Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star (28 page)

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Authors: Blue Blake

BOOK: Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star
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Being in the porn industry I was used to total strangers asking me totally inappropriate questions, or worse, telling me totally inappropriate things about themselves.
“Perfect,” she smiled. “Anyway, here are your seats . . . sit anywhere except on the first row . . . . We charge more for that.”
I dragged Gino into the theatre.
“Who the hell was that?” I laughed.
“She’s Ronnie Larsen’s business partner.”
“Well she’s certainly a character.”
We took two seats at the back of the tiny theatre, and Gino proceeded to point out various porn stars in the audience.
The set consisted of a huge door in the middle of the stage, a bed made out of four wooden crates and two tables on opposite ends of the stage full of dildos of all different shapes and sizes. I realized they were trying to create what looked like a sleazy porn set. It wasn’t far off from some of the movies I had starred in, so ten out of ten for realism. The plot revolves around a straight, out-of-work actor called Jack whose wife is forcing him to get a normal job to pay the bills. Rather than give up acting, Jack begins to do gay porn behind his wife’s back. When she finds out about his new career she becomes his agent and forces him to do more films. Hilarity ensues.
As it turned out, I LOVED the show. Ronnie, who starred as the jaded porn producer, was a hoot, and all the actors were exceptionally funny as they ran on and off the stage in various states of undress. It was like a Dario Fo farce on crack. I laughed until I cried.
Afterwards Ronnie came up to me.
“You were brilliant,” I cried.
“Oh, you liked the show”? Ronnie asked, “Good, because I want you to star in it.”
My mouth fell open.
The next day I was in the gym and my mind was still swimming with the idea of appearing in the show
Making Porn
. There was a lot of nudity involved but I didn’t care about that. What worried me was that the last time I had acted on stage I was playing a mental in
Marat/Sade
years ago.
I pushed that to the back of my mind. I had more immediate concerns. I was going apartment hunting with Greg Greene that evening.
We found a two-bedroom furnished apartment to share in the middle of West Hollywood, which was perfect as I could walk everywhere. Living at Greg Greene’s old apartment, the only place I could walk to was McDon-alds. Being able to purchase fresh fruit improved my diet immensely.
A few days after moving in, Gino invited me to lunch with Jeff Stryker. Now who in the world hasn’t heard of Jeff Stryker? Porn superstar, probably the best looking guy ever to appear in porn, or certainly among the top three. Discovered by director Matt Sterling, Jeff ushered in a new era of porn in the early nineties: smooth, stunning muscle boys with massive cocks. Years later, when I would produce films, my videographer was Andre Adair, who shot a lot for Matt. As it happened Matt had ended up in a wheelchair but was still directing. It was all very
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
Andre hated him. Matt would make the crew carry his wheelchair up and down the stairs on the set—including poor Andre who only weighed 120 pounds.
So when I got the opportunity to have lunch with Jeff Stryker I jumped at the chance. He and Gino were great friends. I was told Jeff would pick me up in his limo, and the three of us would go for lunch. I nervously got ready that morning. I couldn’t quite believe Jeff Stryker was picking me up in his private limo. As I applied apricot facial scrub I sang to myself the Julie Andrews song, “For somewhere in my worthless childhood, I must have done something goooooooooood . . . .” The next-door neighbor’s Weimaraner howled in delighted approval.
The doorbell rang and I raced to open it. There stood Jeff Stryker. He was strikingly handsome, even more so than in his films.
“Blue . . . it’s nice to meet you.”
He talked exactly like he talked in the films, with kind of a super low baritone and all the words coming from the back of his throat.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Stryker,” I gushed.
He threw his head back and laughed, and I could see right down his throat.
“Call me Jeff.”
I passed out on the pavement, smashed my head open and had to have twenty stitches. Actually that’s not true but I definitely felt like I could have passed out while staring into Jeff’s dreamy eyes.
I climbed into the limo next to Gino expecting Jeff to join us. Instead, he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“I don’t like limo drivers, my last one nearly killed me by driving off a mountain in Laurel Canyon.”
As I pondered this unusual remark, Greg came running out.
“Blue you forgot your pager!” Then he stopped outside the car. “My God, your limo driver could be Jeff Stryker’s twin!”
“It is Jeff Stryker!” I said, realizing that this sounded ridiculous.
We drove off leaving Greg looking goggle-eyed.
What Gino had neglected to mention was that Jeff was a total speed demon. We pulled away from my apartment with enough acceleration to shoot us to the moon. My face was practically pressed to the leather seat by the centrifugal force.
“I like to drive fast . . . hey, you ok?” yelled Jeff over his shoulder. We arrived in a squeal of brakes and burning rubber, and everybody turned to see who was pulling up in the jet propelled Limo. Mouths fell open when they recognized Jeff Stryker. He opened the door and I fell out on to the pavement.
Lunch was a blast. Jeff was very self-deprecating and funny and I liked him immensely. He asked me if I would like to be in his next film
Underground,
which was being directed by Gino. The role was some guy wandering around a sex club having indiscriminate sex with everybody. I didn’t care. It was a Jeff Stryker film, and I was very flattered as the film was packed full of stars. In addition to Jeff Stryker and myself there was Derek Cameron, a sexy blond bottom of the day, Logan Reed who would in later years get mixed up in drugs and do too much meth, Paul Morgan, a straight skater boy who was in every film made for a while, Drew Andrews, who had starred with me in
Forgive Us Our Trespasses
(I thought his face was horsey), Brent Cross, who I would work with in
Men in Blue
, Edouardo, a sexy Brazillian and many more. It was a huge cast.
