Between the two shoots I scored while I was down in TO, I've managed to make rent for my second month, not to mention opening up a new market for my...talents. It's also allowed me to brush up on my dirty talk, a skill I have yet to master. It really shouldn't be all that hard, considering it just involves combining the following words into various breathless, shouted phrases:
It's that easy! Actually, the name of the site was called "His First Huge Cock", so I had to be reminded constantly that I was supposed to say "HUGE cock" instead of "BIG cock". Whoops. To-MAY-to, to-MAH-to, really. Seriously, you try remembering that little tid-bit when you have ten inches of man meat pistoning in and out of your hot pocket.
The other shoot I did was a solo, which I have to admit, I actually find a little harder than duos. Theoretically, this really shouldn't be too hard, considering that all you're doing is beating your meat for a designated amount of time. The only down-side is, I'm something of a no-frills masturbator. You guys may keep your fancy-pants fleshlights and dildoes. So long as I have a right hand and an ability to produce sufficient amounts of saliva, I'm golden.
However, that shit just won't cut it for a half-hour jerk flick. Therefore, in order to pad it out, you're gonna have to give 'em the whole she-bang. That means strip-teasing, undie-sniffing, finger-blasting, dirty-talking, moaning and groaning, and to top it all off, some auto-fellatio if you're so inclined. As you can see, the concept of "Beating a dead horse" doesn't really apply to the world of porn. That being said, if you can suck yourself off, and subsequently, fire off a load of mini-Jeremys into your face-hole, then feel free to pat yourself on the back. Guys fucking LOVE that shit.
Anyhoodle, I spent the rest of my vacation walking around downtown Toronto, visiting The Eaton Center and The Much Music Headquarters, and going to see Away We Go. Actually, that serves as a pretty good litmus test to see whether or not you're boring. Let's say you're walking around unsupervised in a new city with a massive wad of cash burning a hole in your 50%-off jeans. Do you:
A) Get some booze and hookers. Get your rocks off.
B) Go to a sex club. Do body shots. Get your rocks off.
C) Go see a charming yet adequite indie-romantic-comedy while you wonder why exactly you don't have a boyfriend yet. Don't get your rocks off.
If you chose C, congratulations! You're the most boring porn star EVER.
Actually, on the way home we happened to stop at a Tim Horton's in Kingston where I got to talk to a charming, not to mention stunningly tall, young woman who was on her way back to Toronto after having been awake for 24-hours helping those with Alzheimer's. It was at that point that I resigned myself to never complain about my job ever again. No offense to others in the business who got troubles. I'm sure you're hurting and all, but come on...What the hell are you complaining about? You have it better than over 90% of the world's population. Gee, you get paid fuckloads of money to have sex with hot guys. Wow. Poor bitch. It must be so hard to be an upper-class American Male. Those 300,000 Sri Lankan refugees have been getting a free ride for WAY too long.
Seriously? I fucking lucked out. I have a good fucking job, and if I can't appreciate the fact that I have a great job, then I'd be the biggest douche ever. Sorta odd to think about the kinda shit you realize in-line at Timmy's for a muffin.
Anyway, for now, I have a couple little tasks set up for me. I have to get ready for my move on August 1st, wash off the scent of gay sex which now seems to be pervading every pore in my body (a heady aroma of sweat, lube, prophylactics and cum, with just a hint of fart), and work on planning my next trip to Toronto on the 10th of August. There's no place like home.