Review of THE GAME, Part 2: The Pickup Artist Dynamic–Lies, Lucre and Loose Zombies

The young woman made a horrible mistake: (Quotes from THE GAME are in italics.): “A Chicago office worker, Jackie Kim had accidentally forwarded her highly judgmental review of a date to her entire address book… ‘So where do I stand on…the date,’ she wrote.  ‘The car, the money, the job, the cute apartment, the boat—which by the way only seats six people, so I really don’t consider that really amazing—his mannerisms, and his great kiss will probably lock in another date.  But I can tell you now, unless he cuts his hair and sends me gifts, it won’t lead me to seek anything more than my thirty-year-old friend.’

The post became an Internet phenomenon, forwarded around the globe and chronicled in the Chicago Tribune.”  

A subsequent flood of angry e-mails poured into Kim’s inbox, chastising her for being so…yuppie.  In contrast to the invective, however, came a sympathetic missive from a man, ostensibly defending her. Touched by his apparent compassion, Kim replied to his e-mail. They dated. And had sex.  Unbeknownst to Kim, the man was a web-posting PUA (PickUp Artist) code-named “Maddash”. He gloated in a post to his admirers that he had bedded her without the benefit of a boat, haircut or gifts. Maddash hadn’t been looking for a relationship; his whole purpose had been to use his skills to “sarge (pickup and seduce)” Kim, so that he could boast to his fellow PUAs about his conquest.  

Maddash was so pleased with his fine-honed PUA skills that he proclaimed, “I’m starting to feel like I’m hunting rabbits with a howitzer.”

Other sexually-frustrated men wanted their own “howitzers”—and were willing to pay big bucks to get them.  A host of PUA gurus—spawned by the Internet—opened workshops. Author Strauss provides amusing descriptions of these guys: Ross Jeffries, inventor of Speed Seduction, is described as “our porous, bony guru of gash.”  David X is “ immense, balding, and toadlike, with warts covering his face and a voice of a hundred thousand cigarette packs.” (David X’s specialty: “Harem Management.”) David DeAngelo tells his students to get tips on handling women from a book called DOG TRAINING.  Steve P. claims to “’throw chi [a Chinese word for “energy force”] through my hands into a woman’s abdomen’” causing her to “’stack one orgasm on top of another’” until—as Steve P. puts it–“‘she’s shaking like a dog shitting peach seeds.’”

Fledgling PUAs glommed on to these “experts’” advice. One guru posts a recommendation to “’lightly body check her, whack her on the head with something soft, or physically accost her in some other playful manner.’”  And, writes Strauss, “…hundreds of sargers around the world were suddenly knocking into women with grocery carts and smacking them with gym bags. It wasn’t seduction, it was elementary-school recess.”

After successfully developing his own PUA skills, Strauss (AKA “Style”) and his business partner/mentor, “Mystery,” start their own workshops in a West Hollywood mansion. They begin by charging students $600 per course. Then, deluged with customers, they raise the tuition to $1500. “…we had pimply teenagers, bespectacled businessmen, tubby students, lonely millionaires, struggling actors, frustrated cab drivers, and computer programmers—lots of computer programmers. They walked in AFCs [“Average Frustrated Chumps”]; they came out players…We were breeding an army…No woman was safe. Workshops of fifteen people wandered the street like gangs.”  Like hungry Hollywood zombies, a horny horde of these newbie PUAs descend upon a group of casually-dressed female tourists—who turn out to be nuns.

The West Hollywood partners become too successful. Women in surrounding bars begin hearing the same lines again and again, and they’re puzzled. “’Let me guess. You have a friend whose girlfriend is jealous because he still talks to his ex-girlfriend from college. Like every guy keeps asking us that. What’s the deal here?’”

When Strauss tries “The Best Friends Test,” he receives a weary, “We heard that one already.”  He concludes that “the Sunset Strip was sarged out.”

But there are deeper problems with playing “The Game” than familiarity breeding women’s contempt.

The pickup game is infused with a sad irony: A compatible guy and girl might never meet unless his PUA training gives him the courage to approach her in the first place.  But his prepared shtick, engineered for deceiving a woman into thinking she is making a genuine emotional connection, prevents the guy from doing just that.  Like an actor, he’s too busy following his script for any real communication.

Author Strauss recognizes the dichotomy. “I was beginning to see women solely as measuring instruments to give me feedback on how I was progressing as a pickup artist…Even as I was having a deep conversation, learning about a woman’s dreams and point of view, in my mind I was just ticking off a box in my routine marked rapport.”

The phoniness eventually catches up with him and other PUAs.

———————

Next: Review of THE GAME, Part 3: The “Eves” of Destruction. Topics in this concluding post will include Sarging the Stars–Courtney Love, Heidi Fleiss, Paris Hilton and Britney Spears and The PUA’s Insidious Mode of Self-Destruction.

_______________

David Jennings is the author of SKINFLICKS: The Inside Story of the X-Rated Video Industry, which chronicles his rise from filmmaker for a large Mafia-controlled porno company to “mini porn king” with his own Superior Video, Inc. This personal memoir also traces the flourishing of the home video trade from the late1970s to the end of the 20th Century.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Review of THE GAME: PENETRATING THE SECRET SOCIETY OF PICKUP ARTISTS

This is a gonzo book review, defined as a description of a book that includes the reviewer’s own opinions, insights, prejudices, rants, raves, and other stuff that the reviewer feels like tossing in. Once again, I’m indebted to the inventor of the gonzo paradigm, the late Hunter S. Thompson.

The previous book I reviewed stands in hostile contrast to the subject of this post:

UNDATEABLE  was a snarky list of 311 things that render a man repulsive to women. Since most men are guilty of at least one of these things, almost all men are therefore “undateable.” The authors, two beautiful, glamorous, rich and smug diva-style executives  wouldn’t settle for any man who was not wealthy, handsome, romantic, stylish, polished, confident and respected as an ubermensch–in other words, an archetypical Alpha Male.

Well,

THE GAME:  PENETRATING THE SECRET SOCIETY OF PICKUP ARTISTS  by Neil Strauss is written for lesser men: the Beta, Gamma, Delta and even the lowly Epsilon men. These are the underdogs. They spent their adolescence cringing through high school hallways, shoulder-butted by jocks, snubbed by girls. They graduated to bars, only to be slam-dunked by cleavaged barflies. Seething with hang-dog horniness, they became desperate.

Enter the PUA (PickUp Artist) gurus. Spawned by the Internet, these entrepreneurs taught slack-jawed, mouth-breathing, scrawny, scraggly-haired, squeaky-voiced, pimply, balloon-bellied, wimpy and otherwise socially-challenged gents how to pick up busty, curvaceous, big-eyed, pouty-lipped centerfolds.

Author Strauss was one of these customers, schooled by an egocentric, six-foot-five pickup master code-named “Mystery.” Strauss went on to become a revered PUA guru himself, under the moniker “Style,” claiming that at one point he had simultaneously juggled ten MLTRs–Multiple Long Term Relationships (Terms from the book are in bold type.)

THE GAME is bound in soft black leather, like a Bible, since it purports to be The Bible of the Pickup Artist.  Because it is a complex, 600-page tome, this entry will be only Part 1 of the review.

The book  opens with the author (“Style”) trying to help his former pickup mentor “Mystery,” who has plunged into a shattering, suicidal depression.

