Category Archives: drama

My (Brief) Phone Call with a Performer of the Year.

The Award Winner knew me before I knew him. I didn’t know it when we first shoot hands, but Cumbang is a really popular site from his part of the world, which is somewhere far, far east of Porn Valley. It’s east of London and Paris, too…I just don’t recall if it’s the Ukraine or Russia, but it’s over there, somewhere. But hey — give me credit, at least I know the difference between the two.

After we shook hands that first time, and he told me how much he loved my work, he proceeded to just kill it on set with September Reign for We Fuck Black Girls. A superb performance.

Next up, another phenomenal job, this time in an Ashley Pink gang bang.

He’s the best male newcomer I’d ever seen, and he might be the best ever to step foot into Porn Valley. He did have an outstanding coach, though — namely Rocco Siffredi; in fact, he kinda reminded me of a young Rocco when we met.

And word spread fast. I know, because every time I tried booking him from then on, I couldn’t. The date was taken. When he left his agent, I started contacting him directly…which is when his rate changed. It went up. Way up. But that’s cool, cause if anyone deserved a rate increase, he did.

Fast forward to January, and his big day at AVN’s.

Fast forward to today, when I reached out to see how far out he was booked and to congratulate him for all the AVN success…which, I suppose, I should have done sooner.

Which is when things got weird. It got even weirder when he called me…instead of replying to my text. “Hey dude!” I said, answering the phone in my nice-guy voice. “Thanks for calling. I’m not sure why you’d think I’d ever mock your rate. It’s something I wouldn’t do to a performer.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Then, in a sort of sinister, intimidating tone (I know I’m showing my age, but think Boris Badenov from “Rocky & Bullwinkle”): “This is how it’s going to be. When I call you, I do the talking and you do the listening.

Which, of course, isn’t at all how it’s “going to be”.

At all.

After I terminated the call, I thought a little bit about all the different personalties in my industry: the good folks and bad; the narcissists and the meek; the porn stars and the performers; the pervs and truly perverted; the psychopaths and sociopaths.

A long time ago, when I first started driving girls out to the glory hole, one model showed up and asked what we were shooting.

“Didn’t your agent tell you?”

She said, “no…he doesn’t communicate very well.”

After I told her what was expected in the scene, she picked up her bags and left, saying, “I’m at AVN Award Winner. I don’t do blowjobs anymore.”

I’d tell you who, but that wouldn’t make any difference. You wouldn’t remember her anyway. It took me a couple minutes poking around the site to recall her name.

Or, in other words, one minute you’re working on your mainstream TV show and the next you’re worried if you’re going to be back on a porn set..and if you can still get your rate.

As I bang this blog out, there’s AVN Awards winners and Hall-of-Famers living in the back seat of a car and there’s some jumping into their car about to start their Uber shift; there’s some sitting in a single-wide out in the middle of nowhere about to start another cam show and there’s some sitting in their single-wide smoking meth and there’s some who have died, alone, out in the middle of nowhere…in their single-wide.

And there’s some who are doing really, really well.

At any given time, every one of us is replaceable. Whether you’re in management or the work force, teacher or cop, producer or a director, male or female talent, make-up artist or production assistant, it really doesn’t matter. We’re all here, fighting the good fight, and then, one day, it ends — awards and Hall-of-Fame status mean nothing.

And don’t ever forget this: time is never your friend.

POST SCRIPT: I received a phone call — and an apology — from the subject of this blog, and we are working together again. An understanding has been had!

The Porno Princess Who Didn’t Want the Work.

"No wearing sweats on a porn set!"
This is beneath me!
I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: I don’t want this blog to be about gossip. I’ll leave the gossip to the folks who wanna do that sort of thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with gossip…I’m sure if this was a gossip blog, I Shoot Porn would get a lot more traffic.

I will talk about my experiences in this crazy biz, and when something new happens, I’ll share it with you. Maybe that’s why I don’t have a lot to say anymore…up til today, I’ve seen — and blogged — it all. So when things happen over and over, I don’t want to sound like a broken record…so I don’t blog. But today was a first.

