PSATSP

Porn Stars Are The Saddest People

By Peter HardwickHardwickface

Tuesday, October 29

Long day at the office, six holes to plug, two threesomes and an old-fashioned gang-bang with Sarah G. Tried not to gush (puh-lease, not that kind of gush) over getting to work with Peter N. for the first time. Fucking legend—legend of fucking, whatever. Dude may be getting on in years but he can still bring it like a champ. My fucking idol, that’s for sure. Best part of the day, though, was when I got to work with Mia S. again. What a firecracker, always brings her best, always on the ball (okay, technically always on the shaft). It impresses me and, frankly, shames me a little, that she puts so much into her work, more than what’s even necessary. Most of the time, I’m too bored to react much; I only bother to do so when prompted by the director or whomever I’m working with. I usually save my reactions for that two or three seconds when they put the camera on me.

But Mia, she gets so into it, makes it seems so real I honestly can’t tell if she’s acting or not. I’ve been doing this six years now and she’s the only performer I’ve worked with who actually stumps me. A part of me doesn’t want to know, I guess, doesn’t want to completely dispel the idea that it could be real, that she may actually be getting some small sliver of joy or satisfaction, if only for a short time, that not everything about this business (or L.A. in general) is a complete fake, a sham, a put-on, a disguise for something else.

Mia is just as much of an enigma off camera as she is on. When we’re not going at it I can’t tell if she’s aloof, shy, insecure or just someone with a distant, chilly disposition. She’s always smoking, before we start, always reaching for a cigarette as soon as we’re done, her right hand aloft, her other hand across her midsection, always looking off in the distance or at whatever corner, wall or hallway happens to be vacant. When the crew is breaking the next scene she seems almost agitated or indignant, her upper lip curling into an Elvis-like snarl, though the second anyone approaches her (“Get you some coffee?” etc.) her face springs to life. I can never tell if it’s all part of the show or she’s relieved someone is talking to her. One time earlier this year I approached her after we’d shot the Set Up scene and before the sex scene and told her I liked working with her. She exhaled a long, twining thread of smoke as she eyed me askance. “Are you hitting on me?”

“No, just wanted to let you know.”

“Cool.” She looked away, her gaze set on a point far out the windows of the Hollywood Hills house we were using. A wall seemed to rise between us suddenly, ending the conversation. I nodded and sidled away.

There are all types in the world of porn, a seemingly never-ending variety of personalities and quirks, from the demon-haunted, troubled, crazy to people that are normal to the point of being boring; Mia is most definitely her own kind, not easily pigeon-holed or understood and it’s people like her that bring some necessary intrigue in an otherwise boring job.

(Reader note: I’m not completely un-self-aware, I realize I overuse words like “fuck” and “suck” and endless variations on drilling/boring, grinding, etc.; the context and usage does not escape me nor does the pun-tastic value of those words given how I earn my bucks (see, even “buck” has its pun worthiness.) Writing (and reading) can be fun, it doesn’t have to be torture or feel like homework, not everything has to be fucking Tolstoy or David Brooks.)

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