Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star (30 page)

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Authors: Blue Blake

BOOK: Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star
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“Are you with Kevin Williams?” I asked nonchalantly.
“No,” laughed Harold, “Although I wouldn’t mind being with him. I’m here with my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Well, kind of ex-boyfriend really,”
This was all too much for me.
“Well I better go,” I said. “Rex Chandler offered to give me a ride home in his limo, so I better split before he leaves.”
This was true; Rex had offered to give me a ride home. Perhaps I might get the chance to gnaw on his huge cock in the backseat. I turned and left Harold behind, already pushing him out of my mind, and went to find Rex’s limo. I found it all right—with him inside, doing coke with his girlfriend!!! I was having no luck. Rex drove me home and I fell into bed alone. How the hell did I manage to go to the porn awards and end up in bed alone? As I pondered that sad mystery I fell asleep.
I awoke at 7:30 a.m. to the sound of my phone ringing. I picked it up.
“Hello . . . can I speak to Blue please?”
I recognized the voice immediately.
“Hey, Harold,” I said sleepily.
“Listen . . . I was wondering if I could buy you dinner tonight?”
“Sorry, I don’t go for dinner with guys who are in relationships,” I replied coolly.
“I’m not in a relationship . . . I mean . . . well, we broke up last night.”
I sat up quickly. He could be a lying bastard but perhaps it was true.
“OK, dinner,” I acquiesced.
“Excellent, I’ll pick you up at 7 p.m. sharp. We’ll go to Cicada on Melrose. Its owned by a friend of mine, Stephanie Taupin.”
Stephanie was married to Bernie Taupin who was Elton John’s writing partner. He wrote all the lyrics for Elton’s music. Cicada was the place to see and be seen. Years later when Stephanie divorced Bernie the place was bought by Robert De Niro, who renamed it Ago.
Harold arrived outside my apartment at 7 p.m. sharp just as he’d said. I loved people who were punctual. He sat outside patiently in a black Range Rover. Greg spied Harold through the window.
“I don’t know Blue, he seems kind of old.”
“Greg, I’m sick of dating porn stars and straight bodybuilders, and I really fancy him.”
“Please yourself,” sulked Greg.
I had a great night with Harold. We got the best table in the house and made out for two hours. We sucked face like teenagers much to the dismay of the straight crowd. After a fabulous night Harold drove me home.
“Can I come in?” Harold asked.
“Not tonight.” I’d decided to proceed with caution.
“Can I see you tomorrow night?”
“I have a shoot all day for my new movie. It’s being directed by a really famous director, Michael Zen.”
“Well, I’ve just opened a new restaurant on Melrose called The Shed. Will you come and celebrate with me there?”
“Sure,” I smiled.
“Then let’s say tomorrow at seven again.”
We kissed and I floated off to bed on a cloud of Harold lust.
As mentioned, Michael Zen is one of the most amazingly talented directors in porn. He is a true genius. Probably in his late fifties, he has a stunningly attractive young wife. I had first met Michael weeks before when he had come to audition me at my apartment for
Cockfight
for the role of the crazed, sadistic drill sergeant who is driven slowly insane by the denial of his own homosexuality and his lust for a young nubile recruit. Michael was very serious about his auditions and he wanted porn stars who could actually act. The scripts he directed were very intricate and precise and had pages of dialogue.
The script was perfect for me. I got to chew not just the scenery but the carpet and curtains too. I stomped around my apartment and ranted and raved and Michael sat there with his mouth hanging open. When I had finished auditioning, he clapped his hands and shouted, “Bravo . . . you are perfect, you have the role!”
All Worlds paid me five thousand dollars for the film. FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!!! It felt like a fortune and probably was in those days. I was also delighted to find out that Rip Stone had been cast in the film and I would be doing a scene with him. Rip Stone, Max Grand, Paul Carrigan, Logan Reed, it was a veritable smorgasbord of macho delight . . . a cornucopia of testosterone.
Set on an army base my character causes the death of one of his recruits because of his unrequited love for him. Bryan Kidd would play the recruit. This was the second time I had worked with Bryan, he had also played the young goat boy in
Ramjet
. He was short, blond and looked fourteen years old. He must have been a pedophile’s dream. He should have been starring in a film entitled
Tasty Tots
or
Get There Before the Hair
, not
Cockfight
. Bryan’s character died at the end of the movie then comes back as a ghost to drive my character to the brink of insanity. At the end of the movie I howl at the moon completely naked. It was midnight and I was freezing my bollocks off. In a review months later
Manshots Magazin
e compared my performance to Jack Nicholson’s in
The Shining
. All Worlds definitely got their five grand’s worth. I was rewarded that year with a Best Actor nomination for the role.
After shooting the first scene the next day, I joined Harold and two of his friends at The Shed. The restaurant was already becoming incredibly popular. It was situated on Melrose next door to Cicada and had leather banquettes, handsome brickwork and a roaring fireplace.
I hadn’t had time to change as I was already late, so I strolled in wearing my army fatigue costume.
“Sorry about the outfit,” I apologized, “I’m shooting a movie.”
“Oooh . . . Who is the director?” asked Hugh, one of the guests.
“Michael Zen.”
“Is he similar to Spielberg?”
“Only if Spielberg has you whip your cock out at the drop of a hat,” I joked. I looked over to Harold to make sure I hadn’t overstepped my boundaries, but he just smiled. Hugh’s boyfriend Michael jumped in: “Hugh, Blue is a huge porn star.”
Hugh blushed very sweetly. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
“No big,” I laughed. “Shall we have the potato tacos to start, somebody told me they really are quite delicious and the only thing I’ve had in my mouth all day is Bryan Kidd’s arsehole.” Hugh choked on his Campari and soda. I looked at Harold, who rolled his eyes. I was in love.
