You know what they say . . . once a porn star always a porn star.
Especially when you were born with the tools and the talent. They don’t call me ‘horseman’ for nothing. I wouldn’t be the porn king of the west coast if it weren’t true. Ladies, I sense your hand on the remote or computer ready to see for yourself. I promise not to disappoint. My bank account tells me so. I’ll even fuck you too. And no one has to know.
I’m living the dream. Every man’s greatest fantasy. Sex—no strings, hot naked girls, payday. We fuck, we film, we forget, and then do it all over again. I don’t choose my partner. She’s chosen for me. For a while it was the life for me. What better form of revenge than that . . . But I like to think I’m different than most. The truth is, I’m tired, of the endless uncensored intimacy, the constant loneliness off the set, and the lack of emotion that runs within my very veins. I want a break. I almost took it too, but I owed a producer one meeting. He threw something at me I couldn’t resist. Reality TV meets porn. She walked up at the perfect time.
From the first time I saw her I knew she was different. Quirky, awkward, hot as hell. And a big rack I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of. Instant attraction has been foreign to me for as long as I can remember. I’m physically broken, but perhaps she can fix me. Within seconds she already has. And she looks at me as if she doesn’t even know who I am. It’s my turn to counter. I haven’t f*cked my ass off for nothing. This time—I’m picking my partner. He wants me, he better get her.
Saxton Maverick has made headlines more than once, but if he comes through, I don’t mind sharing the fame. I may even like it. No one turns down a virgin—not even a porn star.
Camera tales aren’t always fiction.