

  “I get it!” Connie snapped.

  She was angry – my job was done. I finished my drink and went back to the kitchen for a refill. I caught a glimpse of the big clock on the wall. “I have a couple of hours now until I shoot my scene with the young blonde,” I said. “I will need to spend some of that time talking to her and preparing her for filming, but the rest of the time is for you,” I bowed to her in a magnanimous gesture. “Would you like to ask your questions now, or would you prefer to cool down for a while?”

  Connie set her glass down on a coffee table. “I’d like to ask my questions now if that’s okay.” I came back into the living room, but I didn’t sit down. Connie settled herself on the sofa and flipped through her notebook until she found a blank page while I wandered around in aimless circles, dodging furniture.

  “So how did you end up performing in the porn industry? I can’t believe it was a career choice.”

  I smiled. “It was, actually,” I said. “Working in porn was something I aspired to when I was still a teenager.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “Really.”

  Connie made a note of that and looked back up into my eyes. “So tell me.”

  “My story?”

  “Yes. Tell me how you got your big break – I assume there was one, right?”

  I nodded. “There was,” I agreed. “But my introduction to the industry was not conventional… and it’s quite a long story.”

  Connie sat back and crossed her legs. The pen in her hand hovered over the blank page. She shrugged. “Well…?”

  “The first work I got was actually as a male model,” I said. “I was doing boring stud stuff – photo shoots for clothes… and in my spare time I was approaching local porn film producers. But they didn’t want me. They said I was too handsome. They said I would be better suited to gay films.”

  “Because of your looks?”

  I nodded. “The whole model thing,” I shrugged. “It pissed me off.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I sulked,” I admitted. “I had this dream of being a successful male porn actor, and no one would even let me audition. For a few months, I gave up, and then I decided to change the way I looked.”

  Connie was scribbling notes quickly. “Did that affect your modeling work?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The agencies stopped calling.”

  “How did you change your look?”

  “I got scruffy,” I said. “ I grew a short beard and a moustache. I was nineteen, so it took months. Then one night I went to a restaurant where I knew a big producer was having dinner. I wore ripped old jeans and a t-shirt.”

  She held up her hand to cut me off with dreary impatience. “And the producer saw you, realized you were a star in the making, and gave you the lead role in his next skin flick, right?”

  “Wrong,” I said. “What happened was more bizarre. When I went to the restaurant, the man I wanted to see was having dinner with his wife. The restaurant was crowded – maybe thirty people enjoying a quiet meal. I walked in, went to his table and stood there, demanding he give me an audition because I wanted to be a porn actor.”

  “Just li
ke that?”

  I nodded.

  “In front of all of those people and his wife?”

  I nodded again. “In front of everyone.”

  She leaned forward, suspecting there was more I hadn’t yet revealed. “So what did the guy say?”

  I smiled, recalling the night and the look on the producer’s face when I had confronted him. “He looked me up and down and grunted. He told me that it was one thing to talk the talk, but if I wanted to be a porn actor I first had to learn how to walk the walk. More than that, he told me a porn actor was expected to perform in front of film crews. He was daring me – challenging me. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “The guy was a famous producer. All I wanted was a chance to prove myself. Then he got up from his chair and stood right in front of me. ‘Can you fuck in front of a crowd, boy?’ he asked me. I nodded. The truth was that I didn’t know. But I wanted a chance so desperately that I told him I could.”

  “And he gave you the chance?”

  “Yes… but not on a film set. The chance I got was right then, as we were standing in the restaurant.”

  Connie frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he stood there and told me he wanted to watch me fuck his wife. He wanted me to bend her over the restaurant table and fuck her in front of the other diners. If I got hard, and if I satisfied his wife, he would give me the chance.”

  “You’re kidding!” Connie’s voice sounded scandalized.

  I wasn’t. I shook my head.

  Connie leaned forward. “What happened?”

  I took a long gulp of my drink. “The producer’s wife was a Spanish woman,” I said. “She was about thirty. She had long straight black hair, flawless honey-brown skin, and exotic Mediterranean features. She was wearing one of those Spanish kind of off-the-shoulder blouses,” I made crazy hand signals trying to describe how it had puffy sleeves and held together with elastic. “You know the kind?”

  Connie nodded.

  “Well when the producer told her to stand up, she turned to me and there was a sly taunting smile on her lips and a flash of something wicked and daring in her eyes. So I tugged her blouse down, and her breasts bounced free.”

  “In front of everyone?”

  “In front of the whole restaurant,” I confirmed.

  “And what did this woman’s husband do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What about the woman? What did she do?”

  “She stood there. Her eyes never left my face.”

  Connie gasped and then asked with slow caution, “Is this story true?”

  I nodded. “Every word of it,” I said. “I cupped the woman’s breasts and she arched her back, so I took one of her nipples in my mouth and wrapped my arm around her waist. She was wearing a long skirt, but I couldn’t work out how to unfasten it,” I shook my head ruefully and my smile was embarrassed. “I spent five damn minutes trying to work out how to get her fucking dress off, and all the while I’m sucking on her breasts and she’s moaning and groaning with her fingers tugging at my hair.

  “Meanwhile everyone in the restaurant had stopped eating and were gathering around like spectators at a boxing match. Finally, I gave up on the damn skirt. I spun the woman around and put my hand in the middle of her back. She folded forward at the waist and gripped the edge of the table. I lifted the skirt up over her waist and fucked her while she stared across the table at her husband.”

