Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star by Blue Blake Page A

butchers.
    “Have ya got any porno? No queer stuff,” said Sean.
    “ Tasty Clits ,” I said. A closeted client had left the movie behind in my flat along with a pair of rusty nipple clamps. I threw the nipple clamps out the window. I saw Mohammed and Taffik trying them on the next morning while they chopped chickens’ heads off in the yard below.
    “Yeah, that sounds hot.” We sat through ninety minutes of bad pornography . . . and neither of us moved a muscle.
    When the movie finished, we sat there in the dark until finally Sean said to me, “My cock’s hard.” I didn’t need to hear that twice. I began swiftly pulling off his clothing. I bent him over and ate his arse for an hour then sucked his dick. Sean lay there moaning in pleasure but didn’t reciprocate. That didn’t matter to me. I was in ecstasy about making love to him. He began to thrash around on my couch and suddenly he shouted out loud grabbed my shoulders hard and spunked in my gob.
    “Why did we just do that?” I asked.
    “I really like you,” Sean confessed. “You’re my mate . . . I’ve never done this before. I’m straight. I’ve never done this before.” I drew him to me, and we kissed deeply. I was in love, I was.... Sean stiffened and shoved me away, shouting, “Aaaah! Fuck, there’s some skeleton peering through the window!” Through the window? I was on the second floor! I turned to see Thomas Morrison with his nose pressed against the windowpane! I’d forgotten I was supposed to meet him! He had tried to phone me but I’d switched the phone off. I didn’t want any interruptions in my seduction of Sean. So instead Thomas came round to my flat, found the gate locked, but must have seen the light on from the street. Borrowing a ladder from the restaurant’s yard next door, he shimmied up the rungs with the excuse he thought I was being murdered by a naked thug in a beanie hat. Sean left, I shouted at Thomas, he cried, then I made him buy me tandoori chicken and let him lick my balls till he came . . . he gave me a hundred quid and I moodily snatched it out of his hand.
    I started having an affair with Sean. It was tumultuous constant sex . . . for two weeks. We would hang out with each other every night and train together in the gym every day. We became best friends and secret lovers. Nobody in the gym ever suspected that we were sleeping together and that suited Sean fine. Of course I wanted everybody to know but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to scare Sean away. Then he dumped me for a Vietnamese girl named Minh. She had no neck and her parents owned a Vietnamese restaurant where they served a chicken dish made from stray cats . . . at least that was the vicious rumor that I . . . that someone . . . spread around Earl’s Court.
    In spite of our “break up” Sean introduced me to the serious bodybuilding world: steroids, villains, drugs . . . straight competitive bodybuilders who wanted to get rimmed, fucked and blown. I started going to bodybuilding competitions and my close circle of friends suddenly became a crowd of straight muscle men. The almost “twilight” world of bodybuilding in those days was like another dimension. All we talked about was who had won which contest, our diets, and what different kinds of steroids were on the market. It was an incredibly narcissistic lifestyle that at the time felt great but perhaps was mentally stupefying. My mother visited and apart from the shock of seeing how much bigger I had become couldn’t understand why I was living this lifestyle. It all started to seem relatively normal to me. We all thought people who weren’t bodybuilders were strange. Even a lot of the girls I knew took steroids, had muscles and competed in bodybuilding contests. The steroids, as well as packing forty pounds of muscle on me, made me sex crazed. I was doing five clients a day. One every hour and still I was picking up guys everywhere. My life seemed to be revolving around turning tricks,