Manhunt Ibiza/Novel(s)

Do you remember this? A while back, Lily LaBeau was supposed to launch HotelLaBeau.com. Obviously, it didn't happen. You can ask her for the details. They're not mine to share.

But Manhunt Ibiza was supposed to be our first feature film together. Lily directed it with our good friend, Lou Charmelle. I shot (mostly), cut, and scored the thing (along with performed in it). We even ran a trailer on Fleshbot.

WATCH TRAILER HERE

Now it's finally available for pre-order on TLARaw (dot) com. Sorry I can't link it. I'm afraid of getting shut down by Blogger's new non-monetization rules for adult blogs. But Manhunt Ibiza is really easy to find on the search function at TLARaw (dot) com.

I'm in the process of getting the other content we were supposed to launch with Hotel LaBeau ready for your viewing pleasure. So please follow me on Twitter and Instagram to keep up to date.

On to other news...

You may have noticed a lack of recent updates. This has a little bit to do with the fact that my first novel, Come to My Brother, is due out through Queer Young Cowboys on September 10th, 2013. We're very busy prepping for it.

I'm also trying to finish a draft of a second book. It's kind of a horror story about the porn industry. Even though it may not be released for another year or two, I'm going to share an excerpt right now. The chapter can stand alone, although there is some reference to a minor plot point.

But who cares, right? By the time the book is out, you'll have forgotten about this. It could even be edited out.

(Unlike most of the entries on this blog, the following story actually is fiction. However, I'm still the main character...)

Enjoy!

XOXO
Danny Wylde




UNFINISHED NOVEL EXCERPT

Her name was left off the call sheet. So it's a surprise to see her here, getting painted in the makeup chair. “Danny!” she says. We hug. Tighter than I would most girls on set.

I saw her last in a video-taped orgy. We'd spent too much time together and I was asked to cum on someone else. Still, I looked at her to make myself get there.

“Hey Rachel. How've you been?”

“Good,” and, “You know, the same,” are the first things she tells me. Because it's necessary and common form. Then a few hours go by because someone fucked up the schedule and shoots always involve waiting around.

Rachel brings up a boyfriend I've probably been introduced to. But I don't remember. She says he's doing better.

“Better than what?”

“He was in a really dark place last year. He didn't have a job. Because I was bringing in all the money, he felt even worse about it. There were a lot of drugs around the house.”

“How did he pay for the drugs?” I ask.

She looks at me like it's obvious and I'm an asshole for asking. “He's working for a good company now. In a few years he could be making forty bucks and hour. Then maybe I can quit all this. His company... They have a branch in San Diego. That's where I want to start my little cafe on the beach.”

“Sounds wonderful. I'd love to buy a cup of your coffee.”

Rachel smiles and tells me, “You will.” Then her forehead scrunches up and the smile's gone. “There's such a long road to get there. I need at least thirty thousand for a down payment on something like that. I have debts. I have to pay off my car. This used to be fun when I first got in, but I enjoy running errands more than going to work. My body's tired.” She adds, “I'm tired.”

“I get it,” I say, which is my way of empathizing despite the fact that I am the work.

“Didn't mean to bum you out. Sometimes I have fun. Like, when I found out I was working with you... That made me feel better.”

“No one told me. But I was pretty happy to see you. I mean, I am happy.” I look at her and she holds my stare for a while.

“I used to have such a crush on you. You know that? Then you stopped answering my calls. Did you change my number because of me?”

“I didn't change my number.”

“Funny.” She plays it off as her mistake, but I can tell she believes it's mine.

“I still have a crush on you,” I say. For the moment, it's true. “As much as I can given the circumstances.”

There was a time she could have been my girlfriend. We spent thirteen hours on set and she came home with me. The next day we played miniature golf. I won a pair of oversized sunglasses in the arcade, which I gave to her. They ended up in the trash.

