tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72524052011-11-18T13:08:40.899-08:00The Story of a Sex WorkerShirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.comBlogger421100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1141671554525874242006-03-06T10:58:00.000-08:002006-03-06T10:59:14.526-08:00

I don’t know how many people are coming back here, but I want to come clean. "God’s Wife" is a novel I wrote five years ago. My name’s Henry Baum. This may disappoint some people. A lot of readers seemed to get really attached to Shirley, which was a great thing. But some people might call this fiction bordering on lying. The story is this. I published a novel in my early twenties. "God’s

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1107827521844546082005-02-07T17:51:00.000-08:002005-02-07T17:52:01.843-08:00

I'm going on hiatus for a little while. I want to come back.

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1107485366811913652005-02-03T18:47:00.000-08:002005-02-03T18:49:26.810-08:00

I looked in the paper but all I found were waitressing and office work. The thought made me physically ill. I actually got a gag reflex from the thought of asking for food orders or licking envelopes. The office jobs I could probably never get anyway. Experience necessary, must be fluent in computers, needed for research and development of small firm involved in the manufacture and

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1106711816414381022005-01-25T19:54:00.000-08:002005-01-25T19:56:56.413-08:00

The first porn job I ever had, Becca, the woman who looked like trash, said to me, "We live more before twenty-five than most people do in a lifetime." Well, Goddamnit, I thought, maybe people were better off not living this way. Friendless and jobless and hated. I wasn't frowning on any of the high times. They were some of the best times of my life. For a while I had the family's protection

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1106325739136003862005-01-21T08:41:00.000-08:002005-01-21T08:43:06.110-08:00

I called Andrew at home. His apartment was his office so he was always home. He answered. I said hello and he didn't sound unfriendly. "Hi, Shirley," he said. "I have to ask you something, Andrew." "What?" "Something's going on at my job and I was wondering if you had been a part of it." "What happened?" "Someone spread a rumor about me and now I can't get any work because people are

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1105808677124998192005-01-15T09:04:00.000-08:002005-01-15T09:08:23.160-08:00

I wanted deeply to do something to Al Harvey. I wasn't a violent person but I knew when somebody deserved it. It was a scary proposition because Al had friends in high places. He was in a powerful place himself. I drove to his far-away Malibu home on a Saturday. I took a sharp kitchen knife which fit up the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I wasn't certain if I was going to use it but I wanted

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1105385332832104792005-01-10T11:28:00.000-08:002005-01-10T11:28:52.833-08:00

I arrived at Ram Baker's house and found everybody looking at me suspiciously. Some looks were even hateful. Ram Baker usually looked like that because he was basically an asshole but these stares seemed worse than usual. I tapped a girl named Miranda Rights on the shoulder and she shrugged away and scowled. I went upstairs to find Bernard. I found him in Ram's bedroom. Even Bernard looked

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1104709558430372382005-01-02T15:43:00.000-08:002005-01-02T15:45:58.430-08:00

I waited three days before calling Andrew again. It was a hard, slow three days. I started drinking whiskey straight from the pint like my father, something I rarely did. I wasn't a big drinker but all of a sudden I had free time which meant I had time to sleep, pace and let sad thoughts brew. I wasn't scheduled to work for a few days so all I could do was sit around and wait. I didn't have

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1103088106139095112004-12-14T21:20:00.000-08:002004-12-14T21:23:52.113-08:00

I showed up on Andrew's doorstep right after work, having done three scenes in a distracted and fearful way. I rushed to his house as if to move too quickly to worry. I had a deep feeling that most other people would not understand my life and my work, even someone who seemed so much to like me. I rang the buzzer and he let me in smiling. "Hey, Shirl, you didn't call." "I figured you were

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1102491146739562382004-12-07T23:31:00.000-08:002004-12-07T23:32:26.740-08:00

Far Out was sitting in Bernard's living room when I arrived. I hadn't seen her since she moved out. When I walked up to her, I saw horror. There were gray circles around her eyes, as heavy as make-up. They weren't bruises from hitting, they seemed like the bruises from her violently trying to keep her eyes open. Her face was worn and pale, usually one that radiated a cheerleader glow,

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1102037564130197022004-12-02T17:25:00.000-08:002004-12-02T17:32:44.143-08:00

Andrew and I went out that night. Dinner and a movie, a real straight-laced evening. No strange S&M games like John Johnson and his wife Cynthia. No conversations only about fucking. No belligerence like from Al Harvey. That night after the movie, walking through the cement parking lot which echoed screeching cars and children's voices, he said, "I'm glad I met you. You're a hard shell to

