3.21.2007

This one time... at my porn job...


So I, in my immense wisdom and insatiable sexual curiosity, was searching on Craigslist back in December for a new job. It’s not that I don’t adore spending time with developmentally disabled children all day, it’s just that I feel that more people need to experience the loving touch of a little Bill in the their day. So anyway, I’m searching in all the usual spots on Craigslist. We’re looking at TV / Film / Video, Education, Art / Media / Design and finally a little Men Seeking Men if I get sidetracked. However, on this fateful December morn, I come across an ad looking for an “Adult Film Editor”. Seriously? Did someone really read my mind this morning and decide to make my little east coast boy dreams come true? I think that’s what happened. So I read on.

“Established adult film website in search of experienced video editor and right hand man. Must be comfortable in such an environment and have experience in linear editing systems. Compensation commensurate with experience. Starts ASAP.”

Well my friends, I got up from my uncomfortably lap-warming computer and proceeded to jig all around my room. I know, it was not much of a jig due to the size of my room (see previous entry) but it was still a jig and that in itself should not go unmentioned. After taking off my dancing shoes, I got back in my serious porn mindset and applied the hell out of that job. It was the most enthusiastic e-mail that I had ever sent. So enthusiastic I should’ve been taxed for the amount of exclamation points I abused. Well anyway, I sent the following message… seriously, I just copied the email and I’m even more embarrassed now that I’ve re-read it.

My name is Bill R@#(%) and I'm EXTREMELY THRILLED to have found your ad on craigslist! I'm a recent graduate of So and So College with a degree in Digital Media which renders me more than capable when it comes to computers and the such! I have experience editing, producing, acting, directing, choreographing, composing music,
storyboarding, filming and operating a camera! I've created music videos, documentaries, movie re-shoots, web pages, animated television shows and even some online flash cartoons!

Right now, I reside right next to Hackensack and am very much interested in this position because of my LOVE of PORN! I think porn is such a healthy expression of your sexuality and would love to be a part of the process in any way possible! Just recently, I've been downloading some porn and I've made some short pornographic music videos for some friends who don't have the same porn resources. So, I'm definitely into anything that will be thrown my way!

The letter continues on in the same sycophantic style and it only gets more and more needy sounding as it goes on so I’ve spared you that pain for now. So of course, I don’t get a reply from the e-mail even though I sent my resume along with a sexy headshot just for special effect. Gay, I know. Of course, I get antsy and send a second e-mail, basically a disguised forward of the first e-mail, and I finally get a reply from a man who we’ll call Renee. I choose Renee solely because of the feeling you get when you pronounce the name, knowing it belongs to a man who’s obviously not French and furthermore not suave enough to pull it off. But that’s his name as far as you’re concerned.

Renee calls me and we chit chat about what I’m into and what his company’s about and I’m all hair-twirling-bubble-gum-harajuku-girl on the other end. Because of the nature of the company, he feels that our first meeting should not take place at the office but at the local diner, something which is kind of odd but I let it go because I was excited about looking at naked people.

The next evening, I pull up to the Coach House Diner and I’m looking good and ready to edit porn. I’ve got my butt jeans on, my new a-little-too-expensive jacket and my laptop just in case I need to show some portfolio work. I walk into the diner and just like I was told, I go up to the guy at the register and ask him for “the boss”. You really don’t know how much of a tool I felt like just acknowledging that it’s acceptable for someone to label himself as ‘the boss’ in a place where he has no managerial clout whatsoever. But I sucked it up, imagining my rendering of a huge corporate ladder with “Saying the phrase (the boss)” imprinted upon the bottom rung. I tend to over-dramatize some of my life events but that’s how I get through my day.

I’m lead not three feet away to the counter where this huge white man is sitting next to a turkey dinner and a beer. Oh, how suburban of you, Renee. Here’s my vantage point: Blue plate turkey special sitting on the counter, covered in that khaki colored gravy that you know is from a can, next to an unnecessarily high mound of mashed/cubed potatoes covered in the same slop which oozes over to taint the watery corn/carrot mixture that’s been left untouched. Next to this culinary fantasy is my dream man. Renee is a man of about 39 I’d say and he’s not fond of personal appearances. He wears black easy fit jeans that aren’t really fitting all that easily and a plain black t-shirt with a pocket, the kind that makes your biceps look good if they’re not covered in a metric yard of cellulite. Renee’s arms were not being salvaged by his shirt. On the stool next to him is a huge matrix-like black pleather jacket that must’ve required at least three fake cows to complete its fabrication. But the sexiest part of the ensemble was definitely his ponytail. If you haven’t already, picture now this man who’s easily 300 pounds with a generous Claus-esque belly and is also sporting a pointy black goatee-thing which does little to mask his triple chin but matches nicely with his sexy bifocals. Now we can add on his pedophile ponytail, which comes complete with a widow’s peak of long locks of love.