Before revealing how mastering the pickup game leads to the downfall of both Mystery and–later–Style, the book delves into what, for most male readers, is the “meat” of the issue: HOW TO DO IT. The object is to turn AFCs (Average Frustrated Chumps) into skilled PUAs (PickUp Artists).

The toughest thing for most men in approaching beautiful women in bars, restaurants, malls, etc. is how to start and escalate a conversation.  An elementary principle in the book is Get used to rejection. Pro salesfolk know that if they get a 10% success rate on their pitch, they’re doing well.  Another principle: any approach is better than none. Some of The Game‘s PUA  masters send their newbie students on “tune-up” missions: “put on nice clothes, go to a mall and say ‘hi’ to women.” One PUA instructor advises neophytes to overcome their fear by walking up to a girl and saying, “Hi. I’m Manny the Martian. What’s your favorite flavor of bowling ball?” At least, you’ll get her attention.

I’m reminded of what my late karate sensei, Bob Ozman (subject of a previous entry), used to say: “The best street fighters are those who ‘don’t give a shit.'” In other words, they don’t worry about getting their ass kicked. They just focus on their target and attack. The same principle (hopefully with less violence) applies to “sarging” (PUA  slang for trying to pick up women. The term was coined by a PUA guru whose cat was named “Sarge”.).

“Anyone talking to a woman while simultaneously worrying about  what she thinks of him is going to fail.” (Quotes from the book are in italics.)

Well, beautiful girls won’t kick your ass (unless they’re students of teachers like Sensei Ozman). But the ones who are gorgeous enough to be hit on all the time get bored with men going into slobber mode. And the meaner ones might make you feel knee high to a toadstool.

Never fear. Follow the techniques detailed in THE GAME. First, use patterns, not lines.  Patterns require a woman to respond with more than a “yes,” “no” or a “Fucking get lost.”

Act like you want her perspective on something you’re seeking information about.  “Hi. Let me get your opinion on something.”

“Would you date a guy who was still friends with his ex-girlfriend?”

“Do you think magic spells work?” 

“I’ve been taking a course in handwriting analysis  While we’re waiting for our food, do you mind if I practice on you?” (Use cold read techniques to amaze her with how “accurate” you are in describing her, based on “analyzing” her handwriting.)

Or use something alarming like “Oh my God, did you see those two girls fighting outside?” (No, she hasn’t seen them. She’ll want details, so have a good story ready.)

Once you have her attention, that’s when the real “artistry” begins.  You learn how to Demonstrate Value, showing how you’re different from the last 20 guys who hit on her. You employ The Maury Povich Maneuver, the False Time Constraint, the IVD–Interactive Value Demonstration, The Yes-ladder, or The Evolution Phase-shift Routine. The book explains these and plenty more, as evidenced by a ten-page glossary.

You learn how to keep a woman interested through applying The Cat-string Theory. You ply her with “Chick Crack”: things like handwriting analysis and tarot cards. According to the author, women respond to “routines involving tests, psychological games, fortune telling, and cold readings like addicts respond to drugs.’”

Strauss points out that beautiful women are rarely found alone. Your target is almost always in the company of other people. If she’s with one other person, the duo is called a “two-set.”  If she’s with two other people, the trio is a “three-set.” If she’s included in a four-some, it’s a “four-set,” etc.

A daunting challenge faces the PUA when the set includes an AMOG (Alpha Male Of the Group). The book teaches students how to pry targeted beauties loose from these square-jawed alpha men–and to do it without losing teeth. (Well, at least one of these fledgeling PUAs suffered the result of alpha rage, when the woman’s husband came along, tossed him on the floor and stomped his face, fracturing an eye socket.)

 

You learn the value of sarging with a pivot, a platonic female friend who validates you as not being a loner serial killer.

You learn peacocking: wearing cowboy hats, rings, necklaces, fake piercings, etc.–items to use in starting conversations.  Here’s a description of Mystery’s peacocking:  “…he wore 6-inch platform boots and a bright red tiger-striped cowboy hat…skintight black PVC pants, futuristic goggles, a plastic-spiked backpack, a mesh see-through shirt, black eyeliner, white eye shadow, and as many as seven watches on his wrists…Girls followed him for blocks. Some grabbed his ass; one older woman even bit his crotch.”  (This was in Hollywood. Not in the real world.)  Mystery says, “I’m dressed for the outrageous club girls, the hot slutty girls, the ones I never could get. They’re playing groupie, so I gotta play rock star.”

As you sarge a girl, you look for IOIs (Indications of Interest), such as her use of your name while talking to you. You know you’re succeeding when she gets “the doggy dinner bowl look.”

So, do the techniques work? (Even the best PUAs  encounter the Shit Test: something you say that is a secret red flag in a woman’s mind and—presto—you’re as welcome as “dog shit on her Prada pump.”)

 

Author “Style” recounts his first, hesitant, use of Mystery’s teachings. He engages a pretty girl in a store. “Maybe you can help me settle a debate I’m having…”  He proceeds with The Maury Povich Routine.  He gets her phone number. Then he Googles her name and finds out she is Dalene Kurtis, Playboy Magazine’s Playmate of the Year!  He freezes, too chicken to call her–kind of like winning the lottery but not cashing in the ticket.

So, what does the preceding have to do with my historical memoir, SKINFLICKS: The Inside Story of the X-Rated Video Industry? Well, without the patronage of AFCs (Average Frustrated Chumps), the porn industry wouldn’t survive.  So, thank you, gentlemen.

My next entry about The Game will include Fleecing the Chumps; Sarging the Stars–Courtney Love, Heidi Fleiss, Paris Hilton and Britney Spears; The PUA’s Insidious Mode of Self-Destruction; and Attack of the Zombie PUAs.

_______________

David Jennings is the author of SKINFLICKS: The Inside Story of the X-Rated Video Industry, which chronicles his rise from filmmaker for a large Mafia-controlled porno company to “mini porn king” with his own Superior Video, Inc. This personal memoir also traces the flourishing of the home video trade from the late1970s to the end of the 20th Century.

Review of UNDATEABLE: 311 Things Guys Do That Guarantee They won’t be Dating or Having Sex

I’m back. Finally. After a long layoff.  (You missed me, right?)

Since I’ve blogged about every aspect of SKINFLICKS, inside out, upside down and backwards, I am expanding the scope of this blog to include…anything.

I’ll start with reviewing two contrasting books that I’ve read lately, on the subject of sex and seduction (big surprise).

This is a gonzo book review of
UNDATEABLE: 311 Things Guys Do That Guarantee They Won’t Be Dating or Having Sex

By Ellen Rakieten and Anne Coyle

The authors are both beautiful women with long, flowing, blondish hair.
Rakieten, president of Ellen Rakieten Entertainment  has been “a key force in creating, developing, writing and producing The Oprah Winfrey Show” for over 23 years (If her photo was taken after those 23 years, she must have started there at age 2.) She is shown wearing a Jackson Pollock-like splatter of desultory colors that would render any man who wore a similar scheme “undateable.”

Coyle is equally stunning. In her photo, she wears shimmering blue with nipple outlines.  She owns Anne Coyle Interiors, “a nationally acclaimed interior design firm.”

Both women live in the Chicago area.

