Monthly Archives: March 2011
Protect Yourself.
I Love Jaelyn.
Today’s Guest Blogger: Bree Olson
With all the Charlie Sheen hoopla right now, I thought I’d continue with some of my Bree Olson posts from a few years ago. I’ve had some “guest bloggers” in the past, and Bree was one of them.
I’ve got some more Bree blogs laying around, and since I’ve had absolutely nothing to say in a long time, I’ll just go ahead and post some “worst of’s” featuring Bree and the teeny tiny bit of time I spent with her.
This blog’s original air date: November 13, 2006.
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.
Today I’m lucky enough to have Bree Olson – Porn Valley’s best-kept secret (but not for long) – and she’s going to blog about her boyfriend, who we’ll call “Romantic Hoosier”.
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Dear Romantic Hoosier:
Billy has agreed that he is in the wrong for exaggerating previous blogs and he feels really bad about the stress it has put on our relationship. So, instead of him blogging on me, I have decided to take over and post my own blog…that what I know nothing has been edited or exaggerated.
Baby, I love you so much. I just want everyone to know that you haven’t given me a dime. I am still with you because I love you, not because of your money. You make me want to be a better person. You show me things no one else has ever shown me. When I’m with you, I feel on top of the world – like the luckiest girl ever. I love the way you treat me, and I want everyone to know what a kind, gentle soul you possess. And there’s no one’s arms I’d rather be wrapped in than yours.
I want you to know that when I’m out here in California, all I do is work and go straight back to the Model House. You consume my thoughts. You never have to worry about me getting with the male talent, because they would never compare to you, baby. Not only that, but when they are fucking me, I imagine it is you that I am pleasing, and that is why my scenes turn out so well. The passion felt in my scenes is due to my thoughts of worshiping your body. And when I look into the camera, I pretend it’s your eyes I’m looking in to.
Billy now sees how much I love you and that is why he has allowed me to write this blog…describing to you all my heartfelt thoughts. I have been desperately thinking of ways to fix the horrible allegations portrayed on I Shoot Porn. I want everyone to know I’m going to marry you, have your baby, and – GET THIS – sign a prenuptial agreement!!!
You’re the man will always be faithful to. Baby, I will love you forever!
Bree Olson.
Bree Olson And Her Spunkmouth Scene
With all the Charlie Sheen hoopla right now, I thought I’d continue with some of my Bree Olson posts from a few years ago. Looking back at this Spunkmouth shoot, I gotta say Bree was a dirty girl back then — loaded with Tiger’s blood and Adonis DNA — and I’m sure she’s only gotten better with age…which is why she’s Charlie’s favorite.
I’ve got some more Bree blogs laying around, and since I’ve had absolutely nothing to say in a long time, I’ll just go ahead and post some “worst of’s” featuring Bree and the teeny tiny bit of time I spent with her.
This blog’s original air date: January 4, 2007.
Sure Bree’s one of my favorites for 2006 — but I never told you about the day I shot her for Spunkmouth.
I didn’t want to shoot a vanilla sex scene with Bree, cause, for some reason, I pictured her doing something hot, but without any full-blown sex going down. I knew I needed more than one (or even two) guys, and I knew I wanted something kooky to happen — kooky for lack of a better term.
That’s “kooky” with a “K”.
When it came time to choose wardrobe for the scene, I chose her nightie. I dunno why, but that struck me as kinda hot. See, you probably don’t know this, but the porno girls who make the circuit walk around with one of those suitcases-on-rollers, and, depending how long they’ve been in the game, it might be absolutely jam packed with sexy outfits. Here’s another fun fact — the porn girls who really have their shit together put each little bra-and-panty set into their own sealed zip lock baggy, so they can pull ’em out and show ’em to producers quickly. Having them in baggies means not having to hunt around, for, say, the matching panties once a producer has picked a bra for the girl to wear on set.
Anyways, I looked into Bree’s bag, went through some of her wardrobe, and her nighties caught my eye. Not cause they were hot, or sexy lingerie, or anything like that…but cause they were real. Which is to say when Bree goes to bed at night after a long day of making dirty movies, she slips into what you’re looking at in this picture.
In my book, that makes them fucking super hot.
