I Shoot Porn

Whenever I’m having One Of Those Days, it usually means things have gone awry on set, which I sometimes refer to as a clusterfuck.

When I was a school teacher and had a clusterfuck, it usually meant discipline problems. When things went awry as a stockbroker, it meant I had a “sell-out”. (A sell-out (AKA “DK”) is when the client confirms a trade, and then gets cold feet and backs out — and doesn’t pay for the stock they bought). Same when I sold cars; when the deal fell through my day was totally fucked.

Like I need to actually explain this to you? You deal with clusterfucks all the time — it’s part of life.

But in Porno Land, when things have “gone awry”, you know it makes for a good story.

For example, I once decided to give a new dude a shot at being a Stunt Cock, which I seldom do. He showed up 3 hours late; at that point, his tardiness didn’t concern me at all, because he had already been replaced and his number deleted from my phone. Too bad the dope found his way into my studio, cause the next thing you know I’m calling 911 to have The Angry Black Man forcibly removed from my set by the Po-Po…which was fun in of itself: “911 Operator? Yes mam, I have an angry Negro who won’t leave my porno studio. He snuck in and he’s been here almost an hour now and he’s totally holding up production cause he wants to bang so bad he’d rather risk getting arrested for trespassing than simply leaving….could you please send an officer over here ASAP?”

For example, once my pal Nicky Milo had a girl orgasm really really hard on set, causing a turd to fly out of her butt. We lovingly refer to this as his “Almond Roca Story”; and, I might add, not really a clusterfuck for anyone else except The Girl Who Orgasmed So Hard Poo Flew Out of Her Butt.

For example, this happened just two days ago: a Stunt Cock was banging a girl super hard (this wasn’t on my set), and his cock slipped out, which he didn’t realize, and instead of slamming it back into her vagina, his wiener slammed into her butt — and with such force his penis exploded. Screaming in pain, he was taken off set in a stretcher by EMT’s. I shit you not, and I’m guessing he was using CAVERJECT®, boner medicine that’s super strong…CAVERJECT® is kinda like Viagra on steroids. And did the dick literally explode? Probably not…but I’m sooo fucking glad I wasn’t there to witness the mess.

Talk about clusterfucks.

Today Porno Princess shows up, looking mighty might cute. But she “doesn’t feel well”. Now, I shot Porno Princess on Monday for Cuckols Sessions, and she did great. I took her out to the glory hole on Wednesday. She kicked ass. But on both days she was “nervous” about today’s scene, cause for the very first time she was going to entertain three gentlemen.

Three African-American gentlemen.

Three very well-hung African Americans.

Ever observe human behavior? Of course you have, but I mean kinda like all scientific-like. If I had to do school all over again, I’d do the Psychology thing now, especially after spending 8 years in this whacky biz. I like to watch people deal with something they don’t wanna deal with. Like today’s Porno Princess. She didn’t want to fuck 3 dudes. Not really. Which, of course, doesn’t mean she was being forced to do anything. In her perfect world (and most Porno Princesses’), someone would just hand her a check for $1500…just cause.

Today my Porno Princess shows up on set with none of the wardrobe she was asked to bring. (To which I had her agent drive her to the Whore Stores on Hollywood BLVD so she could buy the correct wardrobe). But she can’t find any Whore Stores on Hollywood BLVD. Then, when she got back from the store she couldn’t find, she’s “cold”.

Then, she wants to sleep.

Then, she’s hungry.

Then, she’s tired.

Then, she doesn’t like her make-up.

Then, she’s sick.

Then, she’s more sick. And crabby. And really cold. (My studio has no AC…temperature as she’s complaining about the cold — a very chilly 86F).

Suddenly, we find out one of my Stunt Cocks won’t make today’s scene. He was an hour late, and he called to tell me he was gonna be another hour late, which is just another dumb way to get out of a job you really don’t want…so I told him not to bother.

So now I’ve got a B/B/G when suddenly my Porno Princess starts feeling better. And not so cold anymore!

We go to set, where there’s more fun awaiting: one of the Stunt Cocks can’t get his cock hard. He beats and beats and beats, but I think there’s too much blood in his eyes from the blunt he smoked…which is to say there’s none left for anyplace else.

Oh! Where’s the CAVERJECT® when you need it?? And did you guys actually read the CAVERJECT® info from the link? You inject that shit. It makes me think even though I love pussy more than almost anything — including my birthday, Christmas Morning, Wilco, and breakfast-for-dinner — I don’t think I like pussy enough to have to stick a needle in my wee wee in order to fuck it.

My day ended with a reschedule; I’ll shoot the scene tomorrow — hopefully. In the mean time, I think I’m gonna go jog around the reservoir a few more times…cause don’t you know my OK Cupid profile is only 30% complete.

Posted in: stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
9 Comments

I want a girlfriend that isn’t a whore. Is that really so much to ask?

Not that being a whore is a bad thing; in fact, I’ve said it more than once: if I had a pussy, it would be for sale. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a whore — I just don’t want one for a girlfriend.

Let’s face it, too: most girls in today’s society are whores, trained by their parents to be whores…only they don’t realize it. Neither do their parents.

“Marry a doctor. Marry a lawyer. Make sure your husband has a good job!”

Whore Training 101.

Do I sound angry? Cause I’m not. Really. I am not angry. I just want a girlfriend whose pussy doesn’t have a meter on it. Is that so much to ask?

Well sure it is. Cause I make dirty movies for a living. And starting out any sort of relationship based on a lie ain’t a good thing. It certainly isn’t my style, either.

When we meet people, invariably one of the very first things that comes up is, “what do you do for a living?” It usually pops up right after “what’s your name?” It’s human nature, right?