In a nutshell, Porno Princess walked off my set.

For the blog, here’s the story: my studio isn’t in Beverly Hills. Shit, this ain’t even Van Nuys…or Chatsworth. It’s East LA, and it’s a rough part of town, and to top it all off, my studio opens up to a very rough alley…an alley you might score some crack, or dump a dead body, or shoot someone…or do all three! In fact, all those things have happened in my alley, but I’ve never seen a dead body. My neighbors have, though.

I like my neighborhood, and I like my neighbors. They all know what I do, and no one has any sort of problem with it. My neighborhood has personality — along with a fairly well-known street gang. Big whoop.

Some of the agents have been to my studio, and all the agents know about my alley. The girls do, too, and no one’s ever said anything more than, “wow! Interesting alley. I bet I could score some crack here if I wanted it. Or dump a dead body in that dumpster. Or shoot someone, and then dump the body.”

No one’s ever not taken a gig cause of it.

Wait a sec. That’s a double-negative. I’m an ex-school teacher. I should know better than that. Let’s revise: No one’s ever refused to work due to the “environment” here. I put quotes around that word, cause Porno Princess today used it. She also didn’t feel comfortable working in a place where people where sweats, either. And finally, either the content I shoot, or this place, or both, were “beneath” her.

And she walked.

Here’s how it goes on my porno set: girl comes in, and if it’s her first time, I comment about the alley, then I show her into the space, and I go over where drinks are (this is when I point to the 5 gallon water cooler and the dorm-room fridge, where all the Arizona Ice Tea products are (I’m not a fan of soda)), and the rules with the bathroom (no flushing tampons or lotsa baby wipes, cause my drain is sensitive); then I introduce Porno Princess to Maggie (the wonder dog who’s seen more live sex acts committed than any other dog on the planet), The Minion (my trusty helper), and my make-up artist, who sits Porno Princess down and asks her girly questions about make-up and shit.

That’s when I usually break and go do my thang, which on this very day included lunch (super good BBQ ribs that were leftovers from my make-up artist’s Cinco de Mayo celebrations) and then I showered and changed out of my sweats to some real clothes (underpants, shorts, and a Licorice Pizza tee I scored at a flea market yesterday). Which is about the time I walked downstairs and didn’t see the girl. My make-up artist said, “she just left to go use the phone.”

I knew this wasn’t a good thing, but I had no idea she was down on me, or my staff, or my place. I walked outside, waved her back in, and then answered my phone, cause it started ringing…and it was her agent. “Billy, she’s really freaking out right now. She doesn’t want to work.”

My jaw dropped.

My jaw dropped the way it usually does when something dumb happens that I’ve never seen before. In a flash, all sorts of things were running through my head as to why: it didn’t even cross my mind that The Minion might have offended her, cause he doesn’t roll that way; nor does my make-up artist upset anyone, so when she walked in, I said to her agent, “I don’t believe in secret conversations. I’m putting you on speaker phone, and please repeat what you just told me.”

“She doesn’t feel comfortable there. She doesn’t like the environment. She also said someone is there in sweats, and she doesn’t think that’s appropriate for a workplace. She just thinks it’s all beneath her.”

All of us stood there, looking at the phone sitting in the palm of my hand: Make-up Artist, The Minion, Maggie the Wonderdog, Porno Princess, and me.

Maggie looked up at me, rolled her eyes, and said, “what a cunt. Of course she waited to bail after her make-up was done!”

I don’t know if I told you this, but only I could hear Maggie when she talks. She’s got a very attractive voice, too…kinda like the lady who talks to you on your GPS. Then Maggie followed up with, “don’t get angry. Don’t yell. Remember your practice. Just be nice to her and move on.”

Which is what I did.

And after everyone was gone, I called The Agent back and asked what the real reason was. “I don’t know. It’s really weird. I mean she likes sex. Shit, she went to a party last weekend and ended up banging like 5 dudes. But she’s been on a lot of drugs, lately. Maybe she got paranoid. Coke will do that to you.”