The concept of “gonzo,” taken from the jagged journalism of the late Hunter S. Thompson, frees the commentator from traditional constraints. Therefore, in my review of UNDATEABLE, I inject my own snarky, prejudiced, and/or questionably sagacious comments.  I feel these are needed in order to shield the delicate sensitivities of male readers from the slings and arrows of these Authors. For example, here’s how they respond to a man who wears a sleep mask: “Oh yes…and will we be slathering scented moisturizer on our hands and covering them with rubber gloves before we turn in as well?” And don’t call a woman “my lover.” “We’d like to enact a new law: Any guy who uses this term immediately gets punched in the face.” If you wear an apron (un-masculine) while cooking a scrumptious dinner for her, “Your pumps better match your apron or we’re going to have to come in there and beat you again.”

Shades of SCUM (Society for Cutting Up Men—the invention of Valerie Solanas, the woman who shot Andy Warhol.)! At first, I thought the Authors were parodying the snooty, overly-picky SAP (Spoiled American Princess). Sort of like Steven Colbert (The Colbert Report) pretending to espouse the very things he is ridiculing.  But, no. The Authors are serious. In the Introduction, they write, “Perhaps, after reading the first few pages, you’ll think we’re just a bunch of uptight, judgmental nightmares.  And maybe we are.”

Yes.

So, let’s start with some of the items under the category…

WHAT NOT TO WEAR (Authors’ words in bold, mine in unbold.)

Jorts. (Jean shorts that end above the knee. Below the knee is bad, too.) Khakis are OK, as long as they end at the knee. Precision is critical.
Bad Facial Hair. Actually, any kind of beard/mustache/soul patch is bad. But they don’t diss that dirty-face, three-day-old stubble look, so give it a try.  That way, you’ll get more mileage out of your Gillette Mach 3 Turbo.
Hairy Body. So wax it. Ouch!
Hair plugs, toupees (unless you’re a Sean Connery clone), and bald on top with hair on sides is no good. Go full cue-ball, instead.
Overly cologned.  Recommended: “…aftershave with a hint of geranium, citrus, lavender, sage, rosemary, cedarwood, or cucumber.”  In other words, smell like a spice factory.
White briefs. Boxers preferred. (I say: If you’ve gotten as far as the underwear, don’t worry about it.)
Black jeans, embellished jeans, dad jeans, acid-washed jeans, pre-ripped jeans, sky-blue jeans. Also Dockers and pleated pants. So, what’s left? Scottish kilts?
Sports jerseys. So find a girl who also likes Da Bears.
Weekend White Guy. (Whatever the hell that is.)
Hawaiian shirts. Even if you’re in Hawaii, go with “polo shirt or lightweight cotton oxford shirt in white, pale blue, or mild stripe.” And “keep it untucked and un-ironed.” (Sorry, Mom.)
Cell phone on waist.  They belong in your manpurse (which they also don’t like—they call it a “murse.”). So, wear big pockets or use a body cavity.
Longish fingernails. Trim weekly, unless you moonlight as a transvestite.
Apron while cooking. Ladies, if the guy cooks for you, why do you give a damn what he’s wearing? Besides, do you want him to splatter his pale blue, lightweight oxford shirt?
Turquoise jewelry. I would say try fake diamonds, but the Authors also don’t like men with bling.  So, no jewelry.  Save your money for that Rolex.
Camo.  I agree, unless your date is for bear hunting.
White socks with non-athletic shoes. Tube socks. Black socks without black dress pants. Navy blue is OK. Also, they like going sockless. (Just remember to use your Odor Eaters.)
Transitions sunglasses.  What?  My ophthalmologist says they’re better for the eye.  Maybe the Authors prefer a manly, Clint Eastwood squint.
Speedos. I agree. Don’t reveal your size, or lack of same, until you’re in your briefs–or boxers.
Comb-over.  See preference for cue-ball look, above.
Multiple tattoos. Authors admit some women like ‘em, some don’t. Authors admit content of tats makes a big difference.  Here, I insert a marginally off-color joke: A sporting goods salesman loves his products so much that he has their names tattooed on his body. As he strips, he shows them off to his date. On shoulder: NIKE. On chest: SPALDING. On stomach: RAWLINGS.  He takes off his underwear and on his penis:AIDS. The girl reacts with a sound of horror. The guy says, “Wait a minute.”  He strokes himself up to full erection: ADIDAS.
Mullet.  Try ponytail instead.
Tank tops.  Only for beach or gym with requisite buffed body.  If badly built, use shoulder pads under Spandex.
Bad tie. “For a guy, his tie is like a woman’s breasts.”  Because it’s the first thing that attracts the eye. So, in the spirit of breast alteration, get a tie-ectomy. Or tie reduction—snip it in half. (For “tie help,” the Authors plug their website, undateable.com.)
Tie with short-sleeved dress shirt.  So? It’s hip to be geek. Ladies, be glad it’s not a tank top.
Stupid T-shirts.   Authors’ example: FBI  Female Body Inspector. (In other words, the invisible T-shirt of Everyman.)
Gold chains.  Tell women it’s an heirloom from your late grandmother.  Or find a pawnbroker who’s nostalgic for 1979.
Overly tan.  That John Boehner look. Or desert hobo. Out of place in Seattle, but OK in Las Vegas, where Hawaiian shirts and indoor sunglasses also help you score with hot, blue-haired grandmas.
Dyed hair. Gentlemen, women are good at spotting this. They’ve spent years examining it on other ladies and themselves.

WHAT NOT TO BE

Anal Andy.  Dream husband. Does dishes, laundry, shopping. Takes out trash, vacuums, cleans. Great cunnilingus—oops! I added that. Sorry.  Downside: Frets over wrinkle in shirt, needs weather report before leaving house…you get the picture. He’s not sexy!  (Ladies, go for the slob watching football with stinky socks.)
“Pregnant” man.  That slob mentioned above, taken to extremes. After mega-doses of sports TV and Budweiser, he looks like he’s in his third trimester. Cure: Adopting Anal Andy fixation with exercise. Or—failing that—turn to liposuction.  (Girls, seek a happy medium between the two above-mentioned types, but don’t try to reform either one.)
Benchwarmer.  Dresses in his fave team’s uniform. Emotes loudly with every play/pitch/basket/groin kick. Solution: Slip Valium into his beer.
Mr. Softy.  AKA couch potato. Ladies, to get his cardio going, tickle him.
Meathead.  “…roided-out, over-buffed physique.”  As if “Pregnant” Man’s bulge had been squeezed up into his biceps.  And you know what steroids do to the cojones.
Bitterboy. Angry white male. Maybe made so by trying to date one of the Authors.
Wimpy drinker. Gets drunk after two beers.  Authors say, “You need an infusion of male hormones.” No, you don’t.  You just have to practice drinking booze until your tolerance level goes up.

WHAT NOT TO SAY

(Note: So many of these are obvious, such as “Bros before hoes.” “Get your rocks off.” And “Gotta take a dump.”  So, listed here are the questionable ones. Trying to avoid them will turn you into “the strong, silent type”–minus the “strong.”)

