The Story of a Sex Worker

October 22, 2004

Big Strong Hard

At noon, I went back to the set at Al Harvey's house, driving the long drive by myself. When I got there I was very glad to hear that Al was going to be gone for the day on business.

Bernard asked me, "What did Al want with you yesterday?"

"He said he liked my work," I told him.

Bernard looked at me skeptically but he let it drop.

That day we were going to film the scenes with John Johnson who played the prosecuting lawyer. Johnson was dark-tan, hairless and muscular with the body and soul of a football player. I had met him a couple of times but I had never done a scene with him. I had done scenes with his wife. Her name was Cynthia and she struck me as crazy. She told me that their marriage was an S&M relationship. She could go weeks tied to a wooden post in the bedroom wearing an eyeless leather mask. Some relationships were one-sided abusive, like my father and I, but she said she asked her husband to hit her. "It's a better release than sex," she told me one morning as we were lying naked on an orange shag rug waiting for the cameras to be set up. "Violence is one of the strongest feelings there is. Stronger than love."

Johnson and I were going to have a scene in what was supposed to be my bedroom but was being filmed in Al Harvey's guest bedroom. Plot-wise the scene didn't make any sense. Our scene had no relation to the rest of the story. We were fucking just out of pure enjoyment and so Bernard could put John Johnson's twelve-inch cock in his movie. Johnson had one of the top three cocks in the industry.

We set up shop in the guest room, or rather, one of the guest rooms, a room bigger than the living room in my apartment.

Immediately the scene was having trouble. Johnson couldn't get it up. He sat in a chair across from the bed rubbing himself, looking determined and distressed. I asked him, "Is there anything I can do to help?" He replied, steel-eyed, "Just leave me alone. Let me work this out by myself."

He should have taken my help because his situation was the worst a male actor could come across. The pornography law said three strikes you're out. Johnson had one job to do, get a hard-on on command and use it. If he couldn't, he was of no use.

"Goddamnit," he yelled in frustration.

"Don't rush it, John," Bernard said. "Don't worry. The worry's probably what's fucking you up."

Johnson just got angrier. He clenched his teeth so his temples throbbed and pounded his knee with his fist and said, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

I lay down on the bed. I started playing with myself in Johnson's line of vision. I didn't feel anything but I moaned slightly and let it rise with the passage of time. Johnson looked over, his anger distracted. "You're a beautiful man," I said. "You're a strong man. I want you more than anything." Soon, his cock began to rise and we were able to do the scene.

"All right, let's film this," Bernard said.

Filming the scene went like so many others. I earned my day's pay.


  • At 7:02 PM, Blogger Cigarette Smoking Man from the X-Files said…

    I think if it were me, I'd have just let you help from the beginning.

  • At 5:45 AM, Blogger Laust said…

    Tres bon, love it.

  • At 6:51 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Check out an almost parallel situation at pornblography; in that case the guy left and a substitute was used.


    I think you will need to type, or copy the url into your browser.


  • At 8:18 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    6:51, you just don't get it.

    Shirley, the bare, simple picture of you on the bed...truely erotic.

    Mr. M

  • At 10:36 AM, Blogger silv3r3ack said…

    trully, hardly and lovely....

  • At 7:08 AM, Blogger Mr. RB said…

    Ah, the travails of being a male whore. He should have been thankful he had help.


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