So, a few days ago, on my return trip from vacation, my seat wasn’t anywhere near my Porno Princess pal’s seat (for the simple reason that when we booked the tickets, the plane was already full). No big deal, but it became a huge deal when two super hot nurses from Santa Barbara sat down next to me. Not one, but two!! They initiate conversation! Woot woot!! And sure enough, not two minutes into the deal, one Hot Blonde Nurse says, “So what do you do for a living, Billy?”

Of course this isn’t the first time someone’s asked me what I do for a living, and depending on who you are, and the mood I’m in, here’s my reply from the pool of stock answers I draw from:

1) I design web sites.

2) I write back-end coding for internet commerce.

3) I make dirty movies.

Of course #1 and #2 and outright lies (and generally one of the answers I use when talking to, say, hot blonde nurses from Santa Barbara); I have designed a few things, but for print only, and the last time I coded anything was in my 11th grade computer class — using mostly Basic (and a little PASCAL). President Reagan just entered office, and one of my very favorite records of all-time was brand-new: London Calling. Which means if anyone presses me further on Lie #2, I have to immediately capitulate and offer up a “terrible confession”; in reality, I “manage a team of outsourced labor from the Philippines”. Some people really get pissed at me for this, which, of course, means I probably woulda been better off telling them #3.

We all know #3 is The Truth, and I’ll usually tell The Truth when talking to dudes (who immediately put me on a pedestal of some sort), or anyone I grew up with. Sometimes I’ll use #1 or #2 with an old high school buddy, but lately I don’t give a fuck anymore, so most people who have known my real name before I got into this biz (8 years this month!) get answer #3.

With Super Hot Nurses, I chose #2, cause I knew they’d wouldn’t have follow-ups. And it turns out one of the super hot nurses is from a small town in NorCal, the same small town where a Porno Princess I’m very friendly with lives. I knew they were about the same age, too, so I asked Super Hot Nurse if she knew Porno Princess…but (of course) I used the Porno Princess’s real name.

“Oh my god you know her?!”

“I do. We’re pretty good friends.”

Then Super Hot Nurse looked at me kinda strange and said, “how exactly do you know her?”

“We have mutual friends.” I was getting ready to lie (if needed) but I didn’t have to.

“We used to be best friends. Then, she…um, changed.” And Super Hot Nurse immediately changed the subject. So it’s good I didn’t tell The Truth to the Super Hot Nurses, which, in the end didn’t matter, cause thinking about having to eventually tell either one of them what I do for a living depressed me so much I kinda quit paying attention to them.

Did I tell you I have a buddy going back to 6th grade who refuses to speak to me now? He’s a big wig in Christian Circles, raising all sorts of money for All Things Christian, so it kinda makes sense he keeps his distance. Still, it kinda hurts my feelings. He could at least say “what’s up?” in an e-mail or something.

You should see me at any function in which extended family show up. I lie my ass off. My poor Grandma has some sort of vague notion that I sell something over the internet, but to this day she’s never asked for specifics; instead, she’ll ask me, “Oh Billy! It’s sooo good to see you? How’s things? How’s your business?”

Sometimes I tell her I’m great, and sometimes I’ll tell her things are slow, but I’ll never say, “well Grandma, today was interesting! A porn actress named Tori Luxx had a panic attack when Byron Long tried to stick his 10″ black cock up her shit pipe. It kinda fucked things up, but she got her head together, and she did a great DP.”

“What’s a DP Billy dear?”

“A DP, Grandma, is an acronym for double penetration.”

“Double penetration?” Grandma asked.

“Yes, my dear Granny…it’s when a man sticks his penis in a girl’s vagina while another man is sodomizing her at the very same time; hence, double penetration.”

Uh huh…right. Imagine having that conversation with your Nanna over Thanksgiving turkey.

My folks know what I do for a living. My mom hates it. My dad asks me questions from time to time, and never when my mom is with us. Kinda creepy, huh?

I’m a pretty average lookin’ dude who’s 30 pounds overweight, which means I seldom pull a chicks out of bars for one-night stands. But a few years ago I walked into a bar in Scottsdale, and I made eye contact with a hottie who made — and kept — eye contact with me. Holy shit! It was like Christmas morning! I was a bit buzzed, and feeling kinda good about things, so I marched up to her with the confidence of a small army and struck up conversation. Everything was working well, and we were through a few beers when the inevitable came up: “So Mr. Watson, what do you do to make your money?”

“I make dirty movies for a living.” Like I said, I was buzzed (drunk by now) and I figured fuck it. She’s digging on me. I’ve got this one in the bag.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Her tone of voice completely different.

“I make dirty movies for a living.” (With not so much confidence.)

“Oh Billy! You’re soooo funny! Seriously…what do you do for a living?”

I told her again, with a little bit more explanation. “Ever see Boogie Nights?” (She had). “I’m like the character Burt Reynolds plays in that movie.”

“Um…ok. So what movies do you make?”

“Well, the business is really internet based now.” I wanted to change the subject, but I didn’t know how to segue out of porn and into, say, music.

“Do you like Wilco?” I asked.

She said, “what internet sites do you work for.”

I knew where this was going, so fuck it — “I shoot for a site called Blacks on Blondes. I also shoot something crazy where we take girls out to a public bathroom to perform anonymous sex acts with whatever stranger shows up…it’s called Glory….”

I didn’t even get “hole” out of my mouth before she turned and walked away. I mean she fucking hauled ass. She even left her beer. I kinda felt like the Elephant Man, just after pulling the hood of his head. It was great.

So now what do I do?

I kinda want a girlfriend who isn’t a whore.

I love whores.

I just don’t wanna date one.

Match.com?

Plenty of Fish?

Drop 30 and start writing the ad?

That would make for some interesting blog fodder, which, at this point in time, wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Blog my dates with girls who aren’t in the sex biz.

But do I include what I do for a living in the ad…or wait for the first date — and the fallout?