Yes, it will.

More Fun with Mr. Marcus!

spring thomas and mr marcus

When I started this blog (seven years ago next month!) I made it a point not to turn it into a shit-talkin’ gossip column. Not that there’s anything wrong with that sort of thing, but it’s just not my style. And, like all the stories I tell, this one’s the truth.

The first six or eight months of Spring Thomas were shot far, far away from Porn Valley. Well, not that far, really. But far enough that we didn’t fuck with the male talent. Eventually that would change, though, and when it did, I have to admit I was kinda star struck — to a degree — when The Big Hitters started rolling in: Jack Napier, Mandingo, Shane Diesel — and Mr. Marcus.

Yea, I walked on eggshells when I was on set with all those dudes, cause I really didn’t know them, and don’t forget this: the work in Porn Valley was completely different then. These guys were working. Thirty and forty scenes a month wasn’t unheard of back then, and really the only reason a performer of any sort of caliber didn’t work, it’s because they didn’t want to. So when these dudes started saying “yes” to our offers, my boss and I were excited.

Spring was, too.

And because I was at that point in my career, when I called Mr. Marcus an hour after his call time, and asked him, “Is everything OK?” and he said, “I’m stuck in traffic,” I went with it.

I told Spring, “Traffic must be a bitch.” She just kinda nodded her head and kept texting away. She wasn’t tweeting. She wasn’t Facebooking. She wasn’t even mySpacing. She was texting, cause it was 2004, and that’s what you did then.

When Marcus was two hours past call time — and he didn’t pick up his phone when I called, I asked Spring if we should just pack up our gear and head to the airport.

“But I need to make my money! Change my flight if you have to!”

So I called Marcus again, but not after a bit of hesitation. I didn’t want to piss him off. Telling this story now, I have to laugh at myself. Last week when Rico Strong walked on to set 45 minutes late, I already had him replaced. And when Rico copped an attitude after I told him he’d been replaced, I kicked him out of the studio. But this is 2012. In 2004 I hesitated to call Marcus even after he was 2 hours late, and when he answered this time, I politely asked, “bro, we’re getting a little concerned over here. Call time was two hours ago. She’s gotta catch a flight.”

“My bad! I’m not that far. Really…traffic is murder.”

At 3 hours past call time, he was “right around the corner.”

Four hours past, the bell rang, and I opened the door to Mr. Marcus holding out a styrofoam container of a dozen BBQ wings. Almost all of them were eaten. He asked, “want a wing?”

I looked at him, and then at wings, and back up at him, and let him walk by. I was pissed, and Spring was pissed…but at least she was gonna make her money. It also closed out our 4-shoots-a-month contract with her, which was the other reason I waited four hours for Mr. Marcus. I didn’t want to go into the next month a shoot behind schedule, and I didn’t want to ask our boss to advance Spring a scene due to being impatient with Marcus.

I can’t remember if I told you this, but I like to shoot all my pictures before I roll video. Stills are a perfect time for talent to get acquainted with each other, and while I take them I make sure we go over what’s expected in the scene. We also go over any rules, like, “you can call me a whore or a slut but not a cunt”. Then I’d ask the male talent if it’s ok to drop the N word. If you know about Spring, you’d know why I did that, and if you don’t know about Spring…oh well.

I can’t remember what Marcus said. Mandingo wouldn’t let that fly. Shane Diesel would; in fact, it turned him on when Spring said shit like, “fuck me you nasty nigger!” It turned Charlie Mac on, too. “My grandpa owned your granpa!” she once told Charlie Mac, to which he replied, “I love your white skin!” One performer whose name I can’t recall (really) steadfastly refused (I don’t want my son to grow up and see a scene where some girl calles me a “nigger”) but then suddenly had a change of heart when we went to video. “Look Billy, if it makes the scene better, she can call me a nigger.”

Oh yea, Bishop said that. You probably don’t remember him.

