March 02, 2010
Fiction
Interview With A Porn Star
(Author’s Note: Before starting my writing career, I was an actor in over a dozen feature films. I am happy to share the story of my last film now. — DB)
We were hunkered down in a drafty warehouse in South San Francisco. It was fifty degrees outside with a brisk sea wind blowing cold fog through the walls. The set, a shrink’s office, bookcases, leather couch, chair and loveseat was surrounded by booms, cameras and several dead space heaters. The electricity had blown. Our electrician was trying to solve the outage since waiting for PG&E might mean having to shoot again tomorrow, at fifteen thousand dollars a day.
Paid by the hour, the film crew was in a fine mood. Arnold, the producer, stood at the coffee setup, tearing open little Half and Half containers and throwing them down to sooth his ulcer. The coffee was cold, the donuts Dunkin’ not Krispy Kreme and the sandwiches hadn’t been delivered yet.
Crystal Berry, the film’s star, had just stormed off the set and was out in her car with the heater on. Crystal was famous but audiences were losing interest. Thus the movie; Crystal, playing Crystal, wants to end her sexual addiction. I am her first step, a sex therapist who, after five minutes of clichéd dialogue, suggests he penetrate her mouth and work south, to learn Crystal’s experience first hand, after which he gives her assignments involving people from her past, including relatives. That’s the plot.
Crystal had a wanton smile, a ripe vocabulary and a great ‘cum-scream’. I had made a film with her years back. Afterwards, we made out in my car to cure ourselves of the movie sex. Porn actors go backwards, starting at the climax and working toward a sweet good night kiss at the door.
Months ago, I’d sworn off acting. Just this one last movie, as a favor to my best friend Joel, Arnold’s younger brother, two percent cut, no money up front. I was unmarried and wanted to be married. Very few women will marry a porn actor. So my fate was similar to Joel’s. Joel is a Rabbi and few women in San Francisco are prepared to share his rigorous life. We had both wondered out loud if we would have to quit our professions in order to meet the right woman.
But, maybe, I had just met her.
Daphne (not her real name), on the loveseat with me, tape recorder in her lap, was a kick-ass beautiful journalist doing a piece on actors in the industry. She was there to witness the shoot and interview us.
Daphne’s reading glasses couldn’t obscure her beautiful face, creamy skin, dusky heavy-lidded eyes, high cheekbones, full and shapely lips. When she walked in, striding tall in high heels, tight black jeans, a peach cashmere sweater and a flaring dress coat, the crew thought she was the talent. I wished she was and regretted the life I’d lived up to that point.
Daphne gave the crew a “get over it” smile, said why she was there and asked for coffee. I’d read her work in Rolling Stone and The New Yorker and heard her on NPR. She did opinion, investigative, slice of life, adventure, interviews, character portraits, any subject with an edge, all with humor, smarts and attitude.
Blackout.
Heater wires dulled from orange to black. I put a bathrobe on. Crystal stormed off. Arnold threw down thimbles of Half and Half. The crew yakked about house projects, vacation plans and new motorcycles.
On the loveseat where my character started healing Crystal, Daphne and I clicked. Our eyes locked, our voices lowered, our bodies leaned in. Maybe she was just a great interviewer. Then again, minutes before I had had my sprung cock leapt on by the marauding Crystal. I hoped it wasn’t that. May it please God, as Joel would say, to not have it be that.
I was used to having sex with women minutes after being introduced. As actors we tried to keep a sense of humor and fun about the situation. It was professional, not sexy. That’s why they call it acting. You’ve just got to sell it for the camera. But the interview with Daphne was sexy. She was beautiful and intelligent and I was seismically attracted her. I swear, if someone had said, “Decide right now, based on the little you know, if you want to marry her” I would have said Yes.
A few minutes into the interview, the electricity came back on. Now we weren’t waiting for power but for Crystal who had driven away and wasn’t answering her cell.
Daphne and I talked under the lights, in the swelling warmth of the heaters. Every word was captured on tape so I present them here verbatim.
