where his pop goes. “Face” is a pretty general area, and the eyes are a big part of said area. It happens.
“Where are the baby wipes?”
What the baby wipe industry doesn’t know (or do they?) is that mothers of newborns are not the ones keeping them in business. It’s sluts. It’s whores. It’s pornstars. In porn, we use baby wipes for everything .
Pee. “Where are the baby wipes?” Dirty feet. “Where are the baby wipes?” Dusty furniture. “Where are the baby wipes?” It’s hot in here. “Where are the baby wipes?” (Apply cold baby wipe to nape of neck.)
Whenever I’m on a non-porno set, like say a music video, or an independent movie, I have to constantly remind myself not to ask for baby wipes. It’s like a huge neon sign with an arrow pointing down to me, saying in all caps, “SEX WORKER.”
If a girl has baby wipes in her house, but no baby—I’d say she will most likely be down to let you put it in her ass.
“I have to clean my ass.”
It seems like a big portion of my life is spent cleaning my ass.
“I can’t go out tonight, I have to clean my ass.” Or “Let me call you right back—I’m cleaning my ass.”
Of course, everyone has their own system, but I like to prep for my anal scene a day in advance. I wake up in the morning, work out, then start the process. The sooner in the day I can do it, the better.
The process is simple. I take an enema bag, fill it up with water, feed it into my ass through a tube, let it out, repeat.
I get paid almost a thousand dollars extra when a scene entails anal, as opposed to just vaginal. When I first started shooting anal scenes, it didn’t seem fair . . . a hole is a hole, and one isn’t worth much more than the other.
But as I sit here, refilling the enema bag over and over while browsing the Internet, I realize . . . They’re not paying me extra ’cause it’s my asshole. The extra grand is for the prep that goes into it.
“I have cancer.”
Beautiful, with the kind of face that comes by porn no more than once every few years, Raven joined Spiegler’s roster of girls a couple of years after myself. Seemingly normal, there was nothing offensive about her—a country girl, with two little kids and a steady boyfriend.
Less than a year after she signed with Spiegler, she announced she had cancer. It’s completely horrible, but my first instinct was:
“It’s a lie.”
I expressed my thoughts to Spiegler and Dana, and they agreed with me. Cancer was a common subject when it came to liars in porn, and the business was full of them. Someone ought to do a research on women in porn—we have an astounding amount of pathological liars being exposed every day. So six months later, when Raven started to post pictures online of her bald self wig-shopping, we all felt bad. I called Spiegler telling him not to tell anyone what I had said.
Months went by, and Raven got worse. People who had seen her said she had dropped a dramatic amount of weight, and her skin had gotten grayish. Her boyfriend tweeted the progress of her disease, stating Raven had gotten too sick to respond to her fans on the site. Eventually, she became too weak to walk and needed to be physically carried in and out of her wheelchair when leaving her home. Which was ironic, because after her boyfriend quit his job to take care of her two children, Raven made money by webcamming with fans, and escorting.
Almost a year went by, when Raven switched to an all-vegan diet and started drinking alkaline water, and suddenly, miraculously, was cured. Her doctors informed her that her body was free of cancer. Around this time, someone on Twitter asked her why, if she had lost all the hair on her head, did she still have eyebrows. A few days later, she posted a picture of herself with no eyebrows.
Just as suddenly as she was cured, her boyfriend left her, deleted all of the cancer-related tweets, and posted a final tweet, that his girlfriend was a liar.
“Do you think . . .
“Where are the baby wipes?”
What the baby wipe industry doesn’t know (or do they?) is that mothers of newborns are not the ones keeping them in business. It’s sluts. It’s whores. It’s pornstars. In porn, we use baby wipes for everything .
Pee. “Where are the baby wipes?” Dirty feet. “Where are the baby wipes?” Dusty furniture. “Where are the baby wipes?” It’s hot in here. “Where are the baby wipes?” (Apply cold baby wipe to nape of neck.)
Whenever I’m on a non-porno set, like say a music video, or an independent movie, I have to constantly remind myself not to ask for baby wipes. It’s like a huge neon sign with an arrow pointing down to me, saying in all caps, “SEX WORKER.”
If a girl has baby wipes in her house, but no baby—I’d say she will most likely be down to let you put it in her ass.
“I have to clean my ass.”
It seems like a big portion of my life is spent cleaning my ass.
“I can’t go out tonight, I have to clean my ass.” Or “Let me call you right back—I’m cleaning my ass.”
Of course, everyone has their own system, but I like to prep for my anal scene a day in advance. I wake up in the morning, work out, then start the process. The sooner in the day I can do it, the better.
The process is simple. I take an enema bag, fill it up with water, feed it into my ass through a tube, let it out, repeat.
I get paid almost a thousand dollars extra when a scene entails anal, as opposed to just vaginal. When I first started shooting anal scenes, it didn’t seem fair . . . a hole is a hole, and one isn’t worth much more than the other.
But as I sit here, refilling the enema bag over and over while browsing the Internet, I realize . . . They’re not paying me extra ’cause it’s my asshole. The extra grand is for the prep that goes into it.
“I have cancer.”
Beautiful, with the kind of face that comes by porn no more than once every few years, Raven joined Spiegler’s roster of girls a couple of years after myself. Seemingly normal, there was nothing offensive about her—a country girl, with two little kids and a steady boyfriend.
Less than a year after she signed with Spiegler, she announced she had cancer. It’s completely horrible, but my first instinct was:
“It’s a lie.”
I expressed my thoughts to Spiegler and Dana, and they agreed with me. Cancer was a common subject when it came to liars in porn, and the business was full of them. Someone ought to do a research on women in porn—we have an astounding amount of pathological liars being exposed every day. So six months later, when Raven started to post pictures online of her bald self wig-shopping, we all felt bad. I called Spiegler telling him not to tell anyone what I had said.
Months went by, and Raven got worse. People who had seen her said she had dropped a dramatic amount of weight, and her skin had gotten grayish. Her boyfriend tweeted the progress of her disease, stating Raven had gotten too sick to respond to her fans on the site. Eventually, she became too weak to walk and needed to be physically carried in and out of her wheelchair when leaving her home. Which was ironic, because after her boyfriend quit his job to take care of her two children, Raven made money by webcamming with fans, and escorting.
Almost a year went by, when Raven switched to an all-vegan diet and started drinking alkaline water, and suddenly, miraculously, was cured. Her doctors informed her that her body was free of cancer. Around this time, someone on Twitter asked her why, if she had lost all the hair on her head, did she still have eyebrows. A few days later, she posted a picture of herself with no eyebrows.
Just as suddenly as she was cured, her boyfriend left her, deleted all of the cancer-related tweets, and posted a final tweet, that his girlfriend was a liar.
“Do you think . . .
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