Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn by Seka, Kery Zukus Page B
Authors: Seka, Kery Zukus
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blasé.
When he came back he said, “If you want to do this, they can shoot right now. They have a guy you can do it with. Here’s the four hundred bucks” — and handed it to me, just like that.
This should have been one of those mega-moments in one’s life, a turning point where a person has a major ethical dilemma to wrestle with. It wasn’t. I’d posed nude on a whim because I needed the money, the experience had been pleasant enough, and now because I’d been so well received, some other people wanted me to appear in a movie — right that very minute, in fact. And I still could use the money, so what the hell?
I really wasn’t nervous. I don’t know why, I just wasn’t. Maybe because it was moving so fast and had caught me off guard. I mean, I didn’t wake up that morning figuring I’d be asked to star in a porno. Maybe being around it all the time in the bookstore made it seem less unusual to me. I saw the films and magazines constantly. Or maybe it was because I didn’t have any emotional investment in Ken. Our relationship was convenient. I enjoyed his company and had a nice time with him. But I was emotionally unavailable because of what had happened with my mother and then with Frank. I didn’t realize this consciously at the time, but that was the bottom line. Ken never “romanced” me. He wasn’t cooing “I love you” in my ear, nor did I desire him to.
There’s a thing they tell young girls who vacillate on whether or not to do porn: “Do it now; you’ll never look better. Capture it on film.” I figured this was a chance to make money while I could. Maybe I was just being selfish, but I didn’t feel concerned about what anyone else would think. Also, I figured it was a one-time thing that nobody I knew was going to see, just like my magazine shoot. It would be hidden in little bookstores like ours. Of course, the light bulb didn’t quite click that the magazine had been seen by plenty of people and the same would happen here. Hell, my family didn’t look at adult material, so I didn’t feel I had to worry about that.
Back in the 1970s, most people didn’t make $400 in two weeks as opposed to two hours. If I liked it and Ken really didn’t, I could always do magazines or films and make a good living on my own. At the time, it wasn’t like I was fucking the boss in order to have a job in Ken’s store, but to the rest of the world, it may have looked that way. But this, this would be my thing. The thoughts passing through my head were not, “I’m being exploited.” They were, “I’m being liberated.”
I was strangely curious about the whole process. Working at the bookstore, I’d become kind of jaded. Detached. The magazines, the toys, the loops, they no longer seemed weird to me. If I thought about it at all, I wondered about how it all came to be — who made this stuff, and how did they know what would sell and to whom? I got a kick out of the customers, many who were regulars. Sex was important to them. It was less important to me. I didn’t sleep around. I was pretty damn monogamous and not very kinky or adventurous.
A lot of it had to do with sex being such a taboo subject when I grew up. I was never part of a family that discussed it. The only thing I heard about it was “NO!” That’s not very informative. But at the store, I saw guys — and a few girls — who liked how it felt and did something about it. They weren’t bad people. They didn’t hurt anybody. I liked that.
He handed Ken the directions to the shoot and said, “They’re ready when you are.” It was about three or four blocks down the street. I was kind of shocked, though, when we walked into the building. I was born and raised in a small town, so to me, Baltimore was a big, glamorous city. But I thought this place was kind of run down and dirty. It was an apartment. We knocked on the door and my “co-star” answered. I don’t remember his name or even what he looked like. I think
When he came back he said, “If you want to do this, they can shoot right now. They have a guy you can do it with. Here’s the four hundred bucks” — and handed it to me, just like that.
This should have been one of those mega-moments in one’s life, a turning point where a person has a major ethical dilemma to wrestle with. It wasn’t. I’d posed nude on a whim because I needed the money, the experience had been pleasant enough, and now because I’d been so well received, some other people wanted me to appear in a movie — right that very minute, in fact. And I still could use the money, so what the hell?
I really wasn’t nervous. I don’t know why, I just wasn’t. Maybe because it was moving so fast and had caught me off guard. I mean, I didn’t wake up that morning figuring I’d be asked to star in a porno. Maybe being around it all the time in the bookstore made it seem less unusual to me. I saw the films and magazines constantly. Or maybe it was because I didn’t have any emotional investment in Ken. Our relationship was convenient. I enjoyed his company and had a nice time with him. But I was emotionally unavailable because of what had happened with my mother and then with Frank. I didn’t realize this consciously at the time, but that was the bottom line. Ken never “romanced” me. He wasn’t cooing “I love you” in my ear, nor did I desire him to.
There’s a thing they tell young girls who vacillate on whether or not to do porn: “Do it now; you’ll never look better. Capture it on film.” I figured this was a chance to make money while I could. Maybe I was just being selfish, but I didn’t feel concerned about what anyone else would think. Also, I figured it was a one-time thing that nobody I knew was going to see, just like my magazine shoot. It would be hidden in little bookstores like ours. Of course, the light bulb didn’t quite click that the magazine had been seen by plenty of people and the same would happen here. Hell, my family didn’t look at adult material, so I didn’t feel I had to worry about that.
Back in the 1970s, most people didn’t make $400 in two weeks as opposed to two hours. If I liked it and Ken really didn’t, I could always do magazines or films and make a good living on my own. At the time, it wasn’t like I was fucking the boss in order to have a job in Ken’s store, but to the rest of the world, it may have looked that way. But this, this would be my thing. The thoughts passing through my head were not, “I’m being exploited.” They were, “I’m being liberated.”
I was strangely curious about the whole process. Working at the bookstore, I’d become kind of jaded. Detached. The magazines, the toys, the loops, they no longer seemed weird to me. If I thought about it at all, I wondered about how it all came to be — who made this stuff, and how did they know what would sell and to whom? I got a kick out of the customers, many who were regulars. Sex was important to them. It was less important to me. I didn’t sleep around. I was pretty damn monogamous and not very kinky or adventurous.
A lot of it had to do with sex being such a taboo subject when I grew up. I was never part of a family that discussed it. The only thing I heard about it was “NO!” That’s not very informative. But at the store, I saw guys — and a few girls — who liked how it felt and did something about it. They weren’t bad people. They didn’t hurt anybody. I liked that.
He handed Ken the directions to the shoot and said, “They’re ready when you are.” It was about three or four blocks down the street. I was kind of shocked, though, when we walked into the building. I was born and raised in a small town, so to me, Baltimore was a big, glamorous city. But I thought this place was kind of run down and dirty. It was an apartment. We knocked on the door and my “co-star” answered. I don’t remember his name or even what he looked like. I think
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