After two weeks I still hadn’t slept with Harold. I was in no hurry but Harold was. One evening he came by as if he’d had enough.
“You’re just a prick tease,” he accused.
Well, that was certainly a first.
“Harold, are you drunk?”
“No,” he slurred belligerently as he stepped into the room and almost tripped over the cat.
“Listen, go home and call me in the morning when you’re sober. I’ll get you a cab.”
“I’m not drunk and I’m never calling you again!” Harold shouted, searching the wall for the door. He sailed out the door in a cloud of scotch.
The next morning the phone rang. It was Harold.
“Blue, I’m so ashamed. I . . . .”
“Harold, you don’t need to apologize.”
That night for the first time we made wonderful sweet love and thirteen years later we still are making the same sweet love. Harold is my inspiration, a rare man of wonderful compassion and caring who I would trust with my life. In thirteen years we have argued only a handful of times and I am still astounded by his levels of deep empathy. He is my reward in life.
After two weeks together, Harold wanted me to give up porn. He was traveling to Paris for a month over Christmas and had rented an apartment overlooking the Arc de Triomphe. He asked me to go with him but I was finally about to open in the play
Making Porn
as Ronnie Larson had promised. I couldn’t let them down.
We had been rehearsing the play in Ronnie’s horrible living room amongst the dog bones and sugary treats that were scattered on the carpets. Gino had persuaded Ronnie and Caryn to put real porn stars in the lead roles and so they had cast a young blond Canadian called J.T. Sloan and myself. I really liked J.T. but he was renowned for not being able to open his mouth without a big old lie dropping out.
“Oh, I make three thousand dollars a scene.” Lie.
“I was just flown on a private jet to Dubai.” Lie.
“I love huge cock.” True.
As Caryn was only paying the rest of the cast five dollars a show they refused to rehearse with me in their spare time, so as the first evening of my performance in the show rolled around, I had never rehearsed my role with any of them. Plus I had never even set foot on the stage. Caryn made me sit in the audience and watch the show every night, but that’s not the same as actually rehearsing onstage with a cast. For the first time in my life I was an absolute nervous wreck. I was as nervous as I was on the set of my first porn film
Seeds of Love
. I mean I was a Valium popping wreck. Ronnie and Caryn kept telling me my performance was amazing but what the hell did they know. They were hardly my barometer for success.
Harold left for Paris and the next thing I knew it was opening night. As I packed my costumes to leave for the theatre I was overcome by a wave of nausea. There was no way in hell I would be able to set foot on that stage. Was I crazy? What was I thinking? I hadn’t had any proper rehearsal and I would become a joke around Los Angeles. I decided I just wouldn’t do the show. I would lock myself in my apartment and refuse to come out. I picked up the phone.
“Caryn,” I said affecting a weak croak, “You won’t believe this, I’ve just come back from the doctor’s and he says I have food poisoning, and it would be absolutely impossible for me to appear onstage tonight, in fact, not just tonight but for the entire run.”
Caryn wailed like a wounded animal. I was scared.
“In fact, he said I might even have rubella and would have to be quarantined!”
“Blue Blake,” she always called me Blue Blake, “Listen to me, you just have stage fright.”
Too bloody right I did. I was petrified. I was going to be onstage in a show I thought I didn’t even know the lines to . . . NAKED!!!
“No, Caryn, I’m incredibly sick . . . I’m convinced I might even have cholera!”
“I’m coming over to get you!” yelled Caryn, slamming the phone down.
I looked around for somewhere to hide before I remembered she couldn’t get into the apartment complex as it was locked up tighter than a nun’s asshole, and the only way she could get in would be for me to buzz her through the security door . . . or if somebody else opened the door for her. Within minutes I turned to see Caryn hammering on my living room window. Some traitor to my cause had given her access.
“BLUE, OPEN THE DOOR! YOU’RE NOT SICK, I JUST SAW YOU MIXING A MARTINI!” she screamed.
I flung the door open.
“I’m not going on that stage, I’ve had no rehearsal!” Doors opened all over the complex, and people stepped out to listen, which for some bizarre reason encouraged me to be horribly dramatic. I fell to my knees.
“Please, please, I’m terrified!” I cried, wrapping my arms around Caryn’s trotters.
“Blue,” Caryn said in a coaxing, soothing voice. “You’re brilliant in the play, you’re one of the best actors I’ve ever seen!”
She was really going overboard on the compliments, and like a fool I sucked it in; her words were syrup poured on the French toast of my ego.
“I’ll stand in the wings, and if there is a moment when you feel you can’t continue we’ll send on your understudy.”
“Do you promise?” I wept.
“Would I lie to the most brilliant actor that has ever appeared in
Making Porn
?”
Caryn crammed me into her car that was full of dog hair and cigarette butts and whisked me off to the theatre. As soon as I got onstage and the lights went up; my fright dissipated. Just like that, I was off and running. I loved every moment of being back on stage in a play. I remembered all my lines and when the curtain came down to hoots and hollers and wild applause I was elated.
Harold called from Paris and I babbled excitedly about how I had once again been bitten by the theatre bug. I could feel him smiling at the other end of the phone.
Caryn and Ronnie were taking
Making Porn
to Off Broadway starring Rex Chandler. They didn’t offer me a part in the show as they told me it wasn’t in their budget but even so I was happy for them. I knew the lightweight, campy comedy would be a huge hit in NYC.
Harold returned home and we began seriously dating: dinners every night and lost weekends spent in bed with each other. Months passed when one night I received a call from Caryn.
“Blue, it’s Caryn . . . we need you in the show, can you catch the next flight to New York?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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