Anyways, I never directed Spring’s dialogue. Ever. I never once told her what to say. What came out of her mouth was pure Spring. Just like Katie was Katie, and Ruth was Ruth, and Candy was Candy…and Barbie was Barbie. Looking back at it now, I think dropping the N word was Spring’s way of coping with what she did for a living; at the time, though, I thought she was just putting on a show.

Where was I? Oh yea — I’m taking pictures of Marcus and Spring, and we’re almost done when I notice Spring’s vag is looking a bit creamy. Not creamy as in yeast infection, and not creamy as in she’s turned on and just super wet.

Creamy as in Cream Pie Creamy. Which it was. That’s cause Marcus shot his fucking load in her at the end of stills. I wasn’t sure until I walked into the bathroom to ask Spring what’s up. She was standing over the toilet with her fingers jammed up her snatch. “What’s up? What’s up?! I tell you what’s up. That nigger just came in me. Don’t ever book him with me again.”

“You didn’t even have to tell me that. Let’s just get this shit over with so you can catch the late flight home and relax.”

Marcus’s performance was sub-par at best, and when it came time to pop, well…he squeezed hard to push out the few drops that remained in his sac.

I didn’t hear from Marcus again til I bumped into him a few months later at AVN’s. He apologized and said something like, “that wasn’t a typical Mr. Marcus performance.” I remember him specifically saying that, cause it was the first time (but not the last) I’ve heard performers refer to themselves in the third person.

But it turns out it was typical. Pure Mr. Marcus. Consistently. Through and through. Cause whenever I’d tell this story to other producers and directors, they had a similar tale of Mr. Marcus woe.

So when my lawyer called me a few days ago to tell me what was going down — and that Marcus was suspect — it didn’t surprise me. Then, I thought about it a little bit…and it did. I was surprised. Marcus may be chronically late to set. Marcus might cream pie a girl whether or not the scene calls for it. Marcus might walk on to set, check out his female talent, then tell the director he forgot something in his car…so he can haul ass to get out of fucking a girl he didn’t wanna fuck.

Marcus might be a lot of things, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy to fudge a test.

Not unless he’s got some sort of golden parachute out of this mess, which is kinda what I’m thinking right about now.

I wonder who packed it for him.

spring thomas and mr marcus


The phone call came Thursday night, as I was sitting at the arty-farty part of my studio, doing arty-farty things.

“Male talent’s tested positive for spyhilis,” my lawyer said, “and apparently he knew about it…and he shot for a month or so before he was caught. You should probably think about taking a break until the dust settles.”

He pretty much said it like that, but I wish he woulda said it like Hunter S. Thompson’s lawyer woulda said it in Fear and Loathing: “As your attorney, I must advise you to quit banging any and all whores; in addition, I advise you to immediately halt any and all production of smut until the filthy bastard can be identified, tried without the benefit of a jury of his peers, and then tortured to the death in a public arena — located perhaps on the corner of Ventura and Sepulveda!”

Imagine what a terrific spectacle that would be: perform it on a Saturday in late-morning, like they did in, say, 14th Century England. Charge an entry fee of a sawski (maybe even ten bucks) to help reimburse all the Porno Princesses and Stunt Cocks who had to cough up the dough for their injection of Benzylpenicillin. And maybe even allow him to draw a piece of paper from a large bowl, in which his fate would be written, in pencil, by the aforementioned Porno Princesses and Stunt Cocks: “The Catherine Wheel”, the “Gibbet”, being “Pressed” or boiled to death, decapitation by either sword or axe (make the guilty choose), or drawn and quartered.

I think that’s fair punishment for knowingly giving someone an STD.

So, from what I’m hearing, here’s how it went down: a month (or so) ago, Stunt Cock wasn’t feeling well, so he went to his personal physician for an exam, and the positive spyhilis test came back. He medicated, and then proceeded to Talent Testing Services, where he tested positive again with the nasty critter.

