The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz (42 page)

I agreed to do it. What the hell, it’d be fun. It would be like any other porn set, I told myself. Except that instead of a single cameraman, there would be more than three hundred.

It was a little disconcerting at first. I was used to having sex in front of other people, but this was something altogether different. In porn I had more control. I always knew where the camera was pointed, and I could manipulate what they were seeing. I could suck in my gut or cheat the angles. I knew how to lean back so that my cock looked as big as possible. But with so many cameras in the room, aimed at me from every corner and vantage point, I was completely at their mercy. While I was focused on one cameraman sitting near the front, somebody behind me could have snapped a few photos of my flab. Or worse still, a wide shot of my ass, which is the last thing I wanted anyone to see.

And then there was the matter of my erection. On a porn set, I could always ask the crew to leave so that I could focus on my boner. But what was I going to do with three hundred guys staring at me? “Hey, would you mind leaving the room for a few minutes? Thanks.” Once I was hard, I didn’t care. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir could be watching. It was
getting
hard that made me nervous. I didn’t like people watching me while I jerked off. I needed privacy to concentrate on what I was doing. If somebody was watching, I’d be worried that they’d be thinking, What’s the matter, Ron? You getting old?

People have misconceptions about porn stars. They think we’re all monsters, like we just have to look at a girl and
boing
, it gets hard. The schlong just comes flying out of the pants like a Scud missile. But it doesn’t work that way.

Luckily, I had a very cute girl, so it didn’t take much to get aroused. Even with cameras flashing all around me like paparazzi on the red carpet, we did a great scene, and I walked away feeling like I could have sex in front of a Republican Convention without losing wood.

A few years later, I was asked to appear at the Melbourne Sexpo in Australia. It would mostly involve meeting the fans and signing a few thousand autographs. But the Sexpo also featured live sex shows at a club a few miles away, and they wanted me as a headliner. I was still riding high from the confidence of my first attempt at live sex, so I didn’t give it a second thought.

My scene was scheduled as part of a late-night sexual variety show at Maxine’s, a popular Australian strip club and sometime brothel. Besides me, the other performers included dancers, comedians, magicians, and a sixty-year-old stripper who pissed into beer bottles and masturbated with a traffic cone. I wasn’t sure how I could follow an act like that, but I was willing to give it a shot. I had every reason to be hopeful, as this time I wouldn’t be stuck with just one partner. I was doing a threeway with Jacklyn Lick and Serenity, two very sexy female porn stars.

What could possibly go wrong?

I arrived at the theater at midnight, exhausted from a long day of signing autographs. My hands were so badly cramped that I could barely make a fist. I was tired, I was ornery, and I just wanted to go back to my hotel room and crawl into bed.

I peeked out at the audience from the backstage curtain. They were mostly young men, clean-cut and harmless, but they appeared to be in a rowdy mood. They were hollering and stamping their feet, like bikers looking for a bar fight. Maxine Fensom, the host and emcee, wasn’t doing anything to calm them down. If anything, she was just throwing fuel on the fire.

“So who here thinks they’re as big as Ron Jeremy?” she asked the frenzied crowd.

Dozens of hands shot up. “Okay, big boys,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The guys began unzipping their pants and pulling out their dicks. And there were not too many limp ones in the bunch. Some of them looked like they had sequoias growing out of their crotches. You could tell how old they were by counting the rings. I don’t know what they’re feeding them in Australia, but whatever it is, they should bottle it and sell it to the rest of the world.

But Maxine was unimpressed. “You call
that
a cock?” she cackled. “That’s nothing. Just wait until you see Ron Jeremy.”

This was not good. This was not good at all.

I certainly don’t have a problem with somebody complimenting my penis size. But she was building me up to an unrealistic standard. The more she insulted these big-dicked men, the more they’d expect me to walk out with a fire-breathing hydra hanging between my legs. If it didn’t have horns and snapping jaws, they’d boo me off the stage.

“Shut up, shut up,” I whispered to her from backstage. “Please shut up.”

“When Ron Jeremy comes out here,” she told the crowd, “then you’ll see what a big cock
really
looks like.”

They screamed and hooted, waving their penises at her like conductors.

I was dead.

I went into Jacklyn and Serenity’s dressing room to discuss the specifics of our scene. They would take to the stage first for a lesbian tryst, and after they’d warmed up the crowd I’d join them for some hard-core sex.

“Are you okay, Ron?” Jacklyn asked, eyeing me with a concerned expression.

I was pacing the room, nervously running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, yeah, I’m cool,” I said. “Just make sure I get a good look at what you’re doing out there. I need to be
really
turned on before I come out, okay?”

“Calm down, sweetie. You’ll be fine.”

Jacklyn and Serenity walked onto the stage, and the audience went into hysterics. They danced around for a bit, doing a hurried striptease, teasing the crowd with a few playful licks of each other’s breasts. I watched from behind the curtain, frantically jerking my cock and praying for a monster erection. I tried to focus on what Jacklyn and Serenity were doing, blocking out the hundreds of faces that were staring from the darkened theater like unblinking owl eyes.

The girls jumped into bed and began eating each other out in a 69 position. I felt something stir down below.
Now
we were getting somewhere.
*

“Just look at the pussy,” I muttered to myself like a mantra. “Look at the pussy, look at the pussy, look at the pussy being eaten.”

Jacklyn flipped over and lowered her face into Serenity’s snatch. The crowd had a perfect view, but from my vantage point in the sidelines I couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Goddamnit,” I grumbled and ran toward the other end of the stage. When I stuck my head out of the curtains, they had switched positions yet again, and all I could see were a few intertwined legs. The crowd seemed to be in a trance, so whatever I was missing was probably very hot.

