Girlvert: A Porno Memoir by Oriana Small Read Free Book Online

Tyler’s idols. Brett/John committed suicide in 2006. Since we’d already met one of Colby’s other “really good friends,” Victor, I didn’t expect Brett to be cool. He was pretty laid back on the phone. He wasn’t rude, but quick and straightforward. It would be a DP with him and Mr. Marcus. Brett said it would be okay if Tyler came to the shoot, too.
    We arrived at a huge house on Mulholland, basically in Calabasas. It was a new, sprawling, Spanish-style stucco monster with a long driveway that wrapped around the property. My instincts told me this wasn’t Brett’s place but belonged to someone a lot richer. Colby assured Brett on the phone that I was “real cute. Super cute.” I had no makeup on, and there wasn’t a makeup artist on set. It’s what Brett wanted, a young look—too young for makeup—and I had it all right. I was as fresh as could be. My hair was shoulder-length and flipped-out at the ends, and I had such an innocent smile. Except for the little cocaine addiction, I was the Girl Next Door.
    Tyler hung out and tried to keep his spirits up by watching me take the naked stills before the scene. He was bummed out again because he didn’t get chosen to fuck. He longed to be in an Anabolic movie so he could wear his Anabolic hat and tee shirt with pride. Every so often I would look over at him, in between snaps of the camera, and he would be rubbing his dick on the outside of his jeans. He looked at me, my body, and would nod his head in approval. He smiled. It made me feel better.
    I had a growing fear of Tyler becoming too resentful of me for getting all the attention. I didn’t want it all. He could have it. But I was the girl, and Tyler was sort of pimping me out. I didn’t mind how it was going so far. Everything seemed almost too easy for me, anyway. We did share all the money. It was “our” success. We were equal partners. I needed Tyler’s encouragement just like he needed me to keep getting fucked by all these other guys.
    Nonetheless, I began to prefer doing scenes without him. Together, it had become too dramatic. I had to cater to Tyler’s feelings above anyone else’s during the sex. Not an easy task when there are at least one or two other people in the scene giving orders. Male talent want to own your ass for the two hours that they fuck you, and it was getting difficult to keep Tyler’s ego lubed. Tyler would get jealous if he thought I was too enthusiastic sucking some other guy’s cock when we were in scenes together. I thought that’s what I was expected to do, to act! All I wanted was to be agreeable and make everyone happy. Deeply, desperately, I wanted everyone to love me.
    Marcus is a large, muscular, handsome black man, the second black man I would have sex with in my life. The first was Daryl, in the scene I did for Victor. Years later, in 2004, Daryl caught HIV. Marcus was another porno star that Tyler admired, a solid guy with a shit-eating grin. Brett, on the other hand, looked like a walking mug shot from the Aryan Brotherhood. Pornography should get more credit for bringing people of such different walks of life together harmoniously. Here we all were, gathered at this empty estate on multimillion dollar property in a wreck of a house with no furniture, ready to do acts that are considered illegal in some states. Is this what happens to mansions that house porno shoots?
    The scene did not take place inside the mansion. Brett led us around the driveway to a garage. The four of us climbed a narrow staircase to a little attic. The ceiling was sloped so you couldn’t stand straight up at one end of the room. There was a bathroom and a stained twin mattress in the middle of the floor.
    Good thing I was too embarrassed to ask things like, “Where are we going to do it and for how long?” Brett and Victor had said at separate times that one of the lamest things a girl can do is ask questions. It pissed off most directors to have a girl wanting to know when