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.
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?
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.”
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.