Posted in: stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
17 Comments

I sharted yesterday — really bad.

It’s not like I haven’t sharted before, and let’s face it — you have, too. There’s been a handful of times over my past, say, 30 years (give or take), I’ve gone to fart, only to discover — to my utter dismay — solid matter flying out of my butthole with the bad air.

I really shouldn’t say the solid matter was “flying” out of my arse, cause every time I’ve sharted in the past, it’s been nothing more than an embarrassing little shit stain in my undies.

Yesterday’s incident was entirely different.

I’m such a creature of habit that if someone wanted me dead, I’d be the easiest target on the planet. I go to the movies at the same place, buy my music at the same place, order the same dishes at the same restaurants, food shop at the same grocery store, jog around the same reservoir, etc etc. So after I had my morning coffee at the same coffee shop I do each and every day, I walked in to jump on my lap top to do the same thing I do every day — Smut Work.

Today’s top priority was to address my members at Manojob. They’ve been super pissed at my lately, and frankly, I don’t blame them. A few months ago, I switched to shooting my content in HD, and I was totally unprepared for the mess that was about to ensue. And instead of just shooting SD and working over to HD, I stopped SD completely, and it caused about a month’s worth of back-ups and problems.

Then, last week, all of a sudden my post-production machine stopped doing what it’s been doing since I got the HD issue fixed. Complicate that with my recent jaunt to Hawaii, and I was fucked for updates.

(So I never told you guys the last time I went to Hawaii with a Porno Princess, and it was, hands down, the worst vacation I’ve endured. My advice to you is when taking a pill-popper on vacation, let them embrace their drug addiction wholly, or else you’ll get to experience the mad-capped hi-jinx that is being stuck on an Island with a pill junkie in the midst of withdrawals.)

Where was I?

Oh — I go to sit in front of my lap top to ask my members to forgive me yet another time when all of a sudden I sharted. And it was a tremendous shart. My brain was still cloudy from The Morning, and my coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. Well, it didn’t kick in and jump start my brain; my bowels were a different story, cause the next thing you know I’ve got poopy-poop running down the inside of my leg.

Just that fast.

I just stood there thinking — what the fuck? Is this something that comes with being in my mid-40’s? Would I have sharted like this 20 years ago?

Obviously not, cause this was — hands down — the worst shart of my life. By a long shot. Second place Shart isn’t anything remotely close…and now that I really think about it, I can’t even recall the last time I sharted…even a little bit.

Maybe 1983?

As I’m walking to the bathroom I realize my make-up artist, my talent, and my PA are 10 minutes out. And I smell like a Third World Country.

No, my entire studio smells like one.

Then I’m thinking maybe I ate one of those salmonella eggs you’ve been reading about, but no — no eggs. My last meal was last night’s dinner, which, of course, is almost always the same — french toast and a side of bacon at Fred 62’s.

I love breakfast for dinner.

I love Fred’s.

I didn’t love my poopy shorts, though, which I had to peel off ever so carefully. That’s when The Second Wave hit, so I squatted over the toilet, cause I didn’t want to have to clean that up, too. But my aim wasn’t so good; I ended up having to clean the entire tank, which was way worse than if I would have just sat my big, white, stinky-dirty butt down on the seat.

Do I really need to tell you there was poo all over the place?

Or that my crew was now due in less than 5 minutes?

Um…yea. I got everything cleaned up, and no one mentioned anything at all about the place smelling like India, and in the end I just sort of chuckled and thought, well, at least I have something new to blog about.

Posted in: stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
9 Comments

When I was in junior high, I had a Social Studies teacher who was a total hippy. He’d play records on one of those small turntables you’d get from the A/V department at the school’s library, while we were working on whatever it was we were working on that day. One of his records was “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane”, and I’d always wonder why anyone would name anything “The Worst” of…until now.

I have no idea what became of Zoie and Tonya and Solé after our day together. Like most of the girls and suitcase pimps in this biz, they disappeared not long after I shot them. If you ever wonder what happens to girls after porn, I’d say most stay in the sex biz, mostly escorting or stripping, but some manage to move on to other things. As a matter of fact, someone claiming to be Zoie left a message here a while back, and I kept it up…just so you could e-mail her and hook up a tryst at her brothel.

Let’s just hope it’s really Zoie.

This blog’s original air date: April 23, 2006.

It’s not everyday that two teen sisters get on their knees, jack my winkie until I make a mess, then nibble it off each others hands like a tasty treat, but such was the case not too long ago.

Who knows, maybe I do have a great job; I should quit complaining so much.

I booked Zoie for a full day: first, we’d get in the white van and head out to Abe’s adult book shop and one of the secret gloryholes I use from time to time, then it was back to the studio to fuck Mandingo and his 15 inch dong for the world’s greatest interracial website, Blacks On Blondes.

Zoie showed up, right on time, with her suitcase pimp Solé (pronounced soul-lay) and her big sister Tonya. I was a bit nervous about Solé, as all suitcase pimps could cause potential problems — but he turned out to be a cool cat.

I had only booked Zoie; I didn’t know Tonya was in the biz, so when I saw her, and discovered they were, in fact, sisters, and Tonya was down to get dirty, my pervy mind began to wander.

Solé and Tonya went with us to Abe’s, which isn’t really called Abe’s, so don’t go running to the yellow pages looking for Abe’s under the adult bookstore section of the yellow pages in a silly attempt to get your ding-dong blown.

The yellow pages. I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Let’s rewrite that, mainly cause I’ll try and sound more like i’m living in 2006 — and not 1976. Solé and Tonya went with us to Abe’s, which isn’t really called Abe’s, so don’t go Googling for Abe’s in a silly attempt to get your ding-dong blown. (In fact, if you’re EVER at a glory hole – ANY glory hole – I’d seriously think twice about sticking your weiner through the hole, unless you’re gay or bi-curious, cause I’m telling you it’s a dude on the other side; in other words, there is no “chick guarantee” that comes with a glory hole.)

