These four girls were going at it like they were inventing girl-on-girl rough sex. The grunts, the cries, the “yeah, yeah, yeahs.” One girl was using a double-ended dildo to fuck another one doggy-style while also thrusting the opposite end into herself. Devon was helpfully spreading the ass cheeks of the receiver while getting fucked with another dildo. It takes a village.
Stephanie was going, “Unh unh unh unh” at the top of her lungs when Brad said, “Cut.”
They all broke character, relaxing their bodies with double-headed dildos still inside them.
“Do you think the weather is gonna be good this week?” Stephanie asked, as the camera guy switched tapes. Back then you had to do that for every twenty minutes of film.
“I think so,” said Nicole, just as nonchalant. “I don’t think there’s rain coming, so it might just stay humid.”
The tech said, “Ready,” and they were right back at it.
“Oh, God, yes, yes, yes, yes!” screamed Nicole, in time with each thrust of a dildo.
After a while, Brad said, “Cut. I want to move the lighting.” While the men on the crew saw to that, the girls checked their nails.
“Is anyone gonna be at that party Friday?” said Nicole.
“Oh, it’s so far out,” said Stephanie. “I don’t know if—”
“Action,” said Brad.
“Yeah, like that!” yelled Stephanie, falling right back into heavy-breathing rhythm. “Just like that, you fucker! Oh, God, oh, God!”
On set, you’re not just breaking the fourth wall. You’re pissing on it, then knocking it over with a bulldozer. But I still found it interesting, so when I went back the next day I agreed to shoot a scene as a clothed extra. They did my makeup and it was the very first time I’d ever had it professionally done. And it was the first time I ever wore false eyelashes.
“These are so heavy,” I said, my eyelids drooping down and then flashing up as I got used to them. How do you people do it? I wondered. Now I can put them on while driving!
I got on camera and these little murmurs went up in the crew. Jake Jacobs, the camera operator, called Ric Rodney, the lighting guy, to look.
“Hunh,” they said, each turning their heads. Ric came over, adjusted a light near me, and Jake nodded.
“What?” I said.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Jake. “You’re pretty, but you’re beautiful on camera.”
I didn’t take it the wrong way. Jake would shoot every single movie I would do. Ric is still my guy when it comes to lighting my films.
Brad Armstrong came over to me. “Do you do movies?”
“Well, no,” I said. “But I love them.”
“I think the owner of the company would like to meet you,” he said. “Maybe talk to you about a contract.”
I didn’t even know there was such a thing. When you do a contract, you work exclusively for that company and have job security and a company promoting you like the old MGM studio system. Jenna Jameson had been a contract girl for Wicked. I knew Devon really wanted a contract and didn’t want to be a freelancer.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just here with Devon. Isn’t Devon incredible? She—”
“We should go out tonight and get dinner,” Brad said. When I didn’t immediately answer, he added: “The three of us.”
“Okay.”
“Where do you wanna go?” he asked.
“I want to see the Sunset Strip,” I said, which made him burst out laughing because that is such a touristy thing to want to do. “I need to see the Whisky a Go Go, ’cause that’s where Mötley Crüe played and they lived above it.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
That night Brad picked us up in a convertible Camaro that had the Wicked logo across it. It was the Wicked pace car, and the company was printing money at that point. We went to the Saddle Ranch Chop House, which has a rock-and-western atmosphere. I rode the mechanical bull, of course, and I won five hundred dollars for managing to stay on. Brad told me later that as he was watching me ride the bull he was like, in a villain voice, “I must be in her.”
The three of us went back to his house, and the whole time I’m thinking, This is going to be two firsts. My first threesome, and my first one-night stand. Adding to that, this was the first time I’d ever had sex with someone who I considered a man. Someone who wasn’t my age. Brad is about fourteen years older than me—and he owns a house. It didn’t get more adult to me than that.
We were sitting in a circle on his bed, kissing and making out. Brad pulled his dick out, and it was the biggest dick I’d ever seen up to that point. Now, in Pornland, I can now tell you it is very average. But it was the biggest penis I’d ever seen.
I fell backward off the bed and hit my head. “There’s no way that’s gonna fit!” I yelled. (Reader, it fit.)
Brad offered to help me meet with the owner of Wicked, and I took him up on it. But first I was set to go along with Devon, who was shooting a girl-girl scene in American Girls: Part Two for a company called Sin City. The second girl canceled, and Devon panicked because she was scared to work with someone she didn’t know.
I’m a girl’s girl, so I got roped into it. The premise of this girl-girl scene was typical porn: We are hiking when my friend sprains her ankle out on the trail. I give her a shoulder to lean on, and when that doesn’t fully do the job, I comfort her with my vagina. The film was directed by Michael Raven, who later came to Wicked as a director. The cameraman on set that day was François Clousot, who I just shot with the other day, and the makeup artist was a girl named Shelby Stevens, who left the business but I swear I was just texting a few minutes ago. Once you click with me, I’m with you for life.
We shot in Dry Gulch Ranch, this rocky, desert location in the Santa Monica Mountains of West Malibu. There were all these terms they use in porn that I didn’t know. The first was “Wildlife!” They yelled that out, and it just means there’s a bug or creature wandering onto the set. They weren’t kidding: There was a scorpion wandering the set that day, and I saw my first tarantula.
Then I heard Michael say, “Okay, thirty seconds to build up to a FIP.”
I froze. “What’s a FIP?” I yelled. “I don’t know if I do that!” It’s a fake orgasm, a “Fake Internal Pop.” The term is used in softcore filmmaking because you can’t show guys coming in those films, so it’s simulated. Usually it’s for boy-girl scenes, obviously, but it’s also used for girls.
The next day, a Friday, Brad made good on his offer to introduce me to the owner of Wicked. He seemed interested, but he’s not someone who really shows his cards. I was scheduled to take a red-eye back to Baton Rouge the next day, and Devon was flying out for a dance booking. I was staying at Brad’s—so much for a one-night stand—and right before he took me and Devon to the airport, he pulled me aside.
“If you decide to stay, I could make you a star,” he said. “Whether or not you sign with Wicked, someone will sign you. And you will go on to make a minimum fifteen thousand dollars a month.”
“What?” I said, immediately doing the math. One hundred eighty thousand dollars a year sounded like a gold mine.
“I’ll help you if you want me to,” he said. “But this is kind of your shot.”
We got to LAX, which was fucking terrifying to someone who’d never really been by herself in a big city. Brad got my carry-on out of the back of the Camaro, and I said good-bye. I promised I’d be back someday. I could tell he didn’t believe me.