Billy’s Wild Days, Part I


When I was in junior high, I had a Social Studies teacher who was a total hippy. He’d play records 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.

This blog’s original air date: September 28, 2005

It seems like yesterday.

I was living in Dogfart’s secret mansion, and we were shooting so much porn my head was starting to spin. “We” as in Dogfart, S.S., myself, and Justin Timberlakefeelsyourpain.

Here’s a typical day:

9 am — wakey wakey eggs & bakey. S.S. would make fun of my microwaved bacon and scrammies, and sometimes I’d whip that up just to hear him shit talk.

11am — Aimee Tyler interracial gangbang in the kitchen.

3 pm — Aurora Snow does two well-endowed black men in the sauna.

5pm — Drive out to the Gloryhole with Spring Thomas and hope someone would come in to take a piss, see what was going down, and then pop it through; if we lucked out we’d shoot it — if not leave and come back another day; either way, we’d then haul ass back to the Secret Mansion for supper and a night shoot.

9pm — Asian slut Sin-Eye entertains twenty inches of black dong in the front room.

11pm catch Curb Your Enthusiasm!

Monday thru Thursday, then break for the weekend.

Byron Long calls this period of time an “era”, and while I won’t go that far, we did make a shit load of smut.

Anyways, I was shooting so much I started to have porno dreams. Not wet dreams. Not sexy dreams. More like work dreams. Dreams where I forgot how to white balance the camera. Dreams where I format a memory stick before I DL’d the pics to the hard drive. Dreams when I’d have the camera on PAUSE during the pop-shot.

Shit like that.

This was also the time I really started to learn the in’s and out’s of this biz. All about agents and suitcase pimps, attitudes and tardiness. I learned that 11am usually meant 1 pm, and that agents are, for the most part, Satan’s Pilgrims. And suitcase pimps were usually named “Bob” or “Tim” and were middle-aged ex-cops with flat-top haircuts that somehow managed to work their way into a porno girl’s life…and her bank account.

But shit we had a lot of fun.

The Producer would scream lines from Natural Born Killers into Justin Timberlakefeelsyourpain’s ear just as Justin was chugging GBH and coca-cola; late nights watching the first year of Curb Your Enthusiasm with Dogfart and smoking way too much weed; driving down the hill with Dogfart to the Ralph’s in Malibu, where awesome celebrity sightings were commonplace (the best being Pamela Anderson bending over right in front of me at the deli counter and showing off her butt crack); and taking fun BTS pics with the girls before and after their shoots.

I had my first (and only) ménage à trois ever in my whole life, and in the most stereotypically, cliched place of all — a hot tub.

And I didn’t even have to pay them after it was all said and done.

Our good times there ended with that lease, but I’ll remember them for a long, long time.

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