Zoie blew a black dude while I shot the scene and Tonya and Solé watched/kept lookout. Zoie likes black guys (duh) and she too was amazed at how seedy and dirty gloryhole dick sucking can be.

Then, it was back to the studio…and Mandingo’s enormous dick. I think, for a paragraph, I’ll tell you about Mandingo. He’s got the biggest dick in porn, hands down, and maybe the biggest, consistently functional dick ever in the history of porn. That’s a big statement – I know – but it’s true. For a while there was a cat named “Mr Biggz” who had a longer dick, but it hardly ever worked, and he was in and out of the biz quick, just as “Dick Rambone”, a one-or-two-timer from the 80’s…and sure, there’s Jack Napier and Shane Diesel and The King John Holmes…but for my money Mandingo wins. Take a look at Spring Thomas and Kelly Wells and Mandingo just to see what I mean.

In porn, dick size is everything, and I’ve seen people say that Mandingo’s dick isn’t real, or it’s been surgically enhanced, or other such bullshit. None of those claims are real; Mandingo’s cock is real, and that’s the only reason I just spent three minutes writing about a dude’s dick…cause No Way Am I Gay.

Anyways, Zoie takes one look at Dingo’s 5XL-sized dong and really doesn’t know what to do. I mean she’s amazed by it; she’s cautious, and at least she didn’t throw up the white flag and walk off set. (I’ve heard of that happening, by the way). She did a great job, too, and the scene turned out great, cause as far as I’m concerned any scene with Mandingo is a great scene, and that’s why he’s the highest paid guy in the game right now.

But here’s where it got fun for me. Mandingo gets paid and hauls ass, and I ask Tonya if she feels like working. She does, of course, cause as long as it’s after 2 in the afternoon almost any porn girl feels like working, so I grab Zoie and Tonya, and I ask them how would both of them like to give me a handie for my new site, ManoJob, and I ask making sure Solé can hear my offer, cause that’s kinda how it works with Suitcase Pimps.

“But I don’t really give good hand jobs,” Tonya stuttered in her broken English, which, of course, almost had me jumping up and down like a game show winner…cause it naturally lead me to my next pervy question: “Um, how about Zoie kinda teaches you how to give a hand job while I roll the camera?”

Then, I look at Solé and say “kinda hot having little sis teach big sis how to jack a dude off.”

Solé loved my idea.

So I jumped up and down like I won the motherfucking double showcase right then, and as I jumped up and down, the Russians laughed, and Solé The Suitcase Pimp thought I was a freak, which is OK…cause I am.

Posted in: Whatever Happened to Her?, stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
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The Producer e-mailed me today: Hey Billy — are you going to be able to shoot some Blacks on Boys stuff soon? We really need content!

I was standing in line for my chicken bowl at Chipotle when the e-mail hit; I read it from the GMail app on my iPhone.

No Way Am I Gay, but the iPhone fucking rocks. I don’t even care what The Haters say, cause, once upon a time, I was one of those haters. I hated Apple, and I hated iPhones, and I hated the Apple sticker people who are into Apples stick all over their shit.

No Way Am I Gay, but I’m watching what I eat — like “bowls” and salads, as opposed to tacos and burritos and anything that’s gonna hinder me from my new goal — to be a 200 pounder.

No Way Am I Gay, but I spend a lot of time in at the App Store, and when I find one I love, I giggle just like a little girl while it downloads onto my iPhone.

My iPhone is black cause No Way Am I Gay.

As I waited in line to order my chicken bowl, and as I read my very favorite new thing — the New York Times app — I pondered my new job offer: Director of Gay Pornography.

Hmmm.

I’ve shot a lot of smut. I’ve seen a lot of filthy, naughty things go down: from gang bangs to gloryholes, I’ve shot it. Licking ass? Done that. Females “squirting” all over male talent? Yep. I’ve shot spunkmouths and Spring Thomas and Mandingo and bro bangs. I’ve shot for all the sites the Dogfart family offers up — except their gay sites.

The closest thing I’ve shot that’s gay?

No Way Am I Gay.

Ever wonder how we end up where we end up? Like, how do I end up in the Chilpotle line with a ton of aggravating Valley Kids screaming at the top of their lungs during lunch rush pondering do I wanna direct gay porn?

Ever wonder how you ended up where you are?

As I pondered big thoughts, I was distracted by the cute Valley Girls, running around in their Ughs and denim cut-offs and halter tops; which one of those little hussies is gonna end up taking a load to her face a few years from now while I roll camera?

Am I even gonna be shooting smut a couple years from now? Or shall I be contributing to society in a positive, uplifting and meaningful way…like being a politician? Or a banker?

I’m pretty sure I can predict — with a success rate of around 50% — which one of the little sluts refilling their Diet Coke at the Chipotle will, indeed, be the next Bree Olson.

Will the leak in the Gulf of Mexico British Petroleum is lying about end up wiping the place out? As in no more Gulf Shrimp? No more deep-fried catfish from the mouth of the Mighty Mississippi?

I’m fairly confident I can predict — with a success rate of around 50% — which one of the little sluts sitting on the Chipotle patio will, indeed, be the next Lexi Belle.

Will Global Warming end up wiping us all out?

No Way Am I Gay, but I’ve spent some time on gay porn sets. Back before I had my own pad to shoot, I rented a studio for 10 days a month, and gay porn was produced there. Watching two dudes do it — to me — is kinda like watching a train run over a stray cat. Or something bigger and better…like a deer…or even a horse.

I think you know what I mean.

