Once upon a time - a long long time ago - when Lil Princess was still pure, and she had not yet been sexually defiled in triple digit amounts by mindless wastoid hog apes, and before she ravished herself beyond repair, back she was young, about 18...that was a good time.
Your Lil Princess had not yet done sex work, then, and she was a college student. An ad in the local paper boasted $400 per hour to take photos, no sex involved. Imagine this - $400, and no sex. What could that mean? I couldn't help to be curious. That was the equivalent pay for like two weeks of my telemarketing salary, 40 hours, for a mere hour. And I did not have to break any of my boundaries that have long since been blown through, because there was no sex involved.
A polite man answered when I called the number listed in the ad. He wanted to know my age and my measurements and if I was comfortable in front of a camera. I told him I was. Visions of how many pints of Dimitri vodka I could buy for 400 bucks were sloshing through my then much-clearer head.
At the time, I had just started drinking and had a special taste for cheap vodka, which I have never been able to shake, but now instead of a special taste, its an insatiable craving. So I agreed to meet this fellow a few doors away from the old Jinx Cafe on Division Street.
I was so nervous going up there. I knew Jinx Cafe. I had been there many times, but I didn't know that there was a "special interest" studio just around the corner from it. I had no idea what to expect. No sex...$400 an hour. What could this be?
When I got to the address, I rang a doorbell, the one with the red dot next to it. The one I was told to ring. Much to my surprise it was a regular apartment building, not a huge scummy pornatorium. I entered the apartment, and I realized it was just a scummy crash pad, with a guy and a mini DV video camera, much like most of the sleazy porn that I was to be in later in life.
A black man with dreadlocks welcomed me, and he seemed nice enough. The apartment was gross, with leather couches, and I saw a chair surrounded by lights. I assumed that was to be my stage, but what the fuck was I going to do?
While walking in, I noticed a long table with a stained cloth covering it. My mind took note of it. The Nubian prince asked me if I was comfortable being nude in front of the camera. I said yes. He made me take my shirt off. I was a bit put off...by the whole situation...I wanted to go home. He commented on the size of my nipples: Big, good, mmmm...
He asked me to take off my pants then. I wanted to be a pro. So fucking stupid. When I removed my underwear to reveal my hairy crotch, he told me I would have to shave. I didn't know a shower and a shave was included in the deal. And now I realized that I'd have to use this shithead's razor, which had previously cut who-knows-who's who-knows-where.
I came out clean and shaved. Four hundred dollars. That was all I tried to focus on. Four hundred dollars. I left my pubes sticking out of the razor and all over his shower and his bar of soap. I wanted to make the place even more disgusting than it was to begin with. I still didn't know what the fuck I was doing.
When I returned to the main room, the king of ashy class told me that I looked much better. He then took me to the long table with the stained towel over it. He removed the towel only to reveal about 12 dildos of different sizes and shapes. There were so many. They smelled of cum and asshole, a smell that I was not yet so familiar with, but I knew it was foul.
He picked out a sex toy for me. It was the biggest, blackest, longest, thickest two-sided one. He then told me I had to masturbate with it for 30 whole minutes. And that would get me 200 dollars.
It didn't seem too bad. What's 30 minutes? An episode of Different Strokes? Shit, for $200 dollars, I could shove this big, black thing up me and pretend to enjoy it. Yeah, right. I picked it up and it stuck to my hand.
My host instructed me to put lube on the toy and go to town. I sat down in the chair with the cheap lighting around it. He took out his mini DV camcorder and I lubed the sticky long black stem. Then I very reluctantly put it in my hole, trying to be as mindless as possible. I worked it up in me. Up and down. He asked me if I was getting wet myself.
What the fuck?, I thought. How in the fuck could I be getting wet in this fucking disgusting monster's apartment after using a hepatitis-laced razor to shave my bathing suit areas and now I'm shoving this sticky AIDS-basted double-ended cold slithery sluggish thing up my cunt-hole? No sir. Not wet.
How long was I doing this for? This must have been at least 10 or 15 minutes. He told me to touch my breasts. I did. Then I stopped. It's surely almost long enough. I asked him how long it had been.
"Not yet two minutes," he told me.
