Making Porn, Episode 2: Hot As Hell

Future and current pornographers, take note: Never schedule a shoot during a heatwave. I should probably explain here: You see, in Montreal the heat tends to fluctuate between between "Holy Shit, it's so cold I can't feel my extremities" and "Oh my God, am I on fire?" depending on the season. God help the person who has to suffer the latter in an enclosed space with stage lighting and absolutely no way of staying cool whatsoever.

As you probably guessed, this is exactly the sort of shit I went through yesterday. It never occurred to me that, when I scheduled the scene, I might want to think about how not to die of heat stroke. The problem was first brought to my attention when about half way through my first scene of the day with Jake Manhole (subtle name, huh?) when we had to keep taking breaks every five minutes so that he could stand in front of my fan and I could stick my head under the kitchen sink and run cold water on it.

If you've never had to fuck underneath stage lighting, consider yourself lucky; it's like trying to bone in a goddamn toaster. This was in no way helped by the fact that (A) it was my first time topping and (B) as it turns out, topping is a TON of work. Bottoming is more of a mental game while topping is more physical, and as it turns out, thrusting plus massive amounts of heat = me losing about twenty pounds in water weight.

Thankfully, other than the fact that we damn near caught on fucking fire, my first scene as a top (yeah, that sounds weird to me to) went pretty damn well. I maintained wood without the help of viagra (oh, the perks of being nineteen...) and even managed to shove what was nearly my entire fist up his ass, which very nearly qualifies me as a fisting top. What is that, like, a bronze in the fisting Olympics or something? None too shabs.

Between shoots one and two, Bruce (one of the guys from Videoboys who also doubled as my camera guy) grabbed some pizza and tried desperately to figure out how the hell to import video onto Premiere. This was no easy feat, since I'm generally somewhat e-tarded and Premiere is about as user friendly as a bear-trap. Granted, we finally figured it out, but not before the idea of picking up my laptop and punting it off the balcony crossed my mind.

And just in case you were worried that my one shot as a top somehow made me quit dick-taking forever, well rest your pretty little head because my second season quickly reestablished that my ass is really only good for one thing: Accommodating penises. As it turns out, I'm even getting better at it; I've gone from barely being able to take a nine incher to pretty much having fit in there like a fucking glove.

And of course, the room still felt like we were fucking in a goddamn sweatbox. As it turned out, being on the receiving end of a slam-fuck didn't bode much better for me because we were both still sweating absolute fucking buckets. The man who manages to create a non-heating stage light will die a rich man.

Anyway, the good news is I now have all the scenes I need filmed for the start-up of the site, which means I now have a metric fuckton of editing to do, which is where the actual work kicks in. Editing, besides being an incredibly ugly word to say out loud, also happens to be confusing as hell, but hey, if someone who cried at the end of Twilight (seriously; Twilight? Pussy) can edit a video, absolutely anyone in the entire world can.

Making Porn, Episode 1: The Creation of JeremyFeistXXX.com

As it turns out, creating a porn site is a lot like giving birth to a baby: It's a long, arduous process, but in the end what comes out of it is a part of you that you can be proud of. Also, it involves sticking your penis into other people.

In an effort to start creating content for JeremyFeistXXX.com, I went to Pride for a double helping of Pride and shooting. I had scheduled a scene with Xander Cruise, a friend I had met back in December, along with one with Xtube's Techboy.

The first scene with Xander took place in the pretty little hotel I booked for the night specifically for the scene. Unfortunately, despite asking for a single bed, I got two. Fuck. So of course, I ended up rearranging the entire room to put the two together, and Ryan Russell, our cameraman, was able to set up the lights around the big stupid bed.

The scene itself went amazingly well, although I'm going to play my cards close to my chest on this one. What can I say? Body parts went into other body parts and we looked pretty damn good doing it. More than anything, I was amazed I managed to schedule an entire porn shoot by myself. On the long list of firsts I happen to be proud of, my first homemade sex scene ranks pretty high up there, especially when you consider that I have the organizational skills of a golden retriever.

