So, I got invited to watch a porn being filmed. Involving sisters who are a regular (and legally paid for) part of my laptop’s rotation.
Between curiosity, the novelty and of course the chance to meet these girls maybe and definitely see them doing their thing, which is being done, of course, live, there was no way I was turning that invitation down.
I got a lift from the acquaintance who had invited me to begin with, who it turned out wasn’t part of the crew, or a producer, or, you know…
He was the guy whose house they were going to film at. Which, really, made sense to me. He had a really cool place, out in Senneville (a very woodsy and quietly wealthy outer suburb of Montréal, kind of the westernmost edge of the West Island. The houses there are all on long, quiet, winding roads, with huge lawns, pretty much all designed and built in the twenties or thirties would be my guess.
Those big lawns, often hedge-lined, made for quiet and privacy, which, coupled with the groovy layout and decor of this house, pretty much made it an ideal location, I suppose.
Put this way, a friend of mine growing up who lived in Senneville’s house had a bomb shelter as part of the original construction. So solidly built and if you’re wondering, potentially easy to end up locked in for a long weekend if one is not careful, or remotely not stoned. This wasn’t on me though, I was just along for the unpleasant part where wondering if we’d be missed or, worse, if his parents figured out we were trapped down there, would they let us out… That sort of noise-proof. Unlikely to result in drawing unwanted attention, though as teens our little crowd of geeks, nerds and stoners (plus one token cokehead slut who shall remain nameless) had somehow managed the trick on a surprisingly regular basis.
Anyhow, not the ostentatious sort of wealthy, more the generational kind, pretty much normal families in my experience, except that somewhere along the line someone’s dad, uncle, grandfather (or mother, let’s be fair) or whoever had done very well for themselves.
To skip the dull bits, in short I came prepared of course, which is to say with an eight-ball in my bag, on top of which my friend smoked me that morning, as I’d come over the night before, and so I was riotously stoned the old-fashioned way by the time the cast and crew and such began showing up.
I am a total lightweight where weed is concerned, by the way, and the joints of my high school years, and they were that, had been supplanted by bongs, which made for much smoother rips, which was nice because while I can smoke cigarettes without a cough, not a good thing I know, weed always had me coughing uncontrollably at even a mild toke.
Well, no more. That stuff went down smooth as it gets, so naturally I kept at it with him until I was so goofy stoned and giggling he threatened to lock me in the attic so I wouldn’t embarrass him around his porn friends.
He was kidding, I think.
Anyhow, as anyone keeping up with my latest efforts should be aware this wasn’t my first time on a porn shoot. I won’t go into the dull details, and I am not naming names, as I was basically just kind of slouching about, trying not to get underfoot, or on camera for that matter and just helped out here and there, fetching bottled water or towels or whatever and getting an eyeful, as well as an earful, and quite a snoot full as well.
Both in the sense that people in a pretty enclosed space where there is a lot of fucking going on, as well as the other people just sweating and, well, farting and whatever people do that definitely included Doritos breath, but of course also in the sense that I was slipping off regularly to date the white girl.
Not that I ever need much of an excuse, but watching these hot girls do their getting done and all was already pervy, there was no way I wasn’t going to observe from a thoroughly bimbo’d state. I mean, that’s usually how I watched them anyhow.
So, it was a lot longer than it looks on film, with a lot of repetitive bits and the occasional stoppage for reasons of stuff you don’t think about when watching the end product and it’s better that way, believe me.
But I did get to meet them, and they were sweet in a ‘probably higher than I was, not exactly their first meeting a gushing fan, male or female, tired after being fucked for hours in a number of aerobically more challenging than I could have handled ways, etc.