Check that critter out, too…lookin’ all corkscrew n’ shit. I was gonna post a pic of one of those fucked up dudes with a late case, but it’s gross, and if you really wanna see it, you can Google that shit yourself.

Anyways, Stunt Cock then proceeds to alter his test and to booking himself work.

I didn’t mention Stunt Cock is a pretty big name — one of the biggest working the game right now. And no, I’m not gonna tell you who it is, so don’t even ask. Besides, if you really wanna know, you can Google that shit yourself.

I dunno how he was caught, or who caught him.

I dunno who he fucked, or who the people he fucked fucked.

All I know is I’m shutting down production like any responsible production company would.

So I was just gonna end here, cause I want to go do more arty-farty things with my time, but since it’s been forever since I gave the few remaining readers I have something to actually read, I’ll go into the Politics of Pornography here a little bit…cause, honestly, I think this shit is goes wayyyy deeper than a desperate, piece-of-shit Stunt Cock walking around with little critters hooking themselves into his nut sac while he’s fucking for money — only cause he’s so desperate for it.

The money, that is.

Once upon a time there was a place called AIM, and it was where all the inhabitants of Porn Valley went to get their monthly check-up. And if they tested negative for gonorrhea, chlaymidia, and HIV, they were given a piece of paper that allowed them to suck and fuck and jerk and swallow and cream pie and squirt for 30 more days.

Then, the beginning of The End: AIM’s database was compromised, and another piece of shit ex-Stunt Cock (with a few more piece-of-shit helpers) decided to start a site and list all your favorite porn stars by name…both their stage name and real name.

Soon, AIM was shut down.

There’s more to the story than that, but I don’t have the time — nor the energy — to go over everything I know…except to tell you since it closed, two more clinics have sprung up to replace AIM: Talent Testing Services (henceforth referred to as TTS) and Cutting Edge Testing (henceforth referred to as CET).

Again, due to a lack of energy, I’ll cut to the chase: some folks wanna see TTS survive (and CET fail) and some folks wanna see CET survive (and TTS fail), and some folks wanna see them both work.

So, let’s go back to the Stunt Cock that got his positive test from his personal physician. He knew, once he took his meds, that he might still have the corkscrew critters clinging on to his nut sac. What he also knew — and you guys don’t know — is that TTS tests for spyhilis.

CET does not.

So, here’s what’s confusing me: if piece of shit Stunt Cock knows he might still have syphilis, but he needs money so bad he’s willing to do The Unthinkable in our business, does he go to the place that tests for his critter…or the one that doesn’t?

Does he walk around with an altered test — and the risk of being caught and subjected to The Catherine Wheel in the public square on Ventura and Sepulveda?

Or does he walk around with a clean test — and without worrying about anything more than testing at a place that doesn’t test for his disease?

Oh! Wait. I almost forgot to tell you: Manwin, AKA Brazzers, just invested a whole bunch o’ money over at CET. And from what I hear, CET just got a piece of fancy testing equipment courtesy of Manwin, and, Manwin also gave them a cash infusion when they were starting out.

I can’t confirm any of this, but still it’s interesting. I also find it kinda interesting that it’s now being reported that Stunt Cock didn’t actually alter his test…but TTS did.

What the most interesting of all? Infected Stunt Cock tweeted, on August 16 — the day the shit hit the fan: “Is there anything in this world that is not negotiable?”

And I won’t even talk about FSC, or APHSS, or the supposed role Manwin is playing there…cause that’ll just make you wanna stop reading this and head over to one of Manwin’s many tube sites. You know the ones…where “user uploaded” scenes rule, but the users never, ever upload a Brazzer scene. There’s 9 or 10 of them now, and they’re hugely popular, and they’ve put a lot of my producer pals out of business.

Control the traffic.

Control the content.

Control the information.

Rule the multi-billion dollar smut industry!

But what do I know?

Hey…wanna talk about Lee Harvey, and the layout of Dealy Plaza, and Babushka Lady, and the bolt-action rifle that could never possibly hit a moving target three times in seven seconds from a distance of 88 yards?

