Category Archives: Jayma Reed

There’s Something About Jayma.

Jayma Reed Ried Reid Kymber Troy interracial sex

I log into the members’ area at Blacks on Blondes, usually on Mondays (cause that’s when it updates). I log in so I can see how the members rate my work.

Their favorite scene features Annette Schwartz, the German Wonder.

Their second-favorite scene features Annette Schwartz, the German Wonder.

The bronze medal winner usually varies, but it’s usually Bree Olson, Sasha Gray, or Dana DeArmond.

There’s probably 300+ scenes at Blacks on Blondes –60 (or so) DVD’s worth — and when we’re talking Annette, or Bree, or Sasha, or Dana, we’re talking the cream of the porno crop.

But I didn’t really have to tell you that.

Maybe that’s why they get paid the big bucks?

Anyway, sometimes when I log in to see what the members are thinking, I poke around the site…sorta like a stroll down memory lane. It’s fun, too, cause there’s some many memories for me packed into that site.

Like Jayma.

Hanging with Jayma at the Chateau Marmont.

Swimming with Jayma in Hawaii.

Watching Chico Wang direct Jayma in a “love making scene” with The Minion.

Jayma getting railed in a museum by a crew of ill-behaved Negros.

Jayma Jayma Jayma!

The next thing I know I’m beating it.

To her scene at Blacks on Blondes, of course…the one I just mentioned. Max Black is a rap star, and he’s with his posse at a museum, and Jayma’s a student, and she’s studying Egyptology, and Max and his crew is clowning, and making all sorts of noise, and Jayma asks them to be quiet, and the next thing you know there’s all sorts of debauchery and tom foolery going down.

And I’m beating off like a monkey in the zoo.

This is big news for me. Very big news. Cause I’ve never jerked to a movie I’ve directed. And I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve jerked to porn since I started making porn.

And my load?



I’m pretty sure I moaned like a bitch; I should have rubbed my nipples as I was cumming like a bitch, too.

In other words, No Way Am I Gay.

Then, something really weird: during the clean-up process, I couldn’t find the load. I went and got baby wipes from the bathroom, and I searched high and low for the mess…but nothing.

Maybe I lost it in the area rug?

Maybe it’s like one of those massive poops you think you just dropped in the toilet…but it turns out to be a mouse turd?

Maybe I was Ben Stiller, searching for the load that was stuck to the side of my head? So I ran into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

But nothing.

After 10 fruitless minutes of searching for The Massive Load That Wasn’t, it was time for nite nite.

The Massive Load That Wasn’t wore me out.

And in the morning, The Massive Load That Wasn’t remained a mystery to me…until I discovered my DVD player — the one I keep next to my desk –was glazed in a yellowy-white frosting that was beginning to curl at its hardened edges. The same DVD player in which I practice my yoga with my beloved yogi, Karen Voight. It’s a good 3 feet away, and when I tell you it was covered in my old, foul splooge…well, it was.

The Massive Load That Wasn’t really was.

Oh, joy!

A little Windex and piece of paper towel meant clean-up was a snap.

Jayma Reed Ried Reid Kymber Troy interracial sex

Jayma Reed and Julia Bond: Dicksucking and ManoJobs All The Way Around

Julia Bond and Jayma Reed

This time last summer I was hanging out with Jayma Reed and calling her my “girlfriend”.

Silly thing to do, hooking up with porn stars and referring to them as a “girlfriend”. Trust me on this. It’s sounds cool as hell, and you’ll instantly earn “Hero” status with all your pals, but let’s face it: Porn Stars as girlfriends is a lot like the #4 at McDonald’s, only super sized. Or the Wendy’s Triple. (They don’t even have the triple on their menu anymore; you have to request it).

I have no idea what any of that means, but bear with me.

Jayma’s a kook. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I really, really like Jayma. She’s sweet and intelligent and slutty and gives a 5 Star Blow job and can carry a conversation on everything from politics to The White Strips to theology, but she’s a fucking kook, and she’ll be the first to tell you that — once you get to know her a little bit better.

So we’re hanging out in my studio one afternoon, thinking of something to do, when Julia Bond rings me up.