I know a few things about booking gay porn, not cause I’m gay (no way!) but simply cause I spent time at that old studio where the gay porn was shot, and just from listening to the director bitch. He’d bitch a lot about waiting around for dicks to get hard. A lot of times that’s cause he’d have a bottom topping, and the top would bottom. Or he’d book two tops for a scene, or two bottoms for a scene, and that sort of thing throws a monkey wrench into your scene.

“Not cause I’m gay (no way!)” is a double negative which should be avoided at all costs. As, probably, directing gay porn. The Producer has offered to up my pay (because “it’s gross” — (his words)) which really doesn’t carry much weight on whether or not I take him up on the offer.

I’m in the sex biz. Gay sex or straight sex, sex is sex, and it shouldn’t really matter who’s doing the fucking and sucking…right? As long as I make my director’s rate, and it’s all consensual, and no one’s breaking the law…what’s the Big Whoop?

I called a director pal to see how I’d go about casting these scenes, if I take the job.

“Do they want bare backing? Cause if they want the talent to bareback, I ain’t even gonna recommend talent to you. That’s a career-ender. No one will hire you to direct anymore!”

“I don’t wanna direct for anyone but Blacks on Blondes.”

“Yea, you say that now!”

“I’ve been saying that for seven years.”

“Look, I can help you, but you can’t book bare back scenes with the talent I refer your way.”

I agreed.

So…I think I can book the talent, and I know I’m physically capable of shooting gay porn.

Am I mentally capable for such debauchery?

Will this fuck me up for good?

That’s the last thing that crossed my mind before I sat down with my chicken bowl.

Right next to the table where The Next Sasha Grey sat — by herself — texting away, a mile a minute.

Posted in: stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
8 Comments

The Producer and I were talking about creating a new site. This was 18 months ago. Maybe more. Maybe less.

He had some ideas. The Producer wanted lotsa of black guys and a white girl. He wanted interracial bukakke. He wanted to create something controversial. Then, he asked me for some input.

I concurred with The Producer — not cause I was kissing ass, but because he’s right: the more dicks, the better it sells; the more controversy, the better it sells.

But first, let’s discuss bukakke. From The Urban Dictionary:

1) Noun: (lang. Japanese) A fetish ritual whereby a large group of men, usually at least 8, ejaculate on a woman’s face. Bukkake is a Japanese word pronounced ‘boo-car-key’. It had its origins in Japan some 500 years ago where it was a traditional punishment administered by male members of a village against unfaithful women. On the island of Honshu, the guilty woman was buried in the sand up to her neck before being ‘Bukkake on’. In most other parts of Japan, the woman was merely made to kneel with her hands tied behind her back before being splattered with multiple loads of man-gravy. The practice lost popularity when it was discovered that most women did not consider Bukkake a punishment. Today, the practice has wide acceptance in Germany, the US and also in Australia where Bukkake Parties are common place. Example: Hi Jill, would you like to be the star attraction at the Bukkake party I have organized this Friday night – with 28 of my buddies?”

2) Bukakke is when several men ejaculate in the face of a woman. The above mentioned description of its origin is false, mainly because since the punishment for adultery in feudal Japan was death. Bukakke is a dish in Japan with fine white noodles with a splash of topping in liquid not at all unlike loads of semen. It comes from the verb bukakkeru which means to splash some liquid (usually water). The Japanese are very good at making poetic or funny descriptions like that. All this mystic bullshit about Japan and Japanese customs must please stop. Example: I will bukakke you until you give up trying to sound schoolary at the expense of Japanese culture you sick pervert.

3) A fetish in pornography, the hallmarks of which is multiple men orgasming onto the face and body of a single girl. The genre was pretty much created by Japanese adult film director Kazuhiko Matsumoto. The word itself is a conjugation of two Japanese words, and roughly means “splash”. Example: bukakke makes me laugh.

4) The act of a group of men (usually more than eight) completely covering a female’s face with their special man syrup. 2. A practical joke played on some naive Asian. Examples: 1. “Hey Jen, Mike’s having a Bukakke party tonight, you in?” 2. “Anh, why don’t you order your food with Bukakke sauce…”

I first caught wind of bukkakes around ‘98 or so. And I always thought “bukkake” was the Japanese word for “sweet cream”, which was something creamy and white and tasty they poured over a dessert — and the only reason I thought that is cause someone told me…and I believed him. Why not? Makes perfect sense…right?

I’m not even sure of the correct spelling: bukkake? bukkakke? bukake??

Porno Bukkakes kinda gross me out. I have no interest in whacking to some porn Japanese tart getting splattered by a bunch of pixilated dicks.

Why pixilated?

The silly Japs censor private parts in their porn.

Like I said — silly Japs.

Anyway, I was familiar with The Producer’s request for an interracial bukkake, and I was very familiar with controversy, especially when it comes to race relations our great country.

I thought.

I thought some more.

Then, the image of Malcolm X holding the rifle came to mind…but that was too severe. By law, we can only shoot porno princesses with jizz — not bullets.

Then, the image of Tommy Smith and Juan Carlos came to mind.

How ’bout blending the two? Malcolm X meets Tommy and Juan Carols?

Oh — wait. Have you been reading some of the comments left on my blog lately? They’re entertainment all by themselves, and I want to thank each and every one of you for leaving them. The reason I bring this up is cause of the dude in Australia who got on me for talking about bands from the 70’s. He thinks I’m dating myself, and those kind of references are almost forgotten simply cause of their age. So when I drop Malcolm X and Tommy Smith and Juan Carols, I’m sure that dope’s gonna blab some more. But that’s OK, cause I love my blog’s comment section!!

Anyway, I gave The Producer my input, and the next thing you know I’m calling the potential “Bro Bangers” and telling them to buy black suits and white button-up shirts and a bow tie and make sure to bring a black leather glove.

“Just one glove Billy? What up with dat, yo? I gotsta buy two gloves and only wear one?!”

