Spoiled (or why I sometimes feel like a rapist)

Spoiled (or why I sometimes feel like a rapist)

“If everyone could do it, it wouldn't be a job.”

I've heard it more times than I can count. I've written it – one way or another – in reply to over a hundred emails.

The question still comes. But I've stopped answering. Because no matter how many times I try to explain it, someone out there will fail to understand.

Having sex with beautiful women for a living is fun – except when it's not.




1. Spoiled



A month goes by and I forget what it's like to have to close my eyes, to dig up memories (and destroy them), to pretend the girl beneath me is someone else or that she's a sobbing piece of meat.

Because I work with women who look me in the eyes, squirt on my face, and come around my cock. When they kiss me, I can tell that it's for real. Not love. But a feeling that comes from somewhere just as deep.

Girls like that can't pretend. And I can't help but want to rip them apart. Because they look so fucking cute sucking my cock, or they're enthusiastic enough it doesn't matter.

Afterwards, it's easy to say, “I love what I do.” Because all it amounts to is this: enjoying myself and sharing – a phrase when spoken out loud sounds more philanthropic than it really is.



2. But then there are days like this.



I approach her and she whispers, “Are we supposed to start?”

“Yes,” I tell her, because the cameras are rolling and pointed at us. Plus, the director's already said, “Action.”

I remove her clothes and she unbuttons my shirt. Then she drops to her knees.

The blowjob is easy enough, but something feels off. Maybe it's the way she squints or looks somewhere between my eyes and the camera – into space, the void, nothing.

She begins to nod off when I position her for sex. Then she stands up. I'm not sure why, so I ask.

“I need lube,” she answers. But she doesn't move to get it. And no one's heard her but me.

Eventually I motion towards the production assistant and he helps her with some choices. Then she returns with her vagina slick.

When I start to fuck her on a desk, she backs away. So I grab hold of her hips and drag her towards the edge. It's a temporary solution because we remain in this sort-of dance. I fuck her. She escapes. Then I capture and pull her back.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

She nods. But it's clear the position isn't working. So we improvise and move to a couch.

There, she sucks my dick some more, and I guess looks in my direction. But whatever she went to the bathroom ten times to snort, smoke, or swallow – it's getting in the way. I can't imagine I'm more to her than protruding shapes and something warm in her mouth.

But we have to move on. I go back to fucking her pussy and she defaults to running away. And when I lean in to grab her breast, she slaps my chest. That's when things stop.

“I have to fuck you,” I say out loud.

“You were just pinching my nipple really hard,” she replies.

I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything, but I remain silent. She still gets up to walk off set.

Another girl talks with her over a drink of a water. I can't hear their conversation, but they both keep glancing at me. When I return their looks, I'm shrugging.

The other girl says, “Not a good day for you with the ladies, huh?”

There's no room for conversation because we're in the middle of a scene. Everyone's waiting. Also, I'm expected to keep my dick hard. To do this, I can no longer think about her body, or about getting her to come. All I can imagine is making her cry. Because I have to stay sincere or things will fall apart. And sincerity suggests I'm really fucking pissed. To be pissed and maintain an erection requires something violent. That's just the way I work.

But in real life, I can't enact more than a light thrust. The girl can't take it and I don't want to get in a fight. It's just that we're no longer having sex. There is absolutely no connection. I'm moving my body back and forth and she's moaning in no particular pattern. The scene has escaped us.

In the past, it's where I'd fail. My dick would go limp and I'd give up. But I've learned new techniques. I've trained my mind to be a piece of shit.

So now I'm dreaming this up: her mouth on a cock (spike), tears, and maybe some blood. It's not the type of blowjob anyone enjoys. Her eyes look like she's about to die. And on the other end, someone's splitting her ass. It's probably me, but I can't relate these images to any physical reality.

I guess the anal sex part isn't that bad because it's something I'd do in real life. It's just that I don't imagine it as fun. The fantasy only works if it feels like rape.

But on camera, I've just gone through the motions. My hips have memorized the minutes it takes to get us to completion. And when it's time, my imagination beats her up enough so that I can come.

Afterwards, someone takes pictures of my semen on her face. Then we clean ourselves with baby wipes and look away.

It's not what anyone was meant to do. But that's why it's a job. And for those of you who want to know, she's beautiful.

Or I guess I mean this: her ass looked good before I learned she'd never want me near it.