Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn

by Seka

  The first thing that struck me was the video quality of the scene. It felt much more like real life than anything I had seen on television or in the movies before. It was early morning, and Seka and her husband have just woken up. He, of course, has the morning erection which needs tending to, but Seka, who already looks perfect two seconds after waking, insists on taking a bath first (at the time I didn’t realize what a good egg she was for bathing before sex. I’ve slept with over thirty women whom I wish had seen this movie before I fucked them). I can’t accurately describe the emotions I had watching her unclasp her bra, then slide down her semi-transparent blue panties, but I imagine it’s the same feeling a person gets when they’re suddenly driven to give away all of their possessions and serve God. I was, in that moment changed forever. The bath quickly turned into a Seka masturbation scene, which quickly turned into me running into the bathroom in my friend’s parents’ bedroom, laying on the floor with my head by the toilet and tugging my dick like a rhesus monkey.

  Because my parents had none of the needed equipment to facilitate my new hobby/ love affair/ obsession, I had to walk a mile to the nearest Rite Aid to rent not only porn but also a VCR. Yes, Rite Aid rented porn in the eighties, and yes, I did write, “I had to walk a mile…” like I’m Abraham Lincoln. And, in a way, I was. He walked to go to school; I walked to pick up masturbation fodder — which of these is nobler is for you to decide. One disadvantage to renting from Rite Aid was the odds were good one of my grandmother’s friends would limp up to the counter just as I was handing Ultra Flesh to the cashier.

  As the epitome of beauty and sexuality, Seka became the image against which all other women were measured. And they always fell short. Even if they were beautiful, you knew there was just no way they could fuck like her. The point is that Seka became the face of sexuality not only for me but also for an entire generation. It’s been almost thirty years and she is still the first name that comes to mind when I think of adult films. Reading about her life outside the business felt almost surreal. She’s just one of those iconic, larger-than-life performers who I forget had a viable existence before and after her career in movies. She played basketball, sold hot dogs, and missed being killed once because she said, “No, thank you” instead of “Yes.” Actually, that’s what I found most amazing: the real person behind the name. I loved the complete honesty and candor in every story. Seka doesn’t try and make herself look any better or worse than she really is. She tells the truth — the good, the bad and the ugly. And most importantly, none of it is predictable.

  Now pull up your pants and put away your dick — it’s not that kind of book.

  JIM NORTON, comedian, radio personality (Opie & Anthony), and author of two New York Times bestselling books.

  Seka with Jim Norton.

  1. Gone

  The old joke goes, “I came home from school one day, and my family had moved.” Well, it’s not that funny because it happened to me.

  I lived in a little white house in the very small town of Christians-burg, Virginia, with my mother, stepfather, brother, and sister. I was eight years old in 1961 and my mom and dad had gotten divorced because she was cheating on him. While they were married, they both worked at Radford Arsenal, the biggest manufacturer of propellant powder for space ships in the United States, and nicknamed “The Powder Plant.” People would commute up to two hours to work there because the pay and benefits were good. It was the largest employer in the area and it’s still there. If you ever wanted to blow up a good part of the United States, that would be the place to hit.

  Dad was small and thin, around five-six or five-seven and one hundred forty pounds soaking wet. He had bright red hair and big doe-like brown eyes with very pale skin. He couldn’t be out in the sun at all. I remember one time we went to the beach and within about ten minutes he became one big blister.

  My mother reminded me of Jane Russell — a va-va-va-voom body and the most beautiful wavy dark black hair, olive complexion, dark brown eyes, and the straightest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. She was gorgeous with naturally arched eyebrows and long fingernails. And the woman knew how to walk in a pair of pumps.

  My parents just couldn’t get along and decided to split up. Mom married a guy named Terry who seemed okay, but what did I know? I was a kid and I was supposed to trust my parents. He was very tall and skinny, with dark curly hair and dark eyes. He laughed a lot and was nice to us. Terry liked country music and would take my mom out dancing. Everything seemed good between them as far as I knew. He never scolded me and was never off-color, nor did he curse. He liked his cigarettes, cocktails, and cabareting, but he was a good man. He didn’t seem to hold a job very long though, as we were always moving.

  My name was Dorothiea but everyone called me Dot. I was named after an old girlfriend of my father’s, some girl he dallied around with when he was in Germany in the service. Mom had no say in it and once she found out where he came up with it she was none too happy. Back then, women were knocked out during childbirth and the father came in and signed the birth certificate and settled up the bill. I wondered for years if that damn name wasn’t the cause of a lot of misery my mother sent my way.