  “My god,” Connie breathed.

  “My god is right!” I said. “I had hold of this sexy woman’s hips, and I was driving my cock into her like there was no tomorrow. You see, I was desperate to make an impression. I wanted to be a porn actor more than anything and I realized this was my one chance not only to start my career but also to spark a legend. So I fucked this woman so furiously that the bottle of red wine they were sharing for dinner overturned on the table and spilled into the producer’s lap.”

  “But you got the acting job, right?” Connie asked softly.

  “Yeah, I got the job… and two days later I got to fuck the producer’s wife again.”

  “What? He made you audition again?”

  I shook my head. “No… I just got to fuck his wife again… and again… and again. We ended up having an affair that lasted several months. Hell, I screwed that woman so many times I now know every Spanish swear word.”

  Connie had stopped writing. She was just staring up at me while I wandered in circles aimlessly about the room. For some reason, I kept circling back towards the kitchen, and I figured that meant I needed another drink.

  “So… at some point you made the leap from just being a well performing actor in other people’s films, to a producer yourself. Tell me how that happened.”

  I finished pouring my drink, dropped two cubes of ice into the glass and considered the question. “I got sick,” I said.

  A look of stricken horror suddenly washed over Connie’s face. Her hand clamped across her mouth. “My god, you haven’t got HIV… have you?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I got bronchitis.”

  “Bronchitis? That’s all?”

  I nodded. “That’s right – but I was ill for several months, and I lost a lot of my physical condition and some weight. I also lost some of my passion for performing. That’s when I decided that I needed a new level of performance creativity – I need new challenges.”

  Connie made some notes and then glanced up again. “And so you started producing your own films?”

  “No. I started making it a condition that when I performed in other people’s films, I got the chance to direct some of the scenes. I knew that if I was going to ever become a film producer I had to learn about lighting and camera angles and sound – and the things I had picked up from performing on set weren’t enough. I needed practical experience, so I started shooting scenes and becoming more involved in mapping out the way a scene was going to unfold. I didn’t make the leap to movie producer until just a few years ago,” I said.

  Connie thought for a moment. “And that’s when you built the facilities in Europe.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I wanted the whole process under one roof – the sets and the post production facilities, so I bought several acres of land in the Czech republic and spent half of all the money I had earned in building a massive house, gardens and a tennis court. A year later I had a large warehouse built that houses all the production equipment upstairs and has several interior sets on the ground level.” I swallowed my drink in one gulp and Connie gave me a quizzical eye.

  “Is that when you developed a drinking problem?” she looked at me pointedly.

  I shook my head. “Connie, I don’t have a problem drinking. It’s when I stop drinking I have a problem.”

  She didn’t smile. The woman had no sense of humor.

  “Anyhow… the land I bought has a river running through it and there was some grassy marshland that I had excavated and turned into a shallow water pond. It means now that I have twenty different locations I can use for filming, all within a few miles of my production facilities… and that means I can produce quality films in an endless variety of locations and with the cost savings that come with that kind of convenience. Make sense?”

  Connie nodded a grudging agreement. “Yes…” she said, “it does actually. It sounds to me like you have just taken the Hollywood model for film making and creating something similar – on a smaller scale – in Europe.”

  I winked. “That’s exactly what I did, and Hollywood was my inspiration. The big difference is that my films don’t cost a hundred million dollars to produce.”

  Connie bowed her head over her notebook and wrote furiously for the next few minutes. I screwed the lid tight on the whiskey bottle and filled my glass with water. I took a sip. The stuff tasted like shit – but at least it gave me a moment where I felt puffed up with virtue.

  I waite
d until Connie finished writing before draining the rest of my drink.

  (I wanted her to see me).

  She looked disapproving. “Vodka is no different to whiskey,” she said.

  “That was water,” I said. I felt cheated.

  “Of course it was,” she said dryly. “Now can you tell me about the health risks involved in the industry? Surely having unprotected sex with so many women is like playing Russian roulette with your life.”

  I smiled, and slowly unscrewed the cap off the bottle of whiskey again…

  “This is a constant criticism,” I said, “and to someone outside of the industry, I can understand the fear. You are right – on the surface the idea of having unprotected sex with literally thousands of partners would seem like suicidal madness,” I agreed. “But… the industry isn’t like that, Connie. I have regular health checks – and I never miss one. And I insist that every single actress I work with and every single actor who performs in my films produce a current medical certificate before they walk on set. I’m very strict about that – it is one of my cardinal rules that I will not break for anyone, for any reason. If an actress appears on set for filming and she cannot produce a current certificate, then she simply doesn’t work. Regular health checks are mandatory in the established porn industry.”

  “And everyone plays by these rules, Rick?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t vouch for every film maker out there – I can only tell you my rules for my films. But I can tell you that every other established producer that I know has the same rule.” I suddenly became animated. I waved my arms in the air like I was being attacked by a swarm of bees. “Porn actors and actresses aren’t idiots, Connie. They – more than most people – understand the importance of staying healthy and being checked regularly. No actress I know would willingly take the risk of performing in a film with other actors who didn’t have a clean bill of health.”

  “What about the age of the girls, Rick?”

  Discreetly, I poured a half glass of whiskey…