Julia Bond is a kook. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I really, really like Julia. She’s somewhat sweet and somewhat intelligent and super slutty and I have no idea what kind of Blow job she gives cause she’s never sucked my dick, but she gives a 5 Star lap dance and she’s fairly quiet but an excellent actress.

Guess who the biggest kook of all is. Hmmm. That would be me: I watch people fuck all day long for a living but never get laid; I work a job that I can’t really tell anyone about; when I do tell people what I do for a living they usually flee…or treat me like I’m a sideshow act; I don’t really have any friends; I live in a porno studio in Los Angeles and a house in Phoenix I’m never at; I’m 43 and never been married and can’t really maintain any sort of intimate relationship with a woman for longer than, say, a year, and I don’t have any kids and when I do manage to get laid the girl is at usually 1/2 my age and it runs me $400 (or so) an hour.

Wait a sec — I’m either a kook or a genius…you decide.

Anyways, Julia calls looking for work, and me and Jayma were bored, so I suggested that Julia come over and do a scene with Jayma. I mean really…what else do you think us porno folk do when we’re bored?

“What kind of scene?” Jayma asked. “You don’t have any girl/girl sites.”

I told her I had an idea, and I did, so I called my pal Johnny Fender over, and asked if he’d like Julia Bond and my girlfriend to suck his dick while I rolled tape. “I’ll pay your rate, too!” I said.

Imagine that: getting paid to have Jayma and Julia suck your dick.

Or, imagine this: holding a camera and filming your gal sucking some dude’s dick.

Sounds like fun, huh?

Hey, did I tell you I’ve known Julia for a long time, and, in fact, I shot a Julia Bond Handjob movie and a Julia Bond Interracial movie and a Julia Bond dirty movie?

Or that I shot Jayma Reed Handjob movie and a Jayma Reed Interracial movie (with load dumpers) and a Jayma Reed dirty movie?

Where am I going with this?

Oh yea…so Julia comes over and together with Jayma they please Johnny Fender orally and Jayma, being the good whore that she was, took the load all over her face while Julia held it (her face, that is) and then they kissed, sharing Mr. Fender’s jizz, and all in all it turned out to be a dandy scene.

Soon Julia would star in a Jerry Springer episode and Jayma would go the way almost all porn whores go, which is as far away from porno as humanly possible.

Meanwhile, I’m still right in the middle of it all.

Julia Bond and Jayma Reed

RIP Kitty Licious: 1991 – 2006

Led Zeppelin III

I smoked a bunch of weed tonight while listening, over and over and over, to side 2 of Led Zeppelin III. I usually don’t smoke so much, but fuck it — I just euthanized my cat. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it’s the best 1/2 slab of music ever laid to vinyl. Pure genius. Side 2: “Gallows Pole”, “Tangerine”, “That’s The Way”, “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp”, and “Hats Off To (Roy) Harper”. So I kinda danced around my front room, high, in my sweatshirt and underpants, popping peanut M & M’s into my mouth (cause my sister continued her XMAS gift tradition and gave me two pounds of them) in a kind-of homage to Kitty Licious.

I dunno. Maybe “homage” isn’t really the right word to use here, and “kind-of” is certainly silly, too…but God, I love the song “Tangerine”.

Jayma Reed called me tonight! We really haven’t spoken in months, and it was good to hear from her. She has no plans to ever be in a dirty movie again, and I think that’s a really good thing. We talked for like an hour and a half, and when we hung up, we told each other “sorry” and promised to keep in touch.

I don’t know why I like “Tangerine” so much. I can’t even explain any of it, really. And “That’s the Way”? I guess nothing about Led Zep III is obvious, and that’s why I like it so much better than I and II.

Just last night Kitty Licious was stuck to the sofa. It was kinda weird; she was clinging to the side of it, half-on and half-off, just sitting there, sideways. And looking at me. I looked at her. She’s wasn’t moving, so I helped her up, and carried her to where I was laying, watching The Devil in Daniel Johnston, and she laid with me all night. By the end of the movie I was pretty convinced of Daniel Johnston’s genius, and Kitty was still curled up next to me, so, as quietly as I could, I got up and went to bed, and she didn’t move, and I didn’t think anything of it, and this morning, she was still there, in the exact same spot, so I knew something was up. Out of the blue, her hind legs just stopped working — even for The Wet Food.

