The Pornographer Diaries

10. The Dirty Dozen

Naturally, I was in the pub and fucking steaming less than 74 hours later. I’d successfully managed to swerve the beer and lead a totally monastic existence for one weekend but all that went for a toss with the arrival of Monday lunchtime and Paddy’s birthday. I tried to make my apologies and duck out of it but my will was crushed with a chorus of ‘don’t be a cunt’ from the lads. A three-drink minimum was rigorously enforced by Paddy to stop people from gaying off and by pint number five I couldn’t remember why I’d tried giving up in the first place.

Male peer pressure? And we wonder why we die first.

It got my old lady’s back up no end. I’d told her Saturday morning in a phone call that I was finished with the drink and she couldn’t have been happier if I’d told her that I was quitting porn for a nice respectable accountancy job and settling down at the end of her road with some brainless baby-making blob. A few days later she phoned again to find out how things were going and I told her that the wagon hadn’t so much gone over a bump as fallen off a cliff. She was very disappointed. I tried to explain that it was Paddy’s birthday and that I had to go for a drink and then Tuesday there was a big Champions’ League game on that was only being shown in the pubs and then Wednesday we always went for a midweek drink after work to kind of break up the monotony of it all and so on to Thursday which was so close to Friday that it practically was Friday and who didn’t have a drink on Friday for fuck’s sake? She didn’t understand.

Well, it’s a bloke thing to be fair.

As much as I was disappointed with myself for drinking again, it was a relief to be back in the bosom of my brethren. Not much was said about my behaviour from the previous Thursday by any of the boys because, by and large, they accepted it. I was off my nuts and that’s what people do when they’re off their nuts. It was very reassuring.

The same, however, couldn’t be said of the girls. Neither Mary nor Jackie (nor Susie, for reasons of solidarity and because I’d supported Don’s walkout) would talk to me. This uncomfortable silence lasted for several weeks and had me walking around on eggshells, although even when they did come around and eventually spoke to me again, they did so with such ill-disguised contempt that I wished they’d go back to ignoring me.

And then there was Hazel. Hazel smiled at me from across the room, passed notes and spent weeks cracking arse jokes in front of everyone that were aimed solely at me. Paddy and a couple of the others knew what she was getting at but everyone else was left scratching their heads in bewilderment until one day, when she wasn’t there, I told them that she’d confessed to me that she loved it up the arse and that she was just making jokes at her own expense. Most people believed this and from that day onwards got a little embarrassed for her each time she shouted some crude and graphic anal comment across the room.

All in all though, I didn’t feel too good about myself around the office during this time and tried to spend as much of my working week in the pub as I could. And this was happily possible thanks to Stuart being permanently ‘away on a shoot’ – ‘away on a shoot’ being Editor-speak for going on the lash himself or playing golf or learning Spanish in the garden or something. In fact, ‘away on a shoot’ had come to mean just about anything except being ‘away on a shoot’. I didn’t know this for a fact but Stuart went on so many shoots that Bling should’ve had a bigger cast than Ben Hur. And it was during one of Stuart’s absences that I got the chance to go ‘away on a shoot’ myself with Paddy, though this time, ‘away on a shoot’ actually meant ‘away on a shoot’.

And what a shoot it was too. What a shoot.

*

‘Okay, can you all squeeze together and bend over for me. That’s it, that’s it, right, now smile,’ Howard joked as twelve ladies’ arseholes stared back at us.

‘It’s like a bike rack,’ fat Paul said, his jaw at knee level.

This was Ace’s shoot. Ace was celebrating its twelfth birthday so Paddy decided to commission a twelve-girl shoot and run it across a dozen pages; ‘The Dirty Dozen’ being the screamingly obvious cover line. Paul had come along to see the spectacle, Hasseem was meant to be here to but hadn’t shown up (must’ve had something better on), while Matt had desperately wanted to come but had just started seeing a girl he was all dizzy about and she’d put a block on any and all future studio work. Matt could’ve simply lied and told her he’d never come but Matt had a serious case of the ‘considerations’ and insisted he’d always be honest in his dealings with Penny. The silly cunt would get dumped within a month and never live to see twelve naked women in the same room again. It would be a regret Matt would still be torturing himself with forty years later when he was old, grey and as impotent as a glass of water. In Matt’s place, Paddy had invited me.