Tell the truth — you love my black vernacular.

“Well, how about only some of you buy a set of gloves, and then split the cost of the gloves with someone else? Each guy gets a glove. I don’t care if the glove is on your right hand or your left hand. And Pork Pie hats are optional. Just show up at the Bro Bang in your appropriate work uniform. And act like you’re an angry negro. Sound like a plan?”

No one came with a Pork Pie hat, which disappointed me greatly.

But still, it came to be: The Bro Bang.

Oh — by the way, if anyone’s interested, there’s a bukakke party at my studio tonight.

You in?

Posted in: Shameless Porno Plugs, stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
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When I first met Janie Jones, she wasn’t Janie Jones. She was Jane Doe, and she’s from the mid-west, and she was fresh off the bus and doing go-sees that day.

(A “go-see” is Porno Speak, and it’s all about taking the girls around town and showing them off to producers and directors. It’s really nothing more than a cattle call, something akin to the Howard Stern show — when Howard and his Gang “evaluate” girls for Playboy. It goes something like this: a suitcase pimp (or an agent, if the girl is lucky enough to have an agent) stops by, parades the girls in, has them strip, and then I shoot a pic or two or three and send them to the folks at Blacks on Blondes, and if they’re approved, they get a job. And no, before you ask, I don’t Casting Couch them.)

(Casting Couch is Porno Speak for having a girl suck or fuck you to get the job. Wait a sec — this isn’t really “porno speak” at all, cause it happens every day in Hollywood. You don’t really think your favorite starlet got her first job based on acting ability…do you?)

I booked Janie Jones immediately, and the next day she was in The Manojob make-up chair, ready to do her very first scene. But she still wasn’t Janie Jones.

We usually shoot BTS, and it’s usually shot in the make-up chair. “We” being myself or The Minion, and I usually let The Minion roll on BTS, cause he’s way better at it than I. This time The Minion was off at his girlfriend’s house — which he never wants to admit. He’ll tell me things like “I’ve got a lot to do today and I can’t stop by” or “Hey Billy I gotta go get my brakes looked at so I won’t be in today”.

The Minion’s had his brakes “looked at” about 17 times since Yom Kippur ended.

And I have no idea why he won’t man-up to having a chick. Kinda weird if you ask me.

Anyway, I’m shooting BTS, and the first question I ask is, “tell everyone at home your real name.”

“Jane Doe,” she said.

Any time a porno chick gives up her real name during BTS (or shooting the scene), you know you’ve got a first-timer on your hands.

I stop camera. “Um, Jane, you don’t want to use your real name. I mean there’s nothing wrong with using your real name as your porno name if you want. Dana DeArmond and Julia Bond are perfect examples. Remember, use your stage name. I’ll start over.”

“But I don’t have a stage name.”

I love giving girls stage names. Off the top of my head, I’ve named BJ Swallows, Anna Von Trapp, Kimmy (I know…boring), Keesha Knight — and now I get a shot at Jane Doe.

This is a serious thinking process. One I don’t take lightly. And fuck the Name-Your-First-Pet-and-Street-You-Lived-On-When-You-Were-A-Kid process…although that can work out rather nicely (the process used for Keesha Knight).

My porno name would be Dino Birch. If I could add about 3 more inches to my ween, I’d be Dino Birch, and I’d be painting the town white.

But I’m not.

I looked at Jane Doe and thought hard: “You’re so mid-west…and I hate to say this…so girl-next-door, I’d really, really say you need to have a name that matches your look. For example, when I blog this story, I’m gonna call you “Jane Doe”, cause I won’t use your real name. But that’s your look. Total Jane Doe. Which isn’t a bad thing at all. It’s really good if you ask me. I like to watch girls you’d never think do porn, doing porn. You know? The whole bleach-blonde fake titty tatted up girl that’s gone though lipo and had her teeth veneered and her hair isn’t really her hair but it’s a weave is so dumb…if you ask me, of course.”

“Well, I was thinking of naming myself Zaylen Skye.”

“Ugh. With a name like that, you’d be just another one of about 30 thousand. Besides, it doesn’t fit.”

She frowned.

I thought. I couldn’t shake “Jane”, and there’s no way “Jane Doe” would work — although Jon Doe did pretty well with that name — until he offed himself.

And then there’s John Doe, the bassist for X, a favorite of mine. Well, up til ‘83 I really liked X, then they kinda faltered, and then Billy Zoom quit…and then I quit paying attention.

By the way, this was going through my head. What I just wrote. About Jane Doe and Jon Dough and then John Doe and then punk rock and how much I loved to catch X play back in the day and how much I like punk rock and how much I miss how new and raw punk used to be and how it is no longer…and then…suddenly…it hit.

“Janie Jones!”

Janie Jones looked at me. I looked at her.

Closely. “Yes. That’s a perfect name! Your new name is Janie Jones!”

“Janie Jones?”

“Janie Jones! Do you know about The Clash?”

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Kinda.”

He’s in love with rock ‘n’ roll, woah
He’s in love with getting stoned, woah
He’s in love with Janie Jones, woah
He don’t like his boring job no…

An’ he know what he’d got to do
He know he’s gonna have fun with you
Lucky lady!
But when the evening comes when his job is done
He’ll be over in his car for you

He’s in love with rock ‘n’ roll, woah
He’s in love with getting stoned, woah
He’s in love with Janie Jones, woah
But he don’t like his boring job no…

In the in-tray lots of work
But boss at the firm always thinks he shirks
Be he’s just like everyone he’s got a Ford Cortina
That just won’t run without fuel
Fill her up Jacko!