So as you can imagine, I’m just in awe because I never thought I’d meet my life partner so early on in my days. We sit down at a booth in the back and we’re not lead by a waiter because ‘the boss’ doesn’t need a waiter to help him choose his table. Just the fact that I’m following this hulk of black down the narrow aisle and the physical juxtaposition of the two of us together makes every pair of eyes in the diner follow us to the back of the dining room. I’ve never felt sluttier. Well that’s a lie, but we’ll get to those stories some other time.

We chat. He seems cooler than he looks. He’s actually pretty chill and down to earth which makes me able to look past the creepy exterior. So I agree to take the job as an editor and I tell him I’ll stop by the office the next day to check out the work station and some of the previous projects. All is well. But I hadn’t seen the ‘office’ yet.

The next evening after chilling with the autistics all day, (sounds like an alternative emo band doesn’t it? The Autistics? No? Well fuck off then.) I arrive at the alleged office. It is not an office. It’s a residential home in suburban New Jersey and a dirty one at that. The front yard looks like it hasn’t been touched since leggings were in. Oops, scratch that. Sorority girls think that’s a good idea again. Anyway, you get the idea. It’s one of those homes with chipped paint, numberless mailboxes and weeds growing out of the windowsill flowerboxes. Very garden state. I ring the germy doorbell and after several more reluctant pokes at it, a short and comely girl/woman answers the door. She’s about 5’1”, round in the middle and very weathered. She looks like she could be about 45 but unfortunately her hair and clothes suggest mid-20s. She’s got this horrible Pennsylvania Dutch bob-haircut that’s dyed jet black and it clashes nicely with her grapefruit shade of lipstick. She’s also wearing one of those adorable Strawberry Shortcake baby tees that would’ve actually been adorable if it didn’t have pasta sauce and pit stains caked on it. Yum.

--Hi! I’m Bill. I’m here to see, um, Renee?
--Oh, hi. Hold on.

She shuts the door in my face and I can hear her bound up the stairs; the first clue of many that should’ve clued me in to just leave right then and there. But no, I was being optimistic that week. She reopens the door two minutes later.

--Ok, come in. He’s upstairs.

Oh my, what a hospitable little witch. She must get her charm from the remnants of fetal alcohol syndrome still swirling around in those veins. I make my way upstairs, checking out all the faux-goth decorations on the walls; wrought-iron chandeliers, handcuffs, cat-of-nine-tail whips, the usual. I open the door to the upstairs area and I’m immediately disappointed. There are three desks in this place; all of which are constructed of old doors upon cinderblocks. The Swedes at Ikea would be very upset. It’s not like their shit is hard to put together. Damn. This guy’s wallet must be tighter than my Tuesday night appointment.

Moving on, he offers to show me some of his past work for the website and as he says that, he pats this little stool that’s on the other side of his desk, right next to the mouse pad. >>Shudder / Gag<< So being the nice new guy that I am, I maneuver my way around the back of his desk paying special attention not to graze any part of this man’s circumference. I sit down on this precarious little perch and he begins to navigate the website, which unfortunately due to the contract I signed, must remain anonymous.

Not two seconds into the porn tour, I’m bombarded with more fetishes and leather toys than anyone could ever desire. I couldn’t even believe that there was such a huge market for such specific eccentricities. This particular company specializes in the tickling fetish. This basically deals with strapping someone down to a bed or some other restraint contraption and then tickling the hell out of them until they either cry, laugh, beg or cum. The videos that I wound up editing were focused mainly on girls.

One of my last videos I worked on involved this white trash blondie that my boss had ‘picked up’ at the 2006 Fetish Convention in Orlando a few months earlier. That’s right. These people are fucking legit. So this girl is supposedly famous in the fetish scene but I’d never heard of her before, principally because vag makes me vom. But I still did a fabulous job on the video as well as the trailer. She was famous because she had these amazingly sexually sensitive feet that got her off like nothing else I’ve ever seen. The video starts off with her being tied to a bed and then my boss, who is the tickler in the video and who also calls himself ‘Mysteryhands’, rounds all the usual bases. He starts off tickling the pits, the stomach, leaves the breasts alone because just seeing breasts jiggle while a girl is laughing is enough, apparently, to get off most guys who have this fetish anyway. He moves his way downtown to her thighs, her calves and finally he gets to her feet. Most of the actors I’ve seen just laugh when their feet are touched and Mysteryhands politely moves on to the next most ticklish area. However, this famous Floridian was much different. No lie, as soon as he gets to her feet, she starts letting out these deep ass moans comparable only to a female walrus in heat. It was unearthly.

