DEPRAVED INNOCENCE: The Education of a Porn Star Read online

  DEPRAVED INNOCENCE:

  THE EDUCATION OF A PORN STAR

  An Erotic Memoir

  by Rebecca Slade

  DEDICATION:

  This book is for my mentor and guide,

  Ms. Annette Haven

  CHAPTER ONE:

  THE AUDITION

  HE WAS NOT what I expected. I mean he was seriously cute! Pornographers are supposed to be old, fat and sleazy. He was tall, slender and kind of a jock, wearing tan chinos and a clean white sports shirt. He had a nice smile as he moved around the room fooling with those bright white lights that made my eyes hurt at first – and a nice tight butt as well. Two cameras were laid out on the desk; one a professional high-definition video rig with that funny black frame they have and the other a DSLR Nikon with a wide-angle-to-telephoto lens. There was another high-definition video camera on a tripod next to the bed. The room itself was one of the best in the hotel. I knew it usually went for three hundred dollars a night because I worked there part-time. That’s how I heard about the auditions.

  “Hi,” he said, “I’m Justin.”

  “Rebecca.”

  “Sit on the bed and we’ll talk a bit before we get started.”

  I looked around the hotel room. Well appointed with a large queen-sized bed covered with a white fake fur spread. It was the kind of fake luxury that draws lovers for afternoon encounters. Looking at it made me shiver with remembered pleasure. The room was one that I cleaned regularly when working there. Being a hotel maid was one of three jobs I had that year, trying to stay in college long enough to graduate and get a good job – if any could be found in a recession! I usually worked four hours on the early shift between Seven and Eleven most mornings, getting six rooms reset for the new guests who would check in after Three. I also delivered pizza sometimes and worked in a bookstore and did whatever odd jobs came my way. Some were very odd and a little illegal.

  “You’re very pretty,” he remarked, again smiling reassuringly. “How old are you?” He was sitting in a wooden chair next to the desk and reading the release I had filled out, holding it on a clipboard in his right hand.

  “Nineteen.” I hoped he wasn’t going to tell me I was too young for this.

  “Have you done any modeling or film work?”

  “No.” I was feeling a bit shy. The big white bed under me felt very comfortable and the room was one of the hotel’s better ones, but what happened here today would change my life forever.

  Justin, if anything, seemed a little bored. He was reading questions from other papers on the clipboard, the same one I had just used to sign my life, or at least my privacy, away.

  He frowned.

  “You have a great face and great eyes. I’m sure men fall all over themselves when they see you. You are really, really, pretty. So let me ask you this: why do you want to do this?”

  His face was skeptical and he seemed to doubt my intentions.

  “Money. We need money. The house is going into foreclosure. My dad lost his job and we have bills. I assume this pays a lot of money.”

  “Actually, not all that much. Prostitution is not the only sex business to be ruined by the damned amateurs. Everybody is putting up these clips online; anything from a minute to an hour at a time, for free. It’s just too easy to produce them. Any cellphone will do. This is what we will do with your audition tape, simply to get your face out there and see if you draw an audience. For the amateurs, it’s a form of bragging. You would think most people would want to hide their sex lives, but now it’s very trendy and competitive. Guys seeking status by saying ‘look at what my wife or girlfriend will do with strange men or women’. Hundreds of new titles everyday and hundreds of thousands of viewers for each one. And it’s all free, going in.”

  The ‘damned amateurs’ remark made me cautious about mentioning my own sideline as a whore. Besides I thought I was a professional since I demanded – and got – good money.

  “So how do you make any money?” I asked.

  “They sell ads on the websites; we get a piece of that. We will give you a thousand dollars today, as a good-faith advance, but you’re actually getting paid a penny for every person who watches your video. You need a hundred thousand hits to break even. After that we just send royalty checks every month.”

  I felt my vagina clinch at the thought of being exposed to so many people’s eyes. There was a hollow feeling in my stomach, a little nausea. I’d turned down job offers from the local strip clubs. I couldn’t dance that well, and I only like being touched on my terms. The idea of drunken frat boys stuffing dollar bills into my G string just didn’t appeal. I was a prude in public, as weird as that seems now.

  He smiled another reassuring smile. “Nervous?”

  “A little. A hundred thousand hits sounds like a lot.”

  “Might take you a week to get that many. We distribute worldwide and there are millions of people looking at you.”

  I gulped. I think my face turned pale.

  He frowned.

  “You can walk out right now. I’ll give you a hundred dollars to leave.”

  That surprised me.

  “Why? I mean, are you kidding?”

  “Not at all. You have to be really, really into sex to be any good at this, and then you also have to like, and I mean really like, being on display. You have to be a serious exhibitionist if you make this a career, because there are public appearance opportunities and we do a lot of clips with group scenes and public nudity. Ever been fucked in the woods?”

  I shook my head no, trying to smile. He sighed.

  “You’re very pretty but if you can’t be the total whore we want you to be on camera, then it’s no good and we’re better off not even starting. You will be fucking a lot of strange men and women and some of them are really, really strange.”

  “I’ve done party scenes with friends,” I said – and that was true, going back to Junior High. But they were people I knew and liked. This was going to be different and with strangers. I felt myself tingle and not in a good way. This was dangerous, I knew.

