Insatiable: Porn — a Love Story (22 page)

“Are you still seeing that guy?” I asked Alexis.

“Who? The last guy? In Queens?” Alexis was a New York native like me.

“Yah, last time I saw you, you were with a guy who’s not in the business.”

“Oh, I’m done with him. I’m just trying to be single and do
me
for now, you know?”

I did know. Having been through a few relationships over the course of my porn career myself, I was fully aware of how rough it was to maintain one. It’s hard to say which is harder—dating someone within the business, or someone outside of it, a “civilian.” Both have their pros and cons. The perks of dating someone who works in porn are obvious: They understand the difference between work sex and home sex. When you do a hardcore double penetration scene in the afternoon, they understand you might be too sore to have sex that night. And, on those rare occasions you catch chlamydia or gonorrhea . . . there’s no embarrassment when you have to go get medicated together. That’s a tough one, when dating a civilian.

“Ummm, hey. I don’t know how to say this, but . . . I have chlamydia. Meaning you probably do, too. So . . . can you come with me to the doctor tomorrow so we can get our pills?”

It’s an awkward conversation that would most likely never happen in any other situation.

However, dating a porn guy isn’t exactly easy, either. The guys you work with every day, those are his friends. Those are the guys he goes out with on Saturday night, the guys he turns to with all of his problems when you two are fighting. If they’re not his friends, he’s constantly running into them anyway on sets and at the gym. And sometimes, you are even having sex with guys he really fucking hates. For the most part, most of them can keep an objective mind about it—but everyone has bad days.

A civilian doesn’t deal with any of this—he is completely on the outside, oblivious to the details of who you are fucking.

The boys started arriving one by one while we shot a little striptease sequence to go in the beginning of the intro. There were seven of them in total. I requested the night before that they all bring a white wifebeater and blue jeans as their wardrobe. Every one of them wore their sex outfit to set, which made me envious; changing in and out of wardrobe was my least favorite part of porn. If I could roll out of bed, hop in the shower, put on an outfit, and stay in that outfit the whole day—only to take it off during sex—my job would be completely perfect.

Once we shot the intro, we took a break. Everyone smoked their last cigarettes, baby-wiped their balls, and did whatever they needed to get their dicks hard.

What followed was a perfect gangbang scene. Alexis started on her knees, crawling down the line of hard cocks, stopping to give each one some alone time with her mouth. At the end of the line, she climbed on top of Prince, sitting on his dick to ride him. Almost as if on cue, the other guys came swarming around the action, throwing their hands in to touch whatever they could: a tit, her face, her clit, whatever. We only cut once. She stayed airtight for about three-quarters of the scene, meaning she had all three of her holes—her mouth, pussy, and ass—filled. At the end, she took two loads in her pussy, and the rest on her face and mouth.

I was jealous. I went home wondering if directing porn was even right for me. It seemed like the shitty end of the stick—more work, less pay, and I didn’t even get to orgasm at the end of it. While shooting, I found myself resenting the fact I wasn’t in front of the camera. That should have been
me
getting double-penetrated while being choked out. That should have been
me
at the center of attention of all the guys, begging for them to call me a slut.

And I missed my highschool reunion for it.

The next day, I went in to sit with the editor to start on postproduction of the scene. As I put the intro together, and started to see my vision come alive—a girl’s journey through a seedy sex club, performing different sexual acts in different private rooms, until ultimately entering the gangbang room, where seven guys were waiting to fuck the shit out of her—I got turned on, in a way I hadn’t before. I had put all of this together. It was gratifying, seeing Alexis like that, the look of such ecstasy on her face—all in a scenario I had envisioned. It was real now, right in front of my eyes, on the computer screen. Soon people all over the world would be jerking off to the inside of my brain. It was pretty cool.

Needless to say, when I got home from shooting the second scene a few days later, I felt differently. I felt happy, satisfied, and excited for my future as a director. When Dee texted me, asking how my shoot went, I told her it had been worth missing our reunion. And I meant it.

A Breakup Letter

August 9, 2013

I should state right away that this is a breakup letter. For the last six beautiful years, you’ve taken care of me. You’ve watched me grow up, really. When you met me, I was just a young girl who didn’t know much. I’m a woman now. You taught me so much about love, life, sex, and myself.

What I mean is, it’s not you, it’s me.

It just feels lately like . . . I’m outgrowing you. We both knew when we got together, that this wouldn’t last forever. Yet somehow, around year two or three of this magical relationship, I managed to make myself forget that. You made that easy, with your wild and reckless ways. I got wrapped up in the thrill of the relationship, the excitement of it all. You were always so good at exciting me. Remember the time I first took it in the butt for you? I was so nervous! I hadn’t done it much before you, and you were a perfect gentleman about it. You let me do it at my own pace, in my own way.

Who knew what was to come after that! I certainly didn’t expect all of this success. You made this all possible for me.

Or, remember the time in that helicopter . . . ? Or the time with the ten guys in the movie theater? Those are such fond memories . . . from times when the end felt so far away.

