THE STARLET SLAVE 21
joypaine
21. The Promised Land
OK (said the policeman) That brings you up to the fraternity party. So what went
on after you left with the Hollywood talent scout?
Well, (Ellen went on) there's not much to be said about that trip across the
country, except that Larry had more sexual stamina than any other man I've ever
known. He'd drive a few hours, and then we'd check into a motel, where he would
remind me that putting out for him was the price I was paying for his influence
in Hollywood. You can bet that I didn't need much reminding -- especially after
his performance the first few days. And then, the third day out or so, he
brought out a kit of "tools" much like those that Old Nelly had introduced me
to, 'way back there in high school. Jesus Christ! This was turning out to be the
same old nightmare all over again. But at least I had only one customer to put
out for, I consoled myself, even if he is insatiable, and a sadist to boot.
Wrong!
Pretty soon he had me making office calls -- at least one a day -- on people
that lived along the way. People who were influential financially in the movie
trade, he said. And who was I to say he was wrong? Well, I told myself, I had
chosen this bed of roses, and after all, he had warned me that I would have to
sleep with a lot of people, if I was going to hope for a successful career in
the dog-eat-dog world of Hollywood. Or maybe I should say "bitch-eat-dog". I was
amazed at how many of Larry's "friends" preferred oral sex. Luckily, there were
very few "special rate" demands; Larry seemed to have a near monopoly on that
angle. Just my luck that the one true sadist among my Johns was the one that I
had to spend all day -- and all night -- with! And every damned night, at that.
So life was more or less of a nightmare until we arrived in the Promised Land.
Perhaps less than it had been with old Pecker, though, I must admit.
Larry's "palace" in Beverly Hills was the most sumptuous house I had ever seen.
("This business is built on appearances", he said. "If you can't impress the guy
you're negotiating with, you might as well be dead.") I soon found, however,
that most of the estate was off limits for me--in fact, most of my waking hours
(except when I was "working", that is) would be spent in the health spa.
Constant working-out and careful dieting are essentials for keeping that
glorious figure that was my principal stock in trade, Larry pointed out.
There was something curious about the forbidden areas, though. There was an
almost constant stream of visitors coming and going at all hours. The few women
among them all had a curiously determined air when they arrived, and when they
left, they looked as if the burdens of the world had been lifted from their
shoulders. I don't know why, but they reminded me in some way of the women that
used to be my "customers" in high school.
But for the moment, I was too busy with screen tests to worry much about such
things. And those tests bothered me, too. It looked as if I was getting trapped
into a world of porno pictures -- every one of the scenarios called for me to
fuck, or suck, or do something else that only Dirty Old Men would want to watch.
But Larry again pointed out that there were lots of legitimate stars who made
their entries into the profession via the porno route; that these gigs were the
easiest kind to get; and that what I needed more than anything else at this
stage, was widespread exposure.
Well, exposure I did get, and most of it spread as wide as my muscles would
tolerate. I don't remember a single script that didn't require me to take my
clothes off. For openers.
And my co-stars were not what you'd expect -- most of them were tired old men,
who seemed to be there just for the chance to screw me. And when I questioned
him about it, Larry was quite open -- most of the men were executives in the
business. This was my chance not only to show them how I could act, Larry
pointed out, but also to ingratiate myself with them so that they would remember
me when they had to make a casting decision.
Well, I figured, maybe that's the way it's done in Hollywood.
The acting part was easy. In the rape skits, my partner was usually ugly enough
so I didn't have to pretend that I didn't like it; in the torture routines, the
screaming came naturally. In the few cases when I was supposed to be consenting,
the action required such bodily activity that I doubt that anybody looked at my
face; although I did have to swallow my pride (and often other things) with some
of the scenarios.