I ran back to the other side of the stage. But because it was pitch-black, I couldn’t see where I was going and plowed into a costume rack, knocking it over with a crash. Clothes scattered across the backstage floor. I picked myself up, hoping that nobody had heard me, and continued running.

I peered from behind the curtains and caught a brief glimpse of Jacklyn’s face. She was shoving her entire tongue inside Serenity. I tried once more to jerk at my unhelpful genitals. But just as I was making progress, the girls tumbled across the bed again, shifting into a position just out of my sight line.

I was starting to think they were doing this on purpose. Their moans had reached a fever pitch, but I swore I heard one of them giggle. They could certainly hear me running around backstage, crashing into things.

I raced back to the other side. I tried to negotiate a path around the overturned costume rack and ended up tripping over some stage lights, falling through a piece of scenery, and landing headfirst into a box full of props and instruments. It was like a pratfall out of vaudeville. From the stage, it must’ve sounded like an earthquake was rattling the theater from its rafters.

I lifted myself off the floor and limped back toward the curtains. I stuck just a nose outside and saw Jacklyn staring back at me. She mouthed, “Are you ready?”

I looked down at my sad excuse for a penis, which looked demoralized and frightened. I had a better chance of growing a vestigial tail than getting an erection.

“No,” I mouthed back, holding out my hand. “Five more minutes.”

I paced backstage and gave my shriveled manhood a pep talk. “Just do this one thing for me,” I pleaded with it. “And I’ll never ask anything of you ever again. Please, I’m begging you here. Don’t make me go out there alone. This crowd is going to eat me alive.”

“Do you need some help?”

I turned and saw a vision of loveliness standing in front of me. She was dressed like a Las Vegas showgirl, with sequins and peacock feathers and a brassiere that appeared to double as an automatic weapon. I didn’t know who she was or what she was doing there, but she might as well have been a guardian angel, sent from the heavens by some divine, sympathetic creator.

“Please,” I whimpered.

She took me to a bathroom and shut the door. She wiggled out of her costume and posed for me like my own personal
Playboy
centerfold. Without the cheers and blinding lights to distract me, my stage fright was gone. It was a relief just to be able to look at a naked woman without cricking my neck for a fleeting glimpse.

I jerked and jerked, trying to lose myself in the girl’s succulent body and peaches-and-cream complexion, certain that the worst was behind me. My penis was starting to grow.

I heard a knock at the door. “Ron, we’re waiting.” It was Jacklyn.

“I’m not ready, goddamnit! It’s getting there, but not yet!”

“Well what’s the holdup? The crowd’s getting restless.”

I could hear them in the distance, banging their fists against the chairs, chanting my name. My penis recoiled at the sound, trying to burrow back into its cave of pubic hair.

The door swung open and Jacklyn waltzed inside. Her naked body was glistening with sweat. “Anything I can do to move this along?”

So now I had two girls posing for me. If this didn’t inspire an erection, I’d need to call for paramedics and have them check for a pulse.

“I have to go,” the showgirl said. “My boyfriend’s picking me up soon and I can’t, you know—”

“That’s okay,” I said, hugging her with my free hand. “Thanks so much, you’re a doll!”

She threw on her costume and left. Now that we were alone, Jacklyn sat on the bathroom’s sink and spread her legs. “Maybe this will do the trick,” she said, forcing my head toward her pussy. She knew that giving a woman head has always been one of my favorite things.

“Are you almost ready?”

I came flying out of the curtains, my boner waving in front of me like a fleshy sundial. The audience leapt to their feet and gave me a round of applause, and somewhere in my head, the thunderous bass drums of
Sprach Zarathustra
were booming. Jacklyn and Serenity went to the bed, clapping along with the crowd.

After making them wait for so long, I wanted to give the onlookers something special. I kicked at the stage floor like a bull preparing to charge a matador. My nostrils were flaring, and I placed two fingers on either side of my head as makeshift horns. Jacklyn turned over, perching on the bed in a doggy position, her ass poised in the air like a target. The crowd stomped their feet in unison, awaiting the imminent stampede. I gave a few warning snorts and scraped my hooves, my eyes red with fury.

And then, with one last mighty bellow, I took off, kicking up a cloud of smoke as I charged toward Jacklyn.

“Olé!” the crowd roared. “
Olé!
”

(Courtesy Leisure Time Entertainment)

chapter 15

DUDE, WHERE’S YOUR PENIS? (OR, “JOHN WAYNE BOBBITT, SUPERSTAR”)

“So listen,
is there any chance you’d want to be in a porno movie?”

John Bobbitt raised an eyebrow, perhaps trying to determine if I was serious. I knew it was a gamble, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“You mean like have sex?” His voice was confident, almost daring me to come right out and say it.

“No, no, no,” I said. “Just a walk-on part. You’d come out, say a few lines, and leave. It’ll be easy, I promise.”

I met Bobbitt at a Playboy Wet ’N’ Wild party in Las Vegas with my friend and producer Greg Watkins. It was hard to miss him. Though there were dozens of celebrities in attendance, Bobbitt was clearly the man of the hour. From the moment he walked in, all eyes were on him, staring at the infamous bulge in his pants and wondering, “What the
hell
does that thing look like?”

Just a year earlier, Bobbitt—or rather, Bobbitt’s penis—had made headline news across the country. While he slept, Bobbitt’s wife, Lorena, had sliced off his manhood with an eight-inch carving knife and then thrown the shriveled remains from her car window. Miraculously, the severed penis was discovered in a nearby pasture and doctors were able to reattach it to Bobbitt’s body.

And now the entire world wanted to see it. Was it covered in stitches and scar tissue? Did it even
look
like a penis anymore? And, more important, did it still work? Would an erection cause his stitches to come popping off and his penis to shoot across the room like a balloon pricked with a needle?