Me On Film

Well that was exhausting!

This weekend, I was off to Tucson, Arizona, to make my debut in the arena of downloadable erotica. We set off at 8:00 AM on Friday morning, and by "We" I mean me and Torren (his nom de porn), and Torren's Mister. On the way, we stopped off in Maricopa, an odd kind of city where all the houses seem to be painted the same shade of brown, where we had an early dinner with Torren's brother and his family. Then, it was a quick drive down the hill to the gracious home of Master Jack and his partner. After the introductions, we got right to work. Master Jack had told me that he wanted to capture for posterity shoot three scenes. For the first two, I suggested chain bondage and the Special Surprise scene that I do, but I was stumped for the third scene. This is the drawback of being the Two-Trick-Pony that I am: I either whip them or I chain them up. But I was open to suggestions, and Torren is nothing if not an old pro, so I was sure we'd come up with something.

So Friday night we tackled the Special Surprise scene. I blindfolded Torren with some vet wrap, and then restrained him to a ceiling hoist so that he was standing with his arms behind his back. Then, I circled him, waking up his skin with one of my favorite floggers, made of kangaroo skin with these thin, straw-like flays. Torren marks easily and beautifully, and pretty quickly he was red in all the right places. Then, as he moaned softly, I applied rows of clothespins to his pecs and his thighs. This was not easy, damn him and his 2% body fat! But with work, I managed to get them on. I played with them for a bit, flicking them around, and then came the Special Surprise!

"Take a deep breath," I told him.

And he did. And down I came with my really heavy (Takes Two Hands!) elk-skin flogger on the row of clothespins on his right pec. A flash of pain, and Torren howled mightily. It was beautiful.

"Three more to go!" I announced.

The playroom wasn't huge, so although the left pec went smoothly, I had trouble getting a good angle when it came to the thighs. So, I couldn't get them all in one fell swoop. It was more like five fell swoops. Torren was much too good of an actor to say, "Please let this end already!", but I bet he was thinking that.

Master Jack turned off the camera and said, "Yeah, okay, that was good. Now if you want to console him or whatever." Torren was flushed and pumped with endorphins, and didn't need much in the way of consoling or whatever. According to Master Jack, the consoling or whatever doesn't go over big with his audience.

Over the course of the weekend, we'd be hearing a lot about Master Jack's audience, and what they wanted to see and what they don't want to see. They don't want to see restraints, unless they're padlocked on. They want to see boots,and they want to see leather. And they definitely don't want to see consoling or whatever.

And my job, as I interpreted it, was to give the audience what they wanted.

After the scene, we jumped in the pool and got acquainted with Master Jack's dog. (I should, I guess, specify that he was the canine, rather than the human variety. The audience does not want to see puppy play, much to Torren's disappointment, as he likes that, and much to my relief, as I don't so much.) Master Jack's dog seems to have obsessive-compulsive disorder. He's focused all but exclusively on balls. He wants you to toss the ball to him, then take the ball from him, and toss it again. Over and over again until your arm falls off if need be. Other than his oddly-wired brain, he's a sweet dog, a huge shaggy German Shepherd. We had a nice supper (Master Jack is an excellent cook), and then it was off to bed.

I was up just about first the next morning. After the workout I gave him, Torren needed his rest, and Master Jack likes to sleep until about Noon. I relaxed on the patio out back and read through the New York Times, which Master Jack and his partner get delivered. Which was very nice. This budding porn star appreciates his New York Times.

Master Jack and his partner seem to have a power-imbalance relationship, although this wasn't explicit. They've been together for over two decades, so it could be that they've both settled into a comfortable routine and what were once barked orders have now become standing orders. I liked Master Jack's partner a lot, a very self-possessed man who was kind and thoughtful and made me a nice cup of tea that morning.

