Supplication...

Ok, holding to the notion that everything is derived from the creative act of God’s infinite wisdom and ability to think of amazing things, then masturbation  must certainly fall under that aegis. Indeed, one could even postulate that creation by one that has no equal therefore none that can help…ahem… umm… handle business… amen… is sort of an act of masturbation insofar as it is a singular activity that serves no greater purpose than momentary inspiration and satisfaction of an finite job well done in an infinite universe. So, if that is true then jerking off is perhaps a form of prayer – a reflection of the true nature of the all knowing and omnipotent power of a higher power, one capable of merging dreams and molding fantasies into solid reality that one can see, touch, smell, hear and become one with.

Without further ado… the ten reasons God invented masturbation:

1. God created masturbation so that everyone had something to do with their hands once the praying was done and Sunday football finished for the evening and the remote no longer necessary.
2. Masturbation is the Lord’s way of saying that you can give yourself a hand for a job well done.
3. Orgasms mimic the pulsating, rippling waves of energy that bring light to darkness to transform the universe with the power of feelgood vibes.
4. God pretty much ordered folks to beat off when he sent Jesus along with the “love thine self” directive.
5. Because God made Homegrown Video the instrument of amateur porn and thus inspired millions to enjoy a little time on hand.

bronski!

Ron Jeremy had been in the bath for a while. Since that was the location of the one and only restroom in Spark and Ing’s loft, that meant that our bathroom was now the main spot for the cast and crew to use, making waste, doing drugs, and having hissy fits. There was only so much one could do about it. The more pressing concern was still making sure that wherever the anal sex was being recorded that some measure of precautions were being taken to avoid leftover bio-waste. The place could have burned down as far as I was concerned as long as I could still use my couch without fear of finding a spent condom that had recently been stuffed up some starlet’s eager to get paid butthole.

Ron must have had some serious work to do in the bath. The only being I think that could spend more time in a  tub would have to have been part mermaid.

But Ron is a professional, so when the time came to shoot his part, no pun intended, he was out and ready to roll. Indeed, the strange thing was he still pretty much looked the same and smelled the same. In all honesty I doubt many would have realized that he just spent a couple hours preening and cleaning in a tub which proves that you can take the porn star out of the dirt but you can’t take the dirty out of the porn star.

Ing had been more than patient. Actually, she seemed as though she had taken a couple of xanax or something similar. She had the sort of emotionless patience that someone generally has to be on heavy medication to achieve without the benefit of a Guru. She had made it past the Landlords coming by to ask us to keep it down outside the lofts; porn stars had been commiserating over cigarettes, chatting about partying, anal fucking and cum bubbles, sex with agents, sex with trannies, sex, sex, sex, who has good wood and who doesn’t, and all manner of stuff ordinary folks aren’t accustomed to hearing right outside their trendy LA loft apartments.

Hold on, I guess that is pretty normal in San Fernando.

The time Ron Jeremy spent in the bath seemed to Ing like hours. She was becoming frantic. She couldn’t figure out what was taking so long and it was wearing her down just thinking about it. She looked like she had reached that point beyond where the last tear of worry has been shed and all that is left is a cold, expressionless shock that drained her face of color and froze every trace of emotion.

The Vivid shoot in the meantime was going on swimmingly. Scene after sex scene was wrapped and “in the can”. All the non contract stars would be performing the anal sex while the Vivid contract starlets didn’t have to put their asses on the line, so to speak, but assholes were being properly fucked and that what was selling so that is what had t be shot. The top studs in the industry were delivering the goods, wood lasting through all the camera and lighting changes and the starlets sagging interest when the camera was off.

At the end of a day of shooting multiple anal sex scenes, as one can certainly unfortunately surmise, there is a lingering stench of butt and sweat and cum. To director Paul Thomas, that smell was the smell of victory, the sweet and sour scent of a hard day at the orifice.

A long day, just one more scene to shoot. Someone would have to get Ron out of Ing’s bathroom.

nice clean big boobs!

Ron Jeremy is pretty much of an enigma. The more you know about him and see him in all his apparent contradictions, the deeper the mystery confounds. How could such a guy, who appears to be king of the mooks, be such a porn star? Well, there is that strange ability to orally pleasure himself. He once bet a woman that he could suck his own cock and if he was able then she would have to finish him off. She took one look at his big beer belly, that isn’t a beer belly because he is a teetotaler, and took the bet and proved quite literally that she was not just a sucker but a cocksucker to boot. And go figure, he may look sloppy, but he is not sloppy in the sack… many a porn starlet has marveled at his oral skills, which apparently he learned from another porn legend Nina Hartley.