Make Love. They prefer “Have sex.” OK. That cuts out the B.S.  As Tina Turner sang, “What’s love got to do with it?”
Fake swearing.  Such as “Heck.” “Jeez!” “Sheesh!” “Goldarn.”  The Authors want manly talk, like %#^&*,  *+@(>), or ^</!)*.  Do I have to spell it out for you?
Base names for breasts.  Examples: “Knockers.” “Jugs.” “Headlights.”  The Authors offer no alternative suggestions.  So, when referring to your lady’s cleavage, just use the word “breasts.” Or, better yet, don’t refer to them at all.
Clit.  Alternatives?  None. “Clee-toe-russ” sounds too formal, especially when confronting the item.  Gentlemen, when facing a clitoris, talking is the wrong use of the tongue.
The Family Jewels.  Say that around the authors or their Facebook followers and you get “a good knee to the groin.”  Besides, male genitalia are now referred to as “junk.” The Authors use that term when they say, “Don’t Rearrange your junk in public.” ( Instead, walk bowlegged to a men’s room.)
Slang terms for vagina. (Examples not repeated here.) Hmm…If male genitalia have descended (so to speak) from jewels to junk, then could the vaginas of dateable women be referred to as “junk collectors?”
Business clichés. “…pushing the envelope…run it up the flagpole…think outside the box…” Instead, say “My IPO has just made me a millionaire.”  By the time she finds out you’re lying, your family jewels will already have shown their bling.
Sports metaphors.   “Knock it out of the park.” “It’s a slam dunk.” “Let’s go for the goal line.” The Authors quote Jack Nicholson in As Good as It Gets: “People who speak in metaphors ought to shampoo my crotch.”  So, the Authors hate metaphors. Would they make the same offer as Nicholson?
Boner.  Or any other word for erection including “erection” itself.  Gentlemen, this is no time for “show and tell.” Just settle for “show.”
Pet names for your penis. See above advice for “Boner.”
Brewski.   Instead, call the beer by its formal name, as in “I’ll have an Arrogant Bastard Light.”
Bayotch.  “Bitch,” as said by a gangsta practicing multi-syllabic vocabulary. As a general rule, don’t say “bitch” unless referring to someone your date has already labeled as such.

WHAT NOT TO DO

Own a cat.  You’ll look like that dork, Jon, in the Garfield comics. Explain to her that it was a starving stray that you felt sorry for.  The Authors’ choice of words here begs the rhetorical question: Does anyone actually own a cat?
Own a violent dog.  Agreed. But if you need that Doberman to scare thieves away from your pot farm, tell the dog that if he behaves himself around your girl, you’ll set him up on a date with a Bichon Frise.
Own a rodent. Explain to your date that you only keep the cute little critters around as food for your pet python.
Own a reptile. OK, so the pet python is out.  Maybe a small turtle?
Own a PT Cruiser or a Corvette or a minivan or a Hummer.  The Authors don’t diss Ferraris—so, get one.
Attend Star Trek conventions. The Authors do not want to be beamed up. Or upped any other way.
Bring a glove to a baseball game.  In the film Fever Pitch, the Drew Barrymore character gets knocked out by a line drive. Show your date this movie before exposing her to Seattle Mariners’ foul balls (which is about all they can hit).
Leave porn lying around the house. The Authors especially detest Juggs, touted as “the dirtiest tit-mag in the world.”  (How much did the publisher of that rag pay the Authors for the plug?)
Go shirtless in public.  After all, the Authors would never do that to you.  Does “public” also include beaches?
Order a girlie drink. No Kahlua  and Cream, Grasshoppers or Mango Martinis.  Recommended are vodka and tonics, scotch and soda, etc.  And if you happen to date one of the Authors—or their followers—order a double. You’ll need it.
Be Lactose-intolerant.  If you are, date vegans, not the Authors, who might poison you with mozzarella pizza.
Open-mouth breathing.  Before a date, use nostril-clearing inhalants like cocaine.  And offer some to your date so that her nostrils will be clear, too.
Sell blood for money.  It proves you are too poor to date women.  But what if you are simply altruistic and you want the ER to have enough plasma on hand for the next mass shooting?  (Maybe the Authors and their followers want to keep all your blood in your body so there’ll be more to suck out of you.)
Not owning a TV set.  A quote from the Authors: “We like talking about The Office. Everybody does.” I say if you have better things to do than watching TV, you should find women who also have better things to do than watching TV.
“Not feeling well” and whining about it.  Authors’ quote: “For all our talk about equal rights, no woman wants to date a wuss.”  So, suck it up, big guy. That knee to the groin she gave you is just a test of your machismo.
Order wine at sporting event.  Only beer will do. Wine protects your heart, and women such as the Authors may not want that—especially after becoming your life insurance beneficiary.

I have just listed 61 of the things that render a man “undateable.”  Believe it or not, there are 250 more.

Can an “undateable” shlemiel be saved? Yes! The Authors provide a before-and-after makeover.  On page 14 is a photo of a guy with a Fu Manchu and a soul patch beneath his lower lip. At the end of the book, we see the same guy, clean-shaven, in the arms of his pretty, new wife.  But that worrisome mole on his cheek is still there.  Maybe he’ll get it removed through his wife’s medical insurance.

A Note to the Authors:  I trust that you attractive, polished, successful professionals have managed to find the only two men alive who have evaded all of the items that make men undateable.

But, no.  Rakieten is married, but—if Google has the latest bio information—Coyle is still searching for that elusive, thoroughly dateable Mr. Right.  Maybe her co-author has snapped up the last one available.

I recommend UNDATEABLE as a highly entertaining, fast read. The writing is witty, and you will learn new slang terms (that you must avoid) for sex organs, breasts, masturbation, excretion, and for sex itself.

Gentlemen, though you might be intimidated by the myriad things the Authors ask you to do or not do, I leave you with this quote from Danielle LaPorte, author of The Desire Map: “You will always be too much of something for someone, too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy.”  Her advice is to just be who you are and don’t “round out your edges.” And Rakieten and Coyle close out UNDATEABLE with this statement: “And remember, SWAGGER and CONFIDENCE can almost always counteract the damage caused by a really bad pair of Dad Jeans…”

So, Mr. Undateable, go boldly forth to your Star Trek convention, wearing your SPOCK ROCKS T-shirt. You just might meet a beautiful Vulcan maiden.

NEXT BLOG POST:  I’ll review THE GAME: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists by Neil Strauss.

Screwings: On-Screen and Off. When Porn Careers Clash

The all-time worst case of clashing porn careers has to be the tragic event that happened on the night of January 25, 1996.

From SKINFLICKS: The Inside Story of the X-Rated Video Industry:

For Randy Potes–AKA Cal Jammer–that stud image was everything. “Cal obsessed about his erections,” wrote AVN’s Gene Ross. “…he told me that after 20 years of living a wastrel’s existence, sex was about the only thing he had left going for him.” Able to perform 16 scenes in four days, the dislexic Potes wasn’t hired for his dialogue readings. Then, plagued by marital problems and that bane of porn stars, the IRS, Potes began failing. He fell into the funk of impotence anxiety, worsened by watching his estranged, actress wife Adrian continue her career in porn. With the O.J Simpson murder case as “inspiration,. Potes set out on the night of January 25, 1995, to murder her. Adrian locked herself in her bathroom, heard a “pop,” and emerged to find Potes lying on her lawn amidst his splattered brains.

Tensions between off-screen lovers who both have porn careers rarely reach the horror-show level of the Cal Jammer suicide.  At worst, they enter the realm of absurdity. (Note: Passages from SKINFLICKS are in italics.)