There wasn't a fight or a point where it fell apart. I mean, the chemicals in our bodies needed each other. That much was obvious. But after a few days – maybe a week – I couldn't speak to her. I didn't know how. There was something else in my life. That was my excuse. An invisible force that kept me from experiencing her. I made it sound as if it swallowed up my time. As if it were an activity I attended to every day.

The truth was I'd come home and sit by myself. Fifteen minutes would pass and I'd enter a state of mourning. I'd pick up the phone and mean to call her. But I wouldn't. Eventually, I'd stop feeling bad and move on to something else: camming, videogames, sleep.

Later, I said we had nothing in common. That it couldn't be helped. A year passed and she got over the way I behaved. We'd start to notice each other on set. Always, we found something to talk about. Never what happened or what could have been. Only nice, flirtatious things. Sometimes it would lead to our own filmed sex. It would be better than anything we'd had in months.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her now. “I met you at a weird time in my life.” It feels honest when it comes out. Maybe the time spans my entire existence. The fact that I came across her at all makes it true.

“I know it's for the best. My boyfriend...” She pauses. “He wants to treat me like a princess. All I've ever wanted is to be a princess. Is that too much to ask for?” If she's leaking, I don't see it. But she wipes a finger under her eye, sniffles, and then takes a deep breath. “I can't fuck up my makeup.”

“I don't know what to say except, 'I'm happy things are working out for you.'”

Rachel brightens slowly. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone.”

“Not really,” I say.

“Oh. I heard things. Just rumors, I guess.”

“What did you hear?” I'm almost positive no one knows about Joseph.

“Someone said... It was a while ago. But they said you were seeing Sara. I forget her last name.”

“Oh.” And then, “Yeah, I guess it's just rumors.”

“Did you hear about...? Wait, maybe it's the same Sara. Anyway, I heard about this porn girl who died. She wasn't working much anymore. I think her name was Sara.”

If memories were words, this one would be on the tip of my tongue. I do my best not to let it fall off. Too late for the feeling though. The lump in my throat moves down.

“Yeah, I heard about something like that.”

“So much for our image, right?” says Rachel. “People think we're all on our way to suicide. That girl was probably into some bad shit. Nothing to do with porno.”

“What do you know about it?” I try to sound curious but come off angry. As if I stand in defense of the dead.

“Nothing. I'm just saying it sucks when I'm trying to do my best and these crazy bitches keep fulfilling the stereotype.”

“It could have been an accident. Normal people die too.”

“I'm not trying to argue with you. But I heard she got shot. Maybe that's more normal than I'd like to admit, but it sounds like some bad shit.”

I breath deeply, close my eyes, and shrug. “Guess we'll never know.” To try and change the subject, I add, “God, you look cute.”

The image of her is stolen from the past. With chopped up hair and high school goth makeup. Before she got into money and became a true porn star. When I open my eyes, she looks tired and a little too tan. Still cute. Still trying to figure me out.

“You never call girls sexy or hot, huh? I remember that about you.”

“I didn't know that was something about me. But I guess you're right.”

“It's not exactly unique. Just not the usual from guys I'm about to fuck for money.”

“What does your boyfriend say?”

There's something sincere in her shift of energy. Happiness at the thought the boy back home. “He's shy with words,” says Rachel. “So he writes me letters.”

I ride her vibe and say, “I guess things turned out the way the way they were supposed to.”

She nods and then caters to the needs of a photographer. The man rifles through her belongings and asks her to try on a few outfits.

Fifteen minutes later, we're fucking. Rachel and I hold ourselves together for the seconds we can buy before opening up for the camera. She says, “I love your cock,” for the shotgun mic pointed at her mouth. With her face hidden behind my neck, it's just, “I love you.”

Cum hits her face like in every other porn film. I stand above. Rachel below. An end to the best sex I've had on camera since last time we fucked.

A camera flash captures the moment before my erection falls. Then Rachel stands and stumbles away. 

“See you around,” she says as a bathroom door cuts off a syllable.

 I get dressed and make sure I'm gone before she's done with her shower.