The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz (15 page)

The year was 1980, and I’d just arrived on the set of
Co-Ed Fever
, which was being shot at a luxurious mansion just north of San Francisco. Even by Hollywood standards, it was a major production. We had a ridiculously large budget, a director who’d been plucked from the mainstream, and the most famous names in the business, like Vanessa Del Rio, Jamie Gillis, and John Leslie. But the producer, Harold Lime, had a thing for fresh faces. So for every legitimate star in attendance, there were at least three young beauties just getting their start in adult films.

And every one of them, it seemed, already knew about me, the kid from New York.

“I’m sorry?” I asked my buxom interrogator. “What did you say again?”

“I heard that you could give yourself head,” she repeated. “Is that for real?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you hear that?” It was a rhetorical question. I knew damn well where she’d heard it. I’d started the rumor myself. I should’ve known that it’d be only a matter of time before it came back to bite me in the ass.

“Is that a yes or no?” She was persistent, I’d give her that.

“Maybe,” I said coyly.

She wasn’t going to get an answer out of me quite so easily. We continued to stare at each other, our eyes locked in a meaningful gaze, like a flirtatious Mexican standoff. I could’ve just come out and told her what she was clearly dying to know, but I wanted to toy with her a bit longer.

“Can I see?” she finally asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

I looked around the room to make sure that nobody was listening. “Okay, fine,” I said. “But not here. Let’s go someplace private.”

I led her into the bathroom.

L
et’s back up:

Eleven years earlier, I was just another teenage boy with a very large penis and no idea what he could do with it.

I didn’t always know that my dick was on the larger side. I assumed that I was a little larger than average, give or take an inch or two. I didn’t have much basis for comparison, save for occasionally showering with other guys after gym class at school. And then the black dudes seemed to have the advantage. It wasn’t until I started dating that I realized the size of my schlong might be in any way big.

Mandy was the first to tell me. Well, she didn’t really volunteer the information. I had to finagle it out of her. Not long after we began seeing each other seriously for the second time, I was in her bedroom while she was talking on the phone with one of her girlfriends. In the middle of their conversation, Mandy covered her mouth with a hand to keep me from overhearing. Normally I had no interest in her girly chats, but the secrecy had piqued my curiosity.

“What were you whispering?” I asked after she’d hung up.

“None of your business,” she said, her face going beet red.

“Come on,” I prodded. “You can tell me.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you can. What were you whispering?”

She hesitated. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

“I won’t get mad.”

She smiled feebly. “I told her that we were dating again and that I was glad because I loved your big dick.”

It took me a minute for this to sink in. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve got a big dick, Ronnie. Don’t act like you don’t know.”

I didn’t. “It’s really big?”

She laughed, though I wasn’t trying to be funny. “Are you kidding me?” she said. “It’s like Godzilla’s penis. Trust me, Ron, it’s very, very big.”

I had her repeat it a few more dozen times, just for good measure. A guy can never hear a thing like that enough.

I was on top of the world. I had a big dick, and a girlfriend who was willing to go on the record saying as much. Who could ask for anything more? Little did I know, however, that this valuable bit of information was only the beginning. In just a short while, my entire world was going to change.

During the summer of 1968, I went to the Ten Mile River Boy Scout Camp in upstate New York. It was a camp for urban kids, and it was exactly what I needed to burn off some steam. For an entire month, I did nothing but canoe and ride horses and swim with my friends. Sex was the last thing on my mind.

But one morning, when I was alone in the cabin getting dressed for a hike, I made a startling discovery as I leaned over to tie the laces of my boots.

I could kiss it.

I didn’t actually kiss it, of course. I just touched my lips against the crotch of my pants. But I knew exactly what it meant. If I was naked, I could have…well, you know. I sat there for a minute, marveling at my newfound ability. I had never tried anything like this before, but it was remarkably easy. I just leaned forward and my mouth was buried in my own lap. Could every guy do this? I wondered. Was there something wrong with me? Was this dangerous for the back, even?