‘We’re doing this twelve-girl shoot around Howard’s tomorrow. They’ll be all the old faces there – Rebecca, Claire, Andrea, Traci and so on. Howard’s laying on a load of booze and there should be a little of the old nose powder too. Do you fancy coming down?’

I mean seriously, what did he think I was going to say? This was something I’d miss the birth of my son for.

Howard reeled off half a film from different angles and took a few close-ups too, then rearranged them into different poses, stacking them up on top of each other and shooting them from between their legs. To me, they looked like one of those big legs of chicken donna you get turning against the heat in a kebab shop. I don’t know if you can picture that but that’s what they looked like to me.

I was rocked solid and starving hungry all at the same time.

‘Fucking hell, hey!’ Paul said and I couldn’t agree more. Paddy said nothing, he merely sat silently watching, smoking a fag and sipping straight vodka like an old master appreciating a painting.

‘Give me some of that,’ Rebecca said, pouring herself a vodka during a lull in the shooting. Half a dozen other girls all scrambled over to the drinks table and helped themselves too, while Traci and Claire did a couple of lines off to the side. A girl called Natalie dropped herself into my lap and announced to everyone that I had a hard-on, then proceeded to grind her arse into it while holding my hands to her tits. This would’ve cost me a fortune if I’d been in a club up West but as it was I was the one getting paid. Claire suddenly bounded over and joined us on my lap, then started snogging Natalie – presumably for my benefit. Natalie snogged back, tongues and all, and I started to pant and gasp for breath as I looked on, partly through excitement but mainly because they were squashing my ribs with their fucking elbows all over the shop. I turfed them both onto the floor and rubbed my battered and bruises chest.

‘Oh, poor Godfrey. Did we squash you?’ Rebecca cooed, then made a play for my trousers before I was able to stumble back away from her grasping fingers. Claire then leapt on me from behind and rode me around the studio for a few seconds as I tried to shake her off and the others started dashing towards me when Howard told them all to line up for the next shot.

‘We’ll get you yet,’ Claire giggled as she skipped away.

There’d been a lot of this horse play from the girls during the course of the shoot and it seemed to be getting worse and worse as the vodka went down and the coke went up. They were all in ridiculously high spirits and bringing out the worst in each other like a bunch of overgrown schoolgirls. There were definitely a couple of ring-leaders though, Andrea for one and that Traci, riling up the others as they tried to out-outrage each other.

I’d been getting off pretty lightly up till now. Not like Howard’s assistant, little Jon. Jon couldn’t have been any more than 19 and had been brought in for the day to help with the lighting as it was such a big shoot and the girls went for him in a big way. He looked young, helpless and shy, like a lamb amongst a pack of jackals, and pretty soon the girls could smell blood. At first it had all been verbal abuse:

‘Are you a virgin, Jon?’

‘Are you getting a stiffy, Jon?’

‘Show us your stiffy, Jon.’

‘Do you want me to suck it for you, Jon?’

‘Who would you rather suck it, Jon, me or Traci, Jon?’ etc.

But soon enough things took a turn for the physical. They’d grab him, kiss him, pinch his arse, trip him up, push him over whenever he had to lean over and even hit him in the cock when he wasn’t looking. Traci landed a really good one, doubling him over for a couple of minutes, then offered to kiss it better making the rest of the girls laugh and offer to do the same.

‘Fucking slags,’ Jon wheezed as he pigeon-stepped past me.

I had to feel for him, I really did. It might sound like laughs-a-plenty being the centre of attention for a dozen naked girls but they were really giving him a rough ride. And, like I say, at 19 years old, you haven’t got the confidence to stand up for yourself and fight back. At least, I never did when I was 19, and Jon certainly didn’t either.

Howard let this all go on without a word because he was enjoying seeing Jon tortured almost as much as the girls were. He would keep getting Jon to take light readings from here, there and everywhere, just to place him in harm’s way, then rattle off a couple of shots as Jon struggled to break free. It was all a big laugh, though the object of the laugh wasn’t having one himself.

Me, Paul and Paddy, however, had no idea just how out of hand things were about to get.

The girls were lined up for the next shot. Traci was lying on her back with her legs open while the others leaned in and licked her all over. Howard told Jon to get a light reading from the Traci’s tits and the girls sniggered with mischief as Jon reluctantly approached. He made it to the centre and clicked the meter, flashing the studio lighting when suddenly Traci grabbed him and pulled him over.