  I was a tomboy. I never, ever wore a shirt until the age of six. We’d go fishing, throw tomatoes, and play hide-and-seek and kick-the-can at night. We lived on the “other side of the tracks” because that’s where my grandfather’s job was. The railroad ran just in front of their house. I loved my grandparents dearly. My grandfather was secretary of the Norfolk and Western Railroad and my grandmother was a housewife. They were very kind people. My grandfather was of Viking descent. He was very short and bald, which probably doesn’t sound very Viking at all, but he had big blue eyes like robin’s eggs. He was round, very round, but didn’t seem heavy to me at the time because it was just so comfortable to sit on his lap. And he always wore a suit. I don’t think I ever saw him without a suit and hat. He was constantly smoking either a pipe with cherry tobacco or a cigar. I loved the smell of his pipe. Grandpa used a straight razor and kept a strap in the bathroom. It hung by the sink and us kids were deathly afraid of it because we knew he meant business if he ever pulled it out in anger. But he never, ever used it on us.

  My grandmother was part Cherokee. She had soft brown eyes like clouds. She was very heavy and always smiling. Grandma had the biggest boobs of anyone I have ever known. As a little girl there was nothing more comforting than to put your head between her boobs and sleep. She was a great cook, which is how I learned how to cook. I was always sitting on the kitchen counter watching her at work. She made fresh biscuits at least twice a day. She’d have a cigarette in her mouth and the ash would be almost as long as the cigarette itself, but I never saw her drop the ash in the biscuit ever. Hell, maybe she did and that’s what gave it the taste.

  I’d go down to my grandma and grandpa’s house on weekends because my mother was no cook. There were two bedrooms upstairs. My grandfather would put a piece of tin on the windowsill so the sound of the rain would be amplified. On clear nights we could hear the train in the distance. To this day, I can sleep so well when I hear rain or a train coming down the tracks, because it reminds me of my childhood.

  My father’s side of the family was Irish and lived in a little place called Poplar Camp, way up in the Appalachians. I never knew my father’s father as he had passed away before I was born, but his mother was a very tall, thin, willowy woman. She had a very stern demeanor but she wasn’t really stern at all. She never cut her hair in her life. It hung all the way down to her knees and was snow white. From the time I was a little kid her hair was very white. She was blind and dipped snuff and was always laughing. They had only three rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom and the living room. She had a wood burning stove and no inside bathroom, just an outhouse. She’d be sitting in her chair across from the stove and there were four eyes where you put the wood in to heat it. She’d leave the lid off one eye so she wouldn’t have to get up to spit and would hit it from across
the room.

  My mother would do weird things to get attention. She would pretend she had taken all these sleeping pills and lay down on the floor and make believe she was about to die. She’d be groaning and you’d try to wake her up. Later we’d find out she flushed the pills down the toilet. I have no idea why the woman did the things she did but it was very scary. It wasn’t like she didn’t get attention, because when she walked in the room every head snapped around because she was so stunning. The woman could talk to a post and make it drool. In general, though, she was pretty even-tempered. Didn’t yell, didn’t get mad, didn’t scream. But every so often she’d just go off into another land — The Twilight Zone.

  I was in second grade and went to school one morning like it was any other day. My brother, sister, and I went to the same school because my sister was only a year and a half older than I, and my brother was only a year and a half older than she. Everything was fine when we left. But lunchtime came and I didn’t see my brother or sister anywhere. I wasn’t concerned because we were all in different grades. When 3 p.m. came around I still didn’t see them, but we didn’t always walk home together since they might be doing something with their friends. We all had keys anyway. The school was only about three blocks away and in those days parents didn’t worry about kids walking to school. I got home and there was nobody there. I still had no sense anything was wrong because sometimes neither parent was home at that time.

  The living room was messy and average-sized, with old, plain furniture. I sat down to do my homework. It started to get dark and I finally began to feel concerned. But I was fine; I was home. I made a sandwich because I was hungry. I watched TV and even though I was getting more anxious, I was also feeling sleepy and knew there was school the next day. I fell asleep on the couch.

  I woke up quite early the next morning. Still nobody there. I took a bath, got dressed, and went to school. I don’t know why, but I didn’t call anybody. I just went to school every day, came home, did my homework, and went to sleep. This went on for almost two weeks. I never went to sleep in my bed because I was scared. I felt safer in the living room because there was noise from the TV. There was enough food in the house and I didn’t need money for lunch since I packed it every day. The dishes started to pile up, though, and the water started to overflow when I ran it. At that age, I didn’t do dishes. That was when I finally realized something had to be done. I called a cab and had them take me to my grandparents’ house.

  When I got there I told the driver to wait, that I’d be right back, and I went in and told my grandfather he needed to pay the man. It was like $54, which was exorbitant back then. Knowing my grandfather, he probably gave him a dime for a tip. It wasn’t because he was cheap; it was just his way.

  He said, “Why do I need to pay a cabby?”

  “Because I don’t have any money, Grandpa.”

  I proceeded to tell him I’d been home alone and he said, “What are you talking about?” He turned every shade of purple, blue, and red a man could turn. You didn’t want to make my grandfather angry.