I immediately ran to the nearest pay phone and called my dad. I explained everything to him. He listened intently until I finished, and then took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Is anybody in the room with you right now?” he asked.

“No, I’m alone.”

“Well,” he continued. “I suggest that you don’t tell anybody else you can do this. They might think it’s a bit strange.”

“Should I be worried?” I asked, my voice cracking from the panic.

“No, no, no,” he said calmly. “It’s not bad at all. It’s just…well, a little unusual. It’s not something everybody can do.”

“Would they want to?”

“How do you mean?”

“If everybody could do it, would they want to?”

He paused and considered the most prudent way to answer me. “It’s not something most guys think about,” he lied. “You don’t want to kiss your own penis, do you?”

“Not really,” I said. “It’s kinda gross.”

“Exactly. And when you turn eighteen, there’ll be plenty of girls who’ll want to kiss it for you. So if I were you, I wouldn’t give it a second thought.”

And I didn’t. At least not for another decade. And even then, I should’ve taken my dad’s advice and shut my big, fat mouth.

E
ven before I showed up for the
Co-Ed Fever
shoot, I knew that the mansion in San Jose that we were using as our set was a piece of sexual history. During the 1970s, it was a popular spot for swingers’ parties, hosting more casual sex than most homes see in a lifetime. It had also been used for several adult productions over the years, most famously Marilyn Chambers’s classic of erotica,
Insatiable
.

It’s no surprise why so many porn producers picked it as a location. It had over forty bedrooms, horse stables, a private courtyard where you could enjoy outdoor sex without being leered at by noisy neighbors, and even its own indoor bowling alley. The bowling alley was probably the most notorious attraction, thanks to the now legendary scene in
Insatiable
where Marilyn violated herself with a bowling pin. I’d heard rumors that Sammy Davis Jr.—yes, the same Sammy Davis Jr. of the Rat Pack—was a producer for
Insatiable
and may have even stopped by the mansion during the filming. The tales were possibly exaggerated, but it was hard not to wander through the mansion and imagine that you could still hear Sammy’s crooning.

It may have been the perfect location for a porn film, but it was an even better setting for casual, unscripted encounters. Like, say, taking a porn starlet into a back bathroom and demonstrating the finer points of self-fellatio.

I was leaning against the sink, my pants around my ankles, looking disapprovingly at my flaccid penis. I made a few halfhearted attempts to reach it with my mouth, but never quite made contact, always missing the mark by inches.

“It’s kinda difficult to do this when I’m limp,” I said with a groan.

The actress looked at me with an impatient expression. “But you could do it if you had an erection, right?”

“Well, sure,” I said, making a few last futile lunges before giving up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not really turned on by the idea of my own mouth. The little fellow doesn’t want to come out to play. I guess I won’t be able to show you after all.”

It was, of course, bullshit.

I could easily kiss my penis in any state, whether I had a raging hard-on or if it was just peeking out of its shell. I could’ve just squeezed the base and pulled it up to my lips. But it didn’t
look
that impressive. It was much more visually pleasing (at least to the ladies) if I was actually sucking on something with some girth.

We stood there together in silence, both waiting for the other to suggest what was becoming obvious.

“Well,” she said, moving closer to me, “can I do anything to help?”

I smiled at her with a devious twinkle in my eye. “Well, sure,” I said. “You could pose for me or something.”

“Would that get you excited enough?” she asked softly, letting her finger slide down my chest.

“It might,” I said. “Or, I don’t know, maybe if you touched it.”

“Yeah?” Her breathing had quickened, and she was already loosening the straps of her flimsy lingerie. She grabbed my cock with both hands and began to jerk it.

“Or,” I said, pretending that I didn’t know exactly where this was heading, “you could kiss it a little. Just enough to get it hard.”

“And then you’ll kiss it, too, right?” she asked, dropping to her knees.

“Oh sure,” I said. “No problem.”

Y
ou might not believe this, but the ruse had never been my idea. That honor belongs to Veronica Hart.

A year earlier, I met her at a party in New York. She was new to the business, and we were going to be working together soon in a movie called
Fascination
. For some reason I mentioned to her that I could give myself head. Veronica insisted on seeing it, and I brought her to the bathroom for a private show.