‘Come on, let’s get his clothes off,’ she shouted and all eleven collapsed in on him.

‘No!’ he screamed, but he was lost under a tidal wave of flesh.

The girls pinned him down by the arms and legs as Traci straddled his chest. He tried in vain to fight them off but he didn’t stand a chance – well, he might have if me, Paddy, Paul and Howard had weighed in on his behalf, but fuck that. We just sat back and watched as they ripped, first the shirt off his back, then pulled his trousers and pants down, leaving him in just his socks. The moment his cock was out they were fighting over it like a flock of pigeons fighting over a hot dog bun. They grabbed it, pulled it, tried to push it back in (for some reason) and did all manner of painful things to it, short of cutting it off and flushing it down the bog. Traci had an idea though.

‘Come on, let’s get him hard,’ she announced to the delight of the other girls. Andrea responded by lowering herself down onto Jon’s face while Traci sucked, kissed and pampered him to unwilling arousal.

‘No, help, get off!’ Jon cried from under there somewhere as twenty-four hands caressed every inch of his skinny naked body.

Howard snap snap snapped away, chuckling with devilment and before long Jon’s body betrayed him and handed the girls a wood to play with. The shoot rapidly descended into hardcore as girl after girl took turns having their picture taken sucking on Jon’s cock while the rest of them kept him pinned to the ground.

‘I know, I’ll have some of this,’ Traci announced, manoeuvred herself into position took him inside herself. ‘Oh, he’s pretty good, you know,’ she announced to the rest of the girls as she steadily fucked him.

Me and Paddy looked at each other uncomfortably but neither of us knew what to do. Things had got this far incredibly quickly and really we should’ve intervened earlier but now we were stupefied into inaction. Jon never gave up struggling to break free or calling for help but we did nothing.

Traci clambered off of his cock and Rebecca took her place, although all the girls were suddenly taking numbers. Claire looked back when it was her turn and announced that I was next and all the girls grinned at me in agreement. Now, you might think I wasn’t entering into the spirit of things but how many of those same girls would’ve liked it if they’d been grabbed by a dozen guys, stripped naked, sexually assaulted, then repeatedly raped while a photographer documented their ordeal for kicks. More over, how would the courts have viewed it? Seriously, if they had been guys and Jon had been a girl they would’ve all got life and been called monsters in the papers. Okay, some might argue that it wasn’t actually rape, and that Jon clearly enjoyed himself and given his consent by getting an erection, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Blokes aren’t like girls, we’re much more mechanical beasts and physical stimulation is often all that’s required to induce an unwarranted rush of blood to the little head. I mean, blimey, I got one in the car going over speed bumps on my way to my Nan’s funeral but don’t remember feeling particularly sexy at the time (I drove back that way too though). What the girls did to Jon was wrong, any which way you want to look at it, but the thing I couldn’t believe, when I think back on it, was that this didn’t occur to a single one of them. They were like a pack of dogs (in every sense of the word) toying with a soon-to-be-eaten rabbit and so excited with Jon’s degradation that the studio was filled with sadistic giggles and shrieking.

‘Make him cum! Make him cum!’ Andrea was yelling.

‘I’m trying. I’m trying,’ Claire grunted back as she rode his cock into the ground.

‘Stick your finger up his arse, that’ll make him pop,’ someone suggested, but Rebecca had a better idea.

‘No, let’s use this,’ she said, holding a huge dildo up to twelve screams of delight and one of horror. It was this moment that I knew I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing any more. I jumped out of my seat and waded into Jon’s rescue, pulling and pushing half a dozen of them off long enough for Jon to scramble to his knees and flee.

‘Come on, a joke’s a joke but this has gone far enough,’ I was shouting angrily but the girls started sticking to me like pollen.

‘Godfrey wants some. Let’s give it to Godfrey now,’ Claire was screaming, as the weight of half a dozen girls suddenly pulled me to the ground. I tried to stay on my feet as long as possible but sheer weight of number finally pulled me over.

‘Paddy help!’ I desperately screamed, but Paddy and Jon just sat back and laughed. ‘Get off me you fucking slags!’ I yelled as they took over control of my legs and I felt my belt suddenly loosen.

‘Ooh, just for that, you’re going to get it good,’ Rebecca told me. Andrea and Natalie piled in with Claire and subdued my arms, kneeling down my wrists painfully.

