Porn Star(61)

Let me be clear—it wasn’t like my parents were harmfully inappropriate. Sure they were lax about the amount of clothing they wore in my presence, but I wasn’t molested or forced to participate in sixties-style orgies. I was actually taught very firmly to respect bodies—others’ and mine. I was taught consent. I was exposed to people engaged in liberal lifestyles, and both my mother and father were very open about sex and the human form.

So when I was seventeen and approached by an erotic modeling agent, I figured, why not? Bodies are beautiful. Sex is natural. And erotic modeling sounded a whole hell of a lot better than any of the other job options I had. For those first shoots, I’d had to dodge the question of my age, but it brought in decent money, money that might have gone further if I hadn’t spent the entire summer after high school backpacking through Europe.

One day after I’d returned from my extended vacation and I was bemoaning the cost of a college education, my agent said, “You know, there’s more money in erotic pictures when they’re movies. And there’s more money in movies when you’re having sex.”

Again, I figured, why not?

I started with a couple of masturbation shoots, both of which went smoothly. Hell, I got a vibrator for my fourteenth birthday; I was already a pro at masturbation. Then I was offered my first girl-girl scene—a finger-f*ck and *-lick. I was to be the receiver. Except for the heavy petting I’d done with Teresa Murray at her sixteenth birthday sleepover—we were young, we were curious—I’d never had any lesbian experience.

But Teresa had been pretty fun to make out with, and if she’d wanted to go down on me, I’d have let her. Feels good is feels good.

So I accepted the job. And that’s when I discovered that yes, I could definitely be aroused by another woman. I booked a few more scenes and discovered that for me, lesbian sex wasn’t like the sex I’d had with my boyfriends. This was more primitive. My body reacted, but my emotions didn’t get involved. Part of me wondered if it was because of the camera. Part of me wondered if maybe I was really into women after all.

I’d done four girl-girl shoots before my threesome with Raven and Logan. And that’s when I learned that (a) I could still have feelings, even in front of a camera, and (b) I was definitely straight. Or, at least, I was straight for Logan O’Toole. That man did things to me…and not just physical things, but mental things. Emotional things. Spiritual things, even. After that scene was over, I was twisted inside for days. My head was wrapped up in Logan. He invaded my entire being like a virus. Like he was in my bloodstream. Like he was a rash that made me itch on the inside.

I cashed that paycheck, glad for the experience, and went back to filming strictly girl-girl. I’d recovered from Logan, for the most part, after a week or two of pining. But I didn’t know if my reaction had been to the hetero sex or to Logan. I didn’t have enough experience to be sure, and I wasn’t interested in collecting the data to find out. It seemed safer to just stick to what I knew.

I’m not quite that honest when he asks me why I haven’t done any het porn since the shoot with him and Raven. He’s asked once before; this time it’s for the camera. “I realized it was cleaner.”

“Cleaner? As in, no cum shots to clean up?”

I pause my eyeliner application to chuckle. He’s filming me while I get ready for a girl-girl scene I booked with a producer I’ve worked with several times before. Logan decided it would be great footage for the Lelie project, seeing me “at work,” so he got permission to shoot while I’m prepping. Like most of the films I do, this one is low-budget. We’re shooting in a studio that’s tucked inside an infrequently patronized strip mall in West Hollywood. It was formerly an artist’s studio. My dressing room consists of a cracked mirror hung above a leaky basin that looks like it was used to clean paintbrushes, but it’s private and has a door that closes and locks, and that’s what’s important.

It’s silly, but even though the set is shit compared to the ones Logan usually works on, I’m excited for him to be here. I’m excited for him to see me at my job. Of course he understands what I do better than any other guy I’ve slept with, but he hasn’t seen me do what I do since the shoot three years ago.

Well, except for what we’ve shot for Star-Crossed. But that’s different.

“I meant cleaner in the figurative sense. I’ve learned that I’m a woman who, like all women, is easily aroused by various stimuli but prefers to have relationships with men. Even though I can have a good time making out with another girl, I only ever fall in love with boys.” I focus unnecessarily hard on my lipstick application as I say this last part. We’ve said that we’re going to try the boyfriend-girlfriend thing, and that’s all I’m ready to say for the moment. But I mentioned the L word because I want him to know this about me—want him to know that there’s no danger of me having an emotional connection to Kendi Korn, my scene partner for the day.

Of course, telling him this might make it harder to justify my het scene with LaRue Hagen’s studio booked for later today, but I’m not thinking about that right now.

“So, you consider yourself straight, even though you lick * all day? Do you fake all your orgasms, or…?”

“Actually, since I mostly film soft porn, it’s kissing that I do all day—I only lick * in the afternoons.” In my periphery, I don’t miss Logan adjusting his pants. “I’m straight because I’m only drawn to men off-camera. But, biologically, I’m perfectly capable of having an orgasm with a woman.” I turn to deliver my next line directly to the camera. “And I’ve never had to fake it.”