When I got a look at the script Sal gave me, I about died. I marched right into his office the next day, seething with righteous indignation.
"What the fuck?" I threw the script on his desk. "I'm not doing this."
Sal smiled, shark-like. "You'll do what the fuck I tell you, ya fucking fag."
"But, Sal..."
"Shut your yap." Sal stood up. His lumpy bald head almost brushed the ceiling. He glowered at me. "Filming for Bad Medicine started this morning. And you're late. You get your queer ass over to wardrobe right the fuck now, an' I better not hear no more complaints from you."
I started to protest. Sal frowned, puckering his unibrow. I shut up, snatched up my script, and backed out the door.
Salazar Domingo was owner and chief scriptwriter for Domingo Productions. Six-foot eight of massively muscled, butt-ugly brute. He scared the bejesus out of me. Word on the street was he got booted out of the New Jersey mob for being queer. I could believe he'd been some mob boss's muscle. I'd seen the messy results of a mere actor like me disagreeing with him. That's the main reason I try not to.
I sulked my way down the hall from Sal's office to wardrobe, feeling sorry for myself. How the hell did I go from carefree college student to actor in the worst gay porn films ever made?
"Greed, Jimmy," I muttered to myself. "Greed and curiosity. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
I tried to nip that line of thought in the bud. No use dwelling on it. Of course, whenever you try not to think about something, it automatically hijacks your brain. So I thought about it, for about the fifty-thousandth time. Wallowing in self-pity never actually helped, but it did make me feel better.
My boyfriend was the one who'd told me about the auditions for a gay porno by a new studio that had just opened here in Atlanta. That was nearly a year ago. If I'd known he'd not only get me stuck in this crap outfit, but dump me as well, I'd have kicked his overly swishy ass. At the time, though, I was pretty strapped for cash, and the idea of being in a movie, even a porno, was tempting. I could do one film, earn enough to pay the next semester's tuition, and forget about it. Domingo Productions obviously wasn't a big player, so the odds of anyone I knew getting hold of the film were remote.
How we delude ourselves when we're broke, huh? I should've known when I first met Sal that he'd have me by the balls one way or another. I could've sworn the contract I signed didn't say anything about more than one film. But when I refused to do a second, Sal pointed right at the clause that said, plain as day, that I agreed to make a total of twenty films for Domingo Productions. Twenty, I kid you not. I still don't know how the hell he did it. What a way to learn you should always keep a copy of the contract.
Sal's demanding schedule eventually forced me right out of school. It pissed me off beyond belief that I had to quit college to star in pornos. Maybe if I had sucked (so to speak) in the first one, Sal wouldn't have made me do more. Unfortunately, I exhibited a talent for sucking cock and getting fucked up the ass, and looking good while doing it. So Sal not only roped me into more of his mind-bogglingly awful films, but he made me star in them, too.
Damn my exquisite good looks and enormous cock, anyhow. Ha.
Wardrobe was packed with people in various states of undress, smoking and talking while they got their make-up and costumes on. Someone had put Placebo on the CD player, adding to the chaotic atmosphere. I squirmed my way through the press of bodies toward the sour-faced old woman who distributed the costumes.
"Hi, Harriet. You're looking lovely today." I gave her a sunny smile.
She grunted. "Whatcha got?"
I looked down at the grubby papers in my hand. "Jack Auf," I told her. I managed to keep a straight face, too. Go me.
Harriet's permanent scowl didn't budge. She handed me a thin hospital gown made of blue cloth. "This is for the exam scene. What you got on'll do for the other scenes."
I took the gown. At least I didn't see any visible come stains, which in this outfit is saying something. "Harriet, you're a robot, aren't you? C'mon, you can tell me."
She raised her eyebrows and grunted twice, the corner of her mouth twitching just a little. For her, that was raucous laughter. I grinned at her and headed over to get my make-up done. At least that wasn't going to be much, thank God.
I waved at my friend Derek across the room. He waved back and tottered over, swaying precariously in white stiletto heels. His shaved, stocking-clad legs stuck out from under a white nurse's dress that barely covered his ass. A nurse's cap perched on top of his head. His shoulder-length hair was dyed bright red and styled into an honest-to-God Jackie O flip. Blobs of spunk clung to his hair and face. I couldn't help laughing, he looked so ridiculous.
"Ha fuckin' ha, Jimmy." He glared at me.
"Sorry." I put on my best fake serious face. "I'm betting you're in Bad Medicine too, huh?"
"Yeah. Just got done sucking off the doctor." Derek snorted. "I swear, these things are getting worse by the day. You read the whole script yet?"
"Yeah. Bigger piece of crap than usual, even."
"No kidding. So what's your part?"
His dark eyes glittered with amusement. He already knew—he just wanted me to have to say it. Bastard.
"Jack Auf," I said between gritted teeth.
Derek howled with laughter. I waited patiently for him to calm down. It took a few minutes.
"You done?" I crossed my arms and scowled at him.
"For now." He grinned. "Hey, I'm Nurse Cocks, for fuck's sake. We've all got dumb-ass porno flick names, Jimbo. Don't let it bug you. At least you don't have to wear a fucking dress."
He wandered off. I sat and pouted while the girl with all the jewelry in her face did my make-up. When she was finished, I studied myself in the mirror. I looked fucking amazing. Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell she was doing here. She was way too good for this shit-hole outfit. The make-up she'd put on me was subtle, but it turned my plain blue eyes aqua and gave my normally ghostly skin a golden glow. With my hair falling in shiny black spirals around my face and neck, I looked awfully damn pretty. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection, then got up to make room for the next actor in line.
We had about half of the no-sex scenes done by mid-afternoon. It only took an hour to get done with the set-up scene for the first exam. God, it sucked bad. The writing, the set, the costumes, everything. It all sucked big, hairy donkey balls. I mean, come on, who the hell goes to the doctor because they can't feel their prostate? But this is what Sal The Script Writer expected an audience to swallow. So to speak. It was all I could do to get through the scene without rolling my eyes and/or cracking up.
The only thing that didn't suck was the guy playing Dr. Dick Johnson. Damn, he was hot. Long, dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, great big stormy gray eyes, lips just like Brad Pitt's. And not even the long white lab coat could hide that ripped body. No beer gut hung over those navy blue dress slacks. And something told me he wouldn't act like he'd rather be watching the Braves lose the World Series while he was fucking me. I found myself wondering what he'd looked like not so long ago, with Derek's lips wrapped around his cock.
After the scene wrapped, he came up to me, smiling like a used car salesman, grabbed my hand and pumped it hard. I smiled back, a little overwhelmed by his energy.
"Great scene, man," he enthused. "Really, really great."
I gaped at him. "You've got to be kidding me."
He laughed. "Well, yeah. Sucked, didn't it?"
"You know it. Everything but us. We rocked, dude." I stuck my hand out. "Jim Holderman."
"Todd Jerome." He took my hand and we shook. "And if you ever call me Manley, I'll hurt you."
We both laughed. The director, George, had introduced us by our screen names. He always did that. It annoyed the crap out of everyone. I'd always thought my screen name was the worst I'd ever heard. Billy Boner, can you believe that? Sal's idea, of course. He came up with all of them. But Todd's left mine in the dust. I think it's a testament to my acting abilities that I did not collapse into hysterical laughter when George introduced 'Manley Tool'.
