A Brian Pumper Slumber Party

Audrey Elson

I called my Ex last night.

It was the first time we’d really spoken since The Break Up, and no, you have no idea who she is, cause I’ve never blogged about her once. She’s a Whore for Porn, though, so you might know who she is; and, in fact, there’s a clue as to her secret identity somewhere cleverly hidden in this blog entry.

I may blog about our relationship in the future, but I’ll never mention her by name….well, maybe I’ll call her Miss Thang from now on.

I will say this: we started dating around the 4th of July, and we were together until the beginning of October. And, for the most part, we had a good time together.

I think it’s smart not hang all your laundry out to dry.

Anyways, last night we had a really nice talk. It started after my work day ended — which is usually 10 pm when I’m in LA shooting — and, by 1 am, we were still on the phone. So we really caught up with each others’ lives. I told her porno stories, cause that’s all that ever happens in my life anymore — and she told me about her new man.

“His name is Savoy. He’s a pick-up artist. He teaches guys how to pick up girls.”

“Guys like that actually exist?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Is he the dude on that TV show?”

“That’s someone else.”

“Guys with names like Savoy who teach dudes how to pick up chicks actually exist?”

She nodded. “And they get laid all the time. Except my man, cause we’re monogamous.”

Then she told me Savoy charges something like 75 bucks for his book, and two grand for his weekend seminars, and people really pay it, and after classroom lectures and lots of intensive note taking, they proceed to the “field” where their practicum goes down.

“They go to bars and pick up chicks?” I asked.

“They do. And it works!”

“Sure does. He got you.”

She laughed, and she admitted that Savoy’s Jedi Mind Tricks worked on her, and then we hung up the phone…and I walked out to let her in my studio.

Cause she lives across the street.

Cause she was coming over to smoke some dope with me and eat cookies and milk and watch late night TV.

Cookies and milk and Bubba OG Kush and Jimmy Kimmel and ex’es coming over at 1am don’t usually mix too well, but in our case, it did.

In addition to cookies and milk — which was mostly all me — she has some spinach lasagne from Trader Joe’s. I whipped it up all special-like, making sure to defrost it in the micro before I set the dial for Full Nuke. It came out quite nicely.

We talked some more and watch TV. She told me all about her boyfriend, who happens to be hung like a donkey and can shoot back-to-back loads, which happen to be as big as his dong.

Suddenly, I found myself getting turned on. She started telling me this story about blowing him in an elevator when I got a boner.

“Can I play with myself while you tell me about blowing you new man?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Will you call me Savoy II while I’m jerking it?”

“Absolutely not.”

How pathetic I am!

How hot it was listening to my most recent ex tell me stories of sucking and swallowing her new dude!

What’s wrong with me?

I asked her to spit on my dick.

“Absolutely not. That’s cheating.”

“How can it be cheating when you’re not touching me?”

“Good point,” she said. “I’m still not doing it.”

I looked up at the clock, and it was almost 2 am, and I had a 9 am call time, and I need my sleep, damnit, so I put my boner back in my pants and walked her home.

At 3 am my phone rang. It was Brian Pumper. Nothing good can come from porno talent calling you at 3 am, so I didn’t answer. Pumper was the male talent for my 9 am scene, in which he was going to be paid to invade Nadia Style’s colon for the World’s Great Interracial Sex Site, Blacks On Blondes, but I just couldn’t deal with whatever it was he needed — or wanted — at three o’clock in the morning.

At 6 am my phone rang. It was Brian Pumper. Nothing good can come from porno talent calling you at 6 am, but with this second call, I knew something was wrong. I answered, mainly cause my eyes couldn’t see my LCD screen on my phone, and my brain was still in its night time fog.

“Dude, I’m outside your studio. I know you wanted me to be on time, so here I am. Plus, I was down town until late, and I didn’t want to go all the way out to the Valley then come back here, plus I don’t have any gas, and it’s cold out here cause I’ve been sleeping in my car since I got here 3 hours ago.”

Uh huh. I’m not making this up.

And I got up, walked to the street, and let him in, where I led him to the guest room, where girls like Katie Thomas and Barbie Cummings and Ruth Blackwell stay when they’re in town.

Back in my warm, cozy bed, I started to worry.

Is this some sort of joke? Does Brian Pumper want to steal all my gear all haul ass? Maybe he wants to kill me! Maybe bludgeon me to death!!

And then I fell back asleep.

Until 9 am, when my phone chirped. It does that when it’s put on vibrate mode, and there’s lots of people trying to get a hold of me. Sure enough, my female talent, my make-up artist, and my PA were waiting on me, cause I overslept…cause sometime either after Pumper’s first or second call I turned my phone to vibrate.

I jumped out of bed, got my day going, and now it’s 6 pm and there’s an ex-Marine at my door who’s about to jerk off and say things like “No Way Am I Gay!”

So I have to go work some more.

At least I’m pals with my Ex again…and yes, all you motherfuckers — including you, Miss Thang — can start calling me Savoy II, as of right fucking now.


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