Insatiable: Porn — a Love Story (9 page)

The blowbang was a mixture of A-list male performers and just-blowbang guys. The blowbang guys are significantly cheaper, which is good when you need quantity, but in a (relatively) smaller blowbang like the one we were shooting, it’s important to mix in some of the top guys to lead the way and ensure that the scene keeps moving—they’re the “quality” in this equation.

As far as male-pornstar taxonomy goes, the A-list guys are at the very top. These are the guys who get to work with the best girls in the business; they have paid their dues and proven themselves to be good performers. I’d say there are only fifteen of them in the business, definitely no more than twenty. Some of them do features, but what every one of these guys must exceed at is Gonzo.

A-listers don’t have issues getting their dick hard, keeping it hard, or popping on command. They are alpha males, always dominant, that can carry a scene and bring energy out of any girl. The ones nominated for “Male Performer of the Year” year after year at the AVN Awards.

Right under the A-list male talent would be the feature guys. Feature guys are the actors of porn. Best known for their acting skills and pretty looks, they aren’t necessarily the best sex performers; sometimes they struggle to keep hard, and it never seems like the sex is the part they most look forward to. Considered to be the most “couple” friendly, they are in shape, tan, and clean-shaven—often, they are mainstream actors and models who lost their way and ended up in porn.

Below the feature boys, I’d say there’s about 50 percent of the male talent pool in a big pile—these are the B- and C-listers. They are the “filler” male performers, who don’t fit into any mold. You see them randomly on set, and work with them a few times throughout your career, but they aren’t particularly memorable. The only time you hear their names is when they are dating someone more famous than themselves, or something crazy happens to them, like their dick breaks when a girls slams down on it too hard during reverse cowgirl.

Finally, at the very bottom are the blowbang guys. Also known as “mopes,” they primarily do blowbangs and gangbangs. I’m talking about the kind of scenes where there is one girl and fifty-plus guys. The “creep” factor is abundantly in play here. Almost guaranteed to be chain smokers, they have prepaid phones and take the bus to location. It’s not totally uncommon for them to be in and out of jail; nor is it uncommon for the director to lend them money to get their required monthly STD test. No one aspires to be a mope. It’s just somewhere you end up.

Aside from the three guys I had chosen to fuck me, the guys for the blowbang scene that day had been told in advance that there would be no non-oral sex happening. But, of course—when they saw the chosen three fucking me, they assumed all bets were off. Imagine what it’s like for a 105-pound girl to try to control eleven juiced-up guys. Now imagine that all those guys are on Viagra, and the girl is on the floor getting railed in her ass. It was a constant merry-go-round of subtly pushing, awkwardly crawling away, turning around to make sure the same three guys were still fucking me. Mind you, this is all while sucking eleven cocks. All while keeping everyone involved. Group scenes are not a selfish sport. There’s no “i” in “blowbang.” When the camera is rolling and that magic thing happens where every single guy is hard, you don’t want to break the momentum and risk guys losing their wood by showing any kind of hostility. Especially the blowbang guys, who aren’t as strong performers.

That day, I left the set patting myself on the back for somehow managing to get through the scene only fucking my three original guys, and all without hurting any feelings. I don’t know which I was more proud of: my self-control, or my ability to coyly avoid fucking eight guys, all while keeping them happily engaged in the scene. Smiling all the way home, I ran a silent conversation in my head in which one Me referred to the other Me as a “master of the fine art of the blowbang.”

A week later Sam called me. “Hey, dude. I’m editing. You want me to cut out the Snoop part, right?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Whachu mean?”

“The blowbang. The part where D.Snoop’s fucking you. It’s only a couple minutes long but he’d make our fourth guy. You only wanted three of our friends to have sex, correct?”

I was shocked. I was paying such close attention! I turned around every time a dick had entered me from behind to check who it was, I was sure of it.

“Snoop
fucked
me? Are you fucking joking me?” I couldn’t help but laugh. That sneaky motherfucker! “Yah, cut it out, please. I can’t believe he was fucking me and I didn’t know!”

“Hey, you didn’t know, it doesn’t count!” I mean she was right. If she had never told me, I never would have known. This was too funny. How did he just slip in?

“It’s the
Curious Case of D.Snoop
.” I joked.

“
The Haunting of Asa Akira
.” Sam caught on.

“
Snoop the Friendly Ghost
. Wait, no.
The Invisible Man
starring D.Snoop!” Bam, two for one.

“
Phantom of the Blowbang
.” And the winner is Sam.

I have to say, of all the slutty moments I’ve had in my life, this has to be top-three status. After getting off the phone, I contemplated telling Toni. Would he be mad about it?

At the end of the day, no matter the context, the person I want to share the events of my day with is Toni. There was already the whole misunderstanding about whether or not I told him I wouldn’t fuck anyone at the blowbang. But it was too hilarious not to share, right? We were above fighting over trivial matters—after eighteen years in the business, one little slip of a dick couldn’t possibly upset him. This was a legitimately hilarious story. I mean how many people can say, “I had no idea he fucked me!???”

If there were a category in
Guinness World Records
for “Sluttiest Thing to Accidentally Happen to a Woman,” this would definitely be in the running.

I decided to chance it for the sake of a laugh.

He didn’t think it was funny.

8
Girls

“Do you think I should tell Katie?” It was two in the afternoon and Mia was over. We were lying on opposite sides of the sofa in stained T-shirts and period underwear, passing back and forth a jar of peanut butter. A rerun of
Real Housewives
of someplace or another was on the TV but we didn’t pay attention.

