Welcome Home

Welcome Home

Back on set after five weeks of touring southern Europe, my first scene was as close to sex as possible. Driving home, I asked myself a question.

The next day I fucked a pro in the ass, which is something I'd been thinking about for at least several days. Because I spent the prior Saturday dancing in an abandoned warehouse with several hundred other people, and one of them told me (or rather a friend of mine) that a famous DJ had just fucked her in the ass.

It was great news for both the DJ and the girl, but a reminder for me that I had not fucked anyone in the ass for at least a month.

So on the way to the shoot house, I was excited. But when I got there – in her ass – it was not as amazing as I had hoped. Not terrible. In some ways, sublime. Still, lower than my expectations.

Because of it, I was able to answer my question – the one I asked while driving home: “Why did I need a break from porn?”

At that moment, it was the complete lack of selfish involvement. Her ass was mine – sort of. But it belonged more to the camera man and the piece of shit who would later steal the scene and wipe his dick in a tissue.

The camera man wanted to get paid, and the company that paid him believed the piece of shit would actually buy the scene, so I had to refrain from pulling out and eating that girl's hole exactly when I wanted to. Because everyone else wanted me to wait and open up for three more minutes of whatever-the-fuck position.

So that's what I did.

But in southern Europe, I thought about a lot of things other than sex. I danced, ate good food, and laid on the beach. I made new friends and grew closer to the people I love. I even fought with them a bit.

Then I thought about the nature of my “work,” and how I feel everything about it: that I'm lucky, wasting my life, buying time, fulfilling dreams, promoting the collective life-force, and sustaining ambivalence. Something about it was just too hard to narrow down or define. Like, all I could end up telling someone was, “It's weird,” no matter what the question. As long as it had to do with how I make money.




Today, it's gotten weirder. Because being back means I must sometimes interact with things other than sex. One of them is the rare intersection where porn and youth unite like some bland coming-of-age ritual.

“Would you believe me if I told you I've never watched a porn?”

The girl is nineteen and American, so I almost think, “No.” But I guess all things are possible. And if true, it might be a good thing. “Maybe I'll discover the sexuality of someone who doesn't know how to fake it,” says my subconscious.

“I talk a lot when I'm nervous,” answers the girl.

The director tells her this is okay, because it's part of her appeal.

Then she goes, “Wait, can I tell you guys a story?”

This could be interesting except that my face is buried in her crotch. And in some ways, that is interesting. But other words could be used to describe it too.

Anyways, her story is put on hold indefinitely. I'm not really sure whether she gets to it at all. But the girl and I get some alone time together when the refrigerator starts making noise.

“Fuck,” says the director. Then he goes to figure out how to shut it off, which takes at least ten minutes.

At this point, the girl is riding me cowgirl and I'm slowly thrusting to maintain my erection.

“Well, this is awkward,” she tells me. Immediately, her words become truth. However, she's cute so it's not much of a problem on my end. But when she asks me where I'm from and stuff, it gets a little hard to keep fucking her.

I persist because we're on a porn set and I can't imagine it will be much longer before my efforts are filmed. Though, to be fair, I can't imagine a lot of things when my cock is standing.

“How do you keep from going?” she asks me while I'm still inside her.

I'm not sure what she means, but I don't have to ask.

“My ex-boyfriend said when he used to fuck other girls, he'd think about potatoes. And I heard one of my guy friends say he thinks about old people.”

I get it now, so I tell her, “I'm just trying to keep hard at the moment, so I'd rather not go there.”

She smiles in a really cute way, and I suddenly believe that we're having this connection. Except now she's talking to another girl who's wandered on to set.

We're still having sex.

The girl (the one that's naked on top of me) admits once more that she's never seen a porn film. The other girl admits she's never been in a porn film and that today will be her first. But she starts coaching the girl on top of me. Then the girl on top of me admits to having never had an orgasm. She also adds that I'm the fourth guy she's ever had sex with, and that, “I'm not very sexually experienced.”

The conversation no longer has anything to do with me, but I'm involved because - in the most conventional terms - I'm still fucking this girl.

When I find this all too unbelievable, I ask the girl to get off me. But the director comes back and we start over again. He also asks her to talk some more during the scene.

“Wait,” she says. “Let me think of some things to say.”

I don't remember how we respond to that. But I start adding some very conventional dirty talk, like “I want to stretch your fucking tight little pussy,” and she says stuff like, “Yeah,” and “I like your cock.”

Her best line is, “How do you know so many positions?”

The director says, “There's only about four positions and he does them all the time. So don't give him too much credit.”

I'm like, “Hey! Keep the dream alive,” which is not the way I meant to put it.

Then the scene ends.




Nothing about the girl's demeanor suggests a traumatic experience. And the way she asks questions just seems like she wants approval for a job well done.

I tell her she was great. But I really have no idea what just happened. In another job, I guess this would be training day. Here, it's just weird sex.

“I wish you well on your future endeavors,” I tell the girl, because I feel like we're business partners. “Maybe I'll see you around some time.”

She smiles and gives me a hug, and I walk out the door. But not before the director tells me, “Welcome back.”