On one hand a bit of a letdown, but on the other I had been more or less expecting something like that. I must have not made a total twit of myself though, because I got invited to the afterparty, which was basically a few of the ‘talent’ (mostly the guys, one of the non-sister girls) and some of the crew getting together at the nearest bar, which in this case, the Quai Sera, was also one of the places I learned how to give myself alcohol poisoning and get picked up as an underaged teen, like most of the rest of my classmates and likely their older siblings in their day, and so on and so on…
It was pretty much just chilling, a few drinks and some food before they’d be going their respective ways but, both cocaine-horny and friendly, not all skunky after a long days’ being ploughed and I guess a new face…
OK, give myself a little credit here. While I was no porn starlet, I’m not ugly and get myself fucked pretty regularly. Which is to say, I may not be a glamour model, especially pear-shaped as I am (firm, not fat) I do pretty well for myself. I have personality, even if it’s dorky horny nerdy, I’m friendly and I am a likely lay.
What I’m getting at is I got asked for my number by a couple of the guys I’d been watching slug well above my league all day and, well, they weren’t homely either, to put it mildly, were in amazing shape, maybe not quite my style in terms of volume of piercings and ink but also… Well, fuck, they were also both huge.
I don’t mean like twelve inches of horse cock huge, I mean real-world huge. Sizeable enough to work in porn, and I know there’s more to it than that but admit it, you kind of want to see the big show too… I’ve been fucked by more guys than I should even allude to and, to be honest, most of them were, well, average-ish. Not that I’ve ever measured anyone, and if I believed what guys told me it would explain my awful spatial skills because I would have absolutely no idea what six inches really looked like, ahem, but it seems that average, as in the statistical mean or whatever, is average for a reason. Most of my lovers had been in that range, some more substantially so than others, and on a couple of occasions I’d felt quite stuffed by men who were maybe in these guys’ range, again, I don’t measure and cocaine makes every cock look bigger, believe me, but these guys were sexy, funny, hung like horses and so yes, I gave them my number, the way I do with the little emojis I add when I am signalling that their attention is welcome.
And as it happened, woke up the next morning to find a text inviting me to hook up, er, I mean hang out at a party that evening.
Not a full on bacchanal, a normal party type party, except that my hook-ups there and oops, there’s that word again, happened to be the two hot guys.
I went. I drank and smoked some weed and did a lot of cocaine, it being my party period and all, and I got friendly. Friendly as Hell. Friendly as fuck. Friendly as fucked, predictably. I smiled and slipped out of the social rooms with the blonde one, no names still here, when he gave me the look, and well, what usually happens at that point in someone’s bedroom happened. No big deal, I am an adult, as I mentioned this wasn’t my first ride, and…
Actually, it was a really fucking big deal. Not just because of the size, girth and all of his cock either.
Laugh at me for being shocked all you like, but yowza, this guy fucked my brains out, had me yowling and cumming and trying to catch my breath and giggling I was so giddy and yeah, the rest of the apartment was probably keeping up with the play by play but… Holy fucking damn, this guy fucked my brains out.
It wasn’t so much sex as I usually thought of it as it was an amusement park ride. One of the really scary, thrilling adrenaline rush rides.
And when it was over, and I was asking if I was OK, and he sweetly assured me I’d been great, totally fun, just what he liked about civilian girls, and that was the first time I heard that term used in that context but yep, that’s what we are to people in the industry I am assured, and…
OK, so I am a total slut. If this is news at this point, you really haven’t paid much attention. And so after hitting the slut candy when I stopped gasping for air I, and my dignity can at least cling to the knowledge that I was definitely blushing and shy and very embarrassed when I asked him if maybe he thought his friend might like to drop by the bedroom?
I’d had the pony ride of my life and I wanted another while it was still to possibly be had, damnit.
I found out later that the guys, of whom there were ultimately three as one of their friends dropped in, were having fun in more ways than one. I mean, they were getting those huge, fabulous cocks wet all they wanted, and not just in the bedroom as I ended up bare-assed in the living room bouncing on the third guy on the couch, making a spectacle of myself for the regular party-goers and having the rides of my life… Which was also not a coincidence,
They were basically having fun blowing my mind in as many ways as they felt like, and having a laugh along with their cumming at the civilian who was going totally mental, out of her league, cocaine-fuelled to bimboland and loving every moment of it.