“Why not?” I replied. “What does she care if you fucked James or not?”

“She’s trying to cut off her fuckbuddy she’s in love with.”

“Oh shit. Like you’re in it together.”

“Right. She’s watching me.”

Mia was my closest friend in L.A. She always had something going on; if it wasn’t a cokehead boyfriend with babymama drama, it was her ex threatening to kill her from jail. An aspiring actress, she dated my ex-boyfriend after we had broken up. One day I had sent him a naked picture of myself, and she called me from his phone screaming. We’ve been best friends ever since.

“Omission isn’t lying,” I offered as I licked the spoon.

“She’s gonna ask. Fuck it, I’m just gonna tell her I stayed in last night. My sex life is nobody’s business. I’m gonna lie to her—just tell me I’m not a bad person for it.”

I smiled. Mia could rob someone and I would probably justify it as the victim’s fault. In fact, that had happened before.

“You’re not a bad person for it.”

“It’s just he called me last night and was talking about fucking . . . And my pussy got so wet it was bubbling and dripped down to my ass without even being touched. His voice just makes me instantly wet.”

“Like when people hear the word
cocaine
and instantly have to shit?” We laughed.

“Whatever. He limpdicked me half the night anyway.”

James was a nightlife guy Mia had been seeing. He wasn’t her boyfriend, partly because she already had one of those. He was a side piece she had caught feelings for. According to a self-help relationship book I once read, he was a classic “avoidant”—sends mixed signals, afraid to get too close, cold, insensitive, insecure. We were also suspicious he was on something, drug-wise, because his dick went limp all the time.

“It’s so bizarre. I don’t think I like him anymore anyway. Last night I shat on him a little while he was fucking my ass and I didn’t care.”

“If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. I’ve been with Toni for how long? And I don’t want him to even know I shit, ever.”

“Yah. I think I would’ve cared two fucks ago.”

It was true. My friend Dave says it best: I’m anal about anal.

I never thought I’d be famous for my asshole. Really, I didn’t. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been infatuated with porn. Growing up a Howard Stern fan, slutty girls were my heroes, somehow glorified in my mind. In movies and books, I was always drawn to the trashiest character in the story; the one who smokes cigarettes, is admittedly promiscuous, and almost always crazy in the most fascinating, brilliant way.

And yet, I never thought I’d be one of those girls. I never thought I’d have the guts.

Never say never.

I never thought I’d actually do porn. If anything, I thought I’d be a teen pregnancy case, divorced by twenty-one, second baby daddy by twenty-three. Possible herpes. I never thought the day would come I’d be labeled “Anal Queen” in every skin rag, or my asshole would win an award.

When I got into the business, I was adamant that I steer clear of anal sex. It was still a somewhat foreign concept to me, and I had this romanticized idea in my head that I should “save” my ass for the special guy who dealt with my crazy neurosis in real life. I thought it would make me relatively good wifey material, not
completely
used up. In fact, when I signed with my current agent Mark Spiegler, in my long proposal email on why he should represent me I told him one thing I would never do is anal sex on camera.

Hi Mark! This is Asa Akira. I was just curious to see if you are currently adding to your roster of girls . . .

My contract with GoldStar Modeling Agency ends on March 20th, in 12 days. After extensive research, and conversations w/various girls in the business, I’ve come to the conclusion you are the best.

I’ve heard you are very picky about the girls you take on, and pretty much everyone I have spoken to tells me the same thing: “you need to do anal.”

I’ll be honest with you, anal is not in my future. However, I just shot my first two interracial scenes for Jules Jordan, in my own movie called
Invasian 4
. The movies come out March 18th so after that, I plan on shooting more!

Please let me know if you’re interested in representing me.

Thanks : )
Asa

He loves showing this letter to everyone, mostly because I went through a breakup and started shooting anal scenes two weeks after I sent the email.

Anal sex is a strange thing in porn. My first month in, I was under contract, shooting exclusively for a company called Vouyer Media. One of the main directors there, Van, took me to a Fourth of July barbecue at the house of the owner of another company. This was my first time meeting Spiegler, and he had brought some of the Spiegler Girls along with him.

“I did anal for Jules Jordan last week, and Mandingo fucked my ass. I can’t believe it fit!” one of them humble-bragged.

Not to be outdone, another girl exclaimed, “But have you ever done
double
anal? I can pretty much fit anything back there now.”

“Donna put an entire double-ended dildo in my ass once for Jay’s
Deep Anal Drilling
.”

What the hell are these girls bragging about?
I thought. Having a big asshole is a
good
thing? I’d never end up like that.

Alas, the curse. I had said it, even if silently, even if just to myself. That word.
Never
.

I am totally like those other girls now. Toni hates it. “Just don’t get like that about your pussy,” he always reminds me. “I don’t want you to stretch it all out.”

Another thing I vowed upon starting to shoot anal scenes is that I would never get messy. I had heard horror stories: girls not cleaning out enough, shitting on guys on set. Not me. I’d be a pro from the start; no one was going to call me
that
girl.

Two years went by perfectly. I was known as a reliable anal performer; guys always told me fucking my ass was like fucking a pussy: a nice, warm hole, no mess. “I
never
get messy,” I’d say. And that was it. The curse.

I was shooting a regular anal scene one day when I looked down at the cock entering my ass and saw a pool of red on the sheets right under the penetration. “Holy fuck! Cut, cut, cut! My ass is bleeding!” I yelled to everyone, no one in particular. There were five people on this small Gonzo set: me, the guy, the director, the photographer, and the production assistant, also known as the PA.