As I think back to that moment I am still amazed: It was such a powerful experience, mind blowing. Dwelling on it for more than a minute always leads to masturbating. But as I think about that summer, and the year that followed I feel a tinge of regret. Actually, my feelings have drifted over the past several years. I remember thinking about a year afterward how stupid I was to have picked that way to "break my throne" (Tim would say). But now, more recently, when my girlfriends reminisce about their first time, I'm reluctant to share. I'm overwhelmed, I'm amazed, and I know I'm so lucky, but I never can find the words I think my friends will understand. What I do know is that their feelings and the stories they tell don't have anything in common with my experience. Business. Power. Transaction. No romance. Those are the words when I remember that summer. And I always get wet when I remember that summer.
To hear their stories: melting into it, planning and planning, fear, surprise...and some dark stuff too. None of that is close to how I feel or what I remember. I walked into it, eyes open. I wasn't raped. I wasn't even taken by surprise. And I'd hardly call what I did 'planning.' A week before I lost it, my virginity wasn't of much interest to me. I rewind my memories to that week: the idea came on fast, but when I saw it, I latched onto it. I had so much confidence; I was so sure; I was going to trade a patch of skin for some quick lessons in how to get rich making porn.
But every time I think about that day a question pops into my head: Am I so successful in video pornography because of the intensity that very first time? Of watching myself stepping out of the scene even as I was being overwhelmed by it? Have I been so successful because that first time was so powerful, so intense, but more importantly, so much about power, the business, and making it transactional?
I hear couples (or at least my girlfriends' side of the story) talk about power and transactional sex all the time: it's a pretty hot territory no matter what reasons they give for going there. But none of my friends ever talk about it
as their first time.
The sex itself was mind-blowing, yes, but my mind got blown that day in a much bigger way: I learned that I enjoy the power that comes with sex. That day, the day Tim fucked me out of my mind, the lesson was buried deep into me: It's going to be my choice to combine business with pleasure, or not. That has been my guiding light, in my writing, directing, casting. Sex is the subject, always, but it's up to me whether sex is part of the deal. That day, it occurred to me,
you have a choice whether to make sex part of the deal
; that knowledge was powerful and I knew, somehow, even if it wasn't completely clear to me, that I would have that power no matter what choice I made. I've turned that passion into a successful business: my fans pay me for delivering compelling videos, sometimes of me, but always because of me. I get wet just thinking about my business. Journal, I know I started you saying I had decided to get out of the sex business, that I wasn't young enough to compete. But I realize, looking back at those first pages, that I hadn't been entirely honest: I'm not going to be in my own films much longer and I'm okay with that. I'm making far more money producing than I am starring, so it's okay. My product is in high demand even when I'm not in front of the camera.
But as I think about that first time, just as frequently I think: Am I successful in this business because I've always been wired this way? That when I masturbated, I fantasized about power and transactions? That my cheerleading was as much physical training for me as psychological: that I enjoyed using my body to fire up a crowd, stimulate male hormones. I negotiated my deflowering and I felt powerful doing it and that feeling of power made that day so intense! It's as if a switch was thrown inside me: my body was in demand, men (it was only men at the start...and then I met Lora) would pay me to feel it, to fuck it. But I knew I could get them to pay me even if they couldn't fuck me: I've been successful in this business because I know what boys (and, now, because of Lora, girls) want and I deliver it professionally. They pay me for my stories, my videos. The content is only half the reason I've got a fan-base: my company's videos elicit the feelings our followers crave. They must feel how much our actors (mostly me, at first, and now, not so much) are turned on by the knowledge we have power over them.
Who could I possibly share those questions with, other than my lovers? And even with them (except for you Lora, except for you), I sometimes make it sound like a fantasy. I relive and remember that day constantly. My hand can't stop itself from drifting between my legs even now as I remember that day...
We were a sticky mess, covered in sweat and cum and blood. His sheets were ruined, but Tim was all smiles, his grin split his face in two. I groaned, rolling off him to stare at the ceiling, the first waves of my orgasm rolling through me, a hint of a second emerging deep inside. But in between those, a feeling of homesickness, of emptiness, of sadness. I figured I was coming down off the pot, or that I was completely exhausted, but before I could dwell on it, Llew flopped onto the bed next to us, her breasts lightly bouncing before she turned and draped her arm across me. I closed my eyes, letting all of the feelings wash through me, the room drifting a little and beginning to spin.
I had no idea what time it was when I opened my eyes. I might have drifted off, my two partners' skin pressed against my naked sides. Something changed, a shift on the bed, a thought from my dreams, whatever it was, I opened my eyes and felt how wet and cold the sheets were. Llew was snoring lightly. I looked down to see if I really was as naked and slick as I had thought and saw Tim's penis, semi-hard and throbbing to his heartbeat. I smiled stupidly and looked up to his face: his eyes were closed, his mouth a relaxed smile. I felt the rush of power again; the idea I could get guys (and now gals as well!) off by just showing them my body. My mind slogged through the logic--I had done a lot more with Tim than expose myself. I had to get up and get cleaned up. I needed to get my head together and head home.
Untangling my arms from my companions', I quietly pushed myself up and slipped off the bed. Before leaving the studio, I noticed the record light was on; I stopped to look at the display. The framing was almost perfect: a gorgeous black woman lying on her side facing a nicely toned white man, his cock aroused by some dream. Between them an empty impression in the mattress, a missing piece. I let it continue to record. As excited as I was to see what we'd created, my virginal shot, as I began to think of it, I couldn't stand how dirty I was.
It was still light outside but dimming. I looked at a clock as I walked to the bathroom. 8:30. Fuck. It felt like midnight. Sitting on the toilet, I scrunched my nose at the smell: a combination of semen, my cum, pee and blood. I tossed the pink-tinged tissue in the bowl, flushed and started the shower. My head needed a hot one; a long, hot shower to clean my body and clear my brain. I stepped in and closed the curtain, luxuriating in the feeling of the sharp streams against my skin. As I turned to heat up my back, I noticed a shift in the air and peeked around the curtain.
Llew, sitting on the toilet, looked up at me. I squeaked, mostly from surprise, but a little embarrassed and pulled back.
"Now what are you going on about?" She called after me. "You showered with someone in the bathroom before, right? Or, no," she laughed a little, "you're still living at home and have your own bathroom, hunh?"
She was right. As much time as I spent in the girls' locker room, showering was separate from the bathrooms. I was soaking my head, trying to ignore her. Looking down I saw a sworl of pink as the water drained between my feet. I rubbed my quim gently even though I hadn't felt any bruising near the entrance. Inside, though, inside I could feel the wound when I moved. I jerked my hand away when the curtain opened and she stepped in with me.
"Tim and you should have warned me you were a squirter." She put her hand on my waist and slid herself toward the stream. Her breasts rubbed against mine and the curls of her pubic hair brushed against me. "Mmm hmmm. It was delicious, don't get me wrong. Just surprising." I was blushing, but I busied myself with the shampoo, stealing a glance to see if she was looking at me. Thankfully she had her eyes closed, head tipped back to wash her hair and face.
I closed my own eyes, massaging my scalp and working up a lather, trying not to bump into her as she soaped herself up. I was thinking about a shot: two women in the shower, lathering themselves, their fingers exploring their bodies, when I felt her hands, slippery against my waist. I shot open my eyes to see her staring at me, looking me up and down.