Once everybody was up and about, we got ready for the next scene. The chain bondage would go down in the garage, which wasn't air-conditioned, so doing it in the heat of the day wouldn't work so well. So the next scene would involve Torren in a neoprene sleep-sack and me edging him. We did a brief trial run with the sleep sack, as I didn't want to be figuring it all out with the camera rolling. It went off pretty well, although with Torren mummified in the sleep sack with only his dick and his balls popping out through their little slot, I couldn't resist tying them off and abusing them some. Torren, it turns out, has reeeeeally sensitive balls, and after not a lot of tapping, he broke into his "Sir... Stop! Please!" litany with a "Drew! Stop! Please!" Hearing my given name, I figured out what he was trying to get across (Drew, stop, please!) and that was enough of that. Cool. So I greased up his dick and jerked him off.

Torren shot torrents. It was really impressive. I'd put it at a quarter of a cup. I hope the audience appreciates that.

Later in the day, we did the chain bondage scene, which was sort of my whole purpose in being there. "That thing I do." Master Jack wanted me to chain Torren up in the cage. I had misgivings about that, since it would be a little awkward, and it would involve a lot of me crawling and scampering around on my hands and knees in a way that doesn't strike me as Fierce And Forbidding Chain Bondage Top. I suggested that I put lots of chain onto Torren while he was standing, and then order him into the cage to complete the job. And this went off pretty well. Pretty quickly, I had Torren loaded down with most of the lengths of heavier gauge chain, and he was sweating like a pig (*sigh*) from the weight of it. When I ordered him on his knees and into the cage, he had a little trouble complying because of all the work that suddenly involved. When Master Jack asked him to lift up his head and look at the camera, he let us know that he couldn't do that right now. (Sweet!) I finished off with the chain, padlocking it in place, and closed and locked the door of the cage. And that was a wrap.

But oh yeah, we'd have to unchain Torren and let him out of the cage. Details, details! Torren's Mister really liked the sight of his boy all chained up, and peppered me with questions about acquiring chain, so perhaps there will be more chain bondage in Torren's future, in an off-camera kind of way.

Because Master Jack and his partner had a function they had to attend that evening, dinner would be late, so Torren, Torren's Mister, and I repaired to a local Chili's for soups and salads to tide us over.

Back at Master Jack's, I put in a call to That Cowboy. Geez I missed him. So much. This guy that I didn't even know five months ago.

One of the questions that I've been wrestling with was what my screen name would be. On Saturday morning, before we began work, I came up with one: Smith. Not Master Smith, not even Mr. Smith, just Smith. Before it's pointed out to me that such a name Wouldn't Work because my fans won't be able to Google me unless I attain porn superstardom, let me just make it clear that I'm cool with that. I definitely don't have my sites set on porn superstardom. But That Cowboy liked Smith, so that was cool. That Cowboy's approval matters to me. Google can go hang fire.

After talking to That Cowboy, I put in a call to Naphtali. "So how are things in Palm Springs?" he asked. "Well," I answered, "I'm not in Palm Springs. This weekend I'm in Tucson, Arizona, the home state of that presidential candidate you admire."

A pause.

"Oh. I'm guessing that you're doing some construction work for That Cowboy or something?"

"No, although I am working. Man, am I ever working. I'm in an erotic video."

For once, I almost but not quite caught Naphtali off guard. Although he recovered pretty quickly, admitting that with me, you never quite knew what to expect.

When Master Jack and his partner got back, they fixed us a superb dinner, featuring really flavorful steak and a bearnaise sauce. Over dinner, I hit upon a new schtick. If you've ever visited Palm Springs or any of the desert cities that line the Coachella Valley, you could not but have been struck by the habit of the various town father's to name thoroughfares after notable personages. However, this being a getaway for Hollywood Stars, those notable personages include Gene Autry, Bob Hope, Dinah Shore, Frank Sinatra and the like. So, "head West on Dinah Shore and make a right onto Bob Hope" are driving directions it's possible to hear. So I think from now on, when people ask me where something is located, I'm going to use an algorithm involving a real street name here in the Valley, followed by the name of a not-so-well-known Hollywood Star. For example, "Yeah, that's at the corner of Ramon and Bonnie Franklin." Or, "You just head up Sunrise and make a right at Mason Reese." In fact, I may see about getting the name of the cul-de-sac street I call home changed to something like "Franklin Pangborn Place." Then, I'd be able to give directions by saying, "Turn off Sunrise onto North Riverside, and after the stop sign at Camino Real, make a right onto Franklin Pangborn." And it sure would be fun to give out my address.

