Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe (2 page)

The physical demands of the job and a propensity for early burn-out meant the life of a porn star was relatively short, falling somewhere between that of a May fly and a boy band. That’s why, to maximise his future earnings Dick made the move into production; that’s where the money was.

The first films he wrote, produced and starred in were a series of porno bible exploitation films: Go Down Moses, Resurrection, The Second Coming and the most controversial of all, Mary Does Bethlehem. These caused a real stir in the market and also among the god-fearing folk of
America
’s mid-west. There were mass burnings of his movies in
Des Moines
,
Wichita
,
Oshkosh
and numerous other silly-sounding places but this, quite literally, just fanned the flames of publicity; it was especially helpful because to enable them to burn his DVDs, angry citizens had to buy them first. A combination of the earnings form this series and the fact that Dick was one of the few performers in the industry whose income didn’t disappear up his nose enabled him to buy up a small distribution business. The rest, as authors who like using clichés say, is history.

Nowadays Dick made the films he wanted to, working with the cast and crew he liked and trusted. OK, ‘liked’ was too strong a word; ‘tolerated’ was probably better. He hired them for their professional skills and ability to get the job done in time and on budget. Their personalities and egos? Well, he accepted those as well. Although ‘suffered’ would be far more appropriate.

Most people in the porn industry acted like they were serious actors. One particular girl Dick had worked with had a laughable sense of self-importance, behaving as if she was the Meryl Streep of the blow job. In reality the only thing she and her famous namesake had in common were that they’d both appeared in films called Sophie’s Choice, although one was about a concentration camp survivor and one was about a gangbang. Most directors also suffered from a similar sense of inappropriate self-worth and Dick was currently working with one of these. Ron DiBargi was a larger than life character that would never tire of telling people how he learned his craft in the film biz while working for Scorsese and Coppola. What Ron failed to tell anyone of course was that he was referring to Sal Scorsese and Mario Coppola who ran an adult movie theatre on
42
^nd
Street
in the late 1970s. Ron had been their projectionist.

This particular day Dick was working with Ron on the set of Thrust ‘Til You Bust, the last of the awesomely successful Phallus In Wonderland trilogy that Dick had created. It was being filmed in a mansion that was as tastelessly decorated as it was cavernous. Dick was just finishing the de-rigueur jacuzzi scene with his co-star Alpine Peaks, having successfully negotiated his way around her every orifice. Three times. (Actually, he wasn’t sure whether technically an ear constituted an orifice but he thought ‘What the hell!’ and went for it anyway). Dick had worked with Alpine many times since she was one of the few porn actresses who could match his sexual stamina as well as having a remarkable vaginal capacity. Despite this, he still managed to bring tears to her eyes at the same time as a smile to her lips. With a final groan and a grunt he delivered the coup de grace - or what the industry euphemistically refers to as the ‘money shot’. Dick certainly shot something over Alpine and although it wasn’t money, he knew he gave his viewers great value.

‘OK ...and cut!’, Ron yelled, adding, ‘After those close-ups check there’s no hair in the gate!’.

The crew cracked up. It might have been the oldest gag on the porn film set but it never failed to get a laugh. Partly, Dick thought, to relieve the tension but mainly, he felt, to relieve the boredom.

‘All clear!’ came the camera operator’s reply moments after he’d watched the playback.

‘Great work people. It’s a wrap’, shouted Ron. ‘Take a break everyone but be back in twenty for the re-shoot of Mojo’s scene. And make sure no one spooks the friggin’ monkey this time!’.
 
Turning to Dick Ron added, ‘Another great performance Dick. Don’t know how you keep it up!’

Cue more laughter from the crew. Dick found this joke funny the first time but after hearing it for the two hundred and eighty-first time it was wearing as thin as an ultra-lite gossamer condom. And if that wasn’t annoying enough, Ron finished the sentence by making a gun with his fingers and pointing it at Dick, simultaneously winking and making a clicking noise. Dick hated it when anyone did that. Really hated it. After all, it was his
own
signature greeting. Returning the gesture out of politeness, Dick took his robe from one of the smiling fluffers at the side of the set, whose services he had never, ever required, and strolled to his luxurious trailer parked on the driveway for a well-earned rest. Letting the door close gently behind him Dick grabbed a bottle of chilled Cristal from the table, running his forefinger up its cool, slender neck before slowly filling an elegant champagne flute. After taking a particularly long and satisfying sip of the nectar of the gods (as Dick called it) he felt exceptionally mellow and sank into a very forgiving soft white leather couch.

The trailer was Dick’s refuge, his sanctuary and, save for the soothing hum of the air conditioner, his
Quiet Place
. Moments of nothingness like this had to be savoured. Dick had a gruelling schedule that made most
Third World
training shoe factory workers look like slackers. He had six more scenes to shoot that day including the double penetration climax where, through post-production trickery, he played both himself and his clone (a first in porn films and a sure-fire award winner).

The day after that he was jetting off to the Florida Keys for two days to shoot Key Large-O, and then up to New Orleans to film Mardi Gras Gang Bang (subtitle: ‘the biggest blow job since Hurricane Katrina’). Then it was back to
L.A.
to check the final edit of Thrust. Dick thought he had time off after that but he couldn’t be sure, but the day after he had to be in Vegas to make a personal appearance at Sexpo, the sex industry’s annual trade show. Here he hoped to sign a deal with a new Asian film distributor. Apparently Dick was ‘big in
Japan
’ but then that didn’t surprise him at all.

