Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star (27 page)

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Authors: Blue Blake

BOOK: Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star
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So Ryan and Chad ended up fucking me. The scene was a success despite my moaning and griping. I gritted my teeth and took one for the team . . . well, two for the team actually.
Something most people don’t realize is that there is a shortage of super hot guys to star in gay films. That’s why when somebody new comes along all the studios fight over him like starved dogs over a pork chop. I’m not talking your average young “twinky” guy. I’m talking about great skin, great hair, great teeth, great dick and great arse. The sort of guy who you see working out at your local gym and would sell your soul for a night of passion with. Jeff Stryker, Ryan Idol, all those old Matt Sterling models who seemed so unobtainable unless you visited your local porn dealer. One such model was a guy called Bo Garrett. He had appeared as if from nowhere at Gold’s Gym in Hollywood one day. He was tanned and muscled and had one of the handsomest faces I had ever seen. I asked the girl who worked on the desk who he was.
“I don’t know . . . he just joined the gym. I heard he just got out of the marines and he’s straight so that means he’s mine so hands off!”
Well that definitely sealed the deal. A straight guy new in town with the face of a movie star, surely he must want to do gay porn, I thought. Now as weird as that may sound, surprisingly it would often come true. Handsome guys would flock to Los Angeles to be movie stars, and when they realized it wasn’t as easy as it had been back home when they were being cast as the lead in
The Fantasticks
, they would sometimes do a gay film on the sly. Mostly just jerking off, but that could lead to other things sometimes: getting blown, getting rimmed and even perhaps going the whole way as their fame grew. Fame is fame after all and in those days, without the Internet being so pervasive, it was easier to convince guys that nobody they knew would see these scenes back on the old homestead.
I peered at Bo over the squat rack, and he looked up at me and started laughing.
“How you doing, man?”
He had one of the deepest, sexiest voices I had ever heard. I think I even blushed.
“Oh . . . I was just admiring your . . . ” and then I couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing. I had stalked him all over the gym, and now he was talking to me, and I was speechless.
“Look . . . I may as well just be straight forward with you. My name’s Blue Blake . . . ” he stared blankly at me, “ . . . well, the truth is I star in porn . . . gay porn . . . bodybuilder gay porn . . . and I thought because you are so spectacular looking . . . well, that you might want to do a film with me . . . I mean, you would be the one fucking me of course,” I rambled insanely.
“Too fucking right I’d be the one fucking you because I’m not going to get fucked!”
What!! Did my tiny British ears deceive me? Had he just agreed to star in a film with me? I got an instant hard-on. For every hundred guys you ask to star in a film, one will say yes. Figure that in with the fact that those hundred guys are the best looking of thousands of guys you see every day and it’s an extremely small percentage.
“Yeah . . . I’ll star in a film with you, why not? You can call me Bo Garrett,” he grinned.
Wow . . . this was amazing, now there was only one problem. I didn’t have a film for him to star in with me, so of course I immediately got on the phone with Gino Colbert.
“Just how hot is he?” Gino asked.
“He’s incredible!” I gushed “One of the sexiest men I have ever seen. In fact he was talking to a girl who teaches aerobics, and she got pregnant just by looking at him. I think I’m in love.”
Bo really was that sexy. He must have been born with too many pheromones or something because just being in his presence drove me nutty.
“Well,” said Gino, “I do have a movie slated called
Just Men
. Does he look like he could have been in prison?”
“Definitely . . . in fact he told me that he had just come out of prison!” I lied wildly.
“PRISON . . . for what?”
There’s a difference between employing somebody who looks like they could star on
Oz
and employing somebody who had just
definitely
suffocated their grandmother for the twenty quid in her knickers drawer.
“Hmmm . . . unpaid parking tickets, I think.” Did people go to prison in America for unpaid parking tickets? “Gino, believe me when I tell you, this guy is going to make you a fortune, and I feel its my genetic prerogative to share myself getting fucked by him with the rest of the world.” I would have said anything at this point to get shagged by Bo Garrett.
