Lights, Camera, Action

Sitting in a car park, in the dark lashing rain, eating cheese and onion crisps. This is how I found myself in the lead up to my first  porn shoot.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that I have turned to the life of a sex worker. My career history has not been without its ups and downs, but its a life behind the cameras I have chosen, making a documentary, about porn.

When I was told that I would be assisting on a porn shoot, My thoughts were thus: I will either return home with a whole new bag of tricks, or I will never want to have sex again. My anticipation was heightened when I discovered that the shoot would be vampire themed. Bring it on I thought. Porn with props.

It soon transpired that we were not the only film crew there for the show. A ‘professional pick up artist’ (read sexist pig) was there filming some achingly hipster vice style piece, casually winking at me while Brooklyn told us how much she loved it when men spaffed on her face. 

He told me that he was an expert at picking up women. Of course, we as a sex are all helpless at the hands of a man who has read ‘The Game.’ I told him that last time I’d checked, I was in fact a woman, and that given the choice, I would rather shag my Dad.

Undeterred, he told me,

“I can read you like a book” I replied, “Sorry mate, but the book’s in fucking French." 

Attentions returned to the scene at hand, where a porn star named Monty (real name Floyd) was furiously masturbating in the corner, trying to get an erection. We were asked to leave, and when we returned they were ready for action. Expecting to see a faultless performance by two professionals, I was instead reminded of myself, when drunk. 

Thrashing together like two wildebeests, their rhythmless humping was something to behold. Brooklyn screamed in fake ecstacy as she clambered onto Floyd, dry as a bone. Clearly feeling the pressure of a larger audience, he stopped, frequently losing his hard on while Brookyln rearranged her extraordinary breasts. I honestly had no idea that nipples could point in different directions.

By the end, the room smelt like old socks and I left in a bid to avoid the inevitable finale. Alas, on my way back from the bathroom I ran straight in Brooklyn.

‘Oh excuse me babe, I’ve got jiz all over my face!’

Quite.