How about that moment or three of pure silence in between “That’s the Way” and “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp”?

I have a new myspace friend. She’s one of my only non-porno friends, and I wrote and told her about Kitty Licious. I told Barbie Cummings, too. Barbie met Kitty Licious, and so did Barbie’s dog, Fifi. I called Cherry Poppens and told her, too. I called my little brother. And my mom.

My next door neighbor sold me on the idea of getting a cat when I was banging out Anxiety Attack after Anxiety Attack; she felt a cat might help calm my nerves…and she was right. So we went to the SPCA where I was living at that time (Dallas, TX…the only city in America where you could whack a President and get away with it) and we went through all the kitties on death row and I chose Kitty Licious. Her name then was “Mindy”, which I immediately changed to Kitty Licious — although there were times I called her Kitty Rock. Or just plain Kitty.

I dug through my records and found the only two Zeppelin records I own — III and Houses of the Holy — and chose the former cause of Side 2. I thought about Kitty while the temp picked up in “Gallows Pole”. Then I smoked and danced and ate peanut M & M’s and I thought about Kitty and I thought about how ridiculous I looked, if, say, anyone was watching me, but hey, that’s OK, cause that’s one of the great things about being alone at any given moment in time.

The psychedelic folksong “Hats Off To (Roy) Harper” is as oddly weird as it is compelling.

Tomorrow I have lots to do: pick up a ManoJob scene from a friend who did me a favor and shot it; take my dog for a long walk; I should go get my HIV test, cause even though I’m not male talent, I always like to know I’m clean as a whistle; I need to edit a scene for No Way Am I Gay; and I have to find and hire a Dick Sucker, and it’s hard, cause I’m home, and there’s not as many Dick Suckers in Arizona as there seems to be in Los Angeles, where I work, and even though I’m not in LA working the site still needs an update, so it turns out I’m working on my holiday.

That is, if you consider filming a girl sucking a dick “work” — I know I sure do.

I can hear the record popping against the label, which means it’s done, so I think it’s time I called it a night, too, and went to bed. Without Kitty Licious…which will be the first time since October, 1993.

I’m going to miss my old friend.

Suddenly, I Was A Suitcase Pimp…Kinda.

Jayma Reed

I’ve clocked four years in this business now. Which is a funny thing, cause I’ve had a lot of other jobs in my life – some would even call them careers – but I’ve never really stuck to one for more than three years.

Three’s always been a sticking point for me as far as work goes, and I have no idea why.

In the four years I’ve done this, I’ve never asked a porno girl out on a date – let alone take her to a swanky hotel for a few days or a Hawaiian Island.

There’s reasons for this, too…the one I want to talk about today is what I think I’ll call “The Suitcase Pimp Factor”. Maybe this isn’t the best name for it, but shit…it’s almost 1 in the morning, and it’s a Sunday, and because of those two things alone, I’m going with The Suitcase Pimp Factor.

(I think, even though I’ve defined “suitcase pimp” here before, and even though The Minion blogged about it as well, I’d like to state here and now, very emphatically, I’d never, ever ask a girl for a penny of her money. Never have, never will.)

Anyways, it’s a weird thing to watch a girl you’re dating having sex with different dudes for commercial purposes. (You can always count on an internet blogger to fancy things up a bit, huh?)

It’s a weird thing to know the girl you’re dating fucks for money.

It’s a really weird thing to have a porno star for a girlfriend.

I have to imagine it’s a really weird thing to have a porno director for a boyfriend; in fact, my past two relationships ended for pretty much that very reason.

Here’s where things get really, really weird – imagine dropping your porno gal off for a porno job. If you’re having a hard time picturing it, let me help you out a bit: you pull up to the place where the scene’s gonna get shot, and the dude who doubles as the owner of the site and as male talent comes out to greet you. He’s a nice guy – sure – but soon he’s gonna be pounding the shit out of her, as well as having Jayma swallow his load.

