Suddenly, I Was A Suitcase Pimp…Kinda.

Jayma Reed

I’ve clocked four years in this business now. Which is a funny thing, cause I’ve had a lot of other jobs in my life – some would even call them careers – but I’ve never really stuck to one for more than three years.

Three’s always been a sticking point for me as far as work goes, and I have no idea why.

In the four years I’ve done this, I’ve never asked a porno girl out on a date – let alone take her to a swanky hotel for a few days or a Hawaiian Island.

There’s reasons for this, too…the one I want to talk about today is what I think I’ll call “The Suitcase Pimp Factor”. Maybe this isn’t the best name for it, but shit…it’s almost 1 in the morning, and it’s a Sunday, and because of those two things alone, I’m going with The Suitcase Pimp Factor.

(I think, even though I’ve defined “suitcase pimp” here before, and even though The Minion blogged about it as well, I’d like to state here and now, very emphatically, I’d never, ever ask a girl for a penny of her money. Never have, never will.)

Anyways, it’s a weird thing to watch a girl you’re dating having sex with different dudes for commercial purposes. (You can always count on an internet blogger to fancy things up a bit, huh?)

It’s a weird thing to know the girl you’re dating fucks for money.

It’s a really weird thing to have a porno star for a girlfriend.

I have to imagine it’s a really weird thing to have a porno director for a boyfriend; in fact, my past two relationships ended for pretty much that very reason.

Here’s where things get really, really weird – imagine dropping your porno gal off for a porno job. If you’re having a hard time picturing it, let me help you out a bit: you pull up to the place where the scene’s gonna get shot, and the dude who doubles as the owner of the site and as male talent comes out to greet you. He’s a nice guy – sure – but soon he’s gonna be pounding the shit out of her, as well as having Jayma swallow his load.

Jayma and I walk into the place together, hand in hand. My stomach is kinda doing that thing that happened to me in grade school…you know, when you had to climb the rope to the roof of the gym in PE class.

I just kept telling myself – over and over – it isn’t real.

Not Really real, I mean.

Did you read my blog yesterday? About “real” and “really real”? If not, you might want to skip to it now, then come back and finish up here.

Anyway, after the intro and all, I asked some techincal questions about the lights he used – not because I gave a shit about his lights – but more out of being a polite person and not just hauling ass after I dropped Jayma off. And, of course, after he talked to me about his lights (and his silly wireless mic) I did haul ass outta there – but not before giving my gal a smooch on the lips.

Easily the weirdest kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life – hands down.

I had an epiphany right there and then, as our lips touched: this is what I’ve gotten myself into, and it’s something I’ve got to accept – for the most part – if I don’t want to be alone. I’m in the sex industry, and pretty much anyone I choose to spend time with outside of my silly business is gonna have to be part of my silly business.

Anyone see the Showtime/Seymour Butts reality thing? I forgot the name of the show, but in episode one the cameras watch as Seymour plays the internet dating game, and, as always, “hey so what do you do for a living?” popped up almost immedaitely after the date started, and Seymour was brutally honest about his job.

And the girls fled. En mass.

At my brother’s bachelor party, we ended up at Sugar Daddy’s for a few rounds. It’s a local bar, and one of the ones we hopped to as the night went on. A girl made extended eye contact with me – more than once – and sure enough, she was interested. I went to talk to her, and she smiled, and we had a nice thing happening, when that same question came up.

“Hey, so what do you do for a living?”

I usually lie, but I was drunk, so I told the truth.

And the girl fled.

I couldn’t even get 1/2 through my response and she hauled fuckin’ ass. Fast. One second I was George Clooney, the next second I turned into The Elephant Man.

So, Jayma honey, gimme a kiss, and go make your money, and I’ll freak out a bit, but I’ll try to keep it to myself, and afterwards we’ll go get some dinner and maybe catch a movie. A scarey one.

Go make your money and I’ll make my money and we won’t give each other any shit whatsoever.

Go make your money and I’ll make mine and we’ll be OK with it cause that’s one of the rules of the Porno Game.

We’ll make our money and understand that none of this is fucking real and keep what is real private.

And she’ll understand why I won’t kiss her when I pick her up from a job…not for a while, anyways.

Jayma Reed

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