Matt Daniels couldn’t function for a doggie-style scene in Spinelli’s The Party, even though it was with his off-screen girlfriend, Heather Lere.  After she cussed him out in front of cast and crew, according to witnesses, the agitated actor slapped her butt and proceeded to–in Lere’s term–“spring board.”
     Whatever gets the juices flowing.

Serena Blaquelord in SUBMISSION OF SERENA, a full-length version of the scene in BOUND

In my S and M video Bound, Jamie Gillis and Serena Blaquelord demonstrated their bizarre sex-style:

In a skit the couple had concocted themselves, he made her beg, lick his hands and feet, and crawl on hands and knees wearing a collar and chain. If she was slow to obey his commands, he’d strike her with his hand, a riding crop or a cat-o’-9-tails. It looked brutal, with Serena’s yelps and the cat landing in her face, but she said later, “Jamie’s never given me a bruise, ever.”

On the past Halloween, he’d tied her naked in a bay window of their Polk Street apartment, displayed to the crowd below. Even revelers as bizarre as San Francisco’s could only stare upward, open- mouthed. 

Serena and Jamie were strong performers and established stars. (Maybe that’s why they eventually went their separate ways.)  But what about when a porn star has a partner who also performs but is known to be a “weak model?”  That was the case when a beautiful woman I hired for a loop series insisted that she work with her boyfriend.

Buxom Desiree West, “the BlackPanther porn star (she really did belong to that radical political group),” had to suck her boyfriend Dashiell hard for every shot; he kept losing his erection. Better with punches than penis, he practiced Kung Fu during breaks.

Sucking Dashiell for the come shot, Desiree warned, “Better not let a drop of that shit land on my face.” (Maybe the implications in that warning were the reasons he practiced Kung Fu.)

“Take it on the tits, then.” I wanted to feature them anyway.
(Dashiell managed a “dribbler.”)

“He travels fastest who travels alone, and that goes double for she.”  –Florence King, Reflections in a Jaundiced Eye

Especially in the fast-paced porno business.

So, were there any porn performer partnerships that worked?

Samantha Fox in my video production, SIZZLE WITH SAMANTHA

Yes. Bobby Astyr and the delightful Samantha Fox were a couple  from 1978 until Astyr’s death of lung cancer in 2002.  Bill Margold and his wife Drea were together from 1982 until their divorce in 1984.

 … in an Adam interview (1982), Margold said that he and his porn director wife Drea left the business on the movie set “and then we go home. Just as if we were working in K-Mart or Dunkin’ Donuts…You can only live in a fantasy land just so long before it starts driving you crazy.”

Nina Hartley in my video E.X.

The best porn relationship I ever witnessed was that of Nina Hartley and her husband Dave, with whom she was mated for 20 years.  Their relationship was unusual in that Nina also had a wife.

Dave often accompanied her on shoots. He enjoyed watching Nina in action, and she enjoyed being watched by him. Their mutual “wife,” Bobby Lilly, heads the anti-censorship group, Californians Against Censorship Together (CAL-ACT).

Dave was not a performer, but I was glad to have him on the set when I cast Nina.  He was an able crew member whose upbeat energy was welcomed.

Barbara Dare in E.X. (when she was still known as Kimberly Dare)

That supreme super-bitch, Barbara Dare, didn’t let a boyfriend get in her way.  Of course, it helped that she was a lesbian.

To these ladies, the malady of boyfriendinitis is irrelevant. “I don’t need men…” Dare told an interviewer from the lesbian magazine On Our Backs, “I need women.” They trade tales among themselves about seducing both the boyfriends of straight ladies and the girlfriends of screen studs.

Next:  The Rape Films of Porn’s Golden Age

 

 

 

The Curse of “Boyfriendinitis”

Adult Video News reported that a newcomer named Leena was so ecstatic about her heart-throb Peter North coming on her face that she left it on to show her boyfriend.

The boyfriend’s reaction was not reported, but he must have been more tolerant of his lady-love’s new career than the men described below.  These worthies are examples of that pornmaker’s headache called “boyfriendinitis.”

(Excerpts from SKINFLICKS are in italics.)

Amy Rogers (with Tom Byron) in DIRTY PICTURES

I’d hired stunning, voluptuous Robin Cannes for Dirty Pictures, only to have her husband decide at the last moment that
he didn’t want his wife in pornos. (I replaced her with equally voluptuous Amy Rogers, whose boyfriend, porn actor Kevin James, was glad to see her getting work.)

At one of Joe Elliot’s casting sessions, I hired a stunning new woman with the porn name of Connie Lindstrom.  She was every man’s fantasy of a flaxen-haired Swedish goddess.  Then, before the shoot, her fiance gave her genital herpes.  Unlike most porn stars, Connie was ethical enough to refuse to pass it along to screen partners.  She limited herself to fellatio–frustrating the studs who wanted a go at her cunny.

Samantha Strong claimed she got into porn to spite her boyfriend; then she left the business to please her new one, a wealthy Israeli. He reportedly walked into South’s office with $250,000 in cash, wanting to buy up all her movies and take them off the market–he was told the task was impossible. Then Strong decided her new love had a drug problem, dropped him, and returned to porn.

Adult Video News quoted giddily sardonic Nikki Wilde’s assessment of her marriage: “I hate him! We’re still married…I hope he dies soon. You hear this, (name withheld)? I’m gonna get you, ’cause I’m a Scorpio and you fucked me over.”

AVN reported a divorce proceedings stemming from a “background” actress telling her spouse she was going to a church festival, when actually she was heading for the set of Oriental Treatment II.

One of my favorite screen ladies, whom I won’t name in the interest of preserving her domestic tranquility, married a wealthy man who demanded she leave the business–which she did. Yet, she snuck off to perform in one of Superior’s features. Maybe she was bored.

Kristara Barrington lamented, “When I come home to my boyfriend and we make love, I think of it as work almost.”

Musing over why industry love affairs were so short-term, Juliet Anderson said, “When you drive a bus ten hours a day, you don’t want to spend your vacation on a Greyhound.”

Pursuing porn’s promise of wealth, many actresses would echo Samantha Strong’s declaration upon signing a 15-picture contract with Western Visuals: “I do not have, nor do I want a personal life right now.” Alice Springs put it simply: “I don’t have a boyfriend, thank God.”

OK, so a private-life lover can sour a porn career.  What about when both partners work in porn?  Good? Bad? Disastrous?  All of the above?

___________

Next:  Screwings: On-screen and Off.  When Porn Careers Clash

 

Porn’s Boyfriends From Hell

Gayle Sterling had the attributes that were in great demand: shapely body, pretty face, easy-going demeanor, long flaxen hair, and a love of sex. She wasn’t hired more often because of “Dennis,” who usually accompanied her on shoots.

He wasn’t the helpful sort of on-set mate, like Nina Hartley’s husband Dave, who’d run errands, string cables or hold pussy lights. Dennis would sit there watching, with an aura of menace. During the Chocolate Cream shoot, he lit up a joint.

“I like smoke as much as anyone,” I said, “but I have a policy against drugs on my set.”

The tall, bellicose man glared at me. I stared right back. If there was to be a contest of wills on my production, I wasn’t about to come out second. After a few tense moments, he snuffed it out.