I was learning in the industry that unless you were very vocal about whom you wanted to be paired with; they would stick you with all kinds of unsuitable characters. Of course, I loved the men like Bo Garrret and Paul Carrigan and I would always ask to work with them. I didn’t care if they had to use copies of
Hustler
to get hard. That turned me on even more. Sometimes they would be fucking me doggie style and I would have a straight porn magazine taped open on my back to keep them hard. Perverted, yet strangely stimulating.
We finished lunch, I gave Jeff my phone number and Gino drove me home.
”Ronnie Larsen wants to make a documentary about the gay porn industry called
Shooting Porn
,” Gino turned to me and said, “And he wants to interview you and I for it. Follow us around from set to set . . . there’s no money involved but it will be good exposure for you.”
Well, I was all about the exposure. In the porn industry you do whatever it takes to keep your name front and center.
“Yeah . . . tell him I’ll do it. It sounds like fun.”
“He wants to film me directing you in a scene. I’m shooting
Perfect Ten
for Leisure Time . . . who would you like to work with?”
“How about Blade Thompson?” I grinned.
Blade was an extremely sexy straight German bodybuilder with a big dick. I had met him through Crystal, who shared a place with him. Blade unfortunately went to prison years later for beating and stalking his girlfriend after she ran off with Ryan Idol. Blade served five years then was deported back to Germany. He had a fetish for wearing women’s underwear, which came as a complete surprise to me . . . it was like finding out that Arnold Schwarzenegger liked lounging around in teddies from Victoria’s Secret.
“Blade would be perfect . . . I’ll call him.”
When I got home there was a message from Rip Stone on my answering machine. I had met Rip on the set of
Night Walk
. He played a gargoyle that fucked Chad Conners.
“Hey Blue . . . wanna go drinking tonight and pick up chicks to bang? It’s Rip . . . call me.”
Hmmmm . . . well, I didn’t know about banging any chicks but I wasn’t averse to a drop of the devil’s brew . . . tequila . . . so I called and left Rip a message to pick me up at eight o’clock. I definitely wanted to get my paws on Rip and I had to jerk off before I went out; otherwise I would be lusting after poor Rip all night.
I heard the squeal of brakes at eight o’clock sharp and through the window saw Rip jump out of his brand new Corvette. God knows what my neighbors thought because it was one porn star after another rocking up at my humble abode.
Rip looked spectacular, a tanned Adonis with a head full of curls. Years later he would hit rock bottom and star in bareback films . . . . those dubious, no-condom films where everybody looks hollow-eyed and drugged out. But back then he was still an immaculate god.
We went on a bar crawl, knocking back the “devil’s brew.” In every bar some chick would hit on Rip. He would spend a few minutes chatting to her before declaring:
“Too thin,”
“Too fat,”
“Too flat-chested,”
“Not busty enough.”
I was aghast. Some of these girls were really hot, but Rip just couldn’t seem to find the right one. As the end of the night drew near, Rip looked at me and said,
“Well man, no pussy tonight . . . guess I’m gonna be fucking you.”
We raced back to the apartment and as Rip poured himself a drink, I zipped into the bathroom to “freshen up.” When I returned Rip had left the living room and disappeared into the bedroom. Boy oh boy, was I going to get fucked tonight by that huge hunk of southern . . . BOTTOM!!! There was Rip on his hands and knees with his arse in the air.
“Be gentle with me, Blue . . . I’ve seen that big uncut dick of yours in action.”
He wanted me to fuck HIM?! Oh well. Not wasting a second, I buried my face in his arse. I guessed there would be other times.
Gino approached me with yet another offer, “Would you be interested in appearing at the Second Gay Erotic Video Awards this year?”
“Am I nominated for anything?”
“No,”
“Then there’s your answer!” I snapped, recalling the ghoulish memory of years before.
“This year is going to be completely different . . . very classy. A benefit for APLA . . . Aids Project Los Angeles and produced by Harold Huttas, who’s on the board of APLA. He’s supposed to be loaded, collects art . . . single.”
All of a sudden I was feeling incredibly altruistic. I could show myself off on stage—always a very cheap thrill—it was for a good cause, and perhaps I might be interested in meeting Harold Huttas. I had just started dating a guy who owned a company that built department stores all over America but he lived in NYC, the other side of the country and I was hungry for love.
The next day in the gym I was working out next to Ted Matthews.
“Are you going to the porn awards?” Ted asked.
“I’m supposed to be performing at them,” I said. “By the way, have you ever met a guy called Harold Huttas?”
“Met him? I used to date him,” said Ted.
“Why did you break up?”
Ted shrugged. “Harold was hard to pin down. He’s divorced with two kids and everybody’s trying to date him. I just couldn’t have him to myself.”
Well, scratch Harold Huttas, I thought. The last thing I needed was some rich, middle-aged playboy shagging everything that moved behind my back. Behind my back??? I hadn’t even met Harold and I was planning his serial cheating already!
When I got home from the gym there was a message from Gino.
“Guess where Jeff Stryker and I went last night? Out for dinner with that guy I was telling you about. Harold Huttas. We told him all about you, and he wants you to call him, so you can talk about what he’d like you to do onstage at the awards.” I knew there was no nudity allowed at the show, so basically I was up for doing anything. “Oh, and he wants you to present the award for Best Bisexual Video, you and Veronica Brazil.”
I liked Veronica; I’d met her on the set of Gino Colbert’s
Switch-hitters 6
. She had the biggest breasts I’d ever seen. Each one was as big as a bowling ball and she was always taking them out and showing off.
Gino gave me Harold’s number but I debated whether to call him. I had no idea why, but for some reason I was completely intrigued by Harold. It was more than the money. I’d been told how philanthropic he was, but I basically knew nothing more about him. I looked down at his number in my hand, picked up the phone and made what turned out to be one of the most important calls of my life.

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