I almost gagged and fainted.
Okay, I guessed I could work this thing in and out of me and touch my boobs and make a noise now and then and hold it out for another 28 minutes...right? Ummmm...No. What the fuck was I supposed to do?
This was the most simultaneously repugnant and boring thing I had ever done in my life. How the fuck could I continue? Don't think...Just shove it in the hole and moan...But my mind can't help but wander. I count. Each second feels like a fucking year. This is way worse than trying to sell Sears credit cards to old people. In and out it goes. More lube. More cold. How much time now? 5 minutes..."Are you nervous??"...Umm...200 dollars..."No, sir, not nervous"...Shit...UUUgh...This dildo is black. I cannot see what possible fluids have been on it, all I know is that it was sticky...Six minutes...Then I start to imagine the person who would watch this for this long. If I could not even do it, who the fuck could watch the same girl masturbating with the same dildo for 30 whole minutes...Six minutes and 30 seconds..."You're nervous"...I CANT FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!...Yes mister. I have to stop . . .
I walked out of there with $50, 4 venereal diseases, a shaved pussy, and my first experience in the adult film world. Wonderful. Sickening. Shameful. Private. Piggish. It took me awhile to recover from.
Still, I could not complain. It was all consensual. He did not hurt me. I did everything by my own will and when I said I couldn't take it, he paid me 50 bucks and was apologetic.
That was my first taste of the sleazy adult world. There would be countless more episodes. Many more where I did not get paid. Many that are even more harrowing and stomach-churning. But this was the first.
I just actually remembered this the other day when discussing the cafe, Jinx. I said, "Oh yeah, that's right near where I did my first porno gig thing at." I sat down and remembered how beautifully horrible it all was.
So why, then, did I go ultimately back and do it again? And again. I don't know. But I have no regrets. I guess. Sticky black dildos. Black pornographer. Dirty razors. Dirty money. Dirty videos.
It works for me.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Thursday, March 1, 2007
America's Next Top Lil Princess
The new episode of my favorite reality TV program debuted tonight. It is America's Next Top Model.
I love this show. I love the bulimia. I love the fighting. I love the cattiness. I love that monstrous half-trans half-whatever Ms. Jay, who is the blackest of the black and who wears high heels and black body suits but has a beard and walks the runway.
I love the part where all the girls get their $200,000 makeovers and then start crying because they can't wear their $18 dollar weaves that they got in some back alley barbershop that specializes in fades.
But most of all I love Top Model hostess Tyra Banks. Ooh, Tyra. I love Tyra and her feigned "caring" for each of the models. I love how she is so down to earth. I love when she gets all ghetto and waves her head back and forth and says, "Girl, you go!" It makes me so happy. I love how on her show she talked about how everyone thought she was fat and how the media is obsessed with being skinny, and how she was considered fat, so that all the little girls at home that are already obsessed with dieting decide that Tyra is considered fat and how they are all starving themselves.
Tyra is great. Now she has her own talk show where she brings prostitutes on, gets them to tell the perverse details of how they fuck and suck, and she is so interested in how these girls can possibly make a living by selling their bodies. Sorry darling, but isn't that what modeling is? A conundrum for the ages.
To dump my naked body on Tyra Banks would be my ultimate cream-dream come true. I have thought about it a whole lot, how I would do it. Fantasies of storming Tyra Banks are the only little tidbits that keep me going in this harsh world. I am currently watching the show and it fills my mind with wonderful ideas. Here is how I'd do it.
First, I'd set up a camera and get the tape rolling. I'd get Ms. Jay, Tyra, and her top models, all 12 of the ones in the beginning. I would lure them into a salon, just like the Nazis lured the Jews into death chambers with promises of a shower, and then bam, they got gassed.
All the Top Model stars would eagerly march into the salon. But the salon would all of a sudden turn into a torture/surgery room. Still, it would be highly decorated and very posh. The barber chairs would become beds with straps and restraints.
Since I don't really want the girls to be in pain, I'd have trained anesthesiologists on hand. They would put each girl under, and I would first shave all of their heads except one, but in different ways. First, I would shave some like natural bald spots in some models. Some completely bald. Some monk-style. This I could do myself, because I'm good with hair and clippers. Almost as good as Ms. Britney Spears.