Cause I sure do.

My Lunch With Makenzie Wilson (A Play in 3 Acts) by Billy Watson


(A driveway in an average neighborhood. We see two people walking to a car. BILLY is a tall, husky middle-aged male. MAKENZIE is a younger woman, petite, in her early 20’s. Billy stops in front of the car – a brand new car – and holds his hands out as if to show it off to Makenzie)


Well, what do you think?


I fuckin’ hate it. It’s obvious you don’t care about the Earth.


So let me see if I have this straight – I don’t care about the Earth based solely on the car I drive.


Fuckin’ A right buddy!

(They get into the car and drive away.)


(We’re in a crowded Middle Eastern restaurant. Billy and Makenzie are finishing up their lunch. Actually, Billy is finishing his lunch, as Makenzie didn’t order anything to eat. It’s a small place, and loud, and the service has been terrible. There is no waiter in sight. In fact, other than the customers, there’s no one in sight)


I think I like a boy.

(not paying attention as he eats)



How come you never pay any attention to whatever it is I’m saying!


I always pay attention to what you’re saying. You said you like a boy. But I have something better to tell you.


Oh really? And it is…


I went to a whore party last night. I know this guy who runs an escort agency. He throws these parties. All the whores who work for him come and mingle with The Lonely Hearts Club they refer to as “clients”. Or, better yet, “hobbyists”.


The whore mongers call themselves hobbyists?


That rules, huh?


That totally rules! What in the world were you doing there?


My friend who owns the agency is trying to hook me up with escorts that might want to do porn. I tried to tell him that most whores will never be porn stars, although most porn stars are whores…or, most porn stars will eventually become whores.


That makes total sense. Anyways, I like a boy. But he doesn’t know I’ve done pornos. I don’t think I should tell him. I mean I hate to lie, but if he doesn’t ever ask me, I don’t think I should just offer up that sort of information to him. I know if I tell him, he’ll break up with me right away. But if I don’t tell him, well…that makes me a liar, and he’ll break up with me right away if he ever finds out. What do you think I should do?


Tell him, of course.


No fuckin’ way!


OK, then don’t tell him. And better hope he never finds out.


He won’t find out. And if he does I’ll just deny it.

(finshing his meal)

Then that makes you a liar.

(exhales deeply)

Oh, I know! Shit. Sometimes I think I’m a bad person and I’m just gonna end up alone for the rest of my life.

(getting up to leave)

I’m in the same Catch-22. Normal girls won’t have a thing to do with me once they find out I direct dirty movies for a living. And who in the fuck wants to date a crazy porno chick? I’m flying solo for the rest of this adventure…that’s for sure…hey, where the fuck is our waiter?


Who fuckin’ knows. This place has got to have the worst wait staff I’ve ever seen. Let’s get out of here before I go crazy.

(They both leave, but Billy can’t pay the bill, because there no one is around to take any money. So he tosses a 20 dollar bill on the table as he pushes in his chair).


(Billy is driving, Makenzie’s in the passenger’s seat)

(turning down the air conditioner)

So what the fuck do you call this?


An FJ.


And who makes it?




Well, you’re destroying the Earth driving this around. I think it’s totally irresponsible of you to buy this big hunk of shit, and if I were you I’d take it back and get something more friendly to our environment. Like a hybrid or something.


But I don’t drive more than 10 miles a day. My office is right around the corner from my house. And Toyota is the leader in hybrid technology, and they’re making a committment to developing hybrids throughout the 21st century. They’re the leaders in hybrid cars, and by buying this I’m supporting a company that cares about our environment; hence, color me green!

(silent for a minute as she thinks)

Well I still hate it.


Hey, I have a blow job scene for my new clip store. It’s a totally quickie BJ thing, no stills, and I promise it won’t take more than 10 minutes.


Who do I get to blow?


How about me? I’ll POV it. And I get to nut in your face. The BJ guys love that shit…when you’ve got nut all in your face.


RIGHT ON! I’m all over that! When can we do it?