  Evidently I hadn’t bathed myself well because they threw me in the tub and scrubbed me. I loved that bathtub because it was one of those big old ones with the claw feet and was scooped down in the back. My grandmother would fill it up with warm water and I’d feel very safe with all the wonderful smells wafting in from the kitchen. At that point, I felt everything was going to be okay because I was in a safe, loving place. There was good hot food on the stove after more than a week of cold cereal and sandwiches.

  I stayed with my grandparents, but they also had no idea where my family was. We were all confused and concerned. For all I knew, they were dead. My grandparents went back to the house and it was a lot more disgusting than I’d remembered. My mother wasn’t a very neat person so I was used to it. They went to my school and discovered that my mother and stepfather had picked up my brother and sister there — but not me — and said, “We’re going on a little vacation. We’ll have them back in a week or two.” My grandparents asked if they mentioned where they were going and they said Florida. I was so pissed off they went to Florida and I didn’t get to go. I wasn’t pissed off that they had left me and put me in harm’s way. My brother wasn’t much of a water person, and my sister had carrot orange hair, alabaster skin, and really pale brown eyes, almost gold. She looked like a little porcelain doll. Why the hell did she get to go to Florida and I didn’t? I was the tomboy. I was tan and loved the water.

  Eventually my parents returned. My grandfather was standing beside the car while I remained inside. My grandfather wouldn’t let me out of the car or inside the house even though I said I needed to get some clothes. “Don’t worry about clothes,” he said. “We’ll buy you some new clothes.” Meanwhile, Mom looked at me, but it was pretty much like I wasn’t there. She didn’t seem to have the least bit of concern for me. I don’t remember her asking if I was okay, or if my grandfather just didn’t give her the opportunity. My grandfather wasn’t a mean guy or a rough guy, but he was old school. He treated everyone the way he wanted to be treated: fairly and honestly. You always knew what was on his mind.

  They began yelling at one another. I don’t remember what they were saying, although my grandfather was really pissed off. He said something along the lines of, “You won’t have those two other babies, either, in a few days.”

  And they didn’t.

  Hello, world!

  My dad in the army. My mother in high school — quite a looker.

  The original Dorothiea, my daddy’s German girlfriend after whom I am named.

  My sister Deborah and my brother Ray.

  My brother Ray and my father, when he was still around.

  Grandpa Hundley, my father’s father, who I never met.

  Grandma Hundley, my father’s mother, when she was younger.

  Grandpa Hartsock, my mother’s father, workin’ on the railroad.

  Grandma and Grandpa Hartsock.

  Me in first grade.

  My brother Ray.

  “To the sweetest mom in the world (and the prettiest, too). From your loving daughter, Dottie”. Must have been before she abandoned me. Not my handwriting, either.

  2. Given Away

  Grandpa needed a quick-fix situation to get us kids out of my mother’s hands. It was decided that my brother and sister would go to live with my Uncle Hardy, while I moved in with Aunt Shirley and Uncle George. They had three children: Gary, Becky and Robin. They lived in the very small town of Christiansburg, Virginia, in a nice brick house behind the grade school. Becky was the same age as me, and I got along well with all of the kids. I absolutely felt like part of the family. They treated me as their own; they didn’t favor any of us. They enrolled me in school and made sure I had everything I needed — new clothes, books, and school supplies. And thank God, I finally had a woman around who could cook. She made the best grilled-cheese sandwiches in the world, in a cast iron skillet with real butter. She always put a big slice of tomato on mine because I loved tomatoes. That was my thing, kind of like Elvis with his fried bacon, peanut butter, and banana sandwiches.

  The rejection from my mother didn’t really affect me at the time. I didn’t see her after that for a long time and I honestly didn’t miss her. There wasn’t a whole lot to miss. Where I was now, the food was better and the house was clean. I was a kid; what did I know? I just proceeded on like normal. I wasn’t angry or hurt about the whole situation until I was in my thirties. For whatever reason, that was when it finally hit me.

  Financially, it was hard for everybody. Although they both had jobs, Aunt Shirley and Uncle George had a house, three other kids, and a couple of cars to pay for. I was a burden to them. There was a family meeting with the powers that be to decide what to do with my brother, my sister, and me. There is a town nearby called Wytheville, Virginia, and they had a children’s home there. It was a place for kids who had parents who couldn’t take care of them. One day my aunt and uncle suddenly told me we
needed to talk. They sat me down and said, “We don’t want to upset you, but we had to make other living arrangements because we can’t afford to put you through school and raise you.” It hurt because I loved that family. But I understood.

  It was not a happy day when I had to leave. My sister was already there, while my brother had been placed in a similar facility in Tennessee. There were four brick buildings with a kitchen, a boys’ dormitory, and two dorms for girls. I was put in the one for very young girls. There were two girls to a room, each with a twin-sized bed, a shared closet, and three drawers of a single dresser. We were never abused like in those horrible orphanages in the movies, but life was pretty dull. We had to go to church on Sunday. It was a Presbyterian service. We were required to do some chores like helping with the grounds and gardening and such. We were told, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” Frankly, I wanted to see the devil’s workshop to understand what they were doing in there.