Jayma and I walk into the place together, hand in hand. My stomach is kinda doing that thing that happened to me in grade school…you know, when you had to climb the rope to the roof of the gym in PE class.

I just kept telling myself – over and over – it isn’t real.

Not Really real, I mean.

Did you read my blog yesterday? About “real” and “really real”? If not, you might want to skip to it now, then come back and finish up here.

Anyway, after the intro and all, I asked some techincal questions about the lights he used – not because I gave a shit about his lights – but more out of being a polite person and not just hauling ass after I dropped Jayma off. And, of course, after he talked to me about his lights (and his silly wireless mic) I did haul ass outta there – but not before giving my gal a smooch on the lips.

Easily the weirdest kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life – hands down.

I had an epiphany right there and then, as our lips touched: this is what I’ve gotten myself into, and it’s something I’ve got to accept – for the most part – if I don’t want to be alone. I’m in the sex industry, and pretty much anyone I choose to spend time with outside of my silly business is gonna have to be part of my silly business.

Anyone see the Showtime/Seymour Butts reality thing? I forgot the name of the show, but in episode one the cameras watch as Seymour plays the internet dating game, and, as always, “hey so what do you do for a living?” popped up almost immedaitely after the date started, and Seymour was brutally honest about his job.

And the girls fled. En mass.

At my brother’s bachelor party, we ended up at Sugar Daddy’s for a few rounds. It’s a local bar, and one of the ones we hopped to as the night went on. A girl made extended eye contact with me – more than once – and sure enough, she was interested. I went to talk to her, and she smiled, and we had a nice thing happening, when that same question came up.

“Hey, so what do you do for a living?”

I usually lie, but I was drunk, so I told the truth.

And the girl fled.

I couldn’t even get 1/2 through my response and she hauled fuckin’ ass. Fast. One second I was George Clooney, the next second I turned into The Elephant Man.

So, Jayma honey, gimme a kiss, and go make your money, and I’ll freak out a bit, but I’ll try to keep it to myself, and afterwards we’ll go get some dinner and maybe catch a movie. A scarey one.

Go make your money and I’ll make my money and we won’t give each other any shit whatsoever.

Go make your money and I’ll make mine and we’ll be OK with it cause that’s one of the rules of the Porno Game.

We’ll make our money and understand that none of this is fucking real and keep what is real private.

And she’ll understand why I won’t kiss her when I pick her up from a job…not for a while, anyways.

Jayma Reed

Super fun e-mails concerning Jayma Reed.

Jayma Reed

R. writes:

Dear Billy:

For a cultured pornographer, you’re quite a lame duck as far as getting laid goes. So you’re giving this porn chick the girlfriend romantic treatment and taking her places she would never go even if she made enough money –such as Marmont—because she would never hear about them on account of her prime education, gourmet habits and intellectual capacity. When you said you just kissed, I really felt for you (Morrissey, Hairdresser on Fire). You are so pussy whipped, she’ll never give it away, cause even though she’s for hire… she’s not stupid. You just fell into the friend with a wallet, Daddy Warbucks category, with agirl who fucks for a living, in front of a camera. Please, please, tell me you’re banging her. Otherwise, you’re either a voyeur, too lonely, depressed, or turning into a minion. By the way, she looks great, just the school girl,innocent looking type who’s looking for a someone to protect her. I’ve got to give it to you, I probably would have fallen too, but then again, I’m no pornographer.

Hope you score.

Then A.S. wrote:

I stumbled across your blog about 2 months ago in much the same way most people do: I was searching for images and whatnot of Cherry Poppens. What I found intstead was a great blog that satisfied my curiousity and a fascination I’ve had for years now: the human sided of the adult industry. Your latest entry (My New Gal? Pt4) is a great example of this. Please keep this sort of stuff coming, as it serves to remind many of us that, as fucked up as they be, porn stars are indeed human beings.

Then D. wrote:

Your blog on July 28th Was one of the single sweetest, most touching things I have ever heard Billy.