He’s in love with rock ‘n’ roll, woah
He’s in love with getting stoned, woah
He’s in love with Jaine Jones, woah
But he don’t like his boring job no…

An’ the invoice if don’t quite fit
There’s no payola in his alphabetical file
‘Cept for the government man
This time he’s really gonna show the boss
Gonna really let him let him know exactly how he feels
It’s pretty bad!

He’s in love with rock ‘n’ roll, woah
He’s in love with getting stoned, woah
He’s in love with Janie Jones, woah
But he don’t like his boring job no…
No
No
No
Let them know
Let them know

Janie Jones said, “I like it!”

And so we rolled BTS.

Posted in: Here's the Skinny on Your Favorite Star, stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
30 Comments

Did you catch my Proxy Paige piss story?

Well, here’s a po-po story.

No, I don’t mean poo-poo, but I could blog about Proxy Paige and poo-poo, cause last night we hung out and watched Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom. I bought it when Criterion re-released it recently, but I haven’t found the right time to watch it. What a perfect time to watch a movie like Salò during a Porno Princess Slumber Party!

I kinda knew what was going on in it, but I had no idea of the exact scope of its depravity, perversion, and overall foulness.

Have you seen this flick? You mighta heard about it…but damn. Like I said, I knew about it, and its notoriety, and the fact that it’s one of Sasha Gray’s favorites, but, to be honest…it’s off the chart. And the poo-poo eating was too much for me, and I was super tired when I started it so I kinda fell asleep, which is a dumb thing to do when a movie is sub-titled. You can kinda fake it if you know the language, but since I can’t speak Italian, I was out of luck.

Anyways, this is a Po-Po Story, as in the po-lice; cause, this morning, Proxy was following me to the studio in her car, cause she likes watching porno being filmed, and she had nothing to do today, so I told her to come watch me work. Anyways, on the way to the studio, I rolled a stop sign big time. I knew what I was doing as I did it, and the next thing I know it’s the Po-Po, and they’ve pulled me over.

My lawyer once told me the best way to deal with the cops when you get pulled over is it immediately admit what you did and don’t deny. In a friendly, respectful way. Which is exactly what I did.

“Boy did I fuck that one up or what Officer? I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just rolled through that stop sign.”

The cop looked at me kinda incredulously and said, “Yes you did. I need to see your license.”

I handed it over, and since it’s out of state, before it was even in his hands I said, “I live in Arizona and work here. I have to.”

There’s a reason I told him this, and I’d like to credit Wesley Pipes right now. Wesley Pipes is the most dangerous man in porn. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. He’s a very dangerous man. And he gets pulled over a lot. He’s told me this. I mean about getting pulled over. I know he’s dangerous, too, cause he’s spent some very hard time in the Pen. He told me about that as well.

“What do you do when you get pulled over, Wesley?”

“I tell them I’m porno, man. It’s just that simple, Billy. Shit man, I tell them I’m porno and then I hand them one of my DVDs.”

“You keep DVD’s your the car?”

“Fuck ya, man. I have them right on the passenger side seat. I hand them one of my DVD’s with me on the cover and show ‘em it’s me and they let me go.”

“This works?

“Every motherfuckin’ time my man.”

So…I tell the cop I live in Arizona and I work in Los Angeles cause it’s legal to do what I do here, and it’s not legal in Arizona.

The cop asked, “What exactly do you do? And why did that woman pull over behind you?” He looked back and eyed Proxy and looked back at me.

“I make dirty movies for a living. She’s a porn star and we’re on our way to shoot some smut.”

The cop smiled. He looked back at Proxy.

Proxy waved and smiled at him.

The cop looked at me. “What company do you work for?” he asked.

“Well, you really wouldn’t know the name of my company, cause I made it sound normal. Totally non-porno. But you might know the name of some of the websites.”

The cop looked at me. “Name some of them, please.”

“Well, Blacks on Blondes is about the biggest one out there. I also shoot for The Dick Suckers, Manojob, and Mr. POV.” I added mine just for the shameless plug.

“Where’s your studio?”

This made me kinda nervous, but, using my best poker face, I told him.

Silence.

The cop looked back at Proxy — who smiled and waved once more — and then at my license. He looked back up at me, handed it back, and told me to have a great day. He didn’t want to see my registration — or my insurance. And even though I’ve never been in trouble in my life, I’ve never had a cop tell me have a great day.

Next time I’m going to carry a few of my DVD’s, right on the passenger side seat…just in case.

Posted in: stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
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When I was in junior high, I had a Social Studies teacher who was a total hippy. He’d play records on one of those small turntables you’d get from the A/V department at the school’s library, while we were working on whatever it was we were working on that day. One of his records was “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane”, and I’d always wonder why anyone would name anything “The Worst” of…until now.

I don’t talk to Spring too much these days; in fact, I don’t talk to her at all. Here’s my advice to everyone, even though you already know it: don’t lend your pals money…unless you don’t want them to be pals anymore.

If you’ve ever written anything, you know a lot of times reading old writing is a lot like looking at old pictures of yourself. The difference is, you can’t change the way you look in those pics; however, you can edit your old writing. This time I’m choosing not to.

Which is to say I’ll stand by this.

This blog’s original air date: October 18, 2005

What in the heck is punk princess Avril Lavigne doing with the one and only porn star Spring Thomas? Is Avril going black?

Of course not. Well, come to think of it, I wouldn’t know. How would I? I have no idea, cause like almost everybody else, I know nothing about her. Oh sure, I know she’s a singer, and she’s on MTV a whole lot, but that doesn’t mean I know shit about her.

When we were staying on the Sunset Strip at a pretty average hotel, oh…a while ago…we found out Avril was there, too. Spring got excited. I really didn’t care too much. There were some other celebs there, too, which kinda surprised me…cause like I said, this wasn’t the Taj Mahal – just one of your average corporate inns. And plus, just cause someone famous is staying there doesn’t mean you’re going to run into them.

But let me back track.