Lying here, savouring the soothing effects of the champagne, Dick closed his eyes and thought back to his youth when porn was something found under your dad’s bed rather than a career choice. He’d been big for his age throughout childhood but in those carefree days he’d learned about his endowment the hard way; that as well as being a novelty it could also be a liability. At junior high an embarrassing ‘Show and Tell’ session resulted in his suspension and subsequent transfer. The same thing happened at high school after it was discovered he’d been charging friends of both sexes to see it in order to supplement his allowance. Dick was more appreciated at college. After his first semester he’d bedded twenty-eight different girls and three female teachers including the vice principal. Needless to say, he graduated
cum laude.

Immediately afterwards Dick landed a job in the ‘legitimate’ film industry, in the marketing & publicity department of a large
Hollywood
studio. One of his tasks was writing the taglines for film posters, the pithy slogans that sell the premise of the movie. Dick had been quite adept at this; his favourite was his work on ‘Colorways’, a gangster thriller set in the world of interior design (‘Today it’s soft furnishings but tomorrow it’s curtains!’). Even though movie marketing wasn’t the most challenging job in the world Dick had been quite content trying to make a career out of it. It was only due to an ex-girlfriend who knew a cameraman who knew a make-up artist who knew a producer who knew a casting agent who knew a director who knew a golden opportunity when he saw it, that he’d got into the whole porn thing. (NB. In case you’re wondering, the term ‘knew’
is
used in the biblical sense).

As Dick continued reminiscing, a woman appeared. Normally this wouldn’t be unusual but on this particular occasion it was, since she materialised right out of thin air accompanied by the sound of static, the sweet, sickly smell of ozone and the more pleasant odour of rose-scented perfume. The severe shock caused Dick to temporarily lose both his voice and his balance and he fell off the couch. He tried to compose himself and say, ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ but all that came forth from his lips was a rather high pitched, garbled, ‘Hoowhayoowan?’.

The woman however, was far more composed. She looked Dick straight in the eye and introduced herself with a cut glass English accent.

‘Mr. Longg, my name is
Alice
. I’ve come here from the year 2150’.

There’s something very disconcerting about a woman materialising right in front of you. It’s even more alarming when the woman who’s doing the materialising tells you that she’s from the future.

Dick looked her up and down. Alice was in her mid-twenties, attractive with an ample bosom but any hint of sexuality was being inhibited by a starched white blouse buttoned up to her slender, pale neck and a voluminous dark brown-coloured corduroy skirt that concealed any suggestion of the rest of her figure. Her skin looked like fine porcelain giving the impression that if you pushed her over, she’d break. She carried a rather formal-looking suede bag and the overall impression was one of a prim and proper Victorian nanny. For the second time in as many minutes Dick’s mouth made random shapes but failed to form any recognisable words.
Alice
took advantage of this situation, as she knew it wouldn’t be long before Dick regained the power of speech and/or movement and either called security or seduced her. Either way she would fail in her mission and time was of the essence.

‘Mr. Longg’, she continued, by now crouching over him as he remained prone. ‘My sudden appearance here has put us both in very grave danger. I need you to listen to what I have to say. My story will, no doubt, seem very far-fetched but please hear me out’.

As the mysterious woman spoke, Dick began to regain his composure and his motor skills. He hadn’t been this spooked since that fateful day during filming three years ago when he lost his erection after only fifty minutes although in his defence, he had been suffering from both a bad case of debilitating flu
and
from being accidentally kneed in the testicles in a previous orgy scene. Slowly getting up up, Dick reached for the bottle of chilled champagne.

‘Mr. Longg!’

‘Call me Dick’, he responded, unsubtly opening his robe a little.

‘I must have your full attention!’,
Alice
commanded, looking at him sternly. ‘Are you aware of H G Wells?’.

‘Of course I have. Everyone knows Harry Wells, the director of ‘Forest Hump’ and ‘Saturday Night Beaver’’

‘No! The Victorian British author’.
Alice
could see that this was going to take longer than she had imagined, and longer than she had.

‘Ah.
That
H G Wells’, Dick nodded, faking his knowledge of nineteenth century literary greats. ‘Yes, I am aware of his work’.

Alice
didn’t believe him for one minute and sighed. ‘He wrote ‘The War of the Worlds’’

‘’The Whore of the Worlds’? I starred in that!’

Alice
ignored him. ‘’The Shape of Things To Come…’’

‘I was in that one too!’

It was all
Alice
could do to stop herself slapping him. Instead, she grabbed the lapels of his robe and drew him to within a few inches of her face.

‘’The Time Machine…’’

‘I wasn’t in...’

‘Don’t say anything!’
Alice
exclaimed. ‘Wells published it in 1896 but it wasn’t just science fiction;
 
it was a story very much inspired by fact. You see, a small, select group of his contemporaries were more technologically advanced than we ever knew…’ Pausing for effect she continued, ‘They had actually developed time travel!’

Alice
momentarily relaxed her grip and Dick took this opportunity to pull himself away and register his scepticism.