OK, ok. I’m out of my semi-retirement as a blogger. At least for the time being. The hiatus was simply because I just didn’t have shit to say. Or, if I had something to say, I didn’t feel like writing. See, that’s what makes me a bad writer — or, not a writer at all.
Wait a sec! Am I a writer? Or a blogger? Is there a difference?
Sure, I can write. At least a little bit. But to write and write and write every day, especially when there’s nothing to say — or when you’re blocked — is the kind of thing that sets The Big Boys apart from The Hacks.
Make no mistake about it, I’m a hack. I’d like to think I’m part of the upper-crust of hacks…but probably not.
I’m thinking of hacks throughout history now, and I’m thinking I’m not even a hack. Take, for example, Ed Wood Junior…a total hack. You mighta caught the Johnny Depp/Sara Jessica Parker bio-pic, so you know who I’m talking about. You might know about Plan 9 From Outer Space. I bet you don’t know about his writing; I do, cause I’m a book geek, and, in fact, last week when I was in Denton, TX, catching Wilco play at UNT (I’m still totally gay for Wilco), I hit a used book store and found a copy of Death of a Transvestite. I would’ve bought it, but the store wanted $70, and it’s a pulp, and I’m not spending that kinda dough on a paperback book…even if it’s collectable. Unless, of course, I scored it at a thrift store or a flea market or something.
If you followed the link I gave you to Ed Wood’s Wiki, you’d know “Wood’s novels frequently include transvestite or drag queen characters, or entire plots centering around transvestism (including his angora fetish), and tap into his love of crime fiction and the occult. Wood would often recycle plots of his films for novels, write novelizations of his own screenplays, or reuse elements from his novels in scripts. His first novel, Black Lace Drag was published in 1963 and reissued in 1965 as Killer in Drag. Among his other books are Orgy of The Dead (1965), Devil Girls (1967), Death of a Transvestite (1967), The Sexecutives (1968) and A Study of Fetishes and Fantasies (1973).”
Talk about a hack. But a loveable hack. A respectable hack. One who had a vision and actually followed through. And his movies? They mighta sucked, but he got them made. I’m fuckin’ all about Ed Wood, and I’m such a geek boy fan the only reason I love catching a film at The Vista near my sleazy porno studio is that’s where Ed Wood used to have an office — right above the theater. You can see the office windows, cause they’re still there, and every time I drive by The Vista, or catch a movie, I look at those windows and think that’s where The Man went to work.
After all this Ed Wood talk, I’m kinda amped to hack my way through a blog entry, just as Wood mighta hacked his way through something like Orgy of The Dead. Remember, all the stories I tell you are true, and since all the Porno Princess and Stunt Cocks have fake names, I don’t have to change shit in order to protect the innocent.
Besides, no one in Porn Valley is innocent, anyway.
So how about I tell you about the time I was part of a gang rape? And our victim was Ivy Winters.
I just used the oldest trick from The Hack’s Book — grabbing the reader’s attention with a ridiculous statement — in hopes you’ll stick around to the end of today’s blog. Cause it’s a long one.
Is it gonna work? And are you wondering, what the fuck, Billy? You’re kidding me, right? Gang rape!?!
Now, before you get all crazy on me, the “gang rape” was nothing more than a sleazy porno scenario. Ivy was never raped, never forced — nor coerced — into something against her will.
Last summer, when I went over A Few Things I Love, Lately, I mentioned Ivy Winters and her gang bang. I also mentioned Kuma’s Corner, the very best place in Chicago to grub a burger, Reckless Records, the very best place to buy some music after your Kuma’s grub, Ty Segall, American Pickers, and my new, old-man glasses. But out of all those awesome things, Ivy Winters is most awesome.
So here’s the rest of the Ivy Winters “gang bang” story I referred to in that post:
My Porno Pal Nicky Milo rang. He shoots chicks with dicks, mostly…but when he’s not shooting trannies, every now and then he shoots solo girl stuff — and an occasional hard-core sex scene. “Can I borrow your camera for a scene I’m shooting? The Client wants a second angle for the scene he ordered.”
Of course he could borrow my camera, and I asked him what kind of scene he was shooting. “Gang bang. Six man. Hey! You wanna be in it, too? I’m short one guy.”
Of course not. I’m not male talent. I made sure to tell Nicky that — more than once. It didn’t stop me from asking Nicky who the lucky gal was. And when I asked him “who’s the gang bang girl?” we both knew I was considering the gig.
“Who?” I asked, pretending not to hear what he just said.
He repeated her beautiful name.
“I’m not really male talent, Nicky.”
Then I asked, “who are the mopes?” Not that it mattered who they were; I know Nick’s budget, which is about the same as my budget, which means it’s gonna be a Mope Fest. And I knew — right after he told me Ivy Winters was The Gang Bang Girl — I was gonna be the biggest mope there…both literally and figuratively.
Why couldn’t it have been any other porn girl? I wondered…then took the job. “Bring another guy if you can. Just in case, cause if I don’t have six dudes, the scene doesn’t happen,” Nicky said, right before he hung up.
Flash forward to Nicky’s set, and all the mopes, and me and my camera.
And Ivy Winters.
Oh, Ivy Winters!
Here’s a haiku for you, cause
you know I’m in love.
There is a room with a queen-sized bed in the middle. It’s just a box springs and mattress. No frame, no bed spread or pillows, no sheets or comforter. The mattress is illuminated with some sleazy porno lighting…and that’s about it.
There’s six mopes standing around the bed, our director Nicky, a camera man, and The Light of My Life.