Then there is that nickname – “The Hedgehog”. Hedgehogs are quiet and prickly little creatures that roll into a ball of spiked quills when provoked. Ground hog would probably have been a better choice since Ron seems to always be sleeping, waking just long enough to find out if it is time for him to fuck, then going back to sleep. Hedgehog is the name that stuck though and I guess it makes sense from the standpoint that he does have an extremely bristly rug of back hair. Still a hedgehog is a quiet little creature, and Ron, at least when he is awake, seems to always be performing shtick as if his life were a stage in a darkly lit comedy club with a row of hecklers for him to pick off one by one with he  New York wit, chewy as a proper bagel and saltier than a street vendor’s pretzel.

But Ron has mysterious skills, talents that make him strangely suited to a career as a male porn star. I am sure he was great as an highly educated intellectual and administrator in the NYC public schools, but being able to count from one to ten and ejaculate on cue was probably not an essential skill in that vocation. In porn, it is the difference between standing around for hours waiting for the “money shot” and actually getting paid. And Ron sincerely loves the idea of getting paid to have sex with so many women, big, small, tall, fat, hot, not, he has done it all. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line, he got a bad reputation for having poor personal hygiene. So the notion that he was going to jump into Ing and Sparks bath to clean up for his upcoming scene in Vivid’s “one-day wonder” was a contradiction. Sure he had wicked body odor, but that is just the curse of being as hairy as a werewolf I guess, at least he was respectful and considerate enough to want to bath prior to the upcoming anal sex scene…

I could see Ing wrestling with the idea. Yes, letting Ron Jeremy take a bath in her bathtub would mean that he would be clean at the very least and that meant she could worry a bit less about his body odor destroying her couch, even if she still had to worry about the anal sex scenes being shot on it later in the day. But one stressful thing at a time. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as things stood and anything to hold that off was positive. On the other hand, I could tell she was freaking about what would happen to her tub if he soaked down in it.

Ing’s boyfriend Spark walked in. He was munching on a sandwich prepared by the caterer. He couldn’t have come at a better time. On the surface, Spark was about as mellow a dude as ever deserved to be referred to as a “dude”. But woe to whomever crossed his path because underneath his live and let live mellow vibe was a dangerous beast. A lion. And since Ing was essentially paying all their bills it meant that, like the King of Beasts, all he had to do was get up and kick some ass every now and again for the pride. His animal instincts were sharp and he picked up Ing’s distress signals right away.

“What’s the matter, honey?” A little bit of turkey shot from his mouth onto my floor but that was fine. I was more concerned with Ing falling to pieces and Spark lighting a fire to Vivid’s shoot and kicking them all out like someone’s smoke alarm just went off. The shoot was spread across both our lofts so our getting paid would be contingent on them getting paid too and that was only going to happen if the shoot was completed.

I was pretty much holding my breath like I had just dove into a deep pool and didn’t realize I had gone so far down – unable to figure out if I could get back to the surface. Ing’s voice was quivering like she just came out of the same pool with its waters too cold for comfort. “Ron wants to take a bath.”  Now I could tell that she was really hoping Spark would say no go, but Spark wasn’t hearing the whispers between the lines. So he said, “Sure, not a problem.” Ron Jeremy thanked him and made his way back to their loft.

Spark and I both assured Ing it would be fine. In retrospect, Spark and I undoubtedly had a difference of opinion on the definition of  ”fine” but we could navigate that disparity well enough… Ing, on the other hand, well… “fine” only referred to the line that is so easily crossed and from which there is never any easy return.

We love clean soapy boobs!

You can’t really tell anyone to buy you a new couch, not even a porn company that shot an anal sex scene in your apartment on that very same couch and even if Ron Jeremy was taking a nap on it just then. Maybe if you had negotiated it into your location rental  contract but that would require foresight. Unfortunately that was something Ing had been short of at the time it mattered. Now it didn’t matter if she wanted a new couch, Vivid was not about to buy her a couch and neither was Ron. He also apparently was too busy snoring, making a noise that sounded vaguely familiar, in a sort of twisted way, something like a very unladylike pussy queef being mic’d and amplified through a super sub woofer. Ing was not taking it well. Her stress level rose to a point where the pressure was literally choking her. Her usually pale white face was red and her she had trouble getting words out.

“I… I… I am going… going to… done… their done… This is not what… not what was agreed.”