I started thinking blow bang when I started thinking of Bree’s scene for Spunkmouth. What better way is there to give a gal a spunky mouth than having her blow a handful of dudes? Then I started thinking multi-ethnic blowbang. Call in a few brothas, a couple white dudes, as well as my main most man Rocker X.
I think I’ll talk a little about Rocker X. Not a lot, but a little. He’s this Asian cat with a 5 inch dick. He walks around with shades on all the time, even if it’s 10 at night. He’s always got his iPod in his ears, and he’s usually listening to the Ramones. See, I’d hire him just based on the facts he’s Asian, his dick is 5 inches, and he knows what “Gabba Gabba Hey!” means. Rocker X also blows one of the biggest loads I’ve ever seen. They’re not quite as big as Peter North’s, but they’re fucking big. In fact, in my world, Rocker X is a “load dumper” — and not a “scene carrier”…which, for me, is way more of a value. Anyways, Rocker doesn’t talk much on set; he doesn’t grope the girl a whole bunch, either; but he’s still super fucking creepy: he stands in the corner, Ramones blasting in his head, and he beats his meat like a monkey in the zoo…and I’ve learned from watching him that when Rocker X gets up on his tip-toes, it’s time for him to unload.
And unload he did.
So did everyone else. Oh Bree! How did you face become such a mess? And why doesn’t it bother you one bit?
This is when things got really interesting…cause, I lied just a sentence or two ago. Not everyone nutted. One of the brothas limped over to me before I started shooting and said, “Yo Billy Man. I just fucked myself up on the basketball court, and I’m not sure I got what it takes today to get the job done.”
“Are you OK bro? I mean you wanna sit this one out?”
“Hell no Niggah. It’s mother fuckin’ Bree Olson!”
I love it when black guys call me Niggah.
The Suck Fest went as planned, and yea, Brotha couldn’t nut. But that was OK, cause as Brotha was attempting to blow his wad, Rocker X, who had quietly been jacking it in the corner after blowing Nut 1, stepped up to the plate and busted Nut 2. And just when he was done, another dude who had been quietly jacking it in the corner, saw what Rocker just did and it set him off — yep! He busted Nut 2, too.
Two, to, and too. How hard can it be?
Not as hard as math. 4 guys hired. 1 can’t cum. 2 cum twice. So, how many nuts did Bree take that night? Keep that question in mind, cause it’s going to matter in a few.
So Bree’s covered in Man Goo, and that’s when dirty movies usually end, but not for Bree Olson. “I think I should go walk around the street covered in all this cum. Wouldn’t that be hot Billy?”
“Don’t tease me like that Breebie Honey.”
“I’m serious. Watch this.”
And with cameras rolling, I followed Bree Olson. First, she threw on her wife-beater t-shirt, then she strolled over into the next studio where they also make dirty movies. This is all real, mind you. Not one bit of it was scripted. People took a look at Bree, and then looked closer, and that’s when the reactions began. What would you do if a jizz-soaked hottie like Bree walked into your work? Bree went right into the make-up room, where Bella Donna’s brother was flirting with the female talent on that set, and his jaw just about dropped…cause he knew what was all over Bree; it hadn’t dried up yet.
I followed Bree out of that studio and right onto the street. I wasn’t sure if I should stop camera, double check to make sure shit was OK, and then continue. I mean I don’t even know what I’d check out? If there just so happened to be a cop in front of my studio? Or worse yet — a kid?
Fuck it, I rolled. And Bree strutted.
Up and down the street. Right by a nice Korean lady on her way home. Cars whizzing by. Bree walked up and down the street and then, right in front of the door, peeled the wife beater off.
How hot is it that Bree wears wife beaters?
Things got even kookier as we walked back up the stairs. I was behind Bree, my camera on her beautiful butt, when she asked, “Want to fuck my ass, Billy?”
“You’re teasing me again. Stop it please.”
“Come on, Billy,” she cooed. “Stick it in my ass.”
“But I’m not male talent.”
“Fuck my ass,” Bree pleaded. “Please.”
What’s a guy to do when a girl begs for some ass action? Answer me that, tough guy.
A few hours later, Bree’s agent rang. He wanted to know how the scene went. I told him it might be the best scene I’ve ever shot. He wanted to know how many guys were there. He wanted to know how many guys came, too. He wanted to know this cause he felt Bree wasn’t paid fairly…it was a four man blow bang, and six guys showed up.
