by Blue Blake
Saying this, she took her teeth out and threw herself back in her chair in a mock glamour pose. The color drained from my face.
“Can I interest you in a cigarella?”
“No, I’m fine thank you. I don’t smoke,” I stammered, “Well, only sometimes the occasional joint.” I realized I was about to start babbling out of fear.
“Miss Delicious . . . is that Blue Blake I hear?” called a voice from the other room. “Send him in please . . . we are waiting.”
Miss Delicious jumped to attention.
“You can go in dear, they’re expecting you,” she said, gesturing towards a conference room. As I walked by her desk she wolf whistled and slapped me on the arse.
“Nice ass,” she whispered. I practically ran into the adjoining room.
The room was filthy. Porno magazines and VHS boxes piled high in every corner. Movie posters covered the walls, offering every conceivable fetish you can imagine: enormously fat, extremely thin, really old, and really young. Sitting behind a desk was a hugely obese guy smoking a cigar.
“Blue,” he boomed, “Nice to meet you. I’m a big fan, especially of that film you did with your brother.” This was getting ridiculous I thought. “My name’s Jack Rampant.” He stood up to shake my hand and I noticed he had a piss stain on his trousers.
“They call him Jack the Jackal,” said a tiny voice from the sofa behind me. I hadn’t realized there was anybody else in the room.
“Blue, I would like to introduce to you the very lovely Marla Midget.”
I turned and there sitting on the broken-down couch was a female dwarf about two feet tall. She was wearing a lycra mini dress and extremely high heels. All I could think was where the hell did she find those shoes? She had feet the size of a two-year-old child. Did they make stilettos for infants? Her little legs dangled over the side of the couch and she swung them to and fro. She was wearing fake eyelashes and an enormous curly wig.
“Come and sit by me,” she invited in a Munchkin voice. I took a seat as far from Marla Midget as possible but she shuffled along the couch until her tiny leg was pressed against mine.
“So here’s the deal,” said Piss Stain, getting right down to business. “Marla here is becoming a very big star after her last feature Lolita the Leprachaun, which we shot on location in Ireland . . . .”
“You flew to Ireland to shoot?” I asked.
“Well . . . actually it was the back yard of O’Reillys Irish pub bar, but it certainly felt like the sweet dells of Belfast.” I wasn’t sure if war-torn Belfast had any sweet dells but I kept my mouth shut.
“It starred Tony Tiny . . . he’s vertically challenged too!” squeaked Marla in my ear . . . she was extremely close by now.
“So we are doing the sequel... Lolita Loves Llandudno , and as you are Welsh. . . .”
“Uh . . . excuse me Mr. Jackal . . . I mean Jack . . . I’m English,” I corrected him. “I’ve only been to Wales twice, and then I got sick from overindulging in clotted cream and scones and welsh rarebit and threw up in the car and. . . .”
“ENOUGH!” shouted Jack. “I’m offering you the role of the rugby player who falls for Marla’s kittenish charms and fucks her at the end of the film.”
“I’ll even do anal,” Marla whispered.
I felt like I had fallen into some parallel universe. I suddenly realized Marla was running her tiny fingers up and down my inner thighs. I jumped to my feet so quickly Marla fell off the sofa and onto the floor. I picked her up and sat her back on the couch and said, “I’m sorry, Jack, there must have been some mistake . . . thank you so much for the offer but I really have to decline.”
“What? You think you’re too good for this company?” Jack snarled. I suddenly realized why they called him the Jackal.
“No, of course not!”
“Because I’ve shit things that were better looking than you!”
“And to think I was going to let you felch me!” shrieked Marla. Felching is a sexual practice where you cum inside of somebody’s arse or vagina and then suck it out . . . sometimes with a straw. Like a milkshake, only a thousand times more disgusting.
“Miss Midget, could you leave Jack and me alone for a second?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Marla, hopping off the couch, “But don’t think the felching offer is still on the table.” With this, she strode proudly out of the room.
“So what’s your problem?” Jack snapped. “Paul Carrigan told me that you were a good actor.”
