Jordan O’Neal and Her Interracial Meltdown.

Jordan O'Neal

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: October 16, 2005.

Jordan O’Neal and I had made the trip the the Gloryhole, and then for Spunkmouth. Both scenes turned out great. So when I booked her for a b/g/g with Spring Thomas, I thought all would go well.


It had been about 3 or 4 months since I shot her last. I had found this shitty gloryhole near the airport, and she had no problem sucking a stranger’s dick. Home Slice had a jumbo-sized weiner, too…and it didn’t daunt her at all.

In other words, Jordan’s trip to the gloryhole was off the hook.

Since the gloryhole went so well, booking her for a Spunkmouth scene was a no-brainer. And it was a scene went down when the HIV scare was sweeping porn valley, so it was a condom scene – even though they both had clean tests. Better safe than sorry.

And again, another great scene for Jordan.

Jordan showed up for her Spring Thomas scene in a decent enough mood. I mean there was nothing to tip me off as to what was about to go down. She laid out an outfit or two; I chose the bra and panty set. While she got ready, I went over the scene: she’s going to be converted to a black cock slut by the infamous Spring Thomas. I spelled it out for her very clearly. “Be reluctant at first, and then gradually start to like it.”

Her agent, who’s there with us, had no problem with the scenario.

Jordan had no problem with the scenario.

Agent left and Jordan got ready for work. Something was definitely up as I watched her get naked. She had dropped a bunch of weight since the last time we worked. I noticed it a bit in her street clothes; naked, she was really skinny.

We all know what rapid weight loss usually means in this biz. I don’t know if this was the case with Jordan, but damn…she was so skinny if I would have seen a recent pic of her, I wouldn’t have booked her.

But here she was, and we had a scene to shoot.

5 minutes into work time, male talent is getting his dick sucked, and it’s still soft. Surprised? I wasn’t. I had worked with the guy multiple times, and I knew it was his warm-up time. 2 or 3 more minutes, and he’d be rock solid. Apparently, Jordan didn’t think so. She walked off set, upset.

I followed her a couple seconds later. “What’s wrong?”

“He doesn’t like me,” she said.

I laughed. A nice laugh. Not a you gotta be kidding me this is a porn set and it really doesn’t matter if he likes you or not we’re here to work laugh. “Come on Jordan. He likes you just fine. I’ve worked with this guy a million times. It just takes him a few to warm up. Besides, he’s worked with Spring before, so it’s not like new pussy. Once he gets to you, he’ll be rock solid.”

We walk back in. And male talent knows Jordan’s a bit uptight, but he’s cool. Spring works his dick some more, and Jordan sits down. Jordan watches Spring work male talent up; I fidgit with my camera. About a minute later, Jordan gets back up and walks out. Male talent looks at me. Spring looks at me. I wait a few, then go out to get Jordan.

“Listen. I get paid to fuck. Not fluff.”

“Um, I’m confused Jordan. Who’s asking you to fluff?”

No answer. Because no one was asking her to fluff. And now that she’s talked loud enough for male talent to hear her, I have a potential problem. Male talent has performed for me over and over, so I’m really not that worried.

“Jordan. I need you on set so when he does get hard, we can jump right into the work.”

She follows me back into set. She sees Spring still working him up. And then she turns around and walks out.

I look at Spring, who shrugs at me with a dick in her mouth. Male talent is focusing on Spring. I sigh. I walk back out.

“Jordan, is there a problem here?”

I am polite. I am calm. But I know something’s about to go down.

“I told you. I get paid to fuck. Not fluff.”

“Jordan. I’m not asking you to fluff. Have I asked you to fluff? Have you once sucked his dick yet?”

She looks at me. She looks away. She picks up her soda and takes a sip. And then she says, “You’re making me feel uncomfortable now.”

That’s all I needed to hear. In a biz where people think all we ever do is trick these girls into doing what they do…or force them into doing what they do…even mentioning the word “uncomfortable” means I’m not shooting them.

I pull the plug. Immediately. I walk over to my desk, dial Agent’s number, and tell him to come get his talent. Less than 7 minutes from when we started rolling, the scene is dead. Killed. Which kinda pissed me off, cause it was the first time I’ve ever had to kill a scene.

And when I declare it’s dead, I glance at Jordan. I watch her brain start to work, and she knows I’m serious. I don’t know if it’s because she just lost $900, or it’s the last day of the month and maybe she can’t pay her rent…I mean I don’t know what set her off, but Jordan started to scream.

She yelled and screamed about what an asshole I was. About how the male talent couldn’t get wood. How none of this was her fault. Then she started to yell about how cool Spring is. How cool the male talent is. About how cool she thought I used to be.

I tell her — calmly — she’s not making sense.

She throws her clothes around as she’s dressing, and she’s yelling more psychobabble.

(Psychobabble: is that a word? (After consulting, yes, it is…but I didn’t use it correctly here. Well, not really)).

I call her agent again so he can hear what’s going down, which upset her even more. As she’s making a mad scramble to scoop up all her stuff, she’s either yell — or say anything at all.

Her agent heard every word over the phone as he was en route to my studio.

And by this time all of us just stood there, looking at her. No one said anything…except Jordan.


By the time Agent arrived, Jordan’s in her car, driving down the street. Her head is hanging out her window, yelling obscenities — both at me and her agent — and flipping us off. “You stupid motherfuckerrrrrssssssssss!”

And that’s the last time I ever saw her.

I walked in. Male talent looked at me. He shook his head. Spring looked at me. She shook her head. I look at both of them and said, “well, that was certainly interesting.”

What else is there to do but turn a b/g/g into a b/g?

And in no time at all they’re fucking the shit out of each other while I held a camera.

The story of my life…

One thought on “Jordan O’Neal and Her Interracial Meltdown.”

  1. As Anthony Michael Hall so wisely put it, “Chix. Dey cannot hold de smoke. DAT’S…what it is.”

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