  He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill which he held up, above his head. His smile entirely disappeared. He still wasn’t convinced.

  “Once we start, there is no going back. We will use this video, no matter how bad you are. We have an overhead to meet and investors to satisfy. So. In or out?”

  “Who am I fucking today if I stay?”

  “That would be me.” There was no twinkle in his eye, and yet I could see that he wanted me, which is always a turn on, feeling desired. I felt my panties getting moist. Anticipation of feeling his body on mine was overriding my judgement. I think I licked my lips like a cat with cream.

  I tried to make a joke of it.

  “A fringe benefit of your job?”

  He shook his head. “Normally I bring another guy to handle that part, but he called in sick.”

  “Lucky me.” Again with the winsome, innocent smile. Actually, had the circumstances been different I’d have wanted to fuck him anyway. He was really cute and nice. He managed to return the smile but offered me the hundred again. I shook my head no. He put the money back in his pocket and picked up the clipboard again.

  “When did you loose your virginity?”

  “When I was 13, in the Eighth Grade.”

  “Was it deliberate or accidental?” He was being very detached and clinical now. It was like talking to a doctor.

  “Both.”

  He looked up, slightly surprised. “Explain that.”

  “We were having a party and I was making out with my boyfriend. French kissing, and then I was suc
king him off, which was the next step. We were dogging, with five other kids in the room, and he’s black, so they were teasing him about screwing the white virgin. Someone called it a ‘slave rebellion’ and he got competitive and decided to eat me out with a tongue that seemed as long as his cock. I got real wet and the next thing I knew he was on top of me, sliding into me and my legs were wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper in.”

  Justin stared at me a moment, transfixed. Then he shook his head slightly and, in that same clinical tone, asked, “Did you cum?”

  “I screamed my little head off.”

  “I see.” He smiled. “Try to contain yourself today. Hotel walls are usually pretty thin.”

  “I know. I work here sometimes as a maid.”

  His eyebrows went up. He was surprised.

  “You really do need money.”

  “I’m living with my parents again, and they’re about to lose the house, and can’t find a buyer either. My Dad can’t find a job, and my mom may lose hers because of the school cutbacks. She’s a teacher. We’re right on the edge. So I’ll pretty much do what I have to do to stay afloat.”

  I didn’t raise my voice or show the anger and resentment I felt. I had a pretty good idea what I was letting myself in for.

  Despite my looks, I was no innocent child. Men, and some women, came on to me often when I worked at the hotel, and on campus where I went to school, too. Some of them were older than my parents. But I could pick and choose. Recently I had taken to choosing the ones who showed generosity, even if the sex wasn’t all that great sometimes. As the character Linda Hunt played in that film “The Year of Living Dangerously” (I’d watched it for a class assignment) said, “Hunger is a wonderful aphrodisiac.” I wasn’t starving – yet. But it was irregular work and I was looking for something better: more steady.

  Justin said, “A lot of our films involve domination scenes, being tied up, some impact play, forced sex, forced orgasms. It’s not real, you understand, but it’s what sells. Do you have any problems with that?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve played those games a little. I’m familiar.”

  “So you like that kind of thing?”

  “In moderation. I was always the captive white maiden when we played ‘Cowboys and Indians,’ so I sort of got a taste for it, early on.”

  He stared at me a long moment. The thousand dollars was a lot of money. I felt anxious that he was about to call the whole thing off, but I also saw the bulge in his pants. He was also looking forward to the audition. He put the clipboard aside, and stood up.

  “Okay,” he said, sighing again, “Okay, let’s give it a try.”

  He got up and fiddled with the lights. The video camera on a tripod to one side was blinking and he fooled around with it, getting the bed framed properly in the shot.

  “We’ll start with some shots. Are you willing to take your clothes off?”

  His voice was still kind and considerate and I felt myself smiling at him winsomely.

  “Always.” At least with guys as nice as he was. But I didn’t say that aloud.

  “Start with your blouse. Slowly. Tease the camera a bit.”

  I started to unbutton it and thought about what I had done in this very room two days before.

  It had been booked by a middle-aged man who came back just as I was finishing up. He looked tired and a bit defeated, and I started to withdraw, but then tried to make him at ease, and actually helped him take his coat off. That was just kindness. I wasn’t looking to do anything with him.

  “Thank you,” he said and stared at me. “You’re a very beautiful girl.” He had a slight German accent and he was staring at me. I felt myself blush a little.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  He motioned towards the minibar.

  “I really have to...”

  “Please, Fraulein, I know no one here in this city and could use some company. It has been already a tiring day and, simply, I need someone with which to talk. I will pay for your time.”

  My shift was almost over. I looked at my watch.

  “Let me go clock out,” I said.“What’s your name?”

  “Martin.”

  “I’ll be right back, Martin. I have to turn in my work sheet and take the maid’s cart back.”

  He nodded, disappointed. He obviously expected me not to return, but I thought about it as I was changing out of my work uniform into my usual jeans and t-shirt.