“No, four guys showed up.”
“How many loads did she take?”
I’m bad at math. Five seemed to be the number. To me, that shouldn’t really matter, cause I’ve always paid girls based on a dick count, and not a load count. But I didn’t feel like arguing, cause there was nothing to argue about…even though it wasn’t a pre-meditated thing, Bree took more loads than were called for, and, more importantly, Bree went above and beyond what was called for, like she always does when she shows up for work. And I should have paid her more on the spot. Without her agent having to call.
Besides, I got to stick my wiener in Bree Olson’s butt…even if it was only for a few seconds. That alone has gotta be worth a couple hundred, right?
My Day With Bree Olson.
With all the Charlie Sheen hoopla right now, I thought I’d pull out some of my old Bree Olson posts. I dunno if you’ve seen Sheen’s twitter, but he just posted a pic of himself with “Rachel”…as apparently Bree has retired.
For now, anyway.
I’ve got some more Bree blogs laying around, and since I’ve had absolutely nothing to say in a long time, I’ll just go ahead and post some “worst of’s” featuring Bree and the teeny tiny bit of time I spent with her.
This blog’s original air date: October 4, 2006.
I had the day off today, so I decided to hang out with my old pal, Jimmy Hat. Jimmy invited me over to his studio to watch him shoot a brand new hottie named Bree Olson. So I made my way through Friday traffic on the 101, straight outta K Town and out to the middle of Porn Valley.
Fuck, Bree Olson is fuckin’ smoking hot.
What else can I say? That she got off the plane from the Midwest only hours before getting to Jimmy’s studio? That she’s still a teenager? That she’s only done a handful of scenes? That’s she’s a college frosh? Or maybe that, 1/2 way through her soft core solo stills, Bree was so excited about posing nude in front of two strangers that her pussy was dripping wet?
Dripping.
I shit you not. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pussy drip like Bree’s. I think the only sexual cliche more abused than penis size (oh yea baby…mine’s at least 8 and 1/2 inches) is the dripping wet pussy.
Not too many 8 and 1/2 inch dicks out there (fact dick fact: 1 in 10,000 men have a penis bigger than 7 inches); and there’s not too many dripping wet pussies out in the real world, either.
Bree’s pussy was dripping wet. And it ran down her V-Jay, right into the crack of her butt, and then…on to the sofa.
That kind of dripping wet.
Oh, but it didn’t end there. Turns out Bree likes her men to be “in charge”, which perked up my ears. “What do you mean by being in charge?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. I like to be put in my place. I’m very submissive. I even like it when I’m having sex with a guy and he chokes me out.”
Out of nowhere Bree makes that kinda statement.
Out of nowhere.
Now, I’m not too much of an A Dog. Really, I’m not. Which is to say I can be an A Dog, and I can be a B Dog in my relationships with women. So I don’t know what got into me right then and there. I love women. Really, I do. I love everything about them. I love the way they smell, and the way they look, and the way they laugh, and the way they feel…but suddenly I was standing right next to Bree – my hand around her neck, slowly applying the pressure – just cause it was Friday, and I didn’t have to work, and Bree said she liked getting choked out by an assertive, aggressive guy, and did I mention that Bree is fucking hot?
So why not be that assertive, aggressive guy? At least for today?
What do you think she did? Did Bree pull away? Did Bree hit me? Or grab my hands? Or ask me to stop?
Her legs quivered, and her voice had that nervous jitter in it…the kind most of us get when we’re so totally turned on our voice jitters in that nervous, excited way.
Honestly – look at me. I’m a middle-aged chubby dude who likes to wear flannel PJ’s way too much. Am I really the kind of guy that would actually turn on a teenage hottie like Bree? Fuck no…and I don’t even have to answer that, do I? But there’s Bree – melting in my grip – and suddenly she’s got her hand on my dick, and she’s rubbing it, and she’s whispering things like oh God and I’m such a dirty whore.
I’m such a dirty whore.
With the quivering, jittery voice.
While her barely-legal hand is rubbing my dick. The same hand that would have landed me in the joint if we were engaged in this sort of activity just a year earlier.