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1101750307247078042004-11-29T09:44:00.000-08:002004-11-29T09:45:07.246-08:00

Far Out left my apartment soon after I started going out with Andrew. She had only been in my apartment a week but she cried about missing Kirk and moved back. It didn't sound healthy but I didn't stop her. I had too much to handle in my own life. The first bad news came two months into my new success. Bernard called and said that Al Harvey was looking for me. I had almost driven away

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1100911810605747322004-11-19T16:49:00.000-08:002004-11-19T16:50:10.606-08:00

Andrew and I started spending all our time together. Our relationship got very close very fast. Time apart, when neither of us were working, was impossible. I would miss him in a fearful way and when I saw him I felt as if I'd never feared anything. Most of my relationships up to that point were used to fill up empty space and after a short while they became empty as well. Four years

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1100296564803837172004-11-12T13:54:00.000-08:002004-11-15T09:16:44.986-08:00

The last day of filming. I was going to do my scene with Betty Able, the finale, and a masturbation scene. When I got there, Al Harvey opened the door. As soon as I saw his smiling scar my heart sank deeply. "I don't have to be away on business today," he said. "I can watch you and Betty's scene together. I've been looking forward to it." I didn't say anything and walked past him into the

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1099154045556084422004-10-30T09:33:00.000-07:002004-10-30T09:34:05.556-07:00

I called Andrew when I got home. I was eager to see him and have some regular conversation. No coercing a man into getting a hard-on, no waiting naked on a bed while cameras were set up. I still enjoyed the work but I needed a break, especially when things arose like Al Harvey. Andrew seemed like a good distraction. Sometimes a distraction could be as good as anything. Andrew lived in my

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1098478721938867702004-10-22T13:56:00.000-07:002004-10-22T13:58:41.936-07:00

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

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1097967775901004002004-10-16T15:58:00.000-07:002004-10-16T16:02:55.900-07:00

Andrew from the pharmacy called me the day after the shoot. He couldn't ever know it but he called me at a bad time. It was my first bad time since I started working in the industry. I had spent my life looking for something and when I had finally found some success I had to be held down by the sweat-soaked skin of an ugly man. Al Harvey just gave me a deeply bad feeling. The money hardly

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1096920796025967872004-10-04T13:12:00.000-07:002004-10-04T13:13:16.026-07:00

When everything was being packed up Bernard told me that Al Harvey wanted to see me. "Watch out for him because he's a shark," Bernard said. "He's in the den. It's a small room with a TV." I walked into the den, the second small room with a TV that I'd walked into. Al was leaning back in a leather easy chair, still just wearing his paisley briefs. There was only one lamp lit and the room

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1095872328034737492004-09-22T09:53:00.000-07:002004-09-22T09:58:48.033-07:00

We couldn't film at Bernard's house because it had been used too much lately. The interior had just been used for a throwaway movie called "Hot Diamonds." The script called for some exteriors and interiors of a mansion. Bernard had the nicest house of anybody I knew, probably the nicest house I'd ever been inside. We could have used his house but Bernard said he wanted this movie to be

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1094858776446558422004-09-10T16:24:00.000-07:002004-09-10T16:26:16.446-07:00

I went back to the apartment and Far Out was sleeping soundly on the couch. I left the brown bag full of remedies on the coffee table and left for a meeting with Bernard at his office. He told me he wanted to discuss my future. He sat at his desk smoking a cigar and drinking black coffee out of a new mug. This one read, in small letters, "If Jesus is coming, let me know. If Jesus can cum

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1094574907442879772004-09-07T09:32:00.000-07:002004-09-07T09:35:07.443-07:00

The next morning I woke up early because Far Out was coughing loud and repeatedly for most of the morning. I walked into the living room and found her looking at the battered carpet like it was a sea on fire. Her eyes were red and tired. She coughed loud and hard like it had come from some place deep. "Are you sick?" I asked. "I think I made myself sick with worry over Kirk," she said. "

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1093994733722993372004-08-31T16:25:00.000-07:002004-08-31T16:25:33.723-07:00

My apartment was right on Sunset Boulevard so it was loud with traffic. I considered moving to someplace quiet with my new money but moving was a pain and I found myself not using the apartment very often. Many times I slept at Bernard's or somebody else's house after a late night. Far Out brought over a sleeping bag and a backpack. She sobbed periodically but then began to feel better once

