Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star (2 page)

Read Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star Online

Authors: Blue Blake

BOOK: Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star
12.59Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
My film
Cowboy
was shot in the middle of a California summer. The temperature would soar every day to over a hundred degrees and we would be driven mad by the insects and marauding dogs. My cameraman was a sweet, talented guy called Andre Adair. He was skinny and blond and had arrived in porn via the UCLA film school. He was very soothing to be around, which was a good thing because if anything could go wrong on the shoot it did. The first day we arrived we were shooting an oral scene only. This meant there was to be no penetration between the two stars, Caesar and Rhett O’Hara. Rhett was an incredibly good-looking straight boy from Louisiana. A year earlier I had broken my leg in a bicycle accident and Rhett had applied for the job as my chauffeur and cook. At the time Rhett was working for an overweight psychic who raked in $500 an hour doing psychic readings over the phone! The psychic wore a white afro wig, which he insisted was his own hair, and only dressed in turquoise jewelry and different shades of white. I knew he was having sex with Rhett, so I think Rhett was glad to escape the clutches of this crazed swami, even if it meant cooking for and chauffeuring around a temperamental porn producer.
One day I was sitting by the pool, my leg in plaster, and Rhett was bringing me lemonade. It was an incredibly hot day and I said to Rhett, “Why don’t you take a swim?”
I couldn’t swim because my bloody leg was in plaster, so I needed to live vicariously. Rhett didn’t need asking twice. He peeled off his clothes to reveal a tight firm body. He had been in prison once and his chest was covered in prison tattoos. He had the face of an angel but a convict’s body. When he took his pants off my eyes nearly fell out of my head. His cock was HUGE. Obviously the psychic’s wig hadn’t been on as tight as I thought. Fuck preparing me chicken casserole; this boy could be a big star. I signed him immediately. Yes he was straight, but so were ninety percent of the bodybuilders I used. It’s called “gay for pay.”
So Caesar and Rhett were scene partners on the first day of shooting. They both had to suck each other off in bed. There was a minimal amount of dialogue. Easy. The scene went well. They both had no problem cumming, and they handled what little dialogue there was well. The only problem was that Caesar had competed in the California Bodybuilding Championships the week before, and because of all the squats he had done in the gym to build up his huge ass, he had developed hemorrhoids. This prevented us from filming his asshole, which is what fifty percent of my audience wanted to see. He assured me that he was having them treated and that it wouldn’t cause a problem for the rest of the movie. Famous last words.
The second day of filming didn’t involve Caesar. We were shooting Tom Katt and a guy from Texas named Evan Taylor, who bore a strong resemblance to Richard Gere. Evan was very easygoing and so was Tom, but Tom just wasn’t attracted to Evan. They were playing construction workers in the movie and Evan had to fuck Tom on a bulldozer. Tom had also just competed with Caesar in the California Bodybuilding Championship and had placed fourth to Caesar’s fifth. Tom really should have won but due to the politics of bodybuilding he didn’t. Judges aren’t going to award a star of gay porno a bodybuilding title. Years later Tom realized this and gave up the porno to become a priest. Tom was enormous—5’9” and 230 lbs. ripped—he looked like he’d been carved from granite. Evan had a nice body but nothing like Tom’s.
We set up the scene and by midday we were ready to shoot. Because of the heat, we had to keep maneuvering the bulldozer to keep it in the shade. Of course, this made for lousy continuity. Evan could tell from Tom’s performance that Tom wasn’t really into him and that, coupled with the heat and the fact that Tom’s ass was so huge he couldn’t find the hole, meant we were heading for big problems. Tom was the bottom in the scene, and after they took their Viagra—thank you, Mr. Pfizer—we started with some ass-eating and dick-sucking. Perfect . . . both cocks hard and Evan licking Tom’s muscles. After an hour of oral, we were ready to begin the fucking. That’s when the problems began.
