Market & Spear

I knew that at some point in time I would have to become a porn star. Not only because I'm fucking HOT, but also because I do stupid things just to get a good story. After a couple of drunken hours with an ex-lover, I was sitting on the pavement enjoying my last unfiltered American Spirit. Waiting for my friend, William Blake(and yes, that's his real name) to get out of the movie theater and bike around the city with me.

Some trumpet is playing in the background, and I think I should be cold but the alcohol heats me better that after sex cuddling.

Suddenly a weird little bald guy walks towards me and asks me if he could sit down with me "for a sec". I am kind of drunk and slightly bored of talking to myself so I say yes. After making sure I wasn't a street kid, he offers me the opportunity of my life: an under the table Adult Entertainment gig... although most of the conversation has been erased from my mind since I am sober at the moment, I do remember the most relevant parts of the conversation and of course the trumpet on the background playing the same God Father song(???).

I soon let him know that I have done harcore sex shots (of course I forgot to tell him that this only happened in my mind, one of those crazy horny afternoons when you are 13 and you just wanna be rapped or become a porn star because sex in real life doesn't actually happen). He tells me he can't give me the name or the adress of the adult entertainment company that would bring me money and stardom. He tells me that if I work for him I would meet famous people that fucked for money. The only catch is that before being filmed or shot i have to show him that i am in fact fuckable.

I asked him if condoms are allowed, and he said that yes but then somehow the conversation turns into him fucking a beautiful woman al natural: without condoms. Then he shows me his arm to make sure I get a glance at this little piece of skin that was supposedly brused due to an STD test he had a couple of days ago. Then I give me a empty look because I have nothing else to say. He tells me that before anything happens he has to go back to his apartment and clean up and that I was hot and looked clean.

I think i told him to go to 18 & mission because some of my hot imaginary thirsty sex friends are at a cofee shop and they might be cool with all the fuking. Then I got on my bike and left. I did not turn around to see where this bald 5'5 littler chubby man with a white binder in his hads, offering "serious" porn jobs on the street went. But I wasn't gonna let him scape that easily. I realized that this is the time I had been waiting for forever: I dialed 911. I told the operator that a chubby 34 year old man had just offered me a porn job after he made sure I was fuckable. Then she transfer me to SF police and I said the same think. i didn't know how to answer when they asked me for his ethnicity, i said a combination of a "brown dude from iran". i hated myself for that description. BUt Fuck It, I'm not white so I can't be racist plus I ended up calling 911 drunk so it was a cool night. After that i ditched William Blake and decided that this guy's imagenary porn industry buddies might track me down and make me do unspeakable unconscensual things with out condoms...so I decided to make Oakland my Mexico. I hoped on the F and then biked all the way to The full full house to get some music flowing into my hears. Now that I think about it, calling 911 wasn't that cool of a story. Should had fucked the guy.

LA LOBA LOCA