“Well, the truth is . . . .” All my friends will tell you that any sentence beginning with “well, the truth is” means an enormous lie is about to fall out of my mouth. “When my mother was pregnant with me and went into labor, the midwife delivering me was only three feet tall, and as she started to give birth, my enormous head got stuck, so the midwife panicked and ran out into the street and was hit and killed by an ice cream van.”
“Hmmm . . . well you do have an extraordinarily huge head.”
Fuck off, I thought, but continued my story. “Anyway, I can’t look at a midget or a strawberry sundae without having an anxiety attack.” Jack stared at me in disbelief, but I stared right back at him. “In fact,” I continued, “The very smell of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey makes me pass out, especially if my twin sister Delilah . . .”
“I thought you had a twin brother,” interrupted Jack.
“We’re triplets,” I lied. “Especially if my triplet sister Daphne . . . .”
“I thought you said her name was Delilah . . . .”
“Especially if Delilah Daphne is eating it while watching anything to do with dwarves . . . due to the fact that she was born with her stomach inside out she can only eat . . . uuuuuuuh . . . ice cream.” Of course I realized this story sounded absolutely insane, but once I started lying it was like there was no off-switch in my brain. Amazingly, Jack either believed me or pretended to believe me. He came from behind his desk and gave me a big hug. I thought I could feel his piss stain on my thigh.
“I understand,” he said. “Listen, I have a bestiality movie coming up in a month. I need a bodybuilder to get gangbanged by twelve Great Danes . . . . .”
“Thanks for being so understanding,” I smiled, “And please tell Marla that if I wasn’t mortally terrified of dwarves I would fuck the arse off of her.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“And can I let you know about the doggie film?”
“Sure . . . there’s no hurry, but make sure you get your rabies shots before the cameras roll.” I shook his big meaty hand and walked back into Miss Delicious’s office. Neither Marla nor Miss Delicious was there, so I was able to beat a hasty retreat. I never saw Jack the Jackal, Miss Delicious or Marla Midget ever again. In fact, years later I Googled Nasty Studios and it had vanished off the face of the earth.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I WROTE TO A COMPANY IN SAN FRANCISCO called Hot House. They were fairly new and were producing edgy movies with bodybuilders and hairy guys. They called and said they would like to put me in a film called Nothin’ Nice. They flew me to San Francisco for the shoot, but hadn’t told me who my co-star would be. That immediately set off warning bells in my head. However, it was a job, and I took it.
The trip was a disaster. My co-star arrived looking under nourished and drugged out so I immediately jumped on a plane back to Los Angeles. A big problem with making porn is that some of the models go up and down in size because of their drug intake, both recreational and cosmetic. They cut their hair off at a whim, dye it, bleach it; get tattoos—a whole myriad of things. You always have to see a model the day before the shoot so you know exactly what you’re getting. Nobody expects Tarzan to show up looking like Jane. I vowed after this experience never to work with a model unless I’d seen him first. This was a good lesson to learn. I stuck by it throughout my career, and it’s served me well.
When I arrived back in Los Angeles, Hot House had already called my apartment to apologize. They told me they would fly me
back to San Francisco to work with the model of my choice. I told Chris Duffy about the offer. To my astonishment he said, “I want to do it with you.”
“Don’t be insane. You’re one of the most famous bodybuilders in the world. You don’t want to do gay porn, it will destroy your bodybuilding career!”
“I’m sick of being a pro-bodybuilder. I want to make films with you,” he said with perfect sincerity. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. Chris was at the top of his game. He would be crazy to give it all up to do porn.
“What does Joanie think about this?”
“Joanie doesn’t mind, as long as I don’t do it with another woman.”
“I absolutely disagree,” I said, “I think it’s a terrible idea.”
However, I could already see in my mind the headlines in the National Enquirer: MR. AMERICA GIVES UP BODYBUILDING TO STAR IN GAY PORN FLICKS WITH MALE LOVER: WIFE SAYS “I WHOLEHEARTEDLY APPROVE.” Maybe it wasn’t an entirely insane idea.
I said, “Look, let me think about it. I’ll call you after the weekend and we’ll talk seriously about it.” I kissed Chris goodbye, and as soon as he was gone, I rushed to shower.
