Friday 28th July 2017,
Jack Gary

That Time I Accidentally Became A Porn Star

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This is one of my many sex stories that I’ve never written down before until now. Quite truthfully, I didn’t really want to write it down and share it with all of you, but too many people suggested I should – which is probably a testament to how weird and interesting this story is. This story takes place in Silicone Valley – no, not where all the tech companies are, but where all the fake tits are. I’m talking about the San Fernando Valley, or just the Valley – or Porn Valley, as it’s most commonly called. Porn Valley is a lovely little community about 30 minutes North of Los Angeles Proper, where a shocking 90% of all legally distributed pornographic films in the United States are made.

That Time I Accidentally Became A Porn StarA few years ago I was in LA on business. I was going to be there for a few weeks, so I rented this gorgeous, vintage Pontiac convertible; white exterior, black leather interior. It was a great car to fuck in. If there is one thing you should know about LA, it’s that you better have a damn nice ride, because you’ll be spending upwards of 6 hours a day just driving around in traffic.

A couple of days into my trip, my friend called me up to ask if I wanted to come to his house in the San Fernando Valley for an afternoon of swimming, margaritas and some good old-fashioned relaxation in the sun. I had never been to this guy’s house before, but based on what he does for a living (you can guess what that is) I could only assume that he had done very well for himself and had a nice big house to hang out in – maybe we’d invite some chicks. So I took him up on his invite and said that I would see him in a few days, and to watch out for a roaring Pontiac that might be blasting up his driveway.

A day before I was supposed to meet my friend in San Pornando Valley I received a very cryptic text from him that read, “Plans changed, come by earlier, 6 a.m.” In my head I remember thinking: “6 a.m. is ridiculously early – even for a weekday.” I didn’t respond and assumed that perhaps he was just an early riser and had some stuff to do later that day, but still really wanted to hang out. So I rolled with the punches. The next day my hotel woke me up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m. I showered, drank a cup of coffee, put on my swim trunks, threw on my shades, and got into the Pontiac. It was summer time in Los Angeles, so it was already 80 degrees outside. I headed north on the 101 with the top down and the warm breeze in my hair. I felt alive.

I pulled up to the address I had written down and it was just like I imagined it in my head: long winding driveway, white stucco – an enormous house with a view as far as the eye can see. It was also one of the ugliest houses I’d ever seen. I roared up the driveway, like I said I would, and slammed the Pontiac into park, and jumped out excitedly.  I half expected my friend to be waiting at the entrance, but no one was there. I knocked on the door a few times – ring the bell – no one answered. At this point I was getting a little angry. I got up at 5:30 a.m. to accommodate this guy’s schedule – the hell with it, I’m gonna get my fun in the sun no matter what.  So I climbed over the fence and walked around to the back of the house. That’s when I saw it: two chicks, completely naked, fully making out on an inflatable life raft.

In that exact moment I realized I was at the completely wrong house. My friend didn’t answer the door, because he didn’t live there in the first place. I must have written the address down wrong. After the first wave of embarrassment wore off, which took about 30 seconds, I was left wondering who these two naked pool nymphs were, getting it on in the pool at 6:30 AM on a Wednesday morning in the San Fernando Valley. Was I dreaming?

Naturally, me being Jack Gary and all, I went in for the “hello” and “how are you?” – and proceeded to shake their hands (picture their large, gorgeous tits flopping and bobbing around in the water). As I continued to introduce myself and apologize for walking into their backyard – making the excuse that I thought it was my friends house – I heard a guy’s voice yell, “Cut!” I soon realized that not only was this the wrong house, but that they were filming a porno right there in the backyard.

The best part of this whole scenario is that they didn’t yell cut sooner, because they thought I was the male actor making my cue – which I would learn later was – I shit you not – to walk into the backyard of the wrong house, see two gorgeous naked girls in the pool, jump in and have them start performing oral sex, on me. I regretted not acting upon my first impulse until a little later. In the meantime, when the director, and the guy with one of those fuzzy microphones, realized I wasn’t the actor making my entrance, only then did they yell cut. But the best was yet to come.

After they yelled cut, the two “actresses” got out of the pool and went inside the house. The director and his boom operator asked me if I wanted a drink and some breakfast. I said sure. I’m always down for a weird sex adventure. As we were all sitting there at the dining room table in this awful, garish Porn Valley mansion – the two “actresses” wearing nothing but transparent negligees – the director told me that they had a daylong shoot and if the male actor didn’t show that they might have to cancel. That’s when I chimed in – they could have me take his place. For some reason they said sure – apparently people flake out all the time in this business. And lucky for me, because this was a lifelong dream of mine: to be in at least one porno.

Dreams do come true in Los Angeles. We were filming all day – in the bath, on the pool table, in the kitchen, back in the shower. I must have fucked those two “actresses” on every surface and every corner of that house – and it was all guaranteed no strings attached.

The last scene was a bedroom scene.  It was to be with only one of the actresses – the hot blonde one, who didn’t look a day over 20, with huge fake tits. My task was simple: she blows me, I fuck her, and then I come all over her face. Wonderful, I could do that, no problem. As the cameras rolled, I was going at it with her from behind, upside down, sideways and all the way back around again. It wasn’t all that pleasurable, because there was a guy with a camera literally filming two inches away from my balls. Anyhow, we’re in the final stretch and we’re getting closer and closer to the money shot. I’m about the blow my wad all over the blonde just so some other anonymous guy watching on the Internet can blow his wad too. The thought of that was a bit disturbing, but I was in the zone anyways – the orgasm zone. That’s the thing about porn: you know for certain if the guy comes, but you never know if the girl is faking it or not. I guess it’s the same way in real life.

Anyways, just as I blew my wad all over her face, the bedroom door swung open. I was shocked to see my friend standing there, clutching the doorknob in horror.   I was thinking: why is he here? Does he know these people? They must be his neighbors. But no, the shocking truth was that this was his house. In his text message he meant to write 6 p.m. and not 6 a.m. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know the people filming in his house. They were like some sort of porn squatters. They knew no one was going to be home. Apparently renting a house for the day is expensive, so they just assumed they could sneak into one. In the end, I vouched for the crew and saved their asses by telling my friend that they were with me.  In the end, it was all a big misunderstanding. Unfortunately, the smell of menthol, lube, and cheap bubble gum never left my friend’s house for months. I didn’t have the heart to tell him what exactly we did and where, and I sincerely hope he never sees that porno the next time he’s wanking it on the Internet.

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