We tried every position: doggy, reverse cowgirl, limber showgirl. In porn, all the fuck positions have names. Everyone knows doggy. Reverse cowgirl is when your partner sits down facing the camera and you sit on his cock, also facing the camera. Limber showgirl is when you’re both standing up fucking, and the fuckee has one leg high in the air so the penetration can be seen by the camera from underneath. This normally requires a “coochie light,” which is a light that’s held by the lighting guy underneath to illuminate the asshole. This can be messy, as lube and butt juice can sometimes spill out onto the lighting guy. Always be sure your lighting guy is a piggy so he doesn’t mind. It’s even better if he actually likes it.
We finally ended up with Tom lying on the six-foot high wheel of the bulldozer with my crew holding his legs apart out of camera shot. To achieve this effect I gave several Mexican day laborers $20 each to hold Tom’s legs up and apart, since I had run out of crew. The Mexicans had been wandering around on the ranch and didn’t speak a word of English so God knows what they were excitedly saying to each other. When you shoot porn you develop an attitude where you have no shame. You just want to get the shot. If my granny had been on the set I would have paid her to hold Tom’s legs open. God rest her soul.
So here we were, Tom on his back on top of a tire, three Mexicans holding his ass open, a lighting guy holding the coochie light to light his hole, and an assistant keeping the marauding dogs away. We were ready to roll.
“He’s too high in the air,” stammered Evan.
“Somebody get Evan an orange crate to stand on!” I screamed . . . and I do mean screamed. A crate was hastily produced and Evan stepped onto it.
“I can’t find his hole,” he said.
“Spread his legs wider!” I shouted at the Mexicans. They looked at me with sunburned faces. “How do you say ‘spread his arse cheeks’ in Spanish?” I demanded.
“
Separe sus piernas para que su culo queda abierta
,” my makeup artist said. He spoke Spanish! Who knew? The Mexicans spread Tom’s legs wider. Each leg must have weighed as much as a baby elephant and the poor Mexicans were sweating and getting a real eyeful of Tom’s hole getting stuffed by Evan’s cock. I’m sure selling raffia piñatas in Tijuana suddenly seemed most appealing. Tom was a real trouper as he lay there covered in Mexican worker sweat and still managed to remember his dialogue.
“Yeah, man, fuck me with that big Texan cock!” Who wrote this crap? Oh yeah, I did!
“Did we get all of that?” I asked Andre my cameraman.
“I think we’re going to have to fake a good half hour of it,” Andre replied. Faking it was when the models couldn’t get hard so they would pretend to fuck. It happened all the time in the adult gay industry.
“OK, guys, give me some faking, and keep the energy up!” I shouted.
That night I cried myself to sleep. In all my years in porn I had never been involved in such a disastrous project. This movie, as well as costing a fortune, was going to ruin my career. I was directing the Titanic of Porn—not the James Cameron
Titanic
where Kate Winslet pretended she fancied the boyish Leonardo DiCaprio and Billy Zane ran around the deck in a bad wig—the real life 46,000 ton ship that sank with almost everybody on board, including the captain . . . me.
I woke early the next morning filled with trepidation. We couldn’t possibly have a worse day than the day before, could we? As it turned out, yes we could. Caesar was bottoming that day for an amateur boxer I had found in a local gym and named Brad Rock. Brad was straight and had two little kids. He had a huge cock and the biggest balls I had ever seen in my life. He had very pale skin, very black hair, very red lips and very blue eyes. He reminded me of a malamute. He was incredible looking.
Brad had starred in my film
Hard as Rock
, and was quickly becoming a big star. He was supposed to be fucking Caesar. My deal with Caesar was for him to appear in three scenes in the film. One oral with Rhett O’Hara, one fucking Dane Brando and another where he got fucked by Brad Rock. He swore to me his hemorrhoids would be healed in time for him to get fucked by Brad, and I had no choice but to believe him. We all arrived on the ranch and Caesar asked to speak to me.
“Blue, we have a problem.” I knew exactly what he was going to say; in fact, as he said it, the words seemed to be coming out in slow motion:
“I caaaan’t geeeeet fuuuucked.” I could feel the top of my head about to explode.
“WHAT?” I screamed. “Are you trying to ruin my movie!?” My voice echoed around the ranch as the crew and the pack of dogs ran for cover.
“Hey, it’s not my fault!” shouted Caesar—and it wasn’t his fault of course. Caesar and I stood nose to nose with fists clenched. Andre, my cameraman, told me afterwards he was sure we were going to have a knockdown, drag-out fight.