And then D.Z. wrote:

I’m curious, did you meet Jayma before or after you started working with her? Isn’t it unprofessional to date the ‘talent’ ?

Hey Guys!

Addressing these e-mails in no particular order, I shall make the following statements:

1) Never get your honey where you get your money.

2) I’m breaking rule 1 right now. Kinda.

3) I definately a lame duck as far as getting laid goes; however, I’m not a voyeur, too lonely, depressed, or turning into a minion.

4) I’ve spent some time with a girl. A girl I’ve had a good time with. And I still haven’t decided if my personal sex life is fair game here. No, wait. I take that back. My personal sex life is fair game here; hers isn’t.

5) While Morrissey’s Hairdresser on Fire might be an appropriate analogy, Girlfriend in a Coma might be better – however painfully obvious it might be.

So can any of you squeeze me into an empty page of your diary? Cause I just did it for you guys.

Your pal,


Jayma Reed on Her Cum Guzzlin’ Pal Jacky Joy

Jacky Joy

From time to time I’m going to have guests blog whatever it is they feel like blogging. I will not tell them what to blog; I won’t edit it; I won’t influence the Guest Blogger in any way.

I think you guys know who Jayma Reed is, and how great I think she is, and bladda bladda bladda blah…and if you don’t, well, dig into my archives and read all about her wonderful self. Today she waxes poetic on her (and our) slutty truck stop whore pal Jacky Joy.

So… doesn’t my friend Jacky Joy look really happy to be eating some hairy ass? In fact she looks so thrilled that even her hair is trying to back away from the butthole. I can’t help but laugh hysterically when I see this photo for two reasons–#1) I’ve worked with Jacky since she started in the business and I know that she is a full blown diva, who wants to blow up like Jenna Jameson, and, #2) her dreams of stardom are somewhat stunted by her hate for cum, cum swapping, buttholes, pussy juice, and anything else that drips or oozes out of the human body.

I have to say that I LOVE my little Jacky Joy! She kicks ass (and apparently, eats it—in fact, she even ate mine, but that’s another blog). Jacky is ghetto fabulous and she’s from Pennsylvania. She has a deep rooted love for text messaging and calling her very best friends “dirty pirate hookers”. Jacky and I like to work together doing girl/girl scenes. I am not sure why she likes to work with me, but I enjoy her porn partnership because she is 5’2, 115 lbs, has big innocent blue eyes, and she dominates my shit (I’m 5’10 by the way). Jacky throws on a big black strap on and, all of the sudden, she’s a sex addict on viagra.

So picture this—Cute little Jacky Joy, swingin her big rubber dick back and forth, dancing around till her big, fake balls fall out of their satchel. It’s hard to keep a straight face, but somehow we pull it off. Another thing I love about my slutbag friend Jacky, is that she and I are a little lesbian porno couple when we’re together. Billy already blogged about our beach adventure, but what he didn’t tell you is that she likes to pull my skirt up in a crowded room, or grab my va-jay if she catches guys checking us out. She likes to fight with the guys I date and asks to take pictures of me masturbating to send to her friends back home.

I’m going to change gears for a second and say that Jacky is one of my favorite people and I miss her! I’d also like to add that Billy and I are in Maui and I’ve teased him silly since we got here—but I’m sure you’ll hear all about that:) mmmmmwah! xoxoxo Jayma

Jacky Joy

Super fun e-mails.

Barbie Cummings

SR writes:

I just want to start off by saying how much I have enjoyed your work on Blacks on Blondes, Spring Thomas, Gloryhole and Spunk Mouth.

I am curious, I haven’t seen where BoB has been updated, atleast from the preview page, and I was wondering if either Barbie Cummings, Kaci Star, or Jayma Reed were going to show up on there?

Thanks, and keep up the good work,


Hey SR!

Thanks man. I gotta tell you, getting fan mail is the highlight of my day. Really, it is. It’s almost better than anything else that happens during my waking hours, except maybe the (rare) times I get sex.

