IT WAS MY second day on a girl-on-girl porno set. I was in a warehouse somewhere in Queens, and in the middle of the floor there was a Crown Vic full of halfdrunk, naked girls doing things you've probably never seen in real life. Your mother would not approve. Hell, I don't even know if I approved. But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't starting to get used to it.
A day earlier, at 9:36 a.m., I stepped through the door, onto the set of Car Service, director Samantha Hardy's newest erotic film. That day we were filming the strap-on scene, and a nervous energy filled the room. Maybe it was just me; Im a quiet guy from Park Slope who likes cantaloupe smoothies and limited-edition collector coins.What the hell did I know? To my left, a 5-foot-tall bubbly blonde stood topless, waiting patiently, as a top heavy brunette applied thick layers of make-up to her cherubic face. Straight ahead, a small, muscular, redhead lay confidently on the couch. I tried desperately not to stare at the blonde's tits as I was introduced.
Samantha, the 6-foot-2 lesbian porn auteur bellows at the cast and crew to get ready and everybody snaps to attention.
"Everybody on the set!" Let's start shooting. NOW!!!"
So there I was, in a dark warehouse full of strangers, in the middle of Queens, holding a mop handle with a 60-watt bulb taped to the end of it. Two girls just got into the back of a broken-down car, and one of them is wearing a strap-on. Amidst all this degenerative excitement, what was racing through my overly protected suburban brain?
If I get an erection, and they turn the lights on, what am I going to do? I'm holding this light. There's no way I can block it with my hands.
"ACTION!"
And what the hell was I supposed to be doing with this light again? Oh yeah, circles, man. Just keep making circles.
My vantage point by the gas tank left me in a blind spot. I was only two feet away and all I could see was hair being pulled and the tops of knees. Guttural sounds started to penetrate my ears through the darkness.
The shitty vinyl from the backseat moaned and creaked as it was shifted to accommodate sweaty asses. I started to lose my focus and hoped no one noticed the irregularity of my light's movements.
My senses were being overwhelmed, and as the girls grew more excited, so did I. "Please do not let anybody turn the lights on now," I thought.
A quivering orchestra of poorly constructed madness emanated from the backseat. The rapid undulating tones trailed off and, for a few seconds, the entire warehouse went silent.
"CUT!"
Never before had an orgasm been so well received. Everybody clapped like it was the final encore of a jazz quartet, buying me enough time to subdue the excitement that had set up camp in my Levis.
By the next day I felt like pro, and swaggered through the warehouse doors with confidence. "I've seen it all," I thought. I looked directly at the blonde's tits this time, slapped hands with the sound guy and grabbed a bagel.
About 45 minutes into the day, my bravado wore off.
I was leaning on the back window of a cab, holding a cigar in one hand when the photographer, a gorgeous brunette, started yelling at me in a European accent.
"No!" she shouted. "I said to blow the smoke on her pussy."
It was at this point that I really start questioning some of the decisions that I'd made in my life. Where exactly did things go wrong? Still, bills need to be paid, so I kept blowing smoke on her pussy like I was supposed to, and prayed to God that this is something I never do like a pro.
After a break involving a bottle of cheap tequila and some red, plastic cups, we were ready to shoot again. Reinvigorated by booze and the mounting frenzy, I grabbed the 60-watt mop handle and readied my position at the cab. It was a good one this time, right by the side-view mirror.
The house lights went out and we were off to the races. The booze has turned the girls into animals, and things ere getting rough. They went at it with the strap-on, cursing at each other, slapping body parts and clawing at the vinyl. The blonde's face was repeatedly pressed against the window as the redhead pummeled her from behind. The redhead sat with her legs wide open and her partner went at it with the whole arsenal: face, fingers, dildo, the works. Blondie started rapidly rubbing her clit and the camera guy, situated right in front of her outstretched legs, closed in for the money shot. All of a sudden, her entire body seized up and then the most beautiful, awe-inspiring thing happened. She let out a battle cry and a geyser began to erupt from between her legs. The brilliant spray rose into the air and traversed the entire length of the car's interior. The camera guy didn't have a chance. He was covered in it, whatever "it" was. How no one laughed before the director called "cut" is beyond me.
"What? You just came on me," said the camera man as he looked around in a bewildered daze.
The blonde started mumbling to herself, droning over-and-over again, "She just peed on me...she justpeed-on-me," as she showed off the outstretched dripping hand.
I left that day feeling free of my sexual inhibitions. I went home, tied my girlfriend up with a belt and began to work away the day's stress.
anonymous