“In one way, it’s a normal thing,” I said. “Growing pot and making porn are the biggest cottage industries in America. In another way though, when you’re an actor things become unreal between you and women many of whom want to nail you to find out what’s so special.”
“So you’re saying acting in porn turned your life into porn?”
“Yes. I want a regular life, a family, but the unrealities of porn acting take over and it becomes impossible to achieve intimacy. That’s what I want, intimacy, connection and honesty with someone.”
“You can’t feel those things?”
“I do, with a rare person, but there’s those five words ‘So what do you do?’ I live in dread of them.”
“I once did a piece on high-class hookers with only a few well-paying johns. Many girls felt emotionally fulfilled by their clients. Others were able to separate their work and personal lives and maintain a loving relationship with a partner.”
“Maybe if you were in their shoes, you’d say what you longed for rather than what was really happening.”
“I did get into their shoes. It’s how I work.”
“I mean, really in their shoes.”
“Me too. I tried it with one client to learn first hand. I wouldn’t have if my parents were still alive but I was single and needed the money. I was twenty two.”
“And you put it in the piece?”
“Absolutely. It raised my profile.”
Eli, the director, stepped onto the set. He looked seventeen but was good at what he did.
“Excuse me, guys. The interview is going great. Do you mind if I get in on camera?”
Daphne burst out laughing.
“Should I strip?” she asked.
“No. Just keep doing exactly what you’re doing. You guys look great.”
“I was kidding.”
“Whatever,” Eli said and left.
“I guess we’re officially flirting,” Daphne said. “Would this be considered good porn dialogue or bad? Because the sample I just heard was awful.”
“It’s typical. ‘You must confront your trauma using this tool, Miss Berry’ and out it comes. That’s a crucial moment, since maintaining your erection is tough. Sometimes you have to interrupt the shot for help.”
“Help?”
“From your scene partner. The director will say, ‘Get him hard and we’ll try the shot again’. I guess it’s funny.”
“No, it’s sexy, really sexy. You just meet your scene partner and then you have to suck him off camera as part of the deal, so business-like. I find it sexy. I like it when the rules change and lines blur and you don’t know what’s real.”
Daphne looked at the camera and opened the top button of her sweater.
“Since I was a kid I’ve always felt how unreal and movie-like life can be,” she said. “But I’ve never felt how being in front of a camera makes life super-real. It’s like being awake in a dream. Because the camera’s on, I want to do something I wouldn’t ever do in real life. The camera is drawing a line in the sand, a dare.”
“Come on ahead then. Let’s start at the climax and work toward a sweet good night kiss at the door.”
“I like that,” said Daphne.
She put her hand around my neck, pulled me to her and kissed me, very softly and very briefly.
“There,” she said. “Good night. Oops, no door.”
“Just the camera.”
“That’s the dare. Change everything in a wild moment recorded for all time. That’s what I’m after, that’s journalism, getting to the decision every porn actor makes.”
“So the flirting wasn’t real?”
“No, it was unreal in just the right way, Silly.”
“And now you back off?”
“I could back off,” she said. “But I wonder what the line is from which there’s no backing off. It’s not a kiss. What about this?” Daphne picked up my hand and placed on her breast. She was bra-less, ample, round, a heavenly weight against my palm. I ran my thumb over her nipple, raising it to hardness as I pressed her flesh back into her ribcage as she pressed back. Cashmere covered the only thing softer than cashmere.
“Mmmm,” she said. “Your hand is very real.”
“Neither of us knows what’s happening here, do we?”
“I love this confusion and where it’s taking me in my head. It’s fun.”
“Is it a game?”
“No. I’m letting you feel me up which is totally against my policy: No petting until the third date, sometimes the second, if the guy’s very worthy.”
I stood up.
“Hey guys,” I called out to the crew. “Here’s the deal. It’s lunchtime. Crystal’s gone and I want to treat everybody. You know Petra’s on Folsom. Bring me the bill. Now beat it.”
Eli poked his head onto the set.
“Keep the camera running, okay?”
“Absolutely,” Daphne said. “It’s our friend now.”
“Cool,” Eli said. “I hope Crystal doesn’t come back.”