So back to porn making.

Master Jack said that he was really happy with the material we had shot over the past two days, and he did not doubt that his audience would be pleased. (Yay!) But, there were just a couple of quick things he wanted to film tomorrow.

Which was cool. He's the boss. And after we shot a couple of quick scenes, we'd be able to get an early start and be back in Palm Springs in time for me to see Mad Men.

The next day started with a great breakfast of ham and eggs, toast and jam. And, of course, the Sunday New York Times. How perfect is that? The first scene that Master Jack wanted was an outdoors, full leather shot of Torren standing under a tree with a come-hither look on his face, and me coming hither. Great. Can we go now?

No.

Then, another quick scene. Master Jack has this amazing federal marshal's cell in his garage. I mean, it is so cool. I am quite envious. So now, he wanted to get some footage of me putting Torren in the cell, chaining him up, jerking off all over his prone and helpless body, then locking him in there for ever and ever and ever. (The "for ever and ever and ever" part is big with the audience. As are gags. So Torren was to be gagged with black electrical tape for this scene.)

Okay. So here we go. Getting Torren in the cell and chained up and helpless, but before I locked him in there forever and ever and ever, I had to jerk off on him.

Oh cheese-and-rice. If I had any doubts about my suitability for a career as a porn star, they were confirmed. That just took forever. I know I wouldn't be able to have sex like a real porn star in front of the camera. I'm way too self conscious and easily distracted for that. And there are limits, y'know? But jerking off... that's basic, right? I've pretty much done that once a day since I was seventeen years old. How hard could that be?

Plenty hard.

Or not hard. To start off with anyway.

First off, I wasn't lying down, which is my preferred position. And what's more, I found I had to block out Torren, naked and helpless and chained before me, and Master Jack circling with the camera, and the fact that it was really hot in the garage, and the mosquito bites I had gotten over the course of the weekend. And, of course, I had to deal with "Vista Chino and Karen Valentine" and "Arenas and Zazu Pitts" running through my head. But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was able to go to that Special Place, allowing my mind to finally circle back to the fact that there, right in front of me, was Torren naked and gagged and helpless and chained. So lesson learned: I'm not much good at Zen meditation, and I'm not much good at beating off in an erotica film.

Okay. So that's it, right? Time to say our goodbyes and hit the road?

No.

One more scene.

This time, back up to the play room.

Master Jack has a mail bag and a wench for suspension, and he wanted Torren hooded, stuffed in the bag, and suspended.

Okie doke.

I have to admit, at this point, I was wondering how much money I would get by selling my leathers and my floggers and whips and such on eBay and buying a a new wardrobe consisting of natural linen jackets, straw boaters, ice cream pants, and saddle shoes.

Up to the play room, on with the hood. Then we stopped the camera and removed the hood and stuffed Torren in the mail bag. I secured the bag with chain and a padlock and hoisted him high. So then what? So I started using bagged Torren as a heavy bag and started punching him. This was sort of difficult, as he wasn't protected at all, and I couldn't tell exactly where I was punching him. Thankfully, only once did I connect with his head. As I wasn't wearing boxing gloves, this hurt me more than it did Torren, and my knuckles were pretty red and chafed.

"Now," said Master Jack, "why don't you finish up by doing that quick double punch thing that boxers do!"

Say wha...?

I have no idea what that quick double punch thing is that boxers do.

I did my best at approximating this, and apparently, I hit it because finally, Master Jack declared that we were Done.

O Angels and Saints be praised.

As though we were passengers on the Titanic who had just heard the news about what that loud noise was, we packed up and loaded up the car. The Ten to the Eight to Eighty-Five to the Ten to the Coachella Valley.

I only missed the first few minutes of Mad Men, and after it was over, I headed across the wash to where That Cowboy was waiting for me. "Welcome home, Smith," he said.

Oh man, I missed him so much.

Arms and legs intertwined, we curled up listening to the fountain he fashioned out on his patio gurgling away as we fell asleep.

Home at last.