“OK . . . ” I hissed between clenched teeth, “This is what we are going to do. We are going to do the oral, fake the fucking, then when your arse is better in a week we are going to shoot the close-ups of insertion.” This was a total fucking pain, but it was the only solution to this nightmare.
Everybody on the set agreed it was the only way around the problem and with the magic of editing it could be done. The only thing that worried me was that porn stars had a high rate of flakiness. In fact, the flakiness factor rivaled that of a piece of cod. And I was worried that either Brad Rock or Caesar would end up in prison or commit suicide before I could finish filming
Cowboy
. I know that it sounds heartless, but by this time my heart was made of granite. I had turned into Cecil B. DeBlake and nothing was going to stand in my way of finishing this movie.
“OK,” I barked, “Caesar and Brad, you’re down in that gorge and Caesar, you’re eating Brad’s arse.”
“But I think I saw a snake!” said Caesar.
“Did Jennifer Lopez say that when she was filming
Anaconda
?!” I screamed. “EAT HIS ARSE!” The gorge was indeed full of snakes, but we kept them away from the actors by having Eddie, my makeup artist, throw rocks to distract them . . . well, until he passed out due to heat stroke and dehydration. It was 110 degrees.
The oral and arse eating went surprisingly well and we faked all the fucking. Caesar, as if knowing I was at the end of my tether, gave a superb performance and Brad Rock was at the top of his game. There is something extremely sexy about watching two very masculine, straight men kiss. So I made them snog each other’s faces off. I always know when a scene will be hot because I get a hard-on, and believe me; I was gigantic in my pants watching these two studs go at it. I might even have had a wank behind the monitor . . . I don’t remember.
Finally, after a week we were finished filming at that damn ranch. As we drove away, I noticed the pack of wild dogs fighting over a used condom that had been left behind in the dirt. Bon appetite, Lassie!
The final scene for
Cowboy
was shot the next day in my house in Laurel Canyon. I had built a shower that could fit ten people, despite the fact that only two of us lived there. I had seen it in an issue of
Homes and Gardens
. All made of gothic tile it would serve as the set for a three-way between three bodybuilders: Staten McCor-mack, Ray Stone and Kelly Madison. They had shaved their heads in order to look alike because in the movie they were supposed to portray Caesar’s father, cousin and uncle. They were all showering together in their underwear and then two of them would fuck Kelly Madison. Of course it was ridiculous because who showers in their underwear? But it just looked so sexy. They all had the same kind of bodies and apart from the fact that we ran out of hot water half way through the scene and everybody began to turn blue, everything went without a hitch. Perhaps the curse of this damn film had finally been lifted.
Years later we sold the house to the actress Julie Bowen. Before she bought the place she told me she showed her friends how beautiful the shower was by playing
Cowboy
for them and telling them to ignore the naked skinheads and just appreciate the beauty of the Ann Sacks tile inlays.
A week later Caesar and Brad returned so we could shoot the insertion shots. I had completely run out of money to carry on with this film. I couldn’t even afford to pay the videographer’s day rate, so I snatched up the camera and I shot it myself. As I lay on my back in the dirt and leaves while shooting Caesar’s hole in a really tight shot so that it would match the rest of the footage, I prayed to God that anybody who bought the film wouldn’t notice my amateurish shaky camera work. Luckily, Caesar’s arse had healed and it came off without a hitch.
That night I replayed the entire movie in my head. I had put my heart and soul into the film so it bloody better make some money.
In the January 2003 issue of
Adult Video News
(the porn bible where all the latest gay and straight films are reviewed) Vincent Lambert awarded
Cowboy
a four and a half star rating out of a possible five:
“The much hyped and long discussed Blue Blake’s
Cowboy
rides into town this month. And it is well worth the wait.... Blue Blake’s
Cowboy
is a neat little thriller. It is lovely to look at. Has a meaty story line, good performances and, most important, hot man action. It is nicely edited by Michael Zen. We even like the catchy “Cowboy” theme song by Rock Hard (Maybe because it sounds like it was inspired by Madonna’s own dancing-cowboy video, ‘Don’t Tell Me’. . . . Pre-noms across the board. . . .”

Other books

Flashpoint by Suzanne Brockmann
Elizabeth Kidd by My Lady Mischief
Trust by George V. Higgins