Mind, the day after I was so sore I almost convinced myself I wouldn’t have thrown myself on any one of them if they’d passed through right then, but the long and the long and the long of it is that I got the full working over by three pornstars and it was every bit as out of my league incredible as you imagine it with Alexis Love, Pocahontas Jones, Riley Reid or whichever girl does it extra dirty for you.
And no, they weren’t there. But now you know some of the girls who come to my mind, pun pretty much not going to be gotten around at this point, when I pull up the first girls who, you know, (…) to my mind when I am needing names.
I pay for their work too, by the way. I sell smutty stories, or try to, so I’d be a total hypocrite if I stole my porn. I do admit to visiting youporn.com and similar clip sites now and then, but usually it’s either to scratch an itch, as in curiosity, or to preview some scene before buying because while I am ethical I am also on a limited budget, particularly considering my primary, ah, you know, ‘entertainment’ expense.
The attention is usually on the girls but believe you me, the men are every bit as holy fucking wow sex athletes, and I basically got passed around the all-star team. Loving every moment of it.
They haven’t lost my number either. I made certain of that. While they had a laugh watching me having wet, sloppy, cummy hysterics, they must have had a pretty good time too.
Look, I’ve heard that for men, a pornstar experience is going to be legendary but it can also be a real hit to the ego. What with men usually in the drivers’ seat, as it were, and there being no way that they are going to be the biggest, the thickest, the hardest, the anything-est to a girl who fucks like a fiend for a living.
To me, who is certainly active and energetic and has a few tricks of her own by civilian standards, still, being the catcher as it were, being fucked, and really, being fucked, by the professionals was no kind of hit to my ego.
Girls, you owe it to yourself to have at least one pony ride while the circus is in town.
It even has me thinking about that offer again. I’d have a lot of catching up to do and the whole mom-surely die shame element isn’t going anywhere, but fuck what mainstream society or prudes or whoever say or think.
I’m sure it’s a bit less of a total bliss supernova when it’s over those long hours and, the farting or back aches or risking some abusive shit either fucking you or directing the guys who are ending up hurting or humiliating you, but I still can’t think of too many other ways I’d love to be earning my cocai– erm, I mean pocket money than frequent and varied pony rides.
It actually makes me angry that these people have to deal with the stigmas they do by ignorant asses, many if not most of who are probably also getting off to them on the sly… and probably not even with the decency to pay for their porn, either.
I’ve never been even a little bit ashamed of having a lot of, often kinda sordid, sex. OK, pretty much being a total slut and I damned well wouldn’t start feeling shy just when I was getting all of that slutting around done (to me) in the big leagues.
I mean, I already do cocaine and sleep around and give up the booty when the mood is right or he has the element of surprise or… I give (legendary) head, I swallow, I wear it, however he likes it, whoever he might happen to be at the time. It’s not as though I’m going to end up corrupted by the seedy underside of sex. That happened well before I was even legal.
Jailbait indeed. Someone got their cock caught in the cookie jar, as I have mentioned once and will not belabour any further, particularly as, also mentioned, I didn’t come out of it all broken and damaged as I was supposed to be. I guess I am just not able to feel bad about feeling really good.
Please note, I have also often mentioned that there is a reason I am a unicorn and not girlfriend material, mind. I am just not digging up any pathos that needn’t be excavated in order to make what is, overall, a happy life less so just because we all have some kind of damage, somewhere in our psyches, and we all, mostly manage to not die of the awfulness of being human, not perfect.
Just, except mom… The one guilt, and self-inflicted no less, that I can’t get around.
But girls, seriously, pony rides are just totally bloody well awesome…
This is one kind of ‘civilian casualty’ that you will really not mind being counted as, trust me.
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