The Techboy scene was set-up as a sort of mutual benefit sort of thing: we both get to use the video, no one has to pay anyone, and I got a bowl of Miss Vickie's chips to nosh on between shoots. I think we can all agree that chips are delicious, right? Right. Anyway, another hot scene wherein I show off my mad dick taking skills was successfully in the can, and I finally knew what it felt like to take an actual 10 inch black dick.

... Ahem.

Anyway, off camera I ended up going to Toronto Pride's beach party for some much needed beach boozing with Xander Cruise. To be honest, Xander and I have known each other for about eight months so far, and lately, I've been having...feelings. Now before you start assuming that I'm jumping into this willy-nilly, just remember who you're referring to here; I need to make a Pros/Cons list and a Powerpoint Presentation just to decide what to have for breakfast.

The point here is that I may have fallen for him a little. One teensy little problem with this: While I was moving to TO, he was moving to fucking Atlanta. Oh fate, you are a cruel, cockteasing cunt of a mistress. I was doing a pretty good job of hiding those feelings, although it didn't help that we were walking hand-in-hand down the streets of Toronto, kissing openly and generally being very public in our displays of affection. At one point, on the ride home from the island he laid down on my lap while I rubbed his back and tried very hard to convince myself that this wasn't romantic at all and that I wasn't falling for a guy who would be leaving just as I was coming.

Nope, no way that could go horribly wrong.

The next day, we met up one more time so that I could get the pair of jeans I had left at his place. Once again, not romantic whatsoever. We met at a Pizza Pizza by his place where we reenacted that scene from Lady and the Tramp with french fries. This was spotted by a group of lesbians, who looked at us and remarked about what a cute couple we were.

Which got me thinking: When even lesbians, a group of people diametrically opposed to penises, can see that two guys are a cute couple, despite the fact that I was trying very hard to convince myself what we had was good ol' fashioned, no-strings-attached friendliness, then what does that mean? Were they seeing what I was trying very hard to tell myself wasn't there?

We went back to his place where Xander, still a little drunk, told me that I was the only boy he ever let sleep over when he was in Montreal, and that he was disappointed he was leaving when I was coming over. And then he fell asleep while I gave him a backrub.

It was at this point that the floodgates more or less opened. Why the hell had I been so fucking stupid? Who the hell falls for a guy they know is just going to move away? I had this bittersweet lump in my throat; I had finally found a guy who felt as comfortable with me as I was with him. And he was going to be moving to a different country. All I could think about was that it wasn't fair. Was I doing something wrong? Why was it that whenever I finally found a guy who was right for me, we'd end up apart?

The next day, when I was back in Montreal and he was on his way to Atlanta, I did something I never did before: I sent someone a note letting them know how much I cared. I stole away onto the computer at work and typed out the following:

And about all the things you said last night ... Not sure what this counts for, but I think I LIKE like you. Like, a lot. Just saying.

It's remarkable how I can pretty much revert to a high school mentality when trying to convey shit like this. LIKE like? Really? Christ, I might as well have sent him a letter asking if he liked me back with boxes to be marked as "Yes", "No", or "Maybe".

But then he answered with this:

I LIKE you too Jeremy. I feel very comfortable w u.

Cue the over-analyzing. He capitalized the word "LIKE", which could mean more then just regular like. But he also only answered with one "Like". Were his feelings different then mine? And what did he mean by "comfortable"? I was, and still am, confused. I mean, do friends walk around holding hands? Or give each other public back rubs? Did I fuck this up by telling him?

I remember feeling the same way about Clyde: we never actually said what we were, but in the end he felt the same way about me as I did him. The way I felt around Clyde was almost like the way I felt around Xander: Safe, comfortable and happy. But was it actual full-on "LIKE like"?

All I knew was that it felt a hell of a lot better than the one-sided clusterfuck I had with Captain Bitchtits.

The rest of the trip was less emotionally confusing. I marched in my first pride parade wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of boxer briefs and a pair of Chuck Taylors, and I even went to see Cyndi Lauper perform and managed to squeeze into the VIP section. So that was pretty cool.

Anyway, for now I'm gonna try and mull over the difference between regular, normal singular like and the more serious, crushy, double "LIKE" like. Help me out people; am I wrong to assume that maybe this might be LIKE like and that I'm so afraid of becoming emotionally attached that I'm ruining something perfectly good?