  He seemed nice and lonely and maybe talk was all he wanted. He’d offered to pay regardless. It wasn’t even Noon, but casual sex knows no timetable. I didn’t have any classes that day. It wouldn’t be the first time I, or one of the other maids, had accommodated a guest with a quick roll in the hay. The job paid minimum wage and no benefits, but a willing and careful girl could make good money on the side. If she didn’t get caught and fired. Fortunately the Security guys only worked nights, and some of them could be bought off with a blow job – or so I was told.

  I did these ‘dates’, and felt like a real scuzzy whore most of the time because the acts themselves were quick and nasty and the money was usually practically thrown in my face. My johns – and jills— seemed to hate themselves for ‘taking advantage’ of someone so young and innocent-looking. If they only knew!

  Believe it or not, I was hoping to better myself by acting in porn films. Seriously. I love sex, so I didn’t see why I shouldn’t be able to help my family out and not have to work so hard while I carried a full load of college courses. I didn’t kid myself about it being fun, or that ‘Happy Hooker’ fantasy. It was work and work was supposed to be hard, and a little dangerous.

  Martin looked like he might be a gentleman even if I was no lady...and so it proved. He was a professor interviewing for a job at my college that he didn’t expect to get. I felt sorry for him. He had come so far and won so little. When I returned and knocked at his door he opened it quickly, his surprise written all over his face, but he recovered nicely and ushered me to a chair. He had a bottle of Heineken on the table and asked me what I wanted.

  “Just a soda” I said.

  He retrieved it from the minibar fridge and set it next to a glass. He’d gotten ice.

  I looked closely at him. He was really old, over fifty.

  “So what shall we talk about?” he asked, smiling gently. “Are you in college?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled sadly. “I should not talk to you at all if you are a student here because I may actually get the position. But I doubt it will be so. There are already questions whether or not my work should be available to the American youth. These people are relentless Christians – and prudes.”

  I smiled at him. “What is your work?”

  He shrugged. “Philosophy. Cultural policy, we call it in Europe. Sexual politics, you call it here.”

  He shook his head. “You Americans still have your Puritans and one member of the department openly called me a depraved and dreadful artifact of the past.”

  “That seems a little strong.”

  “She’s a Feminist of the old school. Trapped in her own rhetoric. Feminist theory, Queer Theory, Marxist Theory, Theory, Theory, Theory!” He sighed. “I did some practical field work that offends her.”

  I nodded encouragingly.

  He was actually interesting.

  I was beginning to hope he got the job. I suspected he was an excellent teacher.

  “What was that?”

  “In Germany, we have a much more enlightened attitude towards sex – in my opinion, anyway. We were in the forefront of making pornography openly available and we have legal brothels. Which I have studied. And used.”

  “You are politically incorrect.”

  He laughed. “Yes, you might say so. I enjoy the company of women. I enjoy sex. And I am not a hypocrite. So my work is as much anthropology as it is philosophy, because we all live our lives seeking sexual satisfaction. You see, at home, in Frankfurt, when I am this sad and lonely, I can cure myself very
easily. There is a large indoor facility near the Hauptbahnhof, the main train station, which is a nice long walk most times from my office in the Humanities Building, or a short ride in a taxi. There is a kind of interior courtyard and all the girls stand around and you walk past. If one appeals to you, you stop, talk, and negotiate a price, and then go upstairs to her room for whatever you both have agreed upon. Sometimes, I discovered, there is no sex. Just talk.”

  “Sex talk?”

  “No. Just talk. Some of us have trouble being heard among our friends and family, at our work, and a kind, sympathetic girl or woman is well worth fifty Euros an hour. It’s cheaper than talking to a therapist.”

  He smiled shyly.

  “And a therapist will not fuck you after?” I asked.

  “Tragically, no.” He looked a little startled that I had used that verb. I know a lead when I hear one. I smiled back. “And would you like to fuck me, Martin?”

  “Very much so, but you are a college student, not a prostitute.”

  “I am a college student who needs money, so you have the advantage on me. Make me an offer.”

  I was amazed at how boldly and confidently I said this, as if it were a joke and he was a bit taken aback. “May I see...”

  I stood up, feeling a little crazy because, unlike the other times, I was enjoying myself, and I liked him. I began to pull off my t-shirt. Martin stared at me, his mouth open, slightly amazed that a small-town American girl was so free. I stepped over and turned around so he could unhook my bra. I let that drop to the floor and turned around, my hands over my breasts. He took a deep breath as I let my arms drop to my sides.

  “Two hundred dollars,” I said.

  He smiled a big smile, nodded and reached for his wallet, his face happy now. I unzipped my jeans, pushed them down, kicked them off with my shoes and walked over to the bed. He followed me and carefully ran his hands all over my body very slowly, sliding one under my panties to caress my ass as he felt my breasts with the other. He was so gentle that I just melted. He really did have a nice way about him; very attentive and kind. I let him take the lead. He definitely knew what he was doing. I enjoyed fucking him, because he was very sweet, in a vanilla kind of way. I didn’t cum, but then it wasn’t about me,was it? I let him eat my pussy after he had cum in it, which did nothing for me, but a lot for him because he got hard again. I sucked him off, kissed him goodbye and was home by three.