After the entire video was edited, I reviewed it quickly to count the number of times this girl orgasms or claims to orgasm during the tickle session. I tallied 4 squirts just from foot tickling and putting the vibrator on the soles of her feet. She also came two more times from the vibrator in the usual area. And once from the vibrator touching her nipples. I was awestruck and semi-jealous at the same time. Not that I would ever want to cum from someone touching my feet because I just don’t think feet need to be touched while in bed, but because this girl could squirt on call. I could make so much money if I were able to do that. And what if I could maintain a steady stream of it strongly enough to levitate a small beach ball or something, you know? Like that concentrated stream of air at the Liberty Science Center that holds that beach ball in mid air? I could definitely join the circus then.

Sorry about that tangent. Anyway, he finishes showing me the web site and I go take a seat far from the reach of his ponytail while he prints out some independent contractor forms for me to sign. This is when the comely witch comes upstairs. She sits down next to me and we start some small talk and I end up asking her what she does here? Like is she an editor or just an office helper or a potion-mixer, etc? She says to me in the most casual tone you could ever imagine:

--Oh, I’m his slave.
--Oh! … That’s, uh, cool.

Apparently, this girl/woman lives with Renee and his wife, whom I’ve yet to meet, as their sex slave. Why didn’t the career center offer this on the checklist of professions? I would’ve been fucking set with a 401k and everything, training into the wee hours of the morning at frat parties all over campus. As it turns out, the slave performs all the sexual favors that are asked of her, stars in some of the web site’s videos and on top of all that, works part time at the makeup counter at Macy’s. She is a true working girl if I’ve ever seen one. In return for her domestic services, she lives free of charge in a permanent threesome. And of course, I’m wondering, what does she label that as on her resume? Could you imagine reading that one?

2002 to Present ---------- Professional Concubine ----------- Hackensack, NJ


It’s one thing to be a sex slave to a Russian czar or a Persian raja. Like I think that would be pretty cool because you’d get to wear these skanky but really gregariously ostentatious outfits embedded with the most precious of jewels and you’d feed grapes and capers to your master all day long in his steamy throne room / sin chamber. I could totally do that for like a month. But being a sex slave in Jersey is like being a zookeeper in Somalia. Everyone’s general reaction is just, “Ugh, I hope you at least took a shower.”

I stayed to work as a pornographic movie editor for about a month and a half. In that time span, I spent maybe two days a week at the office and made like $200. It was not worth my time nor my stress. But one day I just couldn’t take it anymore. This was the day I finished editing that video with the foot girl. As you may remember, Mysteryhands or my boss, was the designated tickler in that video. Now let me set up the scene for you.

I work at a desk that is out of my boss’s line of vision but close enough that he can lean forward and peer at what I’m doing. Also, he does not believe in headphones at all so every computer’s audio just blares around the office at the highest of volumes through the trashy boxy speakers that came with the PCs. So people are editing loads of porn and if anyone has ever edited before, it’s a very tedious process. You will watch any clip at least seven or eight times until you get the cut right and that’s being modest. So just imagine this environment of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ and ‘oh yeah I’m gonna cums’ just floating around the office all day long. It’s enough to make anyone celibate for at least a couple days. Not ‘the boss’ though.

As I’m working on this one scene where he’s vibrating the soles of her feet, I have to keep repeating this one audio clip that I’m going to export to use later in the trailer. It’s of Mysteryhands saying, “Yeah, bitch, tell me how much you want it. Beg me for it. Let me see those tears.” It’s a disturbing enough clip to hear several times to begin with. But Renee is just so narcissistic that every time I replay the clip, he laughs out loud and then repeats the clip exactly as he says it in the video. So, I get to hear the dirty talk on the computer and then I get to hear it in my left ear for immediate, creepy playback. I was dealing with this.

What I couldn’t deal with was the following quote after several repetitions of the previous line.

--Damn, Bill, I’m so fucking hot in those videos. Like every time I watch them, it really gets me horny because I can remember how many times she came when I was touching her. Doesn’t it get you really horny just watching it?

He got up from his desk to tell me this wonderful tidbit. And as he did, I was able to notice the obviously protruding boner popping out of this guy’s black jean shorts. Eww. That was it. Hearing fat guys talk to foot fetish girls is one thing. Having fat guy boners pointing at me like an angry old nun is completely over the line.

I never went back to work after that day. And I’m glad I freed myself from that environment. It’s gone but it will never be forgotten. I still cringe any time I see diner turkey.

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