“You can’t stop the production right in the middle. That will cause all sorts of havoc and forget getting paid. They should be almost done. Get paid; get the couch cleaned. You made it through this far, you can make it the rest of the way.”

“He stinks. I am going to have to get a new couch.” She didn’t want to let it go. No one can blame her. But I guess I was to blame. I should have been more cautionary when they were considering renting their loft to Vivid. There will be anal sex. There will be used condoms found where you least expect and hope most for them not to show up. There will be porn stars standing outside your door taking a smoke break and talking loudly and incessantly about what stud they took in the butt last week that made it hard to walk for three days. There will be phone bills for calls to Jersey and Prague and all points in between. There could even be Ron Jeremy on your couch snoring away sounding like a giant endless pussy fart.

Just then Ron himself walked in.

“Ing. Do  you mind if I take a bath?”

Clean as Ron Jeremy!

Homegrown amateur

as kleenex is to tissue

great for orgasms

Homegrown has Vintage Amateur to Modern Day

Post coital bliss...

kendra loves to swing!

big boobs wet white shirt and your imagination

No ass make up needed here!

Since Ing seemed to be on the verge of tears and totally freaked out about having to apply concealer to some porn girls pimply ass, I really didn’t want to push her over the edge and say something like “what the fuck did you expect?” I could understand where she might of thought that doing make-up on a porn shoot would only entail trying to make the girls look their best and not mean in fact that she was going to be painting the tail ends of girls getting ready for anal reamings. I recommended that her boyfriend Spark handle the ass make up since it certainly wouldn’t be something I would expect him to have a problem with and as a graphic artist he would have the necessary skills to blend any colors necessary to make those butts look good. Ing liked the idea which was cool because I could easily have seen her getting jealous about it. Luckily that was not the case because she was willing to take that chance more than she was willing to rub some model’s naked ass with  a sponge of cake make-up. Good to know your limitations when it comes to stuff like this…

So, of course, making porn is still show biz and the sex show must go on. Ing went back to her loft. Vivid was renting both our lofts out for the shoot and that meant more of everything. More girls. More grips. More suitcase pimps. More catering. More director – assistant directors – assistants to the assistants. More craziness. And of course more of Ron Jeremy hanging around waiting for his scenes to be shot. Ing came back over for a report.

She stood there staring at me. I couldn’t tell if she was going to kill me or cry me a river even while the sun of good fortune and easy money was shining brightly on her and making it so she could harvest enough cash to pay rent. Shadows from the clouds of emotion passed by reflecting each shade of expression so quickly.  Kill. Look, that one floating by looks just like a crazy guy with a knife. Cry. That one looks like a baby… being dropped. Kill. Cry. Kill. Probably everyone is asking her why she doesn’t do porn…

Ing is a gorgeous girl… but innocent as the lamb that ended up on the dinner table slathered in mint jelly.

“Everything ok?” I asked. Ing was from a good family, deeply religious, and had led a life very sheltered from the weirdness of things like the porn industry. I knew she was being immersed in a world that was completely alien and somewhat intimidating to those with any sort of prudish bent, which Ing certainly is – straight as the crucifix on top of the steeple. The sight of naked people walking around completely unconcerned as if LA was actually the Garden of Eden freaked her out, but she had weathered it so far. She was even cool with Ron Jeremy sleeping the day away on her couch… until she got close enough to realize, to her horror… he had B.O.

“He smells.” She said with a look of potent disgust cinching her lip to try and constrict her nostrils from any further abuse. “I am going to have to get a new couch! Do you think Vivid will pay for it?”

You don’t get to be Vivid if you buy everyone a couch. Of course, by the same token, everyone should surmise with a smidgen of forethought that couches on porn sets should be roped off with Hazardous Waste KEEP OUT tape. I would have laughed except I realized that she was completely serious.

One of the first things you do learn about renting your place out for a film production is the money you make is like the money you make going to the local Indian Casino. Things might go very smoothly, you have a great time, and walk to the bank with an easy check to cash. Or the opposite. What felt like a win at the time you were having all the fun is actually a loss when you reconcile everything later after the fun and the booze wear off. You get a check but it will barely cover the expense of the carpet the grip lit on fire with the cigarette that he should not have been smoking, nor will it cover the long distance calls the distraught starlet made to her suitcase pimp boyfriend that is still back in Ohio taking care of his court dates, you won’t get reimbursed for the couch that was permanently stained by the toxic jizz the stud launched for a facial but missed because he was too busy trying to jack himself off and couldn’t see where he was spewing with his eyes closed to concentrate on getting off. Of course, I warned Ing and Spark of all of that, but risks be damned, they needed the money to make back rent before the landlords served them with an eviction.