Lance Bronson was flying in from D.C. for the weekend. We had stayed in touch since Posing Strap. He was coming to town to look for work as an action star, and I offered to let him stay with me. Chris and I didn’t have an exclusive relationship, he was married and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip through my wicked little fingers. I had gotten rid of Gage and Stephanie for the weekend, so I had the whole apartment to myself . . . to seduce Lance. He turned out to be easily seducible.
Lance and I never left the bedroom that entire weekend. He even phoned his girlfriend from our bed. He was straight/bi and horny, and I was in total lust with him. Our passion was fueled by the fact that we were both starting our chosen careers, so we thought we would become superstars . . . that and some ecstasy tablets that Chris had left behind on my chest of drawers.
On Sunday afternoon the phone rang. I was screening calls, so I let the machine pick up.
“This is a message for Blue Blake. My name is Dirk Dehner and I own the Tom of Finland Company, We are finally making that film based on the drawings of Tom’s work and we would like you and your brother to star in it.” This was the film I had been approached to do all that time ago by the casting scout in North Hollywood Gold’s Gym.
I flew out of bed and pushed poor Lance onto the floor in my rush to snatch up the phone.
“Mr. Dehner, this is Blue Blake speaking, I would love to be in your film!”
“And I hear you have a sexy brother who would also be good for the film?”
“Hmmmmmmmmm . . . Gage . . . yeah, I’m not quite sure about him doing it but I have a friend here I starred in a film with called Lance who might be interested.
“Well,” said Dirk, sounding impressed, “If I could come to your place this afternoon and have a look at you both and discuss the details. . . .”
Dirk arrived a few hours later. Although it was eighty degrees, he was dressed in full leather. He must be boiling, I thought. Dirk was in his forties; blonde hair and beard, and I found out later he had been insanely attractive when he was younger. Tom of Finland had even drawn him. In fact, he was the man who had brought Tom to America. When Tom died, he left Dirk everything and Dirk had wisely decided to produce a film based on the drawings. He was searching for the sexiest men in the world to star in the film entitled, The Wild Ones.
Dirk pointed at Lance, “Is this your boyfriend?”
“No, this is . . . a friend,”
“Well, you’re very handsome,” said Dirk. He looked us up and down . . . was he wearing Wellingtons?
Lance and I grinned at each other. We were young, hot, and had just been asked to star in the Tom of Finland movie . . . and as Lance was so fucking gorgeous, I definitely wanted to be immortalized forever on film with this piece of straight muscle.
“Are you sure your brother won’t do it?” asked Dirk.
“Positive.”
Gage had sworn he would never do porn again—all my teachings gone to waste. Talk about casting one’s seed on fallow ground!
“Well, the two of you will be great together in my film,” said Dirk. He really was quite charming apart from the rubber Wellingtons.
Dirk left promising he would be in touch, and I bade a sad farewell to Lance. Hmmmm, I could fall in love with Lance I thought. The phone rang. It was Chris Duffy.
“What have you been up to?” he asked, sounding high.
“Listen to this, I’ve been asked to star in the Tom of Finland film, The Wild Ones.”
“What? That’s amazing! Who are you working with?”
“A guy called Lance Bronson.”
Chris’s tone changed from congratulatory to suspicious.
“Isn’t he the guy you liked so much?”
“Yes,” I said exasperatedly. Why was he asking so many fucking questions, when, still feeling sexy from the ecstasy, I wanted to go and have a wank.
“I don’t want you to do it,” said Chris matter-of-factly.
“What?”
“Or if you do it, I want you to do it with me.” This was getting exhausting.
“All right,” I said, calling Chris’s bluff, “I have to go back to San Francisco on Thursday to do my scene for Hot House. Do you want to star in that film with me too?”
“Yes, I already told you I did,” said Chris emphatically.
Next thing I knew we were on an airplane together flying to shoot the movie for Hot House Studios. Our lives were about to change forever.
When we arrived in San Francisco, the owner of Hot House studios, Steven Scarborough, seemed pretty happy with the two of us. We definitely were completely original looking, being big bodybuilders at a time when porn was full of jocks. Even the guys who looked like bodybuilders in the films were 5 foot 5. Chris was 6’3˝ and I was 6’1˝. He weighed 300 pounds and I weighed 230. We were big and beefy.
