Insatiable: Porn — a Love Story (18 page)

“It’s exactly what it sounds like—an enema using coffee. You just fill the bag with diluted coffee and hold it in for twenty minutes. It’s good for detoxifying your liver and kidneys.”

She had me at enema.

As I type this, clenching my asshole and holding the coffee inside me, I can feel the effects of the caffeine coursing through my body. I drink coffee every day, can’t even speak without my first cup in the morning, but this is different. I can literally feel my energy going up by the minute.

I have an extremely addictive personality. Throughout my life I’ve been addicted to opiates, coffee, cigarettes, exercise, and possibly sex (still pending). When I find a food I like, it’s all I eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I meet a guy I like, and I want to be by his side twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

I think I just found my new thing. Gonna google if there are any negative side effects!

February 11

Got woken up at three in the morning by this text from Spiegler:

“This just in! What’s something 9 out of 10 people enjoy?

“Gangrape.”

February 12

It’s officially been a whole year since my last car accident.

What a long way I’ve come. I should do something crazy to celebrate.

It took me two years to get my driver’s license.

I resent all Asians-can’t-drive jokes, or even women-can’t-drive jokes. In New York City, we don’t drive. We just don’t. Our public transportation system is so good, it gets us to our destinations in a shorter amount of time than a car would. Additionally, parking is so inconvenient, that even if you are lucky enough to find a spot on the street, you’re still likely walking another five to ten blocks to wherever you’re ultimately going.

I moved to California at the age of twenty-five. For the first six months I lived here, I didn’t drive. Relying on drivers and the occasional taxi (which, by the way, are crazy expensive in L.A.), I was miserable. Growing up in New York, I wasn’t used to not being able to leave a place exactly the moment I wanted. I’d finish shooting my scene, and then have to wait another thirty minutes before I could leave to go home.

So I bought a car. I didn’t know how to turn it on, and I couldn’t drive it off the lot myself, but I purchased a Prius. My friend Van, who I was living with at the time, had to drive it home for me. In this car, I would learn to drive.

“I can’t fucking do this. I don’t know why I bought this stupid thing,” I cried on my first attempt. Van and I had been circling our residential neighborhood at twenty miles an hour. If I could give one piece of advice on learning to drive, it would be this: Don’t learn from your friends. You will fight.

I googled “learn to drive in Los Angeles” and found a driving school in my area. When I got in the car, the instructor looked at me funny.

“So why don’t you know how to drive?” he asked. I explained I was from New York, and he nodded like he understood. I asked him if I was his oldest student. He assured me I wasn’t, but his face told me I was.

Eventually, I got a hang of the whole thing. I started to drive my own car, first just to and from set, and then gradually everywhere. I even drove myself to San Francisco for a dancing gig, which was an eight-hour drive away. I passed the written test to get my permit on the first try. I was ready to become a licensed driver.

Feeling confident, I went online to make an appointment for the actual driving test. None of the DMVs close by had anything available for the next month. I started to look at the DMVs farther away, and found one in Lancaster that had an opening in two weeks. I took it. “I can’t wait that fucking long to get my license! I’m sick of driving around illegally, panicking every time I pass a cop car,” I argued to Van. An hour wasn’t too long of a drive. We would do it.

The drive there was exciting. After today, I’d be a licensed driver. I couldn’t wait to post it on my Facebook, and show off to all my New York friends. “Look at me! I’m a driver!” I planned on posting a picture of myself in my car, possibly even with the employee who would grant me my license. I insisted on doing the driving to Lancaster. “It’s enough that you’re coming with me,” I explained to Van.

As I parked my car upon finishing the test, I felt confident.
No way I didn’t ace that
, I thought. The testing lady went through her list, and explained to me all the things I did wrong.
Just get on with it
, I thought.
We both know I passed
. Imagine my surprise when the words “Unfortunately, I can’t pass you” came out of her mouth. I was floored. I was so sure I had done a good job.

Outside my window, I saw a teenage girl jumping with excitement out of her car to go hug her parents.

I sheepishly got out of the car and shook my head “no” when I spotted Van waiting for me. He knew what it meant.

The drive back from Lancaster was long. Having completely lost the confidence I had ten minutes ago, I asked Van to drive. I stared out of the window the whole ride home, tears flowing out of my eyes. “I never want to drive again,” I swore.

I repeated this same long-ass trip to and from Lancaster two more times over the next few months, before I had to take another written test to get my permit again. The permit is only good for three driving tests; after that, you lost that, too.

Eventually, I gave up on getting my license. I would just drive illegally forever. Surely, not every driver I saw on the freeway was licensed? There had to be people who were too busy to go to the DMV and wait all day. Plus, I was only driving illegally when there wasn’t a licensed driver over the age of twenty-one in the passenger’s seat. I did everything I could to justify it in my head.

My first ticket came a year after I started driving. It was late at night, and I was heading home from set. Still in my full-on porno hair and makeup, I was texting while driving on the empty freeway. When I got pulled over, the cops flashed their flashlights in my eyes. “We thought you were drunk driving,” one of them told me. Not that it was a surprise, but I was offended. My driving skills were so poor, they thought I was drunk. They saw I clearly wasn’t drunk and didn’t bother to ask for my license. I got off easy this time.

Over the next year, I would get pulled over once every month or so; I forgot to turn on my headlights, I was texting, I didn’t stop at the sign, that sort of thing. I quickly learned that having my videos in the car would come in useful. I only got one ticket, which was for “driving without a license.”