So, if they were going to let porn be shot in their studio then they had to take their chances, including letting Ron “the hedge hog” himself burrow into their couch for one of his infamous power naps that most speculated was actually mild narcolepsy.

They had to be prepared for anything.

Ing had also worked herself in to do make up for the shoot too. That turned out to be the first sign that not everything was going to be going as smoothly as I had hoped. Ing ran into our studio. She looked distraught but seemed to be holding herself together well enough to ask a question.

“I don’t know what to do.” She asked.

“About what?” I replied as casually as possible to try and foster a sense of peace and tranquility.

“Make up.” Ing said. Strange, she worked for a cosmetics company and had done make up for mainstream feature films in LA so that was not really what I expected from her.

“What about it? Do you need supplies?” Supportive. Concerned. Helpful.

“No, I have everything I need.” She was fidgeting and nervous.

“What is the problem then?”

“They want me to put make up on her ass to cover up pimples – I have never done that – I didn’t expect to have to do that – I don’t know if I am comfortable with that – I don’t know what to do!” She looked like she was going to cry any second.

“Well…” I guess I didn’t really know what to say to that. Anything coming to mind was going to sound callused and un-sympathetic. Sex videos have naked people in them; that is just a fact, and naked people sometimes have pimply  asses that require make up to hide those unsightly blemishes. Just be glad you aren’t going to be the one picking up the anal condoms afterwards, honey… I was thinking…

Ron Jeremy is a porn legend. Even that people that have never watched a porn in their lives know who he is. I remember one day when we were done with a shoot for my pal Al Borda we all went to Denny’s to enjoy a post porn production meal. First one patron walked slowly by, trying to control the double take and look without looking.

Then another. And another… then in pairs.

Then people started not even bothering to try and appear nonchalant or unaware. In fact, they started coming right up to the table and talking to Ron as if they knew him and began asking for autographs. In fact, even the waitresses came up and asked for autographs, not only for themselves, but also for their co-workers back in the kitchen that couldn’t  come out.

That is when I knew beyond  the shadow of my pale white dick that Ron Jeremy is a boner-fide celebrity. And for what? Sure, he had a reputation for being “that guy in porn” with the mustache and the pot belly and the big head of kinky hair. The guy who seemed more likely to be one of the line chef in the Denny’s kitchen with the big grease smeared apron and the spatula flipping eggs for the morning rush.

Ron had an undeniable charisma in spite of the fact that he possesses a notorious reputation for being something of a slob. Lots of rumors swirled around about Ron; that he is insanely cheap and lived on the couch of a friend rather than keep rent on his own place; that he did that despite having tucked away millions from the fruits of his loin labors; that he is actually genius level intelligence but does porn just because he loves to fuck; and that he didn’t like taking baths which is why he supposedly smelled so nasty.

We were living in a loft downtown in Los Angeles. We had rented our space to a few pro and amateur porn outfits and if you were willing to have to sometimes pick up a used condom now and again and didn’t mind hiding your phone for a few hours, the money was easy. So, our neighbors, Spark and Ing wanted in on the action.

Money was tight for the artist designer Spark. He was an incredible artist but typically difficult to work with and Ing’s cosmetics job was not bringing in enough to cover the expenses either so renting the space out for a shoot seemed like a great idea. I had to warn them though. “Are you cool with people trying to use your phone to call their relatives back east?” “Do you mind having to clean up after the caterers turn your kithen upside down?” “Is it ok if your furniture gets moved around and not put back how you had it?”

Ing said she was fine with everything, but that was sort of surprising since she had been raised in an intensely conservative and deeply religious family and would blush looking at a bra ad advertising more support. Moreover, she had never even seen porn. Then I mentioned Ron. “Have you ever heard of Ron Jeremy?” Ing looked a bit terrified. “He will be there?” She asked. “Isn’t he  really dirty?”

I guess easy money always has hard considerations to make. “He isn’t bad, that is just part of his image – they call him the hedgehog. He is just a hairy guy but he is nice and polite and you will probably like him.”

Ing spent a few days thinking about it. During this time she went back and forth about yes or no or yes or maybe but finally I had to say, “The production company has to make a decision so yay or nay?”

Ing said yes, but under certain strict conditions.  Their place had to be left clean. Ok. She wanted to also make money doing the make up. Ok. And if she had any issues with Ron then the plug would be pulled. Ok.

“We have never had a problem at our place.” I told her.

(to be continued)