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1093565807343601512004-08-26T17:14:00.000-07:002004-08-26T17:16:47.343-07:00

I went in to Bernard's office to pick up a paycheck and I found Far Out doing the same. Her eyes were wet with tears and they looked red and raw. There was a shiny blue welt under her left eye. "What happened, sweety?" I said and put my hand on her back. "Oh, shit, Shirley," she said and started crying. "Come here," I said and took her to the couch outside Bernard's office. "He hit me,"

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1092967375823962182004-08-19T18:58:00.000-07:002004-08-19T19:07:36.796-07:00

I left my Dad and walked into Zowie's bedroom. I found Zowie lying on the bed, held tightly under the covers. The air in the room seemed stale and old. Zowie really did look bad without make-up. She had puffy, sagging eyes as if she hadn't slept for weeks. I could see wrinkles on her face that I had never seen before. "Hey, Zowie," I said loudly, as lively as I could sound. "Shirley,

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1092862226326681772004-08-18T13:49:00.000-07:002004-08-18T13:50:26.326-07:00

Two days later I went to Florida. I packed and flew and landed in Orlando on a Monday afternoon. My mom picked me up at the airport. The airport was half-filled with kids wearing mouse ears. "Hey, Shirley," she said. "You look pretty." "Thanks." "I mean it." We were silent as we rode down the hot Orlando freeway. Orlando didn't look much different than L.A. Palm trees and ugly

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1092415573524876552004-08-13T09:41:00.000-07:002004-08-13T09:46:13.523-07:00

One of the reasons I took the leap into hooking in New York was to give the finger to my parents just like I had in junior high school by sleeping with their friends' sons. The same went with porn. Though there was something much more gratifying about working in porn. With porn I was giving the finger to the whole world. So, all this said, I wasn't much looking forward to going to Florida and

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1091129188822441152004-07-29T12:25:00.000-07:002004-08-09T09:55:31.933-07:00

(Note: I have been accused of being stereotypical because of my tale of abuse. This is a little insulting. Things usually become a stereotype because they’re common.) My childhood was hard. It fucking sucked, really. In the beginning, my dad would beat me regardless of whether or not I did something wrong. Later on, after I'd hit puberty and hit it hard, I started getting in to trouble,

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1090898142537779912004-07-26T20:06:00.000-07:002004-07-26T20:15:42.536-07:00

A few days after that weekend my mother called. She always called early in the morning, around eight or nine. She had always been an early riser and some days growing up I could hear her aimlessly clanging around with plates at five in the morning. I never woke up myself before 11:00. She wasn't calling early to spite me, she just never had any idea that she was affecting other people. I

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-109035586718806592004-07-20T13:32:00.000-07:002004-07-21T12:02:09.616-07:00

I had the perfect porn face. I could play both innocent and adult. Some twenty-five-year-old women couldn't pass for eighteen and so they couldn't play the daughter, cheerleader, or virgin roles. If you put my hair in pigtails and the right clothes I could look sixteen. I had a small frame, small shoulders. But I could also put on a pair of glasses, put my hair into a bun and play the doctor

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1090176057283337922004-07-18T11:40:00.000-07:002004-07-18T18:35:56.506-07:00

There are a few things I have to get off my chest. Most people in this world thought there was nothing lower than porn, and certainly nothing lower than a porn actress. To people who were never behind the scenes, we probably did look like perverts, sex-crazed and brainless. But most times that was far from the truth. We were people with plans and ideas. I guess that's one reason I'm writing

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1089742324427593992004-07-13T11:10:00.000-07:002004-07-15T09:21:35.103-07:00

Immediately after our scene was over, Ram walked over to Jay. He put a finger right in Jay's face. His cock was still hard and also pointed up at Jay. "Jay, you have got to fucking schedule my anal scenes before my regular fucking scenes," he said, teeth-clenched. "How many Goddamn times do I have to tell you that?" "All right, Ram," Jay said. "I mean, I've told you that the anal scenes are

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1089736303844659542004-07-13T09:17:00.000-07:002004-07-13T09:31:43.843-07:00

I was working on a few scenes with a girl named Cindy, a stranger, and Johnny Boyle. I wasn't sure what movie it was for this time. We were filming at Bernard's house. He lived high in the Hollywood hills in a huge house that looked over the city lights with a built in bar and leopard-skin furniture and gold statues of naked women on the front walkway. Tacky, but slightly ironic. I wanted