But I'd need some surgeons. Here is where the anesthesiologists come in. I will put each girl under and have lots of fun with their nipples. I will cut them all off and affix them to Tyra. This will all be under anesthesia, so no pain will be felt. I will put two visible ones on her cheeks so that she will look like a little toy soldier.
A tattoo artist will imprint little pictures of bunnies and where the naked beauties’ nipples used to be. I'd also tattoo a big picture of Michael Jackson fucking JonBenet with a gun onto Tyra's back. That would make a wonderful Sports Illustrated cover!
There's this tough Bronx bitch on Top Model this season. Her weave was falling off at her audition. I would scalp another model and then sew the scalp onto the Bronx-weave-bitch's head. This way, I'd never have to hear her ugly accent complain about her fucking fake hair again.
Next, I'd put all my subjects in cheerleader costumes and put nooses around their necks. Once the dope wore off, I'd make them dance with me to Olivia Newton-John while forcing them to eat as many Arby's Big Montanas as possible. Then they'd vomit and I'd feed them more. The tough cunts would try to talk shit, but they can’t because they'd have mouths full of Arby's horsey sauce and roast beef
The climax will star Tyra, the down-to-earth supermodel with the big forehead. She will be dressed like a toy soldier, with the nipples on her cheeks. I would bring in three Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and have them skull-fuck her with big black dildos while playing Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots were Made for Walking" layered over sounds of deer and rabbits dying through subwoofers.
I would be dressed as Raphael, the red ninja turtle. But I would be dressed as Raphael dressed as Marie Antoinette and I would be all fucked up on Arby's and I would fuck the living turds out of Tyra.
We will then retire to a dining room, where we all be served a lobster dinner. With a side of Kool-Aid, Jim-Jones-style (that's with cyanide for you dolts who don't know who Jim Jones is). Everyone will drink it with the exception of me and Miss Jay. And I will be the happiest girl in the whole world.
These models would all be the stars they wanted to be. They would be in the greatest snuff film ever created. The nooses will be tightened and their limp dead bodies will all be hung for effect. In their cheerleader costumes. I would collect their weaves and make a rug out of them and sell it on eBay for seven million dollars.
I would then remove my Raphael costume and do Tyra face-to-face using a strap-on dildo. I know she likes to get it hard. Pieces of her pussy might fall off. I'll put them in little glass vials and I will sell each cunt-chunk for $300 on eBay.
Miss Jay would survive. And then we'd do a bunch of coke together.
This is my fantasy of the ultimate episode of America’s Next Top Model. I will of course make tons of money off of it and I will promise to donate 25% of it to feed all of the hungry inner-city children Church's Chicken for as long as they live. I will then retire and go into hiding somewhere, getting each model stuffed, so I can have tea parties with them.
One day I will reemerge as a star, and shave my head and get a tattoo of lips on my arm . . . oh wait Britney Spears already did that. Well then I'll drive across the country in a diaper with a meat tenderizer and try to kill an astronaut’s wife . . . oh, wait that happened too.
This world is becoming so crazy. I'll really have to think.
I love this show. I love the bulimia. I love the fighting. I love the cattiness. I love that monstrous half-trans half-whatever Ms. Jay, who is the blackest of the black and who wears high heels and black body suits but has a beard and walks the runway.
I love the part where all the girls get their $200,000 makeovers and then start crying because they can't wear their $18 dollar weaves that they got in some back alley barbershop that specializes in fades.
But most of all I love Top Model hostess Tyra Banks. Ooh, Tyra. I love Tyra and her feigned "caring" for each of the models. I love how she is so down to earth. I love when she gets all ghetto and waves her head back and forth and says, "Girl, you go!" It makes me so happy. I love how on her show she talked about how everyone thought she was fat and how the media is obsessed with being skinny, and how she was considered fat, so that all the little girls at home that are already obsessed with dieting decide that Tyra is considered fat and how they are all starving themselves.
Tyra is great. Now she has her own talk show where she brings prostitutes on, gets them to tell the perverse details of how they fuck and suck, and she is so interested in how these girls can possibly make a living by selling their bodies. Sorry darling, but isn't that what modeling is? A conundrum for the ages.