Gino agreed to meet Bo and instantly wanted him for a scene with me in
Just Men
. In no time Bo and I began hanging out with each other . . . well, not really hanging out but fucking.
Bo lived in a filthy apartment in the saddest part of Hollywood where he nurtured various vermin he called “critters,” from what I could make out, the term “critters” seemed to apply to a collection of wild spiders and lizards that hid under the furniture and appliances, waiting for food to be dropped on the floor. Once a morsel was dropped, a giant lizard or spider or creature of unidentifiable nature would dash out from under the sofa and consume the cheese scone, piece of candy or whatever else had fallen on the carpet. The scariest one was called “Stove Critter” and lived under the stove eating bacon bits and old McDonald’s french fries, I presume enlarging its reptilian stomach so it would one day be large enough to consume one of my toes as I foolishly wandered by clutching nourishment for it. Stove lizard would drag me under the stove to feed me to its undoubtedly enormous spawn. There were probably ten stove critters living under there, I mean who lives under a stove on their own?
But I could put up with all the creepy critters because I found Bo wildly, sexily eccentric . . . with a HUGE cock. He was indeed straight, so it wasn’t just those bitches at Gold’s Gym who had been tempting me with false rumors. It was also true that he had been in the marines and afterwards had moved to Hollywood to seek fame and fortune. He told me that when he was a kid growing up on a farm in the Midwest he would “corn hole” his best friend. I never worked out if that meant that he fucked his best friend or stuck a corn cob up his best friend’s arse—I found out soon enough when I let him corn hole me and believe me it didn’t involve farm produce.
Bo had a big dick and really knew how to use it. I could tell he was going to be a big star. That is until the day we got on the set to shoot
Just Men
and he froze up. Why is it always like that? You meet a super hot guy, you think he will make a great porn star, you might even fuck him, then you get him on the set and he freezes in front of the cameras.
I had shot so many films by this time that fucking before the cameras had become second nature to me. I loved arriving on the studio to see what sets had been built. There were normally other porn stars hanging around, and we would trade anecdotes and gossip about which films were being made and who was being cast in them. It was all very convivial . . . like a bake sale only with everybody naked and clutching tubes of KY jelly instead of pineapple upside down cake.
The trouble with Bo began in the makeup room. He didn’t want to take off his cap to get his hair styled. The make up artist persuaded and cajoled, but there was no way that cap was coming off his damn head. Finally Gino was summoned, and we discovered that for some reason one of Bo’s crazy girlfriends had given him a perm or something very similar the night before. He looked fine, he always looked fine to me, but he was mortified and refused to show his head.
“Take clippers and shave the whole fucking mess off!” I hissed at Gino.
“Blue,” Gino sternly reprimanded me, “Remember, this is his first time on set.” Gino was such a fucking saint.
After an hour of convincing Bo he didn’t look like Harpo Marx, we got him onto the set; which was the interior of a prison cell. By this time I was nervous. What if Bo couldn’t perform and the scene became one of those hellish twelve-hour days? I needn’t have worried. It all went swimmingly. However, I could tell that performing on camera wasn’t going to be a forte of Bo Garrett’s. In fact, he made only a few other films that I’m aware of:
Biker Pigs from Hell
,
Slick
,
Saddle Tramps 2
,
Mavericks
and
Playing with Fire 2
.
We stopped sleeping together, and over the years it seemed each time I saw Bo he became more and more tattooed. Eventually he began dabbling in drugs and then vanished completely for a while. He called me a few years later and told me he had been in intensive rehab for seventeen months for his addictions. We agreed to meet for lunch. Somehow the lunch got cancelled and I ended up never seeing the incredibly sexy Bo Garrett ever again, which was an enormous shame as he was definitely one of the sexiest men I had ever met and one of the sweetest.
