3:00 p.m.
A quick comedy vignette scene in a jail cell is taking place downstairs. Shanahan has another brief walk-on as a prison guard. The non-sex scenes are wrapped up quickly, as the dialogue sounds like it was written in an equally rapid fashion. The scene involves the three young male protagonists commiserating after each being brutally sodomized by a fellow inmate.
On the next set, Robby is shooting a girl-girl scene starring April and Krystal. The set is all black, giving the actors the appearance of floating around in space. Despite looking like the archetypal porn star with her massive breasts, heavy makeup and permed, bleached mane, Krystal is a newcomer to porn and is a little coy. April is a pro and is going through the motions with a bored look on her face. It's insinuated that April and Robby D have more than just a working relationship.
"Okay, fucker," April scowls under her breath as D gives stage direction. The girls flash lusty pouts at the camera while they make out and play with each other. The highlight of the scene is when both girls wrap their lips around a fifteen-inch double-dong and slip it further and further down their throats until their lips meet. Robby goes crazy. "This is fucking amazing!" he enthuses. April gags and her eyes tear, ruining her makeup. She is not pleased, not least because Robby keeps getting her name wrong.
5.30
No one is looking forward to shooting next scene. I hear the crew discussing it. "It's a boy-boy-boy-girl. Three cocks to get hard, three pop shots and the kicker is that the guys in the scene are going to be passing around a hand-held camera. The shadows are going to be murder."
The three guys in the scene are short, ugly and devoid of any body hair. They look like shaved carnies. The woman in the scene, Kelsey, looks a little older than the other girls. Before the scene, she runs outside to smoke some weed with one of the crew.
Jay is the most senior member of the entourage, aside from "Mom," so he is often quizzed by the crew about the old days. "Ahh, the good ol' days," he hams, "when pornography was our friend. It looked better and felt better. Maybe that was just the coke!"
After a quick shower, the three guys take their places on the set made to look like a college frat house and run through their dialogue. A bit later, the actress undresses while the guys attempt to get their dicks hard off-camera. This girl is the only one I've seen today that looks as though she is enjoying shooting a scene. She's also the only one who got wicked high beforehand.
When she has a penis in each hand and one in her "cookie," Robby commands the girl to commit to the moment. "Come on babe, get real fuckin' nasty with it!" he shouts.
"If we really wanna get nasty, why aren't we doing anal?" inquires the girl. Laughter erupts throughout the crew.
"'Cause we can't fucking afford it, that's why!" yells Jay. Anal sex is an extra two to four hundred dollars; this figure is then multiplied by the amount of men in the scene. The guys estimate that "going anal" would put the production over budget to the tune of a thousand dollars. "We'll do it if you want to do it for free," shouts an optimistic Robby. Now the girl is laughing.
7:30
It's getting late, I have dinner reservations in Hollywood at eight and I'm going to miss my ride back there if we don't finish soon. My scene, of course, is the last one to be shot.
"What's this movie called anyway?" I ask the PA, Ross, as we get into orange jumpsuits.
"Hard Evidence," he tells me. Ross has had a busy day: he fetched water and lube when the girls asked for it, removed discarded clothing from the set with the speed and skill of a ball boy at Wimbledon and had driven to the local pharmacy on several occasions to buy douche kits, home enema sets and condoms. Ross couldn't believe that I'd flown in from New York. "You came all this way for this?" he asks incredulously. "You must be disappointed."
Jay is a friend of Ross's family and offered him some work on his movies while he looks for PA work in mainstream pictures. "I thought I was going to get laid," he confesses. "My friends are all jealous of me. In fact, Jay had me round up a bunch of them to be extras in a scene tomorrow. Then they'll see."
We all take our places on a set made to look like a prison rec room. "I've spent half my fucking life in prison and it looks just like this!" shouts Robby.
Kyle sits at a table with Ross and they shuffle through a pack of Vivid playing cards each featuring a porn starlet. "Fucked her, fucked her, I'd like to fuck her, I'm fucking her next week . . . " Kyle drones.
"Take your medication and get in the fucking shower!" Jay screams into his cell phone. "I fucking mean it!" He continues pacing up and down, waving his free arm around. "I . . . I don't care, Marcy is in charge now. Do what Marcy says. Take your medication. I'm going to throw you in the fucking shower when I get home. I mean it. Get Marcy on the phone." He strides out of the room. No one else bats an eyelid. I'm unsettled and uncomfortable. I sign a release form.
I'm sitting next to a four-hundred-pound black man who is stroking my shoulder. It appears that I'm playing his bitch.
"Okay . . . er . . . what's your name?" shouts Robby.
"It's Grant," I tell him.
"Okay, Grahhnt," he says, aping my London accent. "Now, he's going to put his arm around you and I want you to look really fucking terrified, okay Grahhnt?"
The camera pans across the scene as the big guy strokes me like a lap dog. I look terrified and it's not acting. "And . . . cut!" yells Robby. The scene is over.
"Okay, Grahhnt, you're all set. Er, why are you here anyway?" he asks.
"I'm writing a piece for Hooksexup in New York," I explain, realizing that Jay had kept everyone else in the dark as to what I was doing which incidentally seemed to have worked to my advantage.
"Oh," says Robby. "I thought that you just walked in off the street and you weren't getting in the way so I didn't say anything." He shakes my hand warmly and I run outside.
Walked in off the street? I think as I walk out into the warm California evening. There is no street the studio is on a lot in the middle of the fucking desert! I couldn't wait to get back to New York.
As I hurtled home, shell-shocked in the back of an empty 757, I reflected on my disappointment. The experience was akin to a trip to the slaughterhouse, a long glance into the eyes of a panicked heifer while I still have the taste of a juicy sirloin steak in my mouth. That afternoon, I saw in pornography what others (like my girlfriend) could see without having to go to the source: that porn has absolutely nothing to do with the reality of sex, that it is acting. I realized that in order to enjoy porn, I had been subconsciously telling myself that these people were fucking for fun in front of the cameras. I had myself believing that they all loved their jobs. It sounds naive, I know, but was a little like finding out my wife of twenty five years had been faking it all along.
When I got back to New York, I distributed the few porn movies I had lying around to my inner circle of friends. I didn't think I could ever enjoy them in the same way again. In the words of the immortal George Michael, guilty feet have got no rhythm.
The scene involves the three young male protagonists commiserating after each being brutally sodomized by a fellow inmate.
looks a little older than the other girls. Before the scene, she runs outside to smoke some weed with one of the crew.
"You came all this way for this?" he asks incredulously. "You must be disappointed."