They’re all up, except Kaci Starr. Check out Barbie Cummings! Isn’t she fuckin’ hot? Man, she’s a blast to work with. She truly loves sex, and she loves being a porn star, and she loves getting pounded by black dick, and it shows in all the work she does…whether I’m behind the camera or not. She gets railed by Brian Pumper and Jason Brown for her BOB scene…and takes two loads right in her sweet pie hole.

And there’s Jayma! What can I say about the lovely Jayma Reed I haven’t alread said? And what a scene! The scenario, you ask? Max Black is a “celebrity” and with his “posse” at a local museum. Max has no idea why his posse brought him to a museum, and they try to explain to Max that he’s there simply because they feel he needs a little culture in his life. Jayma, a college student studying Egyptology, stumbles upon Max and The Homies, and they’re being rude and obnoxious, and Jayma has to ask them, more that one, to quiet down so she can get some work done.

Do I need to tell you what kind of work gets done next?

And honestly, I don’t recall if I shot Kaci Starr for BOB yet, but I think I did. As of today it’s not in the BOB member’s area. I know she’s a gloryhole girl for sure, and I think Kaci is one of the most underrated girls working the porno circuit right now.

Check out the scenes…all of them. On all the sites. They turned out great – and trust me, it’s all because of them – there’s not much to my silly job at all.

Your pal – Billy

Jayma Reed

My New Gal? (Part 5).

Jayma Reed

We left Bungalow 3 and walked the property a bit.

We held hands.

We got to know each other.

We kissed some more.

We snooped around, hoping for a celebrity encounter of some sort. (I was the one really hoping for a good celeb sighting).

We took pictures. (I took pictures).

We went back to our room.

I can’t being to tell you how soft and comfortable the beds are at the Chateau Marmont. Or the linens. Or her skin. We made out and talked and then made out some more. We laughed and discovered things about each other. We watched TV. We ordered room service. We made out and I touched her skin and it was soft and I started to take her clothes off. We made out like middle school kids after the dance.

“I wish I wasn’t broken,” she said.

She was still hurting, and I knew that. Her tonsils were swollen to the point she couldn’t really eat anything from room service.

“I wish I wasn’t broken,” she said, again.

“You’re not all that broken,” I said.

She stopped me when I tried to take off her panties and she said it again: “I wish I wasn’t broken.”

What’s that mean, exactly?

Well, for starters, it wasn’t just her throat that was broken, and after a minute or so of some oral pleasure, she was all done – because her throat hurt so badly. And it didn’t take very long for her to tell me that, in addition to her tonsils, her V-Jay Jay was broken, too.

V-Jay Jay is her word for vagina.

Ba-gina is my word for it.

Either word works just fine for me.

“Turn off the lights,” she said. “I have something special for you. Just lay back and close your eyes.”

“Now that’s what I’m taking about!”

In an instant the room was dark, and I was naked and my dick was hard enough to open a beer bottle. And I laid back on that wonderful bed after the lights went off and I closed my eyes. She got on top. She rubbed around a bit and then she slipped it in…to her open hand.

After she licked it.

And it took a few strokes before I realized that, while this tight wet thing kinda felt good on my weiner, it wasn’t her V-Jay Jay. Or her Ba-gina. Because it was broken.

She rode me a bit, and she moaned a bit, and she grinded a bit, and finally I asked, “um, what are you doing?”

“Almost sex.”

“Almost sex?”

“Almost sex.”

I looked up at her. I said it again. She confirmed. She continued to ride. Then I asked, “are you using Almost Sex as a proper noun? Like, did you name this thing you’re doing “Almost Sex”, or are we just almost having sex?”

She said, “I call it that. Almost Sex. It’s got a name. I do it to all the Mormon boys back home. They love it.”

I laid my head back in my pillow. It was the softest pillow I’ve ever rented for a night. She kept giving me Almost Sex while I looked up at the ceiling. It was dark, but not too dark to see her, or her swollen throat, or my dick going in and out of her hand as she rode me. It wasn’t too dark to see the ceiling either, and it was a very expensive ceiling. To my right was the $28 dish of spaghetti she didn’t eat, on the nightstand, next to the tiny piece of $12 flourless chocolate cake she didn’t eat, either. The powdered sugar on that cake looked like very expensive powdered sugar. Probably the most expensive powdered sugar in the whole wide world.

