just wasn't a fan.
Something like that can really hurt your career. It was
only when I won a couple of awards and was getting loads
of recognition that I started to feel more confident.
I won my first industry award in the same year that
I'd started – the X-Rated Critics Organization (XRCO)
Award for 'Starlet of the Year' for 2001 – and then the
Fans of X-Rated Entertainment (FOXE) 'Vixen of
the Year' award in 2002. I was quite ambitious, actually,
and I kept my mind on things like trying to get good
reviews, good publicity, hot-looking box-covers, lots of
magazine covers and, of course, making lots of money.
Things like that kept me going, so I did feel very validated
when I won. It was such an amazing affirmation,
and I felt truly honoured and recognised for the hard
work that I had put in.
But I was still so young and new to the business back
then, and it didn't occur to me to think about whether
there was some kind of disconnect between what the
fans and critics felt about porn stars and what the girls
themselves thought about the importance of such
awards. I still don't really know, to be honest. To me,
winning awards is just good publicity and recognition
for a job well done, but I don't think the directors really
give a shit. I came to this conclusion because I didn't
get very much new work following those two awards.
I don't think the real fans care, either, because those
who really like you will like you regardless of whether
you win awards or not.
That's not to say that I didn't do loads of work in
2002, though, because I was able to re-shoot for all the
companies I'd already shot for, and for the same magazines,
too. I hadn't hit the glass ceiling yet. I was still
'new' to lots of people.
But life wasn't always a bed of roses. I have my share of
horror stories from my early days. There was one shoot
in particular that was a nightmare. It was for a website,
and I did it because it paid really well: US$350 an hour.
It was really hard work and it took a bloody eternity.
We shot it in Baltimore in one day, for about ten hours,
and they wanted me to do all kinds of fucked-up shit,
including using a speculum to allow the camera to get
real 'tunnel vision'. They also shot me fucking myself
with a bottle, followed by huge vegetables and sex toys.
They thought I was just complaining but, seriously, I'm
pretty tight down there and a fat butternut pumpkin is
just not going to fit. I mean, how much more unnatural
can a sex act be? I was trying to insert a big butternut
pumpkin into my own vagina and pretending to
enjoy it!
After I got back to LA, I was shooting for Hank
Londoner again and I told a couple of girls there about
the crazy things they made me do in Baltimore. They told
this guy who'd shot me what I'd said, and he responded
by threatening me in an email, calling me a cunt and
saying he would sue me for slander, he would have me
deported and this and that, blah, blah, blah. I had to
smooth things over with a fake 'nice' email, explaining
that I didn't badmouth him or his company but had only
told those girls what I did there and it was entirely their
own decision not to work with him after what they'd
heard from me. That was a very weird experience.
In my early days in LA, my agent, Roy, had put me
up at his house, where a bunch of other girls he represented
lived. The first porn star I met there was Noname
Jane, who was really sweet. She had a husband and a
boyfriend, and I thought she was way cool. We're still
good friends to this day. Jane is very spiritual and
we have a lot in common. But most of the girls were
complete crack-heads, straight out of Jerry Springer.
The girl I had to share a room with was a speed-smoking
hooker. She was extremely stupid. She would
walk Roy's two dogs in her stiletto heels at 2 am around
Granada Hills, which is a genteel suburban area in the
west San Fernando Valley, and she got her ID photo
taken at the Department of Motor Vehicles wearing a
stripper outfit, her head all
Something like that can really hurt your career. It was
only when I won a couple of awards and was getting loads
of recognition that I started to feel more confident.
I won my first industry award in the same year that
I'd started – the X-Rated Critics Organization (XRCO)
Award for 'Starlet of the Year' for 2001 – and then the
Fans of X-Rated Entertainment (FOXE) 'Vixen of
the Year' award in 2002. I was quite ambitious, actually,
and I kept my mind on things like trying to get good
reviews, good publicity, hot-looking box-covers, lots of
magazine covers and, of course, making lots of money.
Things like that kept me going, so I did feel very validated
when I won. It was such an amazing affirmation,
and I felt truly honoured and recognised for the hard
work that I had put in.
But I was still so young and new to the business back
then, and it didn't occur to me to think about whether
there was some kind of disconnect between what the
fans and critics felt about porn stars and what the girls
themselves thought about the importance of such
awards. I still don't really know, to be honest. To me,
winning awards is just good publicity and recognition
for a job well done, but I don't think the directors really
give a shit. I came to this conclusion because I didn't
get very much new work following those two awards.
I don't think the real fans care, either, because those
who really like you will like you regardless of whether
you win awards or not.
That's not to say that I didn't do loads of work in
2002, though, because I was able to re-shoot for all the
companies I'd already shot for, and for the same magazines,
too. I hadn't hit the glass ceiling yet. I was still
'new' to lots of people.
But life wasn't always a bed of roses. I have my share of
horror stories from my early days. There was one shoot
in particular that was a nightmare. It was for a website,
and I did it because it paid really well: US$350 an hour.
It was really hard work and it took a bloody eternity.
We shot it in Baltimore in one day, for about ten hours,
and they wanted me to do all kinds of fucked-up shit,
including using a speculum to allow the camera to get
real 'tunnel vision'. They also shot me fucking myself
with a bottle, followed by huge vegetables and sex toys.
They thought I was just complaining but, seriously, I'm
pretty tight down there and a fat butternut pumpkin is
just not going to fit. I mean, how much more unnatural
can a sex act be? I was trying to insert a big butternut
pumpkin into my own vagina and pretending to
enjoy it!
After I got back to LA, I was shooting for Hank
Londoner again and I told a couple of girls there about
the crazy things they made me do in Baltimore. They told
this guy who'd shot me what I'd said, and he responded
by threatening me in an email, calling me a cunt and
saying he would sue me for slander, he would have me
deported and this and that, blah, blah, blah. I had to
smooth things over with a fake 'nice' email, explaining
that I didn't badmouth him or his company but had only
told those girls what I did there and it was entirely their
own decision not to work with him after what they'd
heard from me. That was a very weird experience.
In my early days in LA, my agent, Roy, had put me
up at his house, where a bunch of other girls he represented
lived. The first porn star I met there was Noname
Jane, who was really sweet. She had a husband and a
boyfriend, and I thought she was way cool. We're still
good friends to this day. Jane is very spiritual and
we have a lot in common. But most of the girls were
complete crack-heads, straight out of Jerry Springer.
The girl I had to share a room with was a speed-smoking
hooker. She was extremely stupid. She would
walk Roy's two dogs in her stiletto heels at 2 am around
Granada Hills, which is a genteel suburban area in the
west San Fernando Valley, and she got her ID photo
taken at the Department of Motor Vehicles wearing a
stripper outfit, her head all
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