From clarkson!ub!rutgers!uwm.edu!spool.mu.edu!olivea!uunet!news.tele.fi!news.funet.fi!funic!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Wed Aug 4 19:18:15 1993 Path: clarkson!ub!rutgers!uwm.edu!spool.mu.edu!olivea!uunet!news.tele.fi!news.funet.fi!funic!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Newsgroups: alt.sex.motss Message-ID: 182302Z02081993@anon.penet.fi Reply-To: an27504@anon.penet.fi Organization: Anonymous contact service Lines: 193 X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.motss
Reading about a second-hand account of a sex-showgirl's experience in alt.sex was interesting, but howabout my slightly different, first-hand account as a San Francisco jack-off boy and porn-film star. Manually cross-posted to alt.sex.motss.
In early 1991, Bush was riding high, out to prove his manhood in Iraq, obviously a tactic to divert attention away from the floundering economy. He couldn't divert my attentions away from it because I had just been laid off my C/UNIX contract when the company I was contracted out to 'downsized' by 25%.
At first, it was fun--going from a modest (for a contractor) income to the maximum possible unemployment benefit in California ($840/mo for doing NOTHING!) with all of this time on my hands an what seemed like a riot-a-day during the anti-war demonstrations. But towards the end of the summer, a cold, cloudy summer not fit for beach activities, my unemployment insurance began to trickle down to the last few weeks, and no software prospects on the horizon, I decided that I had to do something for money.
That something was not going to be flipping burgers or temping in an office 8 hours a day--I needed some flexibility to be able to go on interviews to do the work that I enjoyed most--software development.
I had eyed an ad in the SF Weekly free paper asking for "Hot Guys" age 18-30 to star in porn films. So, before an ACTUP meeting, I skated up to this guy's house, a little nervous because I was 28 (pushing it) and am balding, and I had shaved my head completely to compensate.
I got there, and he had me fill out an intake form, measuring me for potential wardrobe and stuff. There were boxes to fill out for what you were into, different races of people, top/bottom, rimming, sucking, getting sucked, etc. He had me get a hard-on and took a polaroid of me and attached it to the intake sheet and said he'd call me that weekend.
The call came, and I went to this house near the projects and Japan town. There was this o.k. looking guy there, and he was to be my costar. The story line for this one was Drafted, and we had to make up some phony dialog (2-3 lines) that would lead seamlessly to a kiss and on to the fucking. It was kinda wierd doing it in front of cameras and lights, but there were only two other people there besides the two stars (and they weren't trolls), so it wasn't like there was a room full of people staring and getting off on us.
The way it would work is we would divide it into two stages, pre-fuck and fuck. During the pre-fuck, we would do various foreplay and sucking activities for about 5 minutes per position, very mechanical. I had a hard time keeping it up at first, especially nervous and standing up. My cock is about 8" and when fully erect it comes up to my belly and when I stand (I have suspensory ligiments of the gods) it slaps up to my belly and points straight up to the sky, so when I get a half-hardon, it (to me at least) is very noticable since it points in front of me (90 degrees) or even dangles and I get into a anxiety cycle which can be difficult to pull out of.
As I came to realize, the physical characteristics as well as the technique of my costar were important in the ability to keep it up. The whole affair would usually take about 2-3 hours, depending. I would eat minimally that day so I wasn't carrying around any extra weight and my washboard abdominals wouldn't have any baggage, and get a bag of fresh apricots so I had some sugar and liquid to burn in the hot lights.
You do it in some of the most unthinkable yet photogenic positions possible just so the penetration is clearly visible. Unfortunately, this can put pressure on your prostate in new, uncontrollable ways. The first scene ended with me sitting on a comfy chair, slouched down, and my costar, back to me, impaled on my cock, both of us facing the camera. The site of penetration was quite visible (including the condom--we are homosexual, not homocidal) and the extra weight pushed heavy on my prostate. So heavy, that in my first scene, I broke one of the ten commandments of porno--On one particularly muscular thrust, I lost it and came inside him.
One of the things you do is build a load over the previous day or two or three so when you shoot on video the arcing fountains hit the ceiling. In sub- sequent scenes, I got really good at doing just that--pulling out right at the moment of ejaculation, whipping off the rubber, and spooging a momentous load 6' or so right into the camera. Usually they had MAXX condoms, my favorite latex brand, because they are big enough so they don't pinch, but on one occasion the costar was so homely, my hard-on so tenuous and the condom so tight that I just threw a hissy fit, and refused to fuck him until they got me the proper tools for my tool. They didn't so we just jacked off. It was the most horrible video I ever shot. But for $200 for a coupla hours work--thats 4 times more than I made at my highest paid contract.
I ended up making about 8 scenes over 2-3 months from July to September of 1991. I'd say that 3 of them were really fun--good sex with people I would get it on with anyway if I had half the chance (just thinking about this one guy gets me hard even now). 1-2 were o.k. and 3 were just horrible. I thought it might have been some kind of dating service where these guys paid to do porno with a real porn star. Some of these guys were chubby and had 4-5" skinny cocks. Who wants to see porno with gross people much less do it? Normal people, o.k. but yecchfest?