You taught me to love myself for who I am. You taught me never to compromise what I want. Whenever people claimed “Gonzo porn lacks depth,” I defended you—I showed the world a girl can enjoy herself being fucked like a dirty slut, with no scenario, no context, just straight-up hardcore fucking. You taught me to embrace this side of myself; to let go of the shame that comes along with loving sex. And if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even know how to make my asshole gape in a perfect circle.

So . . . before you find out from someone else, I want you to hear it from me.

I’ve met someone.

Now, before you get upset . . . Do you remember when I first came to you, it wasn’t you I wanted? Do you remember, I wanted so badly to be a contract girl? I didn’t even know what you were . . . I didn’t even know what “Gonzo” meant.

Well, it’s finally happening. With this new offer, I was reminded of my original dream. To be glamorous. To make porn that’s beautiful. I also saw a way for me to extend my career . . . to continue living out my dream of turning people on, having sex in front of the camera . . . without putting on a freak show. Without fisting my asshole on a weekly basis. Don’t get me wrong: I loved doing those things with you. I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything. But you had to know that phase of my life wouldn’t last forever, that my tastes would eventually mature. It’s only a matter of time before people are sick of watching me “take it to the next level.” Not to mention, before there is no next level.

In feature porn, I’m going to make different kinds of movies. I’m gonna show the world a different side of myself. I’m gonna show everyone I can be just as sexy without putting on a circus show. It’s gonna be a new era—I want to make movies that the average woman would want to watch, that couples can watch together. Just as I defended you when people said, “Gonzo has no depth,” I want to show that feature porn is still passionate, that I can turn the world on just as much without getting fucked by two cocks in my ass at the same time. I’m gonna learn the fuck out of how to be a good actress, and just you watch, I’m gonna get that AVN Best Actress award. I know you think I can’t win anything without you—a part of me was scared of that, too. But you’ll see. Like I said, you’re the one who taught me to believe in myself.

I know this is confusing because of what I said. I always prided myself as a Gonzo girl, a girl who gave a filthy, hardcore scene every time.

“Gonzo is where my heart is,” I’d tell everyone.

And it was. But like I said, I’m in a different place in my life now.

It’s time.

Today, I signed a contract to perform exclusively for the top feature porn company in the world—Wicked Pictures. I’m proud and excited to go on this new journey. You’ve been so good to me, Gonzo, but I hope you can be happy for me in this next chapter in my life.

I’ll always love you, and I hope we can remain friends.

Love, Asa

Haiku

Shaving the butt-hole;

Only thing more im-por-tant

Than shaving the vag.

16
Food Porn

I placed the order online quickly, before the shame could settle in.

“Tell me I have to do it. If you don’t, I won’t be able to press the button,” I told Toni.

“You have to do it. Or I’m leaving you.”

“Say it like you mean it. Please, I’m serious—I can’t hit the order button.”

“Listen, you fucking bitch, I don’t care what you eat but order me my fucking pizza before I smack your slutty little face and leave you crying in your closet.”

Order sent.

A good amount of my life is spent thinking about food. I’d say 80 percent of my waking hours is a fair estimate. The lack of it, the hunger for it, the fantasy of it, the decision to consume it, the resulting guilt of doing so. I’ve never been able to understand people who don’t eat when they’re under stress. Because I’m a class-A emotional eater myself, everything makes me hungry. Being sad makes me hungry. Being happy makes me hungry. Celebration, mourning, avoidance, boredom—they all call for a feast. I can even down a huge meal on Adderall.

Inside, I am an obese woman with the munchies dying to come out. In true game-recognize-game fashion, I can see this handicap in other women who share my pain.

“She wants to be fat so bad,” I’ll comment, watching a girl eat a salad at a restaurant, as her boyfriend digs into his plate of pasta. “Look how hungry she is,” I project.

As I hit the “refresh” button over and over on my inbox, waiting for the confirmation email, I could feel my heart rate rising.

Asalotapuss:

Thank you for placing your Papa John’s pizza order via our Online Ordering service. Please find below the details of your order:

ORDER DETAILS

1 Large Original Crust Grilled Chicken Club Pizza (Onions, Bacon, Grilled Chicken, Roma Tomatoes, Mushrooms)

1 Buy any Large Pizza for $11 and get any Second Large Pizza for $9.99

Large Thin Crust with Pineapple

Large Thin Crust Spinach Alfredo Pizza

1 Large Original Crust Steak and Cheese Pizza

1 15 piece Chicken Poppers

1 Add a 2-Liter to your Order

2-Liter Pepsi Max

Delivery Fee $2.99

Grand Total $59.11

Order Type: Delivery

Method of Payment: CASH

Estimated Ready Time: 45–55 minutes

Thank you for choosing to order online with Papa John’s Pizza.

That email. My favorite email.

“Are you excited? Are you?” I nervously asked Toni.

“Yes, super-excited to the maximum,” he said, comforting me, smiling. He knew the rules to keeping me calm and neurosis-free during a cheat session: Show enthusiasm, don’t be a Debbie Downer. I needed to know he loved my cheat days as much as I did. “How much time does it say?”

“Forty-five to fifty-five minutes. Not bad. I’ll start the timer now.” I picked up my phone to do just that.

I went to turn on the TV and automatically pressed the numbers on the remote control for the Food Network.
Paula’s Party
, starring Paula Deen, was on.