Porn Star(104)

I’m proud of it. Proud of Logan. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets an award or two at the AVN show. If he got nominated, maybe I’d attend the ceremony. Surely, by then I’d be ready to see him again.

As of now it’s been four months. Four long lonely months.

“Don’t be prideful, Devi. ‘When you are—’”

I cut her off before she can finish her Buddha quote. “I’m not being prideful, Mom. I have enough money.”

“Good. But I can do a distance Reiki to manifest fortune for you if you need it. Just say the word.”

“Yeah. I will.” I brace the phone on my shoulder with my cheek while I stuff my physics textbook into my bag. “Hey, I have to get to class now. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

We hang up, and I take a minute to run through a centering meditation—another useful tool I’ve gotten from my mother—and then head out for the first day in my new world.



* * *



Do I miss doing porn?

The short answer is I miss the money. (It was really good money for not a lot of work. I could cover the monthly stipend for my campus job with just one shoot.)

The long answer is I miss doing porn with Logan.

It’s a long answer because I’d have to go into all the details of how, in my mind, they don’t exist separately anymore. Even girl-girl porn reminds me of Logan. Not because he watched me that day with Kendi, but because sex in general is now tainted because of him. Logan made sex better. He made it about all of me, and not just a part of me. Not only my body and what it could do. He made sex a whole experience. Now I can’t go back to how it was. It’s like I spent my entire life drinking skim milk, and though I liked it fine, I had no idea what I was missing until I drank whole milk. I’m sure it will change one day, that I’ll enjoy sex and porn again more fully after time and distance. After I fall in love and have sex with someone else.

But even when it does change, I don’t think I can go back to doing the kind of erotic films I was doing. I don’t even have an agent for it anymore. Back when I decided to leave Logan, when I decided to go back to school, I wrapped up a few assignments and then politely fired my agent. I’m not sure if I would have had trouble finding more work after LaRue threatened to blackball me, but my guess is that it wouldn’t have been the problem I’d feared since he didn’t even come after me for lost revenue like he said he would. He didn’t really want my money. He wanted me to spread my legs for his films.

Speaking of people who wanted me to spread my legs, I did make a formal complaint about Bruce Madden to the Adult Performer Advocacy Committee. Not that it did any good. He is still offered jobs and the APAC has made no formal investigations. Sadly, women don’t have much of a voice in the industry, surprise surprise. At least I did my part.

Logan did his part too. Though it’s too painful to watch his videos with other women, I still visit his website from time to time to read his blog and see the latest updates about Star-Crossed. One day, about a month after I last saw him, he’d written up a blog post about Bruce and about what he did to the women he worked with. Apparently there were other victims besides me. Logan did his research and put together a pretty in-depth tell-all about the “douchecanoe,” as he calls him. I’m not around anyone who would know those things anymore, but based on the comments the blog post got, I suspect Bruce is having trouble getting any big stars to work with him now. I’ve got to be honest—that makes me feel quite vindicated.

It also makes me feel gooey and melancholy about Logan too, because (a) what doesn’t? and (b) I know he spoke out for me. It’s proof that he really does love me, but I never questioned that.

Logan is the real reason I can never do porn again.

If I tried, I would be setting myself up for the same situation I fell into with him. Even if I made the rule to not date another porn star, I’m smart enough to know that those kinds of rules aren’t always within a person’s power to keep. Besides, it would be hypocritical for me to be skim milk when I no longer want to drink it myself. It was fine once upon a time. Not anymore. Not for me. Now I want the real thing. So I’m going to hold out for the whole milk.

As for Logan…

Though I’d never admit it to my mother, I sometimes like to fantasize that he’ll change his mind, that he’ll decide he prefers whole milk too. But it’s not really fair to try to put that dream on his reality. He might actually like skim milk. He might not even be able tell the difference. I can’t sit around wishing for him to “fall in line” and show up on my doorstep with a box full of chocolates and a bouquet of roses. That just might not be his future.

But my future is the stars. So it doesn’t mean that I don’t still hope.



* * *



After a morning of back-to-back classes, I have four syllabi to go over, five chapters of reading, an essay to write, and a page of math problems.

It’s overwhelming and awesome.

I haven’t been this happy since…well, since Logan.

School, I decide, is the best cure for a broken heart. That and a busy schedule. Even though I’m eager to dive into my homework, I’m also thankful I have my work-study job in the bursar’s office to keep me truly occupied. I’m only scheduled for three hours on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but with my full course heavy with math and science classes, I’m sure it will be all I can handle.