CHAPTER TWELVE
 
GINO CALLED AND ASKED IF I would like to do a “glamour shoot” in leather for a new photographer he was auditioning. I loved glamour shoots. It was my favorite job in porn, along with modeling for the box covers. I think I enjoyed the pampering and the opportunity to meet all the photographers. My favorite was Dean Keefer. He not only shot a lot of layouts for
Playgirl
, but in the day photographed teen queens like Hilary Duff. He would airbrush the pictures like crazy and could make my corpulent waist look almost sylphlike. I would practically choose to do a film if I knew Dean was doing the photography for the box.
During the photo shoot Gino asked me if I had ever heard of Leisure Time Films. I knew Gino shot a lot of scenes for the company, which was owned by straight entrepreneur Mark Carrier.
Leisure Time produced those films you see on the shelves that say “4 HOURS . . . COCK, COCK AND MORE COCK.” They made films just consisting of compilation scenes spliced together. Because Gino was directing, the quality was high and the money was good so I agreed to appear in a few. What I didn’t realize was that those few scenes would end up in literally
hundreds
of different films. I ended up appearing in
Big Men Eat Ass Too, Dirty Boys, Hard Workers, Kinky Gays, Lockdown, Muscle Up
—the list is endless. I was naïve, but I had signed the model releases so I couldn’t bellyache about it afterwards. That seemed ungracious.
My first scene for Leisure Time was shot on the set of an old alley for a film titled
Dudes
. I was with a model whom I didn’t really fancy, but hey, I was getting paid a thousand dollars, and that would go towards getting me a new apartment. My welcome at Greg’s was wearing thin due to his moody roommate and I needed my own place. Greg had agreed to move out and get a place with me.
During a break from the fucking, I noticed one of the crew making cow eyes at me. I sauntered over and introduced myself to him.
“Hello . . . I’m Blue Blake.” I smiled.
The guy, who was fat and pink with a thick head of hair, grinned. He looked like a giant infant.
“I’m Ronnie Larsen,” he said.
Ronnie Larsen . . . I had heard that name somewhere before.
“I wrote the play
Making Porn
that’s currently playing on Melrose Avenue.”
Of course, I had seen the posters all over the city for the show, a comedy about the gay porn industry. Gino had even been to see it and had told me how good it was.
“You must be an actor because your screaming sounded so realistic when you were getting fucked.”
That wasn’t acting, that was because I had a nine-inch dick crammed up my arse!
“Would you like to come and see the show? I’ll give you and Gino free tickets.”
What a nice guy, I thought.
“In fact, I want to write a whole play just for you.”
Ronnie was nice but he was also obviously a lunatic. Oh well, I needed a shot of theatre to my “porned out” veins and this would serve nicely.
Gino and I saw the play the next night. There was a crowd milling around when we arrived, no doubt drawn by the erotic posturing of the bodybuilder on the play’s billboard. He was a young actor named Eric Jirak and he stood naked on the poster with a clapperboard covering his dick. He was a gorgeous twenty-something and his beauty enticed in the hundreds of gay men who passed the theatre daily.
Inside the box office sat a short chubby woman wearing a man’s fedora and an oversized shirt that was unbuttoned practically to her waist . . . was that a hot dog lodged between her breasts? She had beady eyes, which were shielded by small glasses and enough food in her teeth to cure global famine.
“Hi, I’m Blue Blake.”
“I’m Caryn,” she rasped, “I’m the producer of the show.” The producer was selling tickets? I was literally speechless. Gino nudged me in the ribs.
“Hmmmm . . . Ronnie invited us to the show.” I said.
“I know . . . he’s always giving away free tickets, I hate that.” Then, in a dramatic turn, she asked bluntly: “How big’s your dick?”
“Uhh . . . about eight inches.”
“Cut or . . . uncut?”
“Uncut,” I replied cooperatively.

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