‘Let me in, let me in,’ Traci shouted, stepping through the throng. Me and the girls saw the strap-on plastic cock she was lubing up at the same time and the volume went up as my trousers went down.

‘Fuck no, help. Seriously. No! No!! No!!!’ I screamed but to no avail. My pants were suddenly down and cock and balls gripped by a dozen vices, but Traci was yelling at them to turn me over. ‘No, help, Paddy you cunt, help me!’ but Paddy was enjoying the spectacle far too much to come to my assistance.

‘Don’t know what you’re laughing at, you’re next,’ Rebecca told him.

‘Try that shit with me and none of you gets paid,’ he casually replied, reminding them who was in charge here.

‘Me too, let me go or you’ll get nothing,’ I threatened, but they weren’t buying it.

‘Don’t listen to him, he doesn’t write the cheques. He doesn’t even work for Ace,’ Claire told them, as they manhandled me onto my front.

Just when all seemed lost, Andrea adjusted her position, allowing me to pull my arm free. Before they were able to able to subdue it again I tried to push Claire off but I ended up catching Natalie a cracker right across the face with my flailing arm. Natalie shrieked and went over onto her back, freeing up my other hand and I was just about to start pushing the rest of the girls off when there was suddenly no need. My lynch mob, to a girl, jumped off and rushed to Natalie’s aid. When they got her sat back up, she was sobbing and trying to hold her nose on her face as blood gushed out all over her hand.

‘You fucking idiot!’ Rebecca screamed at me. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’

‘It was an accident. You wouldn’t get off me,’ I replied.

‘We were only having a laugh, you didn’t need to do that, you stupid bastard!’ she spat.

‘Ooohh, by dose, ah finks ee’s browkened it,’ Natalie sobbed.

‘She’s right, it definitely looks broken,’ Claire agreed, pulling Natalie’s hand away.

‘You bastard!’ someone else shouted at me, but this time I didn’t see who as all eleven turned on me, yelling and screaming and generally looking like they wanted to tear me several new arseholes to play with.

‘You’d better get out of here,’ Paddy said, pushing me towards the door.

‘You fucking cunt!’ someone else screamed. ‘My boyfriend’s going to kill you,’ she said and I wondered if she’d tell him the full story or just that I punched one of her mates in the face. I turned to ask her this and a bottle of vodka exploded on the wall next to me, showering me and Paddy with broken glass and booze. Several other girls thought this was a good idea and grabbed missiles of their own, but Howard intervened, snatching dildos, cans and light meters back out of their hands while yelling at Paddy to ‘Get him out of here’.

The door was yanked open, I was pushed through, then it slammed shut and suddenly I felt really bad. Why should I have felt like this? What should I have done? Let them sodomize me? Let them assault and rape and humiliate me the same as they’d done to Jon? It infuriated me the way none of them could see that they were in the wrong and I was half-tempted to go to the police and report the lot of them, but what would be the point? It would be like that old joke where a bloke staggers in to a cop shop to report he’d been raped by two Swedish nymphomaniacs and thirty-eight offers rush out to investigate. What jury was ever going to sympathize with me? Every bloke I’ve ever told this story to always looks at me in disbelief and tells me I’ve got ‘the best job in the world’. I try and explain it to them again but all they hear is, ‘No, you don’t understand, twelve naked stunners pinned me to the ground and tried to have sex with me against my will. It was awful.’ Even I think I’m a twat when I hear it put it like that. And then there’s the women. They always – and I do mean always – tell me it’s not possible to rape a man because of the old ‘if he didn’t enjoy it he wouldn’t get hard’ chestnut, but I’ve already explain this one.

So, nobody believed me. Or if they did, they can’t understand what my problem was. I sometimes wonder if this was how prostitutes felt when they got raped.

Actually that’s not true, one person believed and sympathized with me. The studio door was yanked open a second time and Jon came stumbling out. He was limping a little and looked in pain as we set off for the train station together.

He thanked me for helping him out and I apologized for not doing so sooner. He said it was okay, but I felt like a cunt anyway. When we got to the station and said our good-byes, Jon pointed out that I had blood on my knuckles but it wasn’t mine. We looked at the blood and the little scuffs where I must’ve caught Natalie’s teeth and Jon finally spoke.

‘Fucking nice one, mate.’