Porn Stars Are The Saddest People

By Peter HardwickHardwickface

(“Peter Hardwick” is not my real name but my stage name and, of course, nom de plume. I’m 29, a college graduate who comes from a liberal (read: my parents were former hippies) but exceedingly polite midwestern family; my folks say they’re proud of me but then again they may just be nice. I am single but looking, something that is hampered to a substantial degree by the fact that I currently work in the adult film business and have made it my career, at least until I can get enough work as a journalist (which is what I did before this gig) or until I’m no longer being cast or in the unusual event that the porn business suddenly goes caput, which entirely a possibility given the advent of the internet and the monopolistic behemoth that is PornHub, who don't pay a damn thing for anything they post. Anyway.)

Monday, October 28

Another day at the office, three holes to plug, same old same old until the afternoon shoot with Carmen K. Plugging away as usual when it came time to do anal, flipped her over onto her belly, started plugging away. Right away something didn’t feel right, squishy, spongy, almost viscous. It’s bad enough that I have to put up with Carmen’s passionless, mechanical, rote Ooos, Ahhs, Oohs—swear to fucking God if I have to hear that crap one more time I may actually quit this time—for God’s sake, take some pride in your job and actually try, put something into it—then again, maybe that’s the limits of her skills—but it turns out Carmen didn’t do a cleanse much less an enema and when I pulled A-Rod out it looked like he’d been dipped in fucking chocolate. Everybody gasped, director called “Cut.” I was pissed, too pissed to say anything, just walked away. Everyone was totally grossed out—think about that, the crew on a porn set were grossed out. That kind of thing takes talent. Anyway, went to the bathroom to wash A-Rod off and thought for a millisecond about just rinsing the condom off instead and not putting on a clean one but decided I didn’t want to be an inconsiderate asshole like Carmen and spray shit all over the sink that everyone washed their hands with. I mean, really, what the fuck, what a shitty thing to do to a coworker. Literally shitty. I stepped in the shower and washed her shit off A-Rod, decided to stay in the shower a little longer to get some of the sweat off. For a moment I considered jerking off, finishing there so I didn’t have to go back out but didn’t want to sink to her level. Some people just don’t know how to be a Professional. It all just really made me sad suddenly. Not about Carmen specifically but in general. I mean, when I finally quit and go back to journalism (which, let’s be honest, given the state of journalism, seems unlikely) would anything really be any different? There’d still be inconsiderate assholes there, there’d be inconsiderate asshole no matter where I went or what I did, so what’s the fucking point? So I just stayed in the shower for a while, letting the hot water turn my side red until the PA and said they wanted to get back at it. The PA, Pam, who couldn’t be much more than 20, was one of those chicks who always seems to have a twisted little grin whenever she’s around “naughty” stuff, one of those women you just know when she’s 40 is going to go to a men’s strip club with a bunch of friends on a supposed lark and spend the whole night hooting and hollering and catcalling like she was born to do it.

An aside: what are the long-term effect of using Viagra on a near-daily basis—A-Rod never went to mush the entire time from the moment the shit hit the cock until he started plugging away again. One of the Special Gifts of Viagra is that you almost can’t lose a hard-on no matter how hard you try, even when your prick’s covered in asshole shit—or an asshole’s shit, in this case. But what pissed me off the most was that Carmen didn’t just act like nothing had happened but that she had the nerve to ask me something I knew she’d been wanting to ask for a long time. I guess since things couldn’t get any worse she decided that was the perfect time the ask me why I named my dick A-Rod. I didn’t tell her. Fuck her. You spread shit on my dick like that, you lose your Friendly Question Card.

But why do I call him A-Rod? Because he’s one of the biggest pricks in the Show, that’s why.

If there’s anyone out there who’s interested in studying the long-term effects of prolonged Viagra usage, we should talk.