But I was having trouble sleeping myself. On Saturday, I awoke with a tight, nervous stomach, and I couldn’t help wondering if it might be best to call the whole thing off. Things had moved so fast, after all—there was still time to turn back. But I squelched the urge. When afternoon rolled around, Janay showed right on time, toting a pink canvas bag so large and bulky that it looked as if it might contain a dead child. “Costumes,” she explained cheerily. “And a few of my instruments. In case your friend changes his mind.”
“Great,” I said, weakly. I flipped my camera on. “Do you mind if I start the interview?”
“Not at all,” Janay said, settling comfortably onto Periwinkle’s low-slung couch. “I love your aesthetic, by the way. So Northern California.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Most of the stuff is my housemate’s.”
“Even so,” she said, generously, “you show good taste simply by choosing to live with him.”
“Thanks,” I said again. “So ...”
“I’m sorry. Please go on.”
“How’d you ever get the idea to be a fetish-film actress?”
“Well, you might not believe this, Sam,” Janay said, leaning toward me and my camera, “but I used to be quite shy. I hated to draw attention to myself. I never wore revealing clothing—never even wore a bikini to the beach. I wouldn’t have sex with the lights on. I was very boring.”
Indeed, I wouldn’t have believed it. She was quite sexy by anyone’s standards. “What happened?”
“About three years ago, I was in a motorcycle accident,” Janay said. “I sustained considerable trauma to my head. When I got out of the hospital, the strangest thing started happening. Suddenly, I wanted everybody to look at me. Apparently the injury to my head had the effect of making me an extreme extrovert. Particularly in the sexual arena.”
“That’s wild.”
“Isn’t it? Straightaway, I started dancing at clubs. Within a very short time, I landed in front of the camera. And that’s where I’ve been ever since.” She smiled. “I guess you could say that I’m making up for lost time.”
“Do you do hardcore, too?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ll do a solo masturbation every once in a while, if someone asks me. And I’ll happily do a nude photo shoot with a guy, as long as there’s no actual penetration. The idea of having sex on camera just doesn’t appeal to me. I’m more drawn to^the fetishy stuff. It’s .. . richer.”
“Psychologically richer?”
“Yes,” Janay said, beaming. “That’s it exactly. Fetish is like a . . . game. There’s lots of talking, lots of banter. And since I’m always a top, I always win.”
“Why do you always have to be a top?” I asked. “Don’t you ever want to submit to anyone else?”
Janay paused for a moment. “I spent the whole first half of my life submitting,” she said. “I used to get beat a lot. So, I’m not really into getting dominated much anymore.”
“Oh,” I said, rather unsure as to how to respond. “Okay.”
“You know, Sam,” she said, “I’m not stupid. I know that every time I go out there and start playing the dom, I’m dealing with my history, with my personal demons. But when I think back to how I used to be, how I used to live? I was totally in denial. I was scared of my own pain. When I take a moment to think back on how it was, I’m actually kind of pleased to be doing it this way now.”
Janay and I finished talking, and then she asked for a few minutes alone, to “get into character.” I picked up the phone and dialed Dennis.
“Dennis Seltzer.”
“Dennis. It’s time.”
I think now might be as good a time as any other for me to mention that I had absolutely no clue as to what I was doing. I had basically zero experience shooting “action.” My video efforts in college had been limited almost exclusively to long tripod takes, where, as often as not, I’d be filming myself, goofing for the camera, usually while wearing a wig. There’d been considerable leeway for mistakes and do-overs. If I wanted to take all night to get one shot, I could. Here, I’d have one chance to make it look good, and that would be it.
I also had no real idea what I wanted to happen in the scene. Dennis was going to be “humiliated”—but how? Did we hash out an attack plan beforehand? I was at least nominally the director; did that mean I was supposed to tell them what to do? I had no idea what they should do. In fact, how was I even going to know when the scene was over? As Janay stepped out of the bathroom, clad in black spiked boots and leather chaps, hoisting a riding crop menacingly in her right hand, I was suddenly frightened out of my mind.
Janay motioned disgustedly at Dennis, who grinned up at her. I noticed he’d gotten a haircut, the poor schmuck.
“Is this him?”
I turned my camera on. “Yep, that’s him.”
“Well, hello, mister. What’s your name?”
“Dennis.”
“I heard you’re 'not into pain,’ Dennis.”
“Yes, that’s right.” He looked up at her dreamily. Totally in love.
“Well, even though I’m very disappointed in you, I’m going to respect that. Got it? I’ll respect you, as long as you respect me.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I... I don’t know.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Yes, mistress,” said Dennis, obediently.
I zoomed in on him, framing his face inexpertly. I prayed that the light in the living room was good enough. I prayed for the ability to hold the camera steady.
“I want you to get those clothes off. Get on the floor, little doggy.”
Dennis took off his clothes and went down on all fours. He didn’t
have too bad a body for a forty-five-year-old guy. A little paunchy, but there were signs of health there.
“Hump my leg, doggy. Hump it good.” Dennis humped. “Now stop. I want you to stand up. Turn around. That’s right: turn around. Now turn around again. Keep doing it, Dennis. Don’t stop.”
In my Californian living room, a totally nude middle-aged man was on his feet, revolving slowly, his eyes closed.
“I feel sick,” said Dennis, after a few moments.
“You spoke incorrectly, Dennis. Keep going.” She folded her arms. “I feel sick, what?”
“I feel sick, mistress,” mumbled Dennis. “Please ... I really want to stop.”
“Oh, stop then,” Janay said, irritably. ‘You’re a very weak little boy, aren’t you, Dennis?” .
“Yes, mistress,” agreed Dennis, wobbling unsteadily. “May I sit down, please, mistress?”
“Of course, Dennis,” Janay purred. “Sit down, weak little boy. Sit down and watch me, and I’ll let you do what little boys love to do.” Janay stretched sexily and removed her top. “Look at my tits, Dennis. Look at my tits and play with yourself.” She bent over and began running her hands gently over her tanned body, alternating her sensuous glances between Dennis and my camera. I panned across her breasts shakily, hoping against hope that I was covering this monumental occasion competently.
Janay checked Dennis’s groin for signs of life, but there were none.
“What’s the matter, Dennis? Don’t I turn you on?”
“Your body turns me on immensely,” whispered Dennis.
“Then what’s wrong? Why aren’t you getting hard?”
“I don’t know,” mumbled Dennis. He looked up at the camera, and I knew somehow that he was going to apologize to me, so I held up my hand and motioned that it was fine, that he was to soldier on. We weren’t going to stop.
“I have a surprise for you, Dennis,” Janay said sweetly. She tromped off into the kitchen. When she returned, she was wearing a strap-on: a nine-inch plastic penis advancing from her crotch. “I had a feeling this might appeal to you.”
Dennis looked as excited as a child on Christmas morning. “Yes!” he whispered.
“Then come here and suck my cock,” Janay said, smiling. Her boy obeyed, gagging happily. I approached them cautiously, taking a seat on the floor next to Dennis, filming his face and his hot breath in the air around me. Some of his drool got on one of Periwinkle’s plants. It was a little disgusting.