I dropped my pants and started kissing on it while my dick was soft. Veronica watched me for a few minutes and then, without any provocation on my part, crawled to the floor and began sucking it with me. We alternated between her sucking it and me kissing it, and then did it together. It was a first for me, and it remains the only time I’ve ever received and given myself a blow job simultaneously.

To be fair, it wasn’t really Veronica’s suggestion to use my self-fellatio skills as a regular seduction technique. But she did plant the idea in my head.

As I left the bathroom on the
Co-Ed Fever
set, having just completed another class in self-fellatio 101, my newest student, John Leslie, was standing there smiling at me with his famous leer.

Leslie was one of my heroes. He had been in the adult industry many years longer than me, and he was very respected both sexually and as an actor. He was like a cross between a sophisticated gentleman and a nasty old man, and he played both sides of his personality to perfection. He was most infamous for something he called the “Rat Look,” a sneer that was so charged with sexuality it’d wet a girl’s panties within seconds.

He was giving me the “Rat Look” when he caught me outside the bathroom. But this time, it wasn’t meant as a sexual advance.

“You son of a bitch,” he snarled at me. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” I said, giving the actress a quick peck on the cheek and sending her on her way.

“I’ve watched you take a few women in and out of that bathroom. What the hell are you doing in there?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “We’re just…talking.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he sniggered. “I heard about this trick you’ve been pulling. Can you seriously kiss your own dick?”

“I guess. Why? You want to see it?”

He howled with laughter. “Fuck you, Jeremy!”

He put an arm around me and gave my forehead a soft noogie. “You are a genius, my friend. It’s the perfect seduction technique. My hat goes off to you.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose,” I explained. “They
asked
to see it.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, giving me a knowing wink. “Y’know, Ron, one of these days, you’ve got to do that in a movie.”

“Yeah,” I said sardonically, “because
that’s
what guys want to see when they watch a porn flick. Some hairy dude polishing his own knob.”

“Trust me,” he said. “This talent of yours is going to make you very, very famous someday.”

Leslie didn’t know the half of it.

T
he first time that I kissed myself on camera was for a film called
Inside Seka
. I played a factory boss named Burt Morris who discovers one of his workers messing around with Seka in the company stockroom. I watch the two of them go at it before trying to get myself invited into a threeway.

“I get an erection every time I look at you, you know that?” I told Seka. “How about playing a Hoover on my ding-dong here, huh?” (Great dialogue.)

Seka turned to me with a scowl and said, “Why don’t you suck yourself off?”

Dejected, I wander back to my office while Seka blows a growing number of working stiffs. As I’m beating myself off, it occurs to me that Seka might’ve had the right idea.

“Maybe she has a point,” I said, admiring my erection. “Hmm. I’ll tell you, this looks so good, maybe I should eat it myself.” And then I do.

Okay, before we go on, I’d like to set the record straight. This is the only film in which I have ever—and I mean
ever
—had an erection while doing this. And even then, I only popped into the air. I did not, and have not, and would not, and would never pop a load of my cum into my own face or mouth.

Are we clear on that?

I didn’t even want to blow myself with an erection, but the director insisted on it. So I asked for a fluffer, which was the only way I was gonna get hard enough for a porn-worthy scene. An actress named Barbara Burns volunteered to come to the set to help me out. She and her husband, Mike Feline, had been close friends of mine for years. They had turned me on to swinging and Plato’s Retreat (we’ll get to that later). So Barbara was more than happy to lend a helping hand, not to mention a helping mouth and a helping pussy.

In between takes, Barbara and I would be having sex, doing whatever it took to get me hard for the scene. She was an amazing lover who never failed to get me hot and bothered. When the cameras started rolling, she stepped away and I had to continue blowing myself without any assistance. I’d go limp almost immediately, and the cameras were stopped while Barbara went to work getting me hard again. I had fun fucking Barbara, but the rest of it was just a chore. It was difficult and probably the least erotic experience I’d ever had on a porn set.