WWW- posted on the Village Voice website: “I like it when my girlfriend dresses up like a hooker. We role-play-she wears a wig and comes to my hotel room. One time I even made her walk the street before coming upstairs.” This probably isn’t your typical party conversation, but the anal-sex book and video launch for my fellow columnist Tristan Taormino wasn’t your typical party. The person talking to me was adult director DCypher (dv8cultx.com), whose gorgeous girlfriend is porn star Justine Joli (www.justinejoli.com- pictured right). I mingled, enjoying the punked-out, queer, poly, kinky crowd-my kind of people. The room felt like my reward for surviving the week from hell.
The days leading up to that fateful night were demoralizing. I met a guy I’d slept with recently for drinks. He told me he couldn’t be my party date because his married lover was coming in from out of town. I didn’t know how to reply and just stared at my glass. “You look contemplative,” he said. Ya think? I stuck around for two hours trying to flirt when I wanted to collapse, indulging his drunken kisses, before leaving and crying my way down Third Avenue. Then I caught a cold that had me coughing, sneezing, and aching.
I spent most of my recuperation trying to figure out why I’d gotten so upset. I couldn’t be that hung up on a guy I’d only known for three weeks, could I? Well, yes. Even though I should know better, I’d already started fantasizing about weekends at his apartment, doing his dishes, cuddling, and watching him brush his teeth. The sex had been so intense; I’d wanted to build on our first time, finding out his quirks and the meaning of his tattoos. I felt close to him and thought he’d felt close too.
By Sunday, I’d stopped sniffling and was ready to rock in a cleavage-baring black top, miniskirt, and gold fishnets. It was freezing outside, but I wanted to look hot. I arrived early at Crash Mansion and checked out the ass-shaped cakes and the explicit scenes from Tristan Taormino’s House of Ass flickering on massive screens.
That’s when DCypher started flirting with me. At first I thought he was joking. We’d met a few years ago, so he wasn’t a total stranger, but I barely knew a thing about him-certainly not that he’d just made a flick called Prisoner and had been married to a porn star. He’d started off telling me about his hooker fixation, leading me to quiz him about his visits with actual prostitutes. Then, as if we were old friends, he related struggles to find a girlfriend to complete a fantasy love triangle.
Later, I talked to porn performer Zak Sabbath, a kid with a partly shaved head, numerous tattoos, and a penchant for hogging people’s personal space. “Are you talent . . . yet?” he asked, making me wonder if I really had found “my people.” I kept ducking away from conversations with DCypher because they made me blush, but finally started to realize he was interested. When Justine came over to where I was sitting, I stood to make room for her. She plopped her tiny body down and said, “Sit on my lap.” I did, and she ran her soft hands along mine and hugged me. “First we’re talking about hookers, now you’re giving my girlfriend a lap dance,” DCypher commented wryly.
But it took my sexy, busty friend E. to prime me for some PDA with DCypher. Earlier, I’d admired E.’s sumptuous black latex pants. They were so shiny and smooth, I couldn’t keep my hands off them. She came over to where I was standing, easily seducing me with her miles of shiny black latex and cuddly cleavage. She pulled my hair and kissed my neck, then buried my head between her breasts. I rubbed my hands up and down her legs and would’ve knelt on the ground and kissed her shiny shoes, too, but she gave me a wink and walked away.
I was so turned on I could barely stand. Thankfully, DCypher was right there and I flung myself at him. He kissed me, his tongue ring surprisingly gentle. He was all over me, and I liked it. It’s hard to feel naughty at a porn party, but somehow I managed, letting his hands roam up my skirt as I wondered if he’d dare slip them into my panties. I closed my eyes, pulling his arms around me, then bucked back against him and sucked on his fingers, no longer caring who might be watching.
Soon enough, we were in a cab to his hotel, pawing each other the whole ride. While Justine went off with a female playmate, we finished what we’d started at the party across their big, warm bed. The sex was rough, intense, and powerful, the kind that may be routine for him but made me convulse-and squirt. I was overwhelmed. I asked, “What are you doing to me?”
“Fucking you the way you should be fucked,” he said truthfully. Our frantic, fast-paced passion made me feel more sexually alive than I had in a long time. I was so comfortable that it felt we’d been together before. Afterward, he confessed that he’d done some porn acting too, so I actually had fucked a porn star, not just a director.
I may not be talent (nor do I have any desire to be), but when I got home, I e-mailed DCypher saying, “I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about your cock.” That’s worthy of a porn flick, right?
He taught me an important lesson. I realized I can enjoy hot sex without getting overly attached, as long as I know what to expect. I thought our night of passion was a singular affair, but wound up at their room again during their week in New York. There were blowjobs, backrubs, and the promise of more.
To the guy who blew me off: You missed a fabulous party. To Tristan-thanks for the condoms in the goody bag, and for helping me get laid, even if we didn’t do anal in your honor. To Justine-thanks for sharing your man. I’m holding out for your buttercream frosting. To DCypher-thank you for making me blush, making me come, and making me feel like your very own personal hooker. I felt like a filthy whore, in the sexiest possible way, as you came all over my chest, and especially as I walked out of the hotel and onto the subway in my miniskirt at 2 o’clock in the morning.