I’m in LA with Spring Thomas to make some dirty movies for her website. As I’m checking in to our hotel, I asked the clerk at the desk if there’s anyone famous already checked in. This is the Sunset Strip, after all. The Viper Room, The Whiskey, The Standard…all within walking distance.

“Yes sir,” he said.

I have to admit, like most of us, I’m a sucker when it comes to celebrities. What’s up with that? Cause it’s really not my nature. And I don’t like just ANY celeb. Only the ones I admire, and those probably aren’t your favorites, either. Like Phillip Seymour Hoffman. (I’d go nuts if he was hanging around). Or Scarlett Johansson. (I don’t admire Scarlett, I just wanna bang her). The dude who played “Ajax” in The Warriors and “Gentry” in Drugstore Cowboy. (I bet he’s cool).

But Avril Lavinge? I gotta tell ya, Avril doesn’t do it for me.

Anyway, I kept bugging the clerk at the desk if there were any famous folks at the hotel that weekend. He wouldn’t tell me…he only gave hints. And his hints led me to Avril Lavgine. Why? Like I said, I’m not an Avril fan so I don’t know her songs. I just know what she looks like…and in the middle of my interrogation with Mr. Hotel Clerk, who walks by?

Avril Lavigne. I recognized her almost immediately.

Spring Thomas went nuts. She begged me to grab my camera so I could snap a quick pic.

“She won’t go for that Spring, trust me,” I said.

“PLEASE BILLY!”

So we walked over to the front of the joint. Avril was waiting for her car. And as I’m waiting for Avril to get really pissed about “invading her privacy” or something like that, I become pleasantly surprised. Cause not only was she willing to pose with Spring, she was nice about it. Really nice. Like “Hi-you’re-a-fan? That’s-cool-cause-I-really-appreciate-my-fans” kind of nice.

And isn’t that nice?

Now I wonder if Avril will ever find out exactly who it is she posed in this picture with…

Posted in: Worst of Billy Watson, stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
10 Comments

They pulled into my studio around 9pm, beat and weary. I think one of them said, “L.A.’s our fiftieth stop.”

Fiftieth.

As in fiddy.

Just the thought of spending 50 days in a van with four other dudes for 23 hours a day — just so you can jump out and spend an hour on stage — made me feel gross.

They looked kinda gross, too.

But that’s the price to pay to be in a band.

I asked them, “you guys hate each other yet?” To my surprise, they all said no.

My little bro introduced me to The Lead Singer; he knew The Lead Singer from the indie music scene around my old Arizona neighborhood. We approached him a while back to write a song for No Way Am I Gay. Then he approached me to make their first music video.

“What show was best so far?” I asked The Singer.

“Brooklyn,” he said. “Cause I got drunk and laid.”

I asked, “Did you catch his name?”

We all laughed. And it might have been The Guitarist — or maybe The Drummer — who said, “tell him about The Blumkin.”

Maybe The Bass Player said it. I don’t recall. But The Singer told me he was pooping after a gig and there were people in the bathroom and The Guitarist blew him mid-turd as the crowd watched in disbelief.

I think that’s how the story went.

Of course I screamed, “No way!”

There were laughing hard. I said, “That’s a joke, right?’

I don’t think it was.

They were in LA for three or four days. “I hope you guys don’t mind sleeping on porno furniture. I mean my PA cleans it, and I generally don’t have the guys pop on the furniture. It’s always on the girls, and it’s always when they’re on their knees, over here,” and I pointed to the middle of the floor. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…if I were you, I wouldn’t sleep on the floor. There’s a whole lotta dried-up DNA on that floor.”

One of them said, “We don’t mind.”

For the next few days I went about my business — making smut.

The Band hung out and watched The Smut Show. That’s when I started thinking about how I could hire The Band, cause indie bands making the rounds are always hurting for money. They told me they played one night for $8 — after their bar tab was paid. Since there’s 4 of them and a tour manager, they pocketed a whopping $1.60 for the night.

Plus beer.

I had a way for them to pocket a little cash; they were down.

I booked Jessi Stone for Blacks on Blondes — a two-on-one. You know I’ve professed my love for Jessi Stone more than once.

While she sat in make-up I dreamnt up another cheezy porno scenario…one which would put The Band in a little more than beer money.

That’s when I do it, by the way. Dream up cheezy porno scenarios. How fucking funny is it that people write porno scripts and spend money and time and effort dreaming up shit people are going to ignore? Oh sure, there’s a few twisted fucks who will follow a porno story line…but come on.

Really?

I like to massage the Porno Princess’s shoulders when they’re in the make-up chair. It’s also when I spring my pervy, creepy, wholly inappropriate porno scenarios on them. “So here’s what I’m thinking,” I told Jessi. “You’re at a small party. It’s you and the band. Let’s have The Guitarist be your boyfriend. Act bored the whole time. And you’ve invited 2 of your new friends to join this small party — Hooks and Skeeter. You spring this on them right as the black guys walk in. Oh, and when they walk in, act like it’s Christmas Morning. After you introduce everyone, tell Hooks and Skeeter you’re bored, and this is a boring party, cause you’re with boring guys, and you want to take them a big party. Everyone stands up to go to this big party, but you tell the white boys they’re not invited to a big party…cause they’re small. Then, you go to the next room and fuck so the small party can hear what’s going on in the big party. At the end of your big party, come back to the small party and give your boyfriend a kiss for letting you go to the big party.”

And so it came to be.

Oh…and I’d like to add that the finale of Jessi’s Big Party was as big and messy as any party I’ve ever caught on camera. And while I’m talking about finales, Jessi is no longer in the Porno Game. Dr. Phil rescued her from our Evil World with a 4 year scholarship to college.

I’m fucking serious.

Posted in: stories from porno land (some amusing, some not) by Billy Watson /
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