After we wrapped, I found out why Gayle hauled Dennis along like excess baggage. She motioned me to a stairwell, away from the crew packing up equipment. Like a cop about to frisk a suspect, Gayle leaned Dennis against the rail. Chattering about how well-hung he was, she unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. I wondered what this was all about; Dennis didn’t work in porn movies.

Then I recalled how the couple had kept telling me about their exploits swinging with third parties–both male and female. Gayle alone I might have considered, but I wanted no part of this scene. To this couple, Gayle’s porn work was part of their elaborate fantasy life.

(Excerpts from SKINFLICKS, such as above, are in italics.)

Many a porn queen has found out the hard way that the worst thing in the world to have is a boyfriend.

A common phenomenon is the beautiful porn star, who could have her choice of gentle, caring men, yet sticks with a brutal boyfriend who beats her silly. (Example: Posche Lynn’s boyfriend who bashed her head open with a vase during an argument. Reportedly, they “patched” things up.)

Many, such as adult film historian Jim Holliday, cite low self-esteem among porn ladies. Declaring he’d no longer date sex pros after “more than half a decade of romantic frustration and grief”, Dave Patrick, editor of the Bay Area sex tabloid Spectator, quoted a rock musician who’d written in to agree with Patrick’s decision: “Strippers and porn stars are a lot like rock ’n’ roll groupies. More often than not, they come from similar backgrounds of sexual and emotional abuse. They don’t have much self-esteem. Treat ’em good and they’ll walk all over you; treat ’em like shit and they’ll worship the ground you walk on.”

At lunch one day, four of us were discussing the sobbing ladies who call (porn agent Jim) South to cancel appointments due to black eyes and chipped teeth. “They’re beautiful and they’ve always had men bust ass to do them favors,” said (porn director) Richard Mailer. “So they play ’em for chumps. They only respect the dude who treats them like dirt.”

“Maybe,” I conjectured, “They find it easy to leave the responsibility for their affairs in the hands of a guy who dominates them. When they step out of line, he clouts them to establish his control. Maybe they take that for love.”

South wisely refrained from offering his own theories. He had to deal with these ladies every day and didn’t want anything he said getting back to them. But the problem of the meddlesome mate was so common that South–and others–had a word for it: “boyfriendinitis.”

Next: The Curse of “Boyfriendinitis”

Lords, Lies and Videotape Part 10: Ho’-ray for Hollywood

How do you make the transition from porn stardom to a so-called “legitimate” acting career?

You do it by posing as a poor, abused child, victimized by evil pornographers.

As Ron Jeremy wrote in Adult Video News: “Isn’t it nice that such a sweet kid can make so many career moves, make so much money, beat her IRS rap, her fake passport felony rap, and at the same time bury an entire industry! Only in Hollywood!”

Below is the conclusion of SKINFLICKS, Chapter 12: The Goddess.

To Jeremy and others with ambitions in the non-porn film world, the most grating result of the Lords affair was how it opened Hollywood to her. No longer was Traci a scarlet woman too steeped in shame for the wholesome sponsors of American television and silver screen. Now she was an innocent, a child-victim.

As usual, Traci played her role well. “At that age, you don’t really understand what you’re doing,” she said. “You don’t really understand the consequences.” She claimed that producers kept her stoned on drugs and her agent got most of the money she made.

Hollywood bought her act. Aaron Spelling was reported to have paid $100,000 for the rights to her life story. Traci appeared in the TV series’ Wiseguy, MacGyver, and Married with Children. She starred in the sci-fi / horror film Not of This World. She got roles in the feature films Fast Food, Shock ’em Dead, A Time to Die, Raw Nerve, The Object of Desire, Laser Moon and the John Waters comedies Nutty Nut and Cry Baby–which AVN editor Gene Ross called “a poetically apt title.”

To the industry that made her show biz success possible, Traci showed no gratitude. Instead she made the most damaging claim of all: that those she had worked for knew she was a minor.

“She tells us that she was told to just get some kind of I. D.,” D.A. Reiner said. “And that was done with more a wink and a nod than any serious effort to determine what her real age was.” Was this allegation true?

With the strict penalties–forfeiture of assets, long prison terms and six figure fines–for using underaged models, pornographers run like hell from those whose age is questionable.

In the wake of the Lords mess, young-looking starlets Nikki Charm, Ali Moore and Kristara Barrington were ostracized upon the first hints of rumors that they too were underaged.

The positive long-term effect of the Lords crisis was the increased awareness within the industry that porn video’s lure of quick riches attracted sexually precocious kids. As minors, immune to prosecution, they had nothing to lose if discovered.

Pornographers could lose everything. Contending that knowledge of Traci’s age was irrelevant, Federal attorneys initiated felony prosecutions. The adult movie industry braced for battle.

x x x x x x

By the early 1980s, a bond of good faith had formed between L.A. legal authorities and sex moviemakers who’d agreed to refrain from depicting rape, scatology, hardcore S and M, bestiality, use of minors and the depiction of minors by adult performers.

Consequently, when the Lords bombshell exploded, L.A. authorities gave the adult industry a chance to escape prosecution by immediately removing all Lords products from commercial circulation. To the amazement of police and prosecutors, the gargantuan task was completed almost overnight.

Government prosecutors went ahead with their test cases, under the Federal child pornography statutes. Agent South and producers Ronald Kantor and Rupert McNee won acquittals, but the Government got a conviction against Ruby Gottesman of Xcitement Video.

Then Gottesman’s conviction was overturned, and the statute that allowed conviction without proof that the defendant knew the performer was underaged was ruled unconstitutional. The Government appealed.

In the 1990 United States v. Thomas case, the Ninth Circuit Court had ruled that even if a defendant thought that the performer in question was of legal age, the Government could obtain a conviction.

Finally, on November 29, 1994, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the constitutionality of the Federal child porn law, while ruling that prosecutors must prove defendants had prior knowledge that a performer in question was underaged. The industry breathed a collective sigh of relief–but Rubin Gottesman didn’t; his conviction was upheld. The prosecution had presented evidence that Gottesman had sold hardcore Lords tapes to an undercover L.A. vice cop in 1987, by which time Lords’ former underaged status had become common industry knowledge.

There have been at least two more underaged actresses since the Traci Lords affair. I videotaped one of them.

Flushed with the afterglow of her sizzling debut in a Blacks and Blondes loop, a cute newcomer named Gigi (porn name Penny Nichols) gushed that she could now afford a $1500 pearlescent paint job with burgundy pinstripes for the ’69 Chevelle she’d just bought. Then she let it slip that her big concern now was passing her driver’s test.

Gigi’s mother complained to police that the girl was only 16 years old. On March 9, 1987, charges were filed against Jerome Tanner and agent Reb Sawitz. The veteran agent produced copies of a birth certificate and temporary driver’s license, which showed Gigi’s age as 19, exonerating Sawitz and Tanner under California law.

An underaged model scandal almost on the scale of the Traci Lords affair erupted in 1991, when Diane Stewart, a Canadian girl with the porn name Alexandria Quinn, appeared in over 70 videos before her 18th birthday.