Then, I closed my eyes.

I did my best to enjoy Almost Sex.

I closed my eyes to Almost Sex and prayed for her to slip it into her V-Jay Jay.

Super Minion

My New Gal? (Part 4).

Bungalow 3

I’ve been weirdly obsessed with the Chateau Marmont since John Belushi drew his last breath there, in Bungalow 3, in March of 1982.

I was a senior in high school, and I was a Belushi fan, like most 17 year old boys then. I was nuts for his work on SNL, and in Animal House, and even though Neighbors was a bit uneven, I still liked it. (Maybe I should watch it again…the last time I saw it was in the theater, and I’m thinking its humor wasn’t targeted at the same audience as, say, Animal House).

I even forgave Belushi for The Blues Brothers…but I’ll never forgive Aykroyd, Belushi’s little brother, or John Goodman for Blues Brothers 2000.

In 1982 I was almost an adult, driving my dad’s El Camino and listening and listening to one of the bad FM stations then. I remember driving down Tatum, near Shea, which is a big intersection in the neighborhood I grew up in. I think I had just left McDonald’s (which is still there) cause my friend Ellen L. would hook us up with free cheesburgers. That’s when the radio said John Belushi was just found dead at his bungalow in Hollywood and I was immediately bummed out – as well as curious.

What’s a bungalow? And why in the world is he dead?

Knowing where you were and what you were doing when someone who mattered to you died – long after it all went down – is an interesting thing. Remember where you were when either Kennedy was whacked? (I wasn’t born yet for number 1, and way too young for number 2). How about when Hinckley tried to take out Ronny Reagan? Maybe you remember what was happening when Cobain stuck the gun in his mouth (on my way home from teaching school), or maybe, even, um, when Tu Pac or Biggie got whacked (…when did that happen again?)

Anyway, I wanted to see Jayma after our first date, and I did. It was the next day, as a matter of fact, and it was a totally non-porno, non-sexual event. Well, kinda, anyway. I picked her up at The Porno Hotel in Porno Valley, and we just hung out. We went to a used book store (I scored a first edition of Crumb’s Fritz The Cat and a review copy of Harry Crews’s Florida Frenzy!!!), ran a few errands, got to know each other better, and (somehow) ended up at Chico Wang’s to watch him direct The Minion and Haley Scott; Chico was shooting his Minion scenes and now calling them “romantic”…today The Minion is terribly concerned as Miss Scott’s had a foot injury. The Minion picked her up at the hospital, took her home, and brought her into the room in a wheel chair.

From there, they made beautiful music as Chico rolled tape.

Afterward, I was kinda bummed, cause Jayma had to go home, and I had to go home, but I really wanted to see her again.

How about you come when I’m out in LA working, and we stay in a really nice hotel? We can just hang out. I won’t expect sex, and I’ll be a gentleman, and we can just get to know each other better…

She agreed, of course, cause here I am, telling you about The Chateau and John Belushi and myself and Jayma Reed. We were pretty much holed up at the Chateau for three days. She still wasn’t feeling well; her tonsils were ridiculously swollen and instead of looking like tonsils they more resemled a small fruit – like a tangerine, maybe. I really can’t say I was holed up, cause I would leave during the day to make dirty movies…but she didn’t leave at all, even when I told her Parker Posey was roaming around with her little white doggie – or there might be some fun celebrity sightings down by the pool.

I don’t think she ever left the room, and that was fine by me.

We learned some things about each other during those three days, and she asked I watch what I say here. At first, I wasn’t sure I could keep such a promise, but I have, so far. But I’ll tell you this: I made her come with me to Bungalow 3, and we talked about Belushi, and she told me she’s spoken to dead people in her past, and that’s fine by me, too.

We stood at the door of Bungalow 3.

We kissed.

I took a picture of the door they wheeled John Belushi’s dead body from almost 25 years ago.

We stood there a bit more.

Then we kissed, again.

We stood there a bit more.

“Do something,” I said.

She looked at me. “What do you want me to do?”

“I dunno. Something that would make his ghost smile.”

Bungalow 3