What’s better? This, or, say…the winning lotto ticket? Well, the lotto ticket for sure, unless it’s just the 5 out of 6 winning lotto numbers for, like, 10 grand. Then I might take the pussy-drippin’ teenage whore who’s rubbing my dick while whispering filthy, nasty things in my ear. With a nervous, jittery voice.
Yes, I think it’s safe to say that at this particular junction of my life I would take that to a 10 thousand dollar pay day.
But it gets better. Just let me know when I should stop…cause I’m afraid today’s entry is going to turn into more of a bullshit egotistical act of bravado than a simple story, and no one likes a cocky piece of shit, do they?
I dragged Bree around that apartment by her hair. I made her perform oral delights. I choked her till her eyes rolled into the back of her head. I bent her over the sink and stuck my wee-wee in her, then I pulled it out and dropped her back to her knees, just so she could taste her own delightful juices off it.
Then, I’d make her beg for another round.
And beg she did, while loving every minute of it.
Jimmy H. did not. He was trying to work, and of course I didn’t act like this from the time of her startling admission till the end of the day. I’d be all sneaky about it. Jimmy would finish a set, and send her into the dressing room to change, and I’d follow her in – all creepy and weird – and she’d giggle and then I’d wipe that giggle off her face with a choke session and that’s when she’d moan and her legs would quiver.
Really loud moans. Really shaky quivers.
“GOD DAMN IT BILLY I HAVE FUCKING WORK TO DO YOU FUCKER! KNOCK IT OFF!!!”
She’d whisper in my ear, “he’s mad,” and I’d whisper back things like “so what”, which made her quiver some more.
OK.
Enough.
I’m done. Really, I am. Enough of all this silly bullshit. I’m embarrassing myself now. Anyway, after we wrapped I took Bree out to dinner, and on the way I apologized for my behavior, and said things like “that’s not really me” and she’d laugh and say “but I liked it, I really did,” and right then and there she told me she’s even had guys go pee right in her mouth.
That’s right — in her cute, barely-legal mouth.
I forget to ask if she drank it, or if it simply just ran down her cheeks. And suddenly, at that point – right after she’d admitted to being a human toilet – I didn’t feel bad for dragging Bree around by her hair and making her say and do naughty things.
At dinner she told me about her boyfriend. She found him on mySpace, and she searched specifically for dudes in her area that made more that 250K a year. I had no idea mySpace offered such a wonderful service as allowing a user to find their ideal mate by an income tax bracket, but apparently they do. Bree found one man in her small, Midwestern town that fit the bill, and sure enough they’re dating, and sure enough he’s fallen in love, and sure enough she’s ready for more, and sure enough when she’s done with school she’ll divorce him, and take 1/2 of his stuff, cause that’s her plan.
She didn’t mince words, either.
“Why would you do that to him, Bree?”
“Cause I want nice things while I’m in school. Like a Mercedes.”
“What kind of Mercedes?”
“Oh, any kind. I don’t care.”
“How about you live in a dorm room and have a roomie and eat Top Ramen and be poor and enjoy your time being a young starving student so you’ll enjoy things even more when you earn them, later in life, yourself?”
“You’re a pornographer. You’re no better than me.”
“But I don’t deceive people. I mean you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into when you come spend a day with me. What if this guy walks off a bridge after you divorce him cause he loved you so much? What then? I mean how would you feel?”
“He won’t do that. And if he did I’d go to his funeral with some flowers. Besides, it’s not like it hasn’t happened to him before. He’s already been divorced once.”
“Well, just be honest with him. Tell him you want a Sugar Daddy. If he dumps you, trust me, you’ll find a guy that’ll be happy to be your Sugar Daddy. You know? And then you can live with yourself cause it’s the right thing to do.”
Bree looked at me for a long second, and then down at her food. Like most of the porno chicks I’ve had dinner with, she really didn’t eat a thing. “Hey, what are these little green thingys in my food?”
“Those are called capers.”
“Well, I don’t like them. Capers ruined my meal.”
William T. Vollmann once wrote that prostitution is the most honest form of love. I used to think Bill was a hateful dude who holed himself into fleabag hotels and wrote endless novels cause that’s about all he could ever do: hate and write. And as I walked Bree out to my car, the only thing I kinda wished I woulda done earlier that day is make a Number 1 in her mouth, too.