After they left, the warehouse felt like a warehouse again except for our little island of heat and light.
“Don’t touch me,” Daphne said.
“Change of heart?”
“No, I do the touching.”
“You’re so smart and interesting and beautiful, I’m having trouble believing this is happening.”
“Join the party. I want what everyone wants. It’s just that my path to it get twisted.”
“Two huge clichés in porn are the happy slut, a woman ecstatically willing to take on as many men as possible, the more the merrier; and, second, the ingénue, the girl who thinks she’s there for a clothed photo shoot only to be gradually seduced to having her brains fucked out by the photographer.”
“So our movie is the ingénue cliché. I like that. It’s so meta. People all have meeting stories and not only will we have a great meeting story, we’ll have it on film.”
Daphne stuck out her tongue at the camera. I was a goner.
“A film we couldn’t show anybody,” I said.
“Depends. If it’s good or not.”
I reached for her breast but she stopped me.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Okay.”
“Clean bill of health?”
“We’re all recently tested, paper verified. Part of the contract.”
Daphne took off her glasses and looked at the camera.
“Daphne Melville, in a pornography film studio in San Francisco. As you have just witnessed, I am playing an ingénue. How could I lose my journalist objectivity like this? Easy. I don’t believe in journalistic objectivity.
“Beside me is Daniel Burnell, a handsome, very sexy and smart actor. Our chemistry is terrific. Truth be told, as always with me, nothing but, I wanted to fuck him when I first saw him but I wouldn’t because I’m no a slut. Four dates, minimum, is what it takes to bed me and only if you’re extremely worthy. Most men don’t make two dates. Strangely, though, Daniel and the camera have drawn a compelling line in the sand.
“A little while ago, the real actress, Crystal Berry, threw a tantrum and stormed off the set after rapaciously gobbling Daniel’s gorgeous penis. After watching this, I was completely hot and wet and competitive with Crystal. I may be out of my mind but that’s okay, part of the story. Due to my hectic schedule, I haven’t been with a man in six months. Remember, I just told Daniel not to touch me. Why?”
I had no idea what was going to happen.
“Because I want to touch him. Six months is a very long time.”
Daphne uncinched my bathrobe belt, pulled it through and off.
“Okay, if I bind you? Do you trust me?”
“No. I have no idea what you’re going to do next.”
“Good. Me either. Hands behind your back, please.”
Daphne tied my hands. My heart was beating wildly. Was she a homicidal maniac, a wild-eyed feminist avenging her gender or what she said she was? I was ready to accept my fate. What was so great about my life anyway?
Daphne got on her knees on the loveseat. The look on her face was dreamy and attentive like a child in a fantasy. She smiled at me and mouthed ‘Don’t worry’ so the camera couldn’t see. I was hard as a Satyr for her, one of those erections that pulse your heartbeat into the air.
Daphne opened the top of my bathrobe. She leaned in, kissing my chest, my nipples, my neck, my shoulders, my belly, every inch of me, soft, lingering, clinging kisses, full of thought, bent on discovery. I wanted to touch her head, unpin her thick strawberry blond hair, bring her mouth to mine for a kiss but I couldn’t. That was the point; Daphne wanted perfect freedom. She came up and kissed me plunging her tongue deep into my mouth as she took my cock in her hand for the first time. Then she brought her face to my cock and took it deeply into her hot mouth and pulled it out in a long, slow draw I wished would go on forever.
“It’s so beautiful, I want to take my time.”
Daphne’s eyes were incandescent with desire. She cupped her hand around my balls and licked me up my length, holding my eyes to hers. She kissed me back down, determined not to miss a single spot. I loved watching her gorgeous lips press and release, press and release, so soft and plush they were where I always want to land. She took me into her mouth again and again to the back of her throat and on the way out would swirl her tongue over the crown, maddening. Like a pro, she made sure to stay to the side to give the camera a full view.
“I’m going to untie you but no touching me yet.”
She stood, untied me and lashed the belt down across my chest, pretty hard.
“What was that for?”