One other benefit was that they flew me down to LA to shoot a cover for one of the videos, actually the one that just got me hard. They paid for the airfare and paid me $200. My boyfriend (who just barely tolerated this whole escapade, but didn't have to support me $$$) went down to LA with me, we went to West Hollywood to a photgrapher's loft did the shot and spent the day in LA. My only trip ever to LA was to fly down to do a photo shoot. How fucking classic.
All good things must come to an end, and they guy who was coordinating the SF filming was having tax problems or something, so he quit doing videos. I thought I was up shit financial creek. Then I read an ad in the Bay Area Reporter, a gay paper in SF, calling for hot guys (again!) to 'dance' for 30 minutes a day for at least $30 a day. I called up, and it was the Campus Theater, a seedy J/O theater in the Tenderloin, the scuzzyiest ghetto in central SF.
I had to go to the amateur night, and compete with whoever else showed up for audience applause kudos and a cash prize. I went second-to-last. I went up on a stage with spotlights and a runway partially dressed, did a very quick strip tease, and began to jack off to this horrible disco music. I do not know if it was the disco, the cold or the novelty of it, but Mr. 8" just wasn't into it--not even half hard. Anyway, I managed to finish, didn't win a prize, and when I was changing upstairs, the manager suprised me and asked if I wanted a job.
I answered O.K., and came back the next day to start. I didn't have to pay to work. There were three kinds of shows I could work. The arena show, which was downstairs in this pit-like theater, very 'intimate' with chushioned benches on three sides. I came down with my partner dressed in something skimpy and revealing like biking shorts, quickly got it hard through my pants, and any limited foreplay with my partner shucked them, jacked off in the lights till it was good and hard, and then proceeded to make the rounds of the shadowy figures in the arena.
The mental games I had to play to keep my sanity were intense. Some of these geezers would knock my john thomas to pinky size in a new york minute, but they had the cash I was after. I would thrust my cock close to their faces (they couldn't touch your genitals, gluteals or anus--not just a good idea, SF law) let them stroke my abs and muscles. If they put cash in my socks, I would stay a little longer. If they just groped, I'd move on. Rarely there would be some hot guy in the crowd, and we would have a little fun, but usually I would be very strict on letting people touch my cock.
These shows paid $30 in a paycheck at the end of the week plus tips, which went from $5 to $30/40. I had to bring a jambox with music. I usually played Iggy Pop--Sixteen, Some Wierd Sin and Lust for Life. The first time I tried to do it, I was working with the manager, whom I would suck off in a minute. I was having a hard time getting it up; so hard that I gave myself a blood blister on the topside of my cock--the wierdest thing. After a few weeks, I had arranged it mentally so I could produce a raging hardon at will in front of strangers--a neat trick.
There were shows like the arena show that took place up in the main theater that also paid $30, but it was much different since I had to dance on this stage, and the tip-bearing customers were dispersed throughout the theater. I was kind of like a honey bee, flitting from flower to flower in search of pollen, which I collected in my socks. Only these flowers were dead, wrinkled and ugly old men and the pollen was $1 (or sometimes $5 and a few times $20).
The arena show and the stage show both ended with a mountainous load of jism shot theatrically for the crowd. The schedules were for one week, so in the arena show, where there were two of us, we would sometimes split the jism so only one of us would come each day. Many of my partners were, er, independent contractors who had other clients and needed to keep the load for a higher-paying customer. I can shoot 3 loads a day without any effort, so I usually relieved myself every day.
The last kind of show was the scuzzyiest--the shower show. There was no payment for this kind of show. I did an abbreviated arena show--longer if the tips were big, shorter if they weren't--making sure not to come. I then envited my clients into the shower area, which was a scuzzy shower with a few theater seats. The deal was that they had to pay $20 to come into the shower with you, but here they could touch me wherever they wanted, although I always kept veto power over who did what to me. The $20 was to cover 5-7 minutes, so it was easy to say "time's up!" when some old troll (sorry for the ageism) was getting carried away.
There were a few weeks of feast, where I just made the $210 that a week of paid arena shows paid, but some days, I would walk out of there with more than $100. I can remember rich old men peeling off the $20's to keep chugging away at my cock. Sometimes some good-looking european tourists would stumble in and it would almost be fun. On a few ocassions, my partners were hot enough that we would get it on again upstairs after the show before the next pair would come in.
All things must come to an end, and in January, 1991, I finally got a contract to do software engineering. I did my last show on Sunday, and started at my new job on Monday. During this period, I made almost $10,000 with my cock--more than I ever spent on gym memberships or bicycles, the things which which I built my body. I prefer earning a living with my largest sex organ instead of my dick, but if I am confronted with the same economic circumstances and still have as hot a body as I have now, I would do it all over again.
Mark Spark (some videos have me as Jeff Mittel [Hotline, where I'm on the cover]) ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi. Due to the double-blind, any mail replies to this message will be anonymized, and an anonymous id will be allocated automatically. You have been warned. Please report any problems, inappropriate use etc. to admin@anon.penet.fi.