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1089129763971817672004-07-06T09:02:00.000-07:002004-07-06T09:17:02.600-07:00

I thought I should interject something here, to answer some of the criticism and comments and doubt I’ve been getting. So far I’ve been intent on getting my story down. If you don’t think a porn star can write or even think I want to show you something Nina Hartley said. She didn’t write this down. She said it in conversation. I don’t even know what a "Marcusian" is: "I come out of the

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1088613741165689772004-06-30T09:40:00.000-07:002004-06-30T09:44:42.086-07:00

I never became a junky. Nothing violent inspired me to get involved in porn. I just had the gun of boredom and poverty to my head. Almost overnight, I was a new animal. You do just one fuck film and you're never the same person again. Now that I was starting something of a new career I was filled with a rush of new emotion. I wouldn't call it worry because I liked the change. I wasn't one

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1088102864015697182004-06-24T11:45:00.000-07:002004-06-27T09:57:10.740-07:00

I loved L.A. deeply when I first moved there. It had all the sun and air and space that I had imagined. I liked the beach. I liked Venice. I liked how calm and unchanging the weather was. The one problem was that breaking into acting didn't seem any easier than in New York. I dialed an agent out of the yellow pages because I didn't know where else to begin. His name was Lawrence Turner.

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1087841931849937962004-06-21T11:15:00.000-07:002004-06-21T16:43:38.056-07:00

Right after high school I moved to New York and stayed with a classmate in Manhattan. Her name was Neesha, an Eskimo name. She worked for an escort service while I sat at home watching TV and eating white bread and butter, unmotivated. One day Neesha said to me that she was branching away from the escort service and wanted to do something on her own. "I met this guy named Jake," she said. "

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1087405802347948052004-06-16T10:02:00.000-07:002004-06-17T12:03:32.990-07:00

I was working at the Sizzler before I came to Bernard. Before that I had done temp work as a secretary. I'll tell you, that was almost like being a prostitute. Subservient and meat-like, being carted from job to faceless job. There was a certain loss of dignity in being yelled at for not dotting an "i" or for not completely licking closed an envelope. "Shirley, you do want this job, right?

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1087317708513969872004-06-15T09:40:00.000-07:002004-06-15T09:41:48.530-07:00

Bernard gave me another job on a Jenny Highsmith movie called "Sexi Drivers." I played a taxi driver who worked for Jenny. She was the dispatcher. The cab drivers went around looking for sex instead of fares. I had a scene with Jenny and a full scene with a guy named Lucas Palmer. He was younger than most of the male actors. He was twenty-two and looked seventeen. He was thin and hairless.

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1086992422738657102004-06-11T15:19:00.000-07:002004-06-11T15:20:22.736-07:00

Bernard was pleased that I'd done so well on my first time out. "Jay told me you were dynamite," he said. "I enjoyed myself," I said. "That's good. A good fuck film can be liberating." He sat back and pulled at his beard. "I can tell you are going to do well because you're smart. I'm smart too and it's got me places. A lot of people in this industry are dumber than silk, but I still

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1086795723636348542004-06-09T08:38:00.000-07:002004-06-30T15:38:04.023-07:00

I was a little nervous on the ride over to the set, driving through the thick freeway in my little red Sentra, glancing at Bernard's handwritten directions sitting on the seat next to me like a passenger. Bernard told me that I was supposed to meet his partner, Jay, at Dick's house. "If I'm the brains of the operation," he said, "then Jay is the muscle." Dick's full name was Dick Richards.

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1086793116409781972004-06-09T07:58:00.000-07:002004-06-09T08:38:05.926-07:00

Call me asshole. Two years ago today I answered an ad in the Hollywood Press for, "Models wanted. No experience necessary. Call Monday thru Friday 12-7." Next to the ad was a woman in lingerie with a finger to her lips as if keeping a secret. I was very low on money at time. When I say low I mean I had none, my last dollar from a string of mind-numbing and, in some cases, hurtful

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7252405.post-1086793033267793542004-06-09T07:56:00.000-07:002004-06-09T07:57:13.266-07:00

I’ve been writing for awhile now. People tell me it reads like fiction. I’ve thought about getting it published. Then again, why bother. I’ve made enough money in the sex industry. More people will read it online. I live online--you can see my videos all over the place. So I’ve started this journal. If I could figure out how to post a picture here, I would. But maybe it’s better that I

Shirley Shavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09964545774272933412noreply@blogger.com5