The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz by Ron Jeremy Read Free Book Online Page A

vision of beauty. We met while working together at the Catskills, and I dated her for almost four years, which was some kind of record for me.
    Eventually she would leave me, as all my girlfriends do, claiming that I was incapable of committing to a monogamous relationship. “You’re a lost cause,” she would tell me. But at least for that summer, we were very much in love, and unable to imagine life without each other.
    We were staying at the Paramount Hotel, which was a rare treat. When business was slow, the owners would allow their staff to live in the empty rooms. Because of our seniority, Alison and I had the pick of the freebies. We always stayed at the Deluxe Building, Room 214. It was our favorite suite because it was usually reserved for honeymooners. It had a king-size bed, a hot tub, anything that a couple of young lovers could possibly want or need. We bought a bottle of champagne and decided to make a romantic weekend of it.
    Somewhere along the way, a camera got thrown into the mix.
    It started out as a joke. For months, Alison had been teasing me to pose for some naked pictures. She wanted something to look at when she couldn’t have the real thing, or at least that was her rationale. I agreed to do it, mostly in jest, never thinking anything would come of it. When she showed up for our weekend rendezvous with a camera, I thought, What the hell? It’ll be good for a laugh.
    I undressed and lay on the bed, and she began snapping pictures. It was awkward at first. I’m not, by nature, an exhibitionist, and it was a little discomfiting to be so exposed. Alison had seen me naked plenty of times, but never like this. It’s impossible not to feel self-conscious when you know that you’re making a permanent record of your body, available for anybody to see.
    “Is it too hard?” I asked her, motioning to my penis. “I think it’s too hard.”
    “It’s not too hard, Ronnie.”
    “I’ve never seen erections in any of these magazines. Maybe we should wait until it goes limp.”
    “You’re being ridiculous.”
    Our impromptu photo shoot had evolved from a silly little game into something more significant. She mentioned, completely off-the-cuff, that we could probably sell the pictures to Playgirl magazine and make a small fortune. We both laughed and I said, “Sure, why not? God knows I haven’t had much luck finding as much acting work as I wanted.”
    It had been a tough year for me. I’d given up teaching to become a full-time actor, but thus far I had only a few off- and off-off-Broadway productions to show for my efforts. I was just another out-of-work actor, living with his father and watching his savings rapidly dwindle away. But maybe getting into a magazine would be just the trick to jump-start some kind of career. The exposure would be invaluable. Granted, my cock would be getting most of the exposure, but it was better than nothing. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
    I told Alison my plan, and she agreed that it was brilliant. Motivated by our new sense of purpose, we stayed up until the wee hours, shooting lots of film. The next morning, we went through every last Polaroid and narrowed it down to a select few. We bundled them into a manila envelope and walked down the block to the post office.
    “Are you sure you want to do this?” Alison asked. We were holding the envelope together, dangling it over the mailbox as if we were daring ourselves to drop it.
    “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. She loosened her grip, which only made me clutch tighter. “I think I am.”
    She laughed. “You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to.”
    “I’m fine. What’s the worst that can happen? The entire world gets to see my tallywhacker. Big deal.”
    “Okay then,” she said.
    “Okay.”
    She glanced at my hand, which was still clinging to the envelope. “You ready?” she asked.
    I swallowed hard. “You do it first.”
    She smiled at me. “We’ll do it