That cop was probably gay.

February 13

Guess who’s back—Toni Ribas!! He has me booked for his production tomorrow, and of course I’ll be doing my scene with him!

So excited . . . I haven’t seen him in months!! He’s a Spanish director/performer so I only get to see him a few times a year . . .

I hope he takes me out after . . .

February 14

My scene with Toni was fucking amazing. As usual. How romantic, right? An anal scene with my favorite cock on Valentine’s Day.

Shooting a scene always makes me feel a little bit in love, but with Toni it’s different . . . I still want to hang out with him after the sex. I want to sleep in bed with him and wake up with him in the morning.

I asked him to take me to the movies tomorrow, and he said he would. Agghhh!!

February 16

Toni took me to the movies last night and then slept over. I’ve missed him fucking me . . . I hope he comes back tonight.

February 23

I’ve been hanging out with Toni every single day. It sucks ’cause I know he’s gonna go back to Spain soon . . .

I shot with a girl today who stuck her finger in my belly button while we post-scene showered. I freaked out. You can stick your entire hand inside my asshole, but don’t you dare put even the tip of your finger in my belly button.

I’m cringing just thinking about it.

February 26

Real whores work on Sunday.

Off to my shoot.

February 27

Went to get massages with Toni today. I blew him before the massage, when the masseuses left the room so we could strip down and get under the sheets. He told me, “Fuck happy endings; if I had a place, they would give happy beginnings.”

I think he’s on to something?

March 2

Guess what.

1. I had pussy every day this week.

2. Toni extended his stay in L.A.! He thought he was going to have to go to Greece for a production, but it’s delayed! Yayy!!

March 6

I just learned what a “Power Bottom” is. It’s someone who is enthusiastically submissive. I think that’s me.

March 8

Been dancing in Hawaii for the past two nights. I miss Toni : (

Sunbathing by the pool before I get ready for my last night in my blue thong bikini.

The lady next to me is not amused.

But her husband is.

March 11

Heading to Cabo for vacation with Toni!

There is a serious abundance of white boys with mustaches on this flight.

March 14

Cabo is fucking magical. I’m starting to really fall for Toni. He’s in the shower now . . . I feel like I am falling in love.

I met Toni three years ago. It was before I had ever done an anal scene, before I had hardly even had much anal sex in general. Being a fan of his, I requested him for a boy-boy-girl threeway scene, and I was so turned on by him, it turned into my first anal scene, and ended as my first double penetration scene.

The next day, I called him and went over to his apartment. He was still living in Spain at the time, so he had rented a small one-bedroom apartment in the Valley whenever he was in the United States—which was only a few months out of the year. He came down to get me in the parking lot, and we fucked as soon as we got up to his apartment.

I was in his bathroom, sitting on the toilet waiting for the cum to fall out of my pussy, when I noticed red flag number one. A bottle of conditioner.

A bottle of conditioner in a single man’s bathroom is much more than just a hair maintenance product. It is a symbol of another woman’s presence. Not just a woman, but most likely women. This man likely fucks either 1) so many women that he was sick of hearing “Why don’t you have conditioner??” or 2) one woman so often that she brought her own bottle of conditioner to keep at his house. No man buys a bottle of conditioner for himself, unless he has long hair—which is a red flag in itself, and in which case, I wouldn’t be sitting on his toilet with his cum slowly dripping out of my pussy in the first place.

I have a few rules when it comes to dating, some things that I absolutely do not look over or let go. I’ll meet the perfect man, but if he is guilty of defying one of these rules, I walk away as soon as I can.

“I gotta go, I have to go meet Spiegler.” This was my go-to excuse to leave at the time. Now it’s “I gotta go, I have to clean my ass for tomorrow’s anal scene.” It’s usually true.

We fucked one more time, and I left. Over the next month, I continued fucking him, but I never treated it seriously. He fucked me in a way that had me entranced, and it was the best sex I had ever had in my life—which was saying a lot.

Toni has one of the strongest Spanish accents I’ve ever heard. Because of this, whenever he called, I hit “ignore” and texted him, making up an excuse as to why I couldn’t physically talk on the phone. In person was one thing—I could see his facial expressions, hand gestures, etc. and we communicated just fine. But on the phone, without any visual help, I could barely understand a third of what he said. For this, we texted a lot. And here is where red flag number two lay.

The emoticons.

I see you tonight : )

Can’t wait to fuck you >.<

Come over : p

A man who is so well versed in emoticons can only mean one thing: He texts many, many women.

But on the bright side: He has no kids, isn’t “best friends” with any of his exes, isn’t a registered sex offender (I asked), and he doesn’t wear Crocs. I think I’m willing to overlook a couple of red flags.

March 15

Back home from Cabo.

We are both sick as fuck. We both have a cold and Toni has pinkeye in both eyes.

It’s eighty degrees outside but we have the fireplace going.

Maybe going in the Jacuzzi in Mexico wasn’t such a good idea after all.

March 20

I’m in Florida, and I’m still sick as fuck. I’m supposed to be shooting but I swear I’m too sick.

Last night when I landed, I told Spiegler I wouldn’t be able to shoot today. He texted the producer for me:

“Asa just landed in Miami, but she isn’t feeling well.

“She has a fever.

“She isn’t a complainer, so please go easy on her tomorrow if she isn’t 100%.”

Not a complainer. Ha-ha-ha.

March 21

Feeling a little better. Rocked my anal scene. Going back to bed.

March 23

Currently on the plane to Vegas for a shoot.