Once again, tapes and magazines were frantically yanked from the market. Once again, real-appearing fake IDs precluded California prosecutions. And, once again, the industry had proven vulnerable to the deceit of a beautiful teenager.

x x x x x x

The Traci Lords scandal and the Government’s “War on Porn” did for sex movies what controversy always does. Adult tape sales soared from a wholesale value of $350 million in 1985 to almost $450 million in ’86. (With the uproar dying down in ’87, sales fell to $390 million.) It must have rankled the members of the Meese Commission to read Jerome Tanner’s taunting, “We need another report like that one.”

The industry needed another Traci Lords too–a legal one. With the entrenched copycat ethic, it was only natural to find a clone.

“She’s a deadringer for Traci Lords,” said Jack Michaelson of Cinderella Distributing. “Barbii has the fabled Traci pout down to perfection. Everybody’s crazy about her look.”

Barbii even spoke like Traci: “I’m a perfectionist and I don’t feel comfortable looking at myself.” In less than two months, out came Introducing Barbii, Lusty Desires, Backdoor to Hollywood, Barbii’s Way, and Spend the Holidays with Barbii. Penthouse lined her up for four different spreads.

Barbii’s wasn’t the only nouveau pout. In 1987 it seemed like half the new adult video boxcovers fixed the customer with a petulant stare and the best bottom lip the cover model could manage. One actress–whose career was brief–even called herself “Staci Lords.”

The industry’s love-hate affair with Traci continued.

Surfacing a half-year after the scandal erupted was the only hardcore Traci Lords movie made after she’d turned eighteen. It was that phantom Paris production Lords and Dell had denied shooting.

Released by Caballero Distributing, the sardonically titled Traci I Love You provoked calls for a boycott, but instead became the best selling and renting adult tape of 1987. “When a statuesque French blonde named Monique uses her mouth to shove a black dildo into Traci,” wrote reviewer Thomas McMahon, “it seems like old times.”

That old warhorse Honi Webber galloped back into battle with her High Times Video release Traci’s Big Trick, which “tells the whole truth for the first time…from high school to Penthouse to her agent’s office.” Lords, played by Jaqueline Lorians, is shown having sex with “Guy Sadler” (Sy Adler) and with Honi Webber–played by slim Sharon Mitchell in a bit of casting against type.

In Traci Who?, “it’s 1991 and President Meese wants to outlaw pornography,” went Peter Keating’s December ’86 AVN review. “Traci Who? may be the only title on the adult market to exist simply so that someone could get a dig in on that wretched turncoat Traci Lords.”

The rancor lasted for years. When Lords promoted her exercise tape at the 1988 VSDA Show, AVN quoted an “industry director” as saying, “I’m surprised she wasn’t met with a chorus of Uzis.”

When I last saw Tom Byron, he was at a 1989 trade show, looking for work behind the cameras, not in front of them.

“What’s Traci up to these days?” I asked him.
Byron shrugged. “Who the hell cares?”

# # #

 

Lords, Lies and Videotape Part 9: The Split Hits the Fan

Apologies to my myriad fans, friends and followers for my week-long absence.  It’s good to be back.

Now, where were we?

Oh yes. This is the climax: the real reason for the whole Traci Lords trouble.  If she hadn’t made that one major misstep of choosing the wrong business partners in her carefully navigated porn career, she might still be revered as porn’s all-time greatest diva.

From SKINFLICKS, Chapter 12:

“Daveet, I don’t know about Traci Lords,” said Jerome Tanner. “I think she is very young.”

“Why do you think that?” I was negotiating to sell Jerry my business, and I suspected this was a ploy to beat down my price.

“Ever seen her without make-up, Daveet? She looks about thirteen.”

“Lots of ladies look young.”

Tanner leaned back under the spotlight that gave his small form dramatic presence against the dark wood paneling behind him. “Almost fifteen years I have been in this business. I have seen lots of women’s bodies. I know baby fat when I see it. And those tits. They have grown in the past year. You know why they defy gravity like that? Because gravity has not had long to work on them. I tell you, Daveet, even if Traci Lords was still available (she’d already signed her exclusive), I would not use her ever again.”

Two months later, neither would anyone else. On July 17, 1986, Los Angeles District Attorney Ira Reiner announced that Lords had been under eighteen during her entire two-year hardcore movie career. Adult Film and Video Association attorney John Weston didn’t wait for proof. He called for the immediate removal from circulation of all Lords material. To keep the newly contraband tapes out of the hands of prosecutors, all manufacturers took them back for refunds or exchanges, though some of the movies had been on the rental market for over a year.

The biggest Lords loser I knew was a loops director trying to prove he could handle features. He’d put his life savings into a handsome 35 millimeter production. Lords was in every scene; he lost everything.

I came out unscathed. By the time three of Superior’s titles became illegal, I’d already sold them to Jerome Tanner. All I lost was $1276.50–Honi Webber never made good on her last check after her own company, HBO (Honi’s Big One-stop), and Sy Adler’s VIP (Video International Productions) were raided and forced into bankruptcy.

The anger came next. One producer was supposed to have hired goons to “hang her by the tits.” Traci disappeared into the minors protection programs of the LAPD, leaving the story behind the age disclosure to the conflicting accounts reported in AVN:

“An industry source said the entire situation stemmed from a money dispute between V.I.P., T.L.C., Lords and Stuart Dell, Lords’ reported boyfriend/manager. Lords and Dell were given $25,000, a new Mercedes and $1000 a week salaries, the source said, and were sent to Paris to make a picture. But when Lords and Dell returned, the source said, they had no movie nor any of the $25,000. It was soon after an ensuing dispute that questions about Lords’ age were raised, the source said…

“Other reported causes for the raid centered on Lords’ mother, who some said turned her daughter in after hearing about the Meese Commission’s report earlier in the month.

Other sources said her mother had been handling her affairs and went to the police following a dispute with Lords over money.

(Unlikely: a stupid move for someone pimping a minor in porn.)

“However, a close associate of Lords, who wished to remain anonymous, said her mother, whose name was not available, was not involved in any way. They said Lords had been a runaway from Ohio, and that her parents had been notified of her whereabouts and were on their way to California.”

They wouldn’t have far to drive according to the Los Angeles Times: Lords was a high school student in Redondo Beach when shebegan posing nude in 1984; she moved there with her family from Steubenville, Ohio in 1982.

An unauthorized biography in the form of a comic book from Personality Comics, Inc., of Massapequa, New York, had Traci coming west with her mother who’d just divorced Traci’s alchoholic father. Traci subsequently ran away from her mother’s home in Redondo Beach, California.

All reports concurred that Traci was not Kristie Nussman, born on November 17, 1962, but Nora Kuzma, born May 7, 1968. She allegedly purchased a birth certificate and used it to get the driver’s license and passport that talent agent South showed copies of to the L.A. District Attorney’s office.

(Traci said she chose her stage name because of her childhood crush on Hawaii Five-0 star Jack Lord. [Traci Lord was the name of Katharine Hepburn’s character in the 1940 film The Philadelphia Story.])

Skeptics–South included–didn’t believe Lords was really underaged. They saw the whole affair as a scam to eliminate that glut of existing Lords tapes from competing with her new releases. If that were true, the scheme backfired; Traci, too, got blown out of the business.