To dump my naked body on Tyra Banks would be my ultimate cream-dream come true. I have thought about it a whole lot, how I would do it. Fantasies of storming Tyra Banks are the only little tidbits that keep me going in this harsh world. I am currently watching the show and it fills my mind with wonderful ideas. Here is how I'd do it.
First, I'd set up a camera and get the tape rolling. I'd get Ms. Jay, Tyra, and her top models, all 12 of the ones in the beginning. I would lure them into a salon, just like the Nazis lured the Jews into death chambers with promises of a shower, and then bam, they got gassed.
All the Top Model stars would eagerly march into the salon. But the salon would all of a sudden turn into a torture/surgery room. Still, it would be highly decorated and very posh. The barber chairs would become beds with straps and restraints.
Since I don't really want the girls to be in pain, I'd have trained anesthesiologists on hand. They would put each girl under, and I would first shave all of their heads except one, but in different ways. First, I would shave some like natural bald spots in some models. Some completely bald. Some monk-style. This I could do myself, because I'm good with hair and clippers. Almost as good as Ms. Britney Spears.
But I'd need some surgeons. Here is where the anesthesiologists come in. I will put each girl under and have lots of fun with their nipples. I will cut them all off and affix them to Tyra. This will all be under anesthesia, so no pain will be felt. I will put two visible ones on her cheeks so that she will look like a little toy soldier.
A tattoo artist will imprint little pictures of bunnies and where the naked beauties’ nipples used to be. I'd also tattoo a big picture of Michael Jackson fucking JonBenet with a gun onto Tyra's back. That would make a wonderful Sports Illustrated cover!
There's this tough Bronx bitch on Top Model this season. Her weave was falling off at her audition. I would scalp another model and then sew the scalp onto the Bronx-weave-bitch's head. This way, I'd never have to hear her ugly accent complain about her fucking fake hair again.
Next, I'd put all my subjects in cheerleader costumes and put nooses around their necks. Once the dope wore off, I'd make them dance with me to Olivia Newton-John while forcing them to eat as many Arby's Big Montanas as possible. Then they'd vomit and I'd feed them more. The tough cunts would try to talk shit, but they can’t because they'd have mouths full of Arby's horsey sauce and roast beef
The climax will star Tyra, the down-to-earth supermodel with the big forehead. She will be dressed like a toy soldier, with the nipples on her cheeks. I would bring in three Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and have them skull-fuck her with big black dildos while playing Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots were Made for Walking" layered over sounds of deer and rabbits dying through subwoofers.
I would be dressed as Raphael, the red ninja turtle. But I would be dressed as Raphael dressed as Marie Antoinette and I would be all fucked up on Arby's and I would fuck the living turds out of Tyra.
We will then retire to a dining room, where we all be served a lobster dinner. With a side of Kool-Aid, Jim-Jones-style (that's with cyanide for you dolts who don't know who Jim Jones is). Everyone will drink it with the exception of me and Miss Jay. And I will be the happiest girl in the whole world.
These models would all be the stars they wanted to be. They would be in the greatest snuff film ever created. The nooses will be tightened and their limp dead bodies will all be hung for effect. In their cheerleader costumes. I would collect their weaves and make a rug out of them and sell it on eBay for seven million dollars.
I would then remove my Raphael costume and do Tyra face-to-face using a strap-on dildo. I know she likes to get it hard. Pieces of her pussy might fall off. I'll put them in little glass vials and I will sell each cunt-chunk for $300 on eBay.
Miss Jay would survive. And then we'd do a bunch of coke together.
This is my fantasy of the ultimate episode of America’s Next Top Model. I will of course make tons of money off of it and I will promise to donate 25% of it to feed all of the hungry inner-city children Church's Chicken for as long as they live. I will then retire and go into hiding somewhere, getting each model stuffed, so I can have tea parties with them.
One day I will reemerge as a star, and shave my head and get a tattoo of lips on my arm . . . oh wait Britney Spears already did that. Well then I'll drive across the country in a diaper with a meat tenderizer and try to kill an astronaut’s wife . . . oh, wait that happened too.
This world is becoming so crazy. I'll really have to think.
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