Nicky shouted his direction: “OK everybody! Here’s what I need!! All you guys are on the bed! You guys cannot leave the bed. You’re pinning Ivy down, and you’re shit talking her loudly, so her boyfriend who’s in the next room can hear what you’re doing to her!”
One of the mopes asked, “Ivy’s boyfriend is here?”
We all looked at the mope, who, from hereon in, shall be called The Dope Mope.
“No!” Nicky shouted. “It’s the scenario our Producer wants!! Here’s the story: Ivy’s boyfriend is being interrogated by the police, and he’s not cooperating, so the cops call in six thugs who have their way with her so he spills the beans to the cops!” The Nicky shouted, “ANY QUESTIONS?”
I had a question. It was a big one, too, but I didn’t want to fuck up Nicky’s set. So I pulled him aside after he told us we had to be ready to shoot in five minutes.
“Um…bro. I don’t wanna fuck up your gig, but is this a rape scene?”
Nicky looked at me and kinda shrugged. I had no idea what that meant. So I asked, “Um…who’s this for? Who’s paying us today?”
“A private collector who lives in Turkey,” Nicky answered.
That’s that, I thought. I’m not part of a gang bang scene for some legit porn company; I’m about to shoot a simulated rape scene for some sick, perverted, Turkish fuckin’ fuck fuck. And I’m not a happy camper.
Or — more specifically — I’m not a happy mope.
So I walk over to My Love, who’s looking out the window, smoking a cigarette, and looking very beautiful. I gave her a hug, and my heart went pitter-patter.
“Hey Ivy. Um…so you know what this scene’s all about?”
“Uh huh! Of course!” she said, smiling. “You guys are about to rape me! Isn’t that fuckin’ hot!?!”
“Super hot,” I said, and walked away.
OK. Do I back out? Cause if I back out, Nicky’s out one dude, and he told me he needed six men to make this scene go down. If I walk, Nicky’s gonna be pissed, cause he’d have to either scramble to find another mope, or, worse yet, reschedule the whole thing. And possibly have kill fess.
Have I mentioned how hot Ivy is? And how much I wanna bang her?
So…do I call my lawyer and ask him if there’s any possibility I could get in trouble for this? Cause I’m worried my Ivy Winters addiction is gonna get the best of me, and I’m gonna follow through with this shit, which means my face is all over a simulated rape scene, and I’ve already signed the model release.
And what if, years from now, Ivy finds Jesus and, like all the Porno Princesses who find Jesus, Ivy tell all sorts of lies about what she consented to and, more importantly, what she didn’t consent to, and what if she claims all this was real, and we really raped her?
Now I have visions of Billy Watson, sex offender and rapist, sitting in Cell Block Six for 10 years without possibility of parole, and my cellie is a big black dude named Cleofus…and he’s made me his wife.
I walk back over to Ivy. By this time, all the mopes are naked, and they’re playing with their dicks to get them hard, and Ivy’s naked, and she’s smiling at me, and my heart goes back to pitter-pattering, and I felt kinda woosy as I approached her again. Which is when she said, “Oh my god this is a fantasy of mine! I can’t wait!! I’m gonna cum so hard!!!”
So I do the right thing.
I pulled down my pants and started playing with my dick…but it was already hard.
I won’t go into much detail, except to say it’s pretty much what you’d expect a simulated gang-rape scene would be: pure filth, total debauchery; beat-off fodder for the sick and twisted and criminally insane. In other words, it’s something I’m gonna have to answer for as I stand near the Pearly Gates, waiting in line for my turn.
The hardest part of the whole gig was having to stay on the bed with all the other mopes and Ivy. One of us would jump off and Nicky would scream, “BACK ON THE BED! BACK ON THE BED!”
Which is about the time I started to feel the wieners poking me. A poke in the leg. A poke in the back. Another poke to the leg. A side poke. A shoulder poke. Some of us were standing on the bed; others were kneeling. I’d back away and I’d get another dick poke. And the sweat! Cause almost immediately after they started rolling cameras, the room’s temperature jumped about 20 degrees.
“More yelling! MORE YELLING!” Nicky screamed. Cause no one was really yelling. I dunno what everyone else was doing, cause all I was worried about was dodging dick.
Cause No Way Am I Gay.
“CUT!” Nicky yelled. I looked up at him. I looked around the bed. I looked at Ivy’s beautiful vagina.
“NOT BAD GUYS! BUT I NEED MORE YELLING! AND DON’T BE AFRAID TO PULL HER HAIR! MORE SHIT TALKING, TOO!!”
I asked Nicky, “How much more time you need?” — which is about the dumbest thing you can ask a director. What we had so far seemed to me like a half hour of footage…at least.
Nicky glared at me and said, “I need forty-five minutes of tape, and we just shot a little under five. Forty more to go! Take a quick break guys, but don’t wander off too far.”
When we came back, I screamed my ass off. I was determined to finish the madness I had gotten myself into, and when one of the mopes stopped screaming, I cracked him, cause the more we screamed, the more Nicky liked it, and the more he liked it, the less he yelled “CUT”. I think I smacked The Dope Mope the most.
The sooner we ended it, the happier I was gonna be…so I yelled my fucking ass off. The mopes screamed, too. Ivy screamed in delight. And when Nicky screamed “THAT’S A WRAP!” I sighed in relief.
Ivy loved her gang rape scene. We’ve talked about it more than once since it went down, and each time we talk about it, she uses more superlatives.
The mopes loved the day, too. I’ve seen a few since, and that’s the first thing that comes up.
To this day, I’m not sure what to think; except, maybe years from now, I’ll know…when the judge asks for my plea.