“I don’t know. I just felt like it. I want to strip. Where should I stand?”
“For me? Or the camera?”
“Both.”
“You should be fine right there.”
Daphne undid the buttons of her sweater, took it off and exposed her breasts. They suited her, full, vibrant, shapely, with hardened pink nipples asking if you are up to the challenge? Here arms were delicate, pale, Victorian. I would’ve expected more muscle, products of gym workouts. She shimmied out of her tight pants, long slim legs, a perfect ass, a beautiful triangle. I wanted to eat her but I was prohibited. And then, To hell with it.
I stood up.
“Wait,” she said. “What are you doing?” I took her in my arms. “Not fair, not fair. I wasn’t done with you yet.”
I kissed her. Startled, Daphne didn’t kiss me back at first and then suddenly she did, a signal we were equals in this now. If I had let her stay in control, I knew we would make love just once but I was after more than that. I put my foot up on the arm of the loveseat, lifted and lowered Daphne so my cock went deep inside her hot cunt.
“Wait,” I said. “Not yet. We have to please the camera first.”
I lifted her off me.
“Bastard,” she said, playfully. “I want it for real now.”
“Daphne, lie down on the loveseat facing the camera. Spread your legs and expose your clit with your fingers. Let the camera show how beautiful you are before I eat you.”
She did as I said, her breath coming in short, quick bursts.
“I want to touch myself. Should I touch myself?”
“Cliché. That’s why I’m here.”
I got down on my knees between Daphne’s legs. Her cunt was a fresh, vibrant morning flower wet with dew. I licked her broadly and minutely, lightly and roughly. I kissed the flesh as if it was another mouth kissing me back. I got her clit behind my upper teeth and flicked it again and again with my tongue. She came with a scream but that was just a five dollar bet. I was a professional gambler. I had taught myself to hold back through long years of practice for the money but now I was doing it for love, the future. Love is always about the future. I was going for the jackpot. Clitoral orgasms were chump change to me now.
I looked up at beautiful Daphne bent awkwardly and endearingly against the back of the loveseat.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Don’t stop.”
“Child’s play.”
“Fuck me.”
I stood and pulled her up. I walked us behind the loveseat, bent her over it and shoved into her cunt from behind. She was so hot and wet, it was a dream. Daphne shoved back against me as I kept fucking her as hard as I could.
“Look at the camera while I fuck you,” I said.
“I can’t.”
“Let the camera record your face as you cum.”
“I can’t. I just want to cum.”
“We’ll miss the cum shot, very unprofessional. Sell it. Sell it.”
Daphne tried but her head dropped and her hair loosened by my pounding fell to the loveseat. I grabbed some and pulled her head up for the shot. My goal was to give this kick ass journalist so much pleasure she’d want to spend her life with me. I loved watching my thighs smack against her beautiful ass. I loved the fine curve of her spine, the smooth skin of her finely sculpted back, her delicate angel’s shoulders.
The warehouse echoed with Daphne’s screams. I was a professional with maximum endurance. Maybe my acting career hadn’t been a mistake after all. Daphne was a beautiful woman doing this for complicated reasons but, bottom line, I had something she needed: I could stop her life from feeling like a movie by making a movie with her.
Finally, Daphne was played out, no more orgasms. That’s when you break boundaries to be the film everyone tries to go beyond. But I carried her to the couch, got between her legs and went inside again gently until I filled her, tenderly kissing her face.
“This is the good night kiss at the door,” I said.
“But you didn’t cum.”
“I just want to kiss you.”
“I’ll make you cum like this.”
Daphne contracted her muscles and I immediately surrendered, an amateur again, and came in great pulsing, electric bursts inside her. She moaned to receive my semen and then we fell asleep in exquisite exhaustion.
When the crew returned, we were dressed and making out like teenagers on the couch.
“This one’s ours,” I said, holding up our tape as we left. “Sorry, Arnold.”
Two years later, Daphne and I still haven’t watched the tape. Maybe someday.
• • •
began writing erotica a few months ago. This is his third published story, many more to come. Read his first two at MainstreamErotica.com.