“The movie’s called Nothin’ Nice, and you play garage mechanics. Chris comes in—Blue, you’re repairing a car. He sees your ass, goes wild with desire and he sticks a speculum up your butt.”
EXCUSE ME!! A SPECULUM?!? A speculum is a metal medical instrument which, when inserted in the vagina or rectum stretches the patient open by the twisting of a screw. It has two prongs that open up a person so the doctor can see inside. The idea that I would agree to let somebody stick a speculum up my arse in a film now seems ridiculous . . . however if anybody was going to do it to me, it might as well be Mr. America.
The set was incredibly cool, an old garage with an antique sports car that I was pretending to repair. I was dressed in greasy coveralls and a jockstrap underneath. When Steven shouted “Action!” I began madly repairing the engine. If you watch the movie closely you’ll see me remove the spark plugs and replace them THREE times with the same spark plugs. Chris enters—also wearing overalls—and at the sight of my ass he bends me over the hood of the car, rips off my overalls and eats my arse. The scene was a piece of cake. We were supposed to be mad about each other, and we were. Chris fucked me, stuck the speculum up my ass, ate my arse again . . . I still couldn’t quite believe Chris was doing hardcore porn. Amazingly, Joanie had even encouraged him. Without realizing it, I was being drawn into a twisted web that would grow only more twisted over the next year.
The shoot ended quickly and everybody was delighted with the scene. We were paid three thousand dollars. I gave Chris two; I kept one. He was worth two grand; he was Mr. Fucking America for Christ sakes!
I had been a little worried how Chris would handle his first porno shoot but he took to it like a duck to water.
As Chris filled out his model release he turned to me and asked,
“What should I put where it says stage name?”
Steven Scarborough piped in: “Why don’t you call yourself Bull Stanton?”
Great name, I thought and it really suited Chris. Years later when I start
ed producing I named dozens of models . . . Robert Van Damme, Brad Rock, Scott Gunz, Peter Latz, Sal Lombardi, Rhett O’Hara, Ben Campezi, Rico Dulce, Vincenzo Titan. A good strong masculine model name is extremely important in porn and the models for some reason will go crazy with names given the opportunity, especially straight models, e.g. Mason Jarr. I mean, I get the humor of it and it does stick in one’s mind but I could never look at Mason Jarr without thinking of, well, a mason jar.
Robert Van Damme has one of the most appropriate names in porn. I first met Robert in a restaurant in West Hollywood. Upon gazing at his god-like beauty I whipped myself over to his table to inform him I could make him one of the most famous porn stars on the planet. Luckily he was with two of his friends who knew who I was so I didn’t sound like a totally crazed maniac. He told me he was straight to which I responded, “Perfect.”
I immediately cast him in Muscle Men Moving Company, Inc., Cowboy Rides Again and Young Gods and because of his resemblance to Jean-Claude Van Damme I bestowed him with the moniker Robert Van Damme.
Robert Van Damme is a total enigma because he was once one of the highest ranked ice hockey players in the Czech Republic, in the world in fact. He was married, with three kids, and shagged every hot chick he could get his hands on. Then he began to star in gay porn and before you could say, “pass me that bowl of borscht” he had become an enormous star and was delighting in man-on-man love action. Of course, for straight men, doing gay porn can often lead to one unfortunate realization: that they actually enjoy having sex with other men. I have seen this happen more times than a millipede has legs. Straight man meets straight girl, falls in love, girl persuades straight man to do gay porn because she thinks its kind of kinky, straight man meets gay boy on set . . . they run off to Aruba together . . . straight girl cries for weeks on Blue Blake’s broad shoulders. It’s like the gay-for-pay circle of life.
Now that Chris Duffy had embarked on a hardcore porn career, there was no turning back. Dirk cast Chris in the Tom of Finland movie at my suggestion and Chris’s insistence. With Lance out of the picture, Chris and I were the stars. I hadn’t spoken to Lance since we had fucked and he had returned to D.C. In fact, after Posing Strap, Lance never did another porno again. He didn’t become a hugely famous action star either although he has appeared on over four hundred fitness magazine covers worldwide.
