I was recently reminded of this adventure by someone I was talking to in a completely different context. There are probably a lot of us here who have watched porn, and a few who have emulated it in one way or another. But this is a story of the one time I was in a porn movie. And no, I never got a copy of it - I doubt it was ever released. I am, of course, substituting names for anonymity, but also because I can't remember their names after all these years.
This story contains male-to-male contact. If that's not your cup of tea, please close the page now - my intended audience for this story is not you.
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In the late 80's, porn was a very different business than it is now. There were a few large production companies out there, but none of the really big ones around now. Maybe "Swedish Erotica" and CCC would have counted, but it was still a business very much in the closet, having been illegal not long before (and still illegal in most places, though the cops were starting to look the other way most of the time).
Being a very sexual person with a strong tendency toward exhibitionism, after much thought as to the safety and potential profitability and having what I considered a passable physique, I once responded to an ad for 'actors' in a porn film. We didn't have the internet then, so the word was passed in small circulation 'newspapers' and such back then, and because there was an enormous cluster of vending machines for those near the building I worked in (working downtown has always been an interesting blend of good and bad), I stopped by there one day and grabbed one of the larger and more prominent ones and took it home.
The ads were mostly pretty damn crude - like Craigslist was, I guess, but not as direct, as the Vice Squad might take interest (it was still illegal to make porn then, and raids often shut down productions), and photos cost more to publish. But if you wanted to, you could take the time to figure out the codes, and I spotted three ads for 'actors' in porn. There were, of course, at least ten times as many ads for women, and I looked to see if any of those were for the same address as the ones for men. I found one that was, and decided to contact them first.
So I sent them a letter, with a copy of their ad attached, and a full body polaroid (yes, photography was as primitive and controlled then - if you took 'naughty' photos and had them developed by the usual means, you'd get a knock on the door from the vice squad), and told them I was interested in film work.
And I waited.
It took over a week to get a reply, and it was a carefully phrased form letter, telling me that if I was interested in an audition, I should be at a certain cheap hotel in Chula Vista at a certain date and time, and to page them when I arrived.
Well, damn. I hadn't the faintest idea how to page anyone. There used to be a joke that said that the definition of a cockeyed optimist was a trombonist with a pager, and I actually do play trombone. I had three days to find out how, and without just giving up. Pagers were for those with the need to be called any time, and I was not (and am not) such a person. I didn't get a cell phone until 2016. But at work the next day I noticed that a co-worker had a pager and I asked him how they worked. I mean, the technological concept is not complex at all, but... he was more than happy to show off his status symbol and brag about how easy it was to be in constant demand. I never saw him use it, or heard it go off in all of the time we worked in the same building, but ... who knows - maybe he did porn or something in his off hours.
So that Thursday night after work I got out my Thomas Brothers (a map book on paper of all things), drove down to Chula Vista and found the hotel. It was next to the freeway, but not nearly as dingy and dumpy as some places I'd stayed at when I was in college touring with a rock band. I went to the lobby, found the courtesy phone and called the pager number. A few minutes later, a tired looking desk clerk called my name, gave me the once over (he undoubtedly knew what was going down), and handed me the desk phone. There, I talked to a voice that asked if I was "Fred" (the name I'd used in the letter), and told me what room number and gave directions. When I handed the phone back, the desk clerk didn't quite smirk, but he did tell me to have fun.
I made my way back to the room, getting more and more nervous by the moment. Yeah, it was a fantasy beginning to come true, but it was still a new enough experience that I had to rely on my training to keep from just cutting and running. What if it was really creepy, or dangerous, or skeezy, or a ripoff, or...?
But when I got to the room, the door was open, and there were a couple of guys sitting around watching CNN on the boob tube (to which they had attached a VCR - that was still possible back then in some hotels), and when I got to the door one of them said "Fred?"
"Yes?"
"Hi, I'm Mike" he said, and gestured me into the room. He was a stocky guy, medium height, unremarkable looks. "I'm the cameraman."
The other guy lifted himself off of the couch and came to the door. He was a short black guy with a bad leg and a big smile. "Hi - I'm Tony, the director. I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it."
"Does that happen a lot?"
They looked at each other. "All the time. We've had two no-shows already today."
Then they gave me an obvious once-over. Since I'd gotten out of the navy I'd let my hair grow and stopped shaving - ten years of being on the Admiral's Staff, which meant always being under a magnifying glass, had left me feeling more than a little bit rebellious, so by the time of the audition my hair was down to my shoulder blades and I had a full beard. Not bushy or frizzy like so many you see now - I kept it trimmed and conditioned - but still significant. I was wearing slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, but no underwear. The first were normal audition wear (I have a theater background, and might have stuck with it had I not known so may great actors who were living on scraps), the second was not, but I've always been told to dress for the producer.
"So - tell me about yourself" said Tony, while Mike turned the camera on and focused it on Tony and me.
"Ummm... I'm a local. Work downtown in an office job. Navy vet - spent some time in the Gulf. Try to stay in shape without being obsessive about it..."
"Those are nice, but not really on target" said Tony. "What do you do that fits our business?"
"Oh! Well, I've done a couple of years at the Old Globe, mostly as a bit player, seven seasons in Rep, a few student films, I speak well, and I have a big dick."
That got a laugh from both of them.
"Well, that last is very nice, but we haven't had many real actors here. I think we'll call you ... Jesse, for the Jesus look." said Tony.
And that got a laugh from me. "I never thought of it that way. I was just tired of personnel inspection every day."
"Nah - it's an all right look" said Mike, "we can work with it."
Tony asked me a few more questions about my schedule, my acting background and my hobbies in general, probably to make sure I was comfortable on camera. Then got to business.
"What are you comfortable with doing sexually?"
"Ummm... the vanilla stuff, of course. Nothing involving pain or humiliation or too messy. But I'm pretty flexible."
"How about gay stuff?"
"Ah. I'm kind of bi. I love women, of course, but a nice big cock can always be fun. But anal just ... doesn't do it for me."
"But you'll suck cock?"