Was the whole thing an act of desperation? There were rumors that Traci and her lover/co-producer Stuart Dell had fabricated the story that they’d blown all the production money on cocaine while in Paris and hadn’t shot a movie there. Wanting to break away from Lord’s partners, the couple was hiding the video, hoping to market it themselves. And the partners, smelling a scam, didn’t buy the coke story; they told the couple to turn over the videotapes–or else. According to that scenario, Traci and her mother went public with her age to put the partners under too much scrutiny to carry out their threats. If that scenario were true, the strategy worked.

There was another heavyweight in the ring. The IRS wanted its share of the money Lords had made. Was the age announcement meant to save Traci from being prosecuted as an adult for tax evasion?

Whatever the reasons for it, Traci–or her adult “coaches”–used the scandal skillfully. Porn star/AVN columnist Ron Jeremy wrote, “Isn’t it nice that such a sweet kid can make so many career moves, make so much money, beat her IRS rap, her fake passport felony rap, and at the same time bury an entire industry! Only in Hollywood!”

__________________________________

Next: Lords, Lies and Videotape Part 10: Ho’-ray for Hollywood  This will be the conclusion of this sordid story.  Then we can get back to more upbeat things like sex on a flying trapeze.

 

 

Lords, Lies and Videotape Part 3: G-Spot Sensation

Part 3

From SKINFLICKS:

Chapter 12

The Goddess

Curiosity about this sensational new star brought me to the Mitchell Brothers’ O’Farrell Theater early in 1985 to see their film The Grafenberg Spot. What I saw convinced me that my career in erotic movies wouldn’t be complete without shooting a Traci Lords picture.

A porno theater is the last place you’d expect to see male bonding. The men sit as far away from each other as possible, ashamed of their masturbatory intentions. They don’t dare draw attention to themselves with vocalizations–only a few heavy breaths now and then. But, for one brief moment, Traci Lords created a bond among these lonely men.

The scene was on a cabin cruiser that rocked to a three-some of Traci, Rick Savage and Harry Reems. The first ripple of response from the audience came with the sheer delight Traci took in slapping Rick’s erection around between her breasts.

Then, while Reems and Savage performed double vaginal penetration, something that was as much a Traci trademark as The Pout rang through the theater: the hyperventilating Traci Lords Love Call.

This seesaw of whistling inhalations and exhalations was best–if unflatteringly– described by my audio engineer. “It’s the sound of a Missouri mule on fast forward,” he said. As proof, he slowed the tape. Everyone in the mix studio burst into laughter. The alternating squeals and brays could have come out of the stables of a Sam Peckinpah western.

To the theater audience it was a Mozart concerto. I had just seen the movie Amadeus and had the weird notion that–like Mozart’s rival Salieri–I was listening to “the Lord’s music.”

Traci claimed her on-screen orgasms were real. In AVN, she said, “If the guys have to go through the job of getting a hard-on, I feel that in a sense the girl should get a hard-on too…I try to have a come-shot just like the guy.”

Porn queens’ claims of real screen orgasms are mostly hype, but Traci’s climax in The Grafenberg Spot made a believer out of me.

My seat was moving. I thought it was an earthquake. Then I realized that the fault-line ran from the knee to the crotch of the guy behind me. He wasn’t the only one masturbating. Though they tried to be quiet, the men were given away by the ancient seats, sqawking like censorious old prudes.

When the scene ended, the audience lapsed into a silence deeper than usual. Then someone breathed, “Wow!” Followed by “Yeah!” “Woooh!” Someone called out, “Encore!” And the men actually laughed.

————————–

Next: Lords, Lies and Videotape Part 4: A Tight Situation

 

Lords, Lies and Videotape Part 1: Questions

On the Larry King Show (July 14, 2003) Traci Lords made the following claims about her career in porn:

“I was stoned for about three years, from fifteen to eighteen…”

“In that three-year period, you know, I made maybe $40,000 or something.” 

KING: A picture, $40,000…

LORDS: No.

KING: Total?

LORDS: For three years, yes.

———————

Was Traci Lords a child-victim, drugged, exploited, and financially ripped off?

Or was she an opportunistic child-savant, wise beyond her years, using the porn industry as a fast-track to wealth?

Could the answer to both of these questions be “True”?

The Traci Lords story, as I saw it, had so many different facets, that trying to condense it all into a couple of blog posts would be impossible. So I have decided to post–in a series–the entire 24-page chapter from SKINFLICKS.

Instead of my usual pace of roughly one post a week, I will let no more than a couple days lapse between entries from this chapter.

——————————

Chapter 12

THE GODDESS
1986 – 1990s

“She’s perfect,” sighed lovestruck stud Tom Byron. “I mean, every girl in this business has some kind of flaw. Like she might be a bitch, or does too much coke, or has a saggy ass–something. But Traci…she doesn’t have a single fault. She’s perfect in every way.”

Except two. For one thing, she didn’t have a smile. Something in her cheek lines made it almost a sneer–a “snile.” Traci Lords’ second flaw was much worse; it nearly destroyed an industry. It caused busts, bankruptcies and losses in the millions. It brought a Federal push to throw most of America’s adult movie producers in prison.

It was commercial pornography’s worst scandal and it came at the worst possible time: with Attorney General Ed Meese urging anti-porn activism and the industry mired in the “Smut Glut.”

The news that porn’s top star was underaged “went through the industry like a plague through the Middle Ages,” said Adult Film and Video Association attorney John Weston. There was a scramble to remove hundreds of thousands of videotapes, films and magazines from circulation before the police could pounce on them.

“Coming as it does on the heels of the Meese Report,” Weston said, “it’s hard to believe the two are not related.”

“Talk about timing,” wrote Mitchell Brothers star Missy Manners in her Spectator column, “I’m not so sure it’s just a coincidence.”

For the Meese Commission, it was “proof” of their contention that child porn was a major part of the commercial industry.

Under Federal law, anyone connected with a Traci Lords shoot was guilty of a felony. Hundreds of grips, gofers and gaffers, as well as producers, directors, agents, writers, make-up artists and caterers faced long prison terms, loss of assets, and fines guaranteed to keep them poor for life.

“If the Traci Lords case is lost,” Weston said, “with the strictest liability of the law enforced, the government would then have the power to wipe out the industry.”

Was the industry at fault? Could a fifteen year old girl rise to the top of the porn world without anyone suspecting her true age? Was she sophisticated enough to bamboozle Penthouse, the U.S. Government, and the entire porn industry? To spend two years dashing from set to set, yet find time to invest her earnings wisely enough to be “set for life?” To beat alleged IRS and forged passport felony violations? And, finally, to parlay the age fiasco into Hollywood success?

Questions about adult “advisors” knowingly promoting a minor in porn went unanswered. Was she really a runaway from Ohio whose mother turned her in after seeing her picture in a TV special on the Meese Report? Or did she live in Redondo Beach with her mother who secretly managed her career?

Industry skeptics, including her agent Jim South, didn’t believe she was really underaged. They saw the whole thing as a ploy to prevent all existing Traci Lords tapes from competing with the products of her new company (shot after she supposedly turned eighteen).

What is the real Traci Lords story?

I caught a glimpse of it: My experience directing Lords and my trade with her business partners reveal a saga of mutual exploitation, of a driven, ambitious beauty hell-bent on getting rich, and of those who misused her and forced a devastating showdown.

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Next: Lords, Lies and Videotape Part 2: A Star is Porn

(I will post no photos of Lords because her signature on release forms are not legal, since she was allegedly a minor using a false ID.)