I Get Fan Letters

I get fan letters.

Can you imagine?

You have to admire that kind of guts. People who are so unashamed of their porn that they send me letters, with their full name and return address, to my condo. Men, and women, who by some divine miracle, think that I'm some kind of role model.

I'm not a role model. I'm not even the kind of bad role model that you at least expose your children to with a warning to "not let your life go there." I suppose parents do that. When I was twelve, my mother took me and my little sister down town to see the scum of the city. The homeless. The prostitutes. The dealers. She always would say a prayer and grasp her rosary as if it ward off any contagious evil. Only, she wouldn’t have gone there except that’s where the food stamps office was. I suppose that I was a little fascinated even then. She would always have us pray out loud and remind us that we were better than that.

I guess I am. I have sex for money, and I let the whole world watch.

Alright, I suppose I'm worse.

And still...fan letters? I can't imagine what these people see in me that’s worth admiring. It's not like any of it's real. It's not, in case you've ever wondered. Every orgasm is staged and rehearsed. I actually had training for my job. I don't recall actually being graded, but I'm sure I would have received an "A" for my ability to have an orgasm. My boobs, too. Completely fake. But so are the other girls'. Mine were actually a gift. When I first started modeling (and I do mean like dresses and stuff modeling, not the sort I got into later) a rich boyfriend paid for me to have them done. I didn't tell him that I was going for the real huge kind. He was a boob guy and I was totally flat chested. He offered and I bet he thought he'd walk out of that hospital with a little B-cupped girl. I'm not real sure why I chose them, but I imagine that deep down, an adult film star is exactly what I was meant to do.

Still, there is so much about this industry that I don't understand. Like, for instance, the bigger budget films actually have critics screen them. I've never been to a screening, simply because I don't like porn, myself, but I always try to imagine what the room looks like. How do you review a porno anyways? I can see a lot of porn critics telling women that they are simply "film critics" to get laid because most girls just aren't as open-minded as me. Then again, men that can actually get laid, usually aren't porn critics. What's the criteria anyways? Is it the actors? The story? The script? The orgasms? Or is it simply how well it....you know.

I may not see myself as a role model, but I do have boundaries. Like one time, I had to turn down a role because it was of a nun who started running a prostitution ring out of the church. All of the sisters were turning tricks and there was a threesome in the confessional. That one just struck a nerve. I may be a real animal on screen, but in real life, I'm actually a devout Catholic.

I've considered getting out of the business. There are plenty of reasons why I would like to move on, but the pay's just so damn good. When I was little girl, I used to paint all day. I used to think that I would someday be a famous painter. I would paint flowers and little girls in dresses. Then one day my daddy came home drunk and that bastard took all of my paintings outside and burned holes in them with his cigarette. Maybe that's why I hate cigarettes. Any time there's role where I have to smoke, I fake it. I fake a lot of things.

For a while, a lady would come and sit in her car outside the studio and wait for us to come outside. She would get out when we were walking to our cars and hand us little brochures, printed on magazine paper that would talk all about how much Jesus loved me. I told her I was Catholic and just didn't think that Jesus really cared if I faked an orgasm and got $73,000 for it. She said that she just thought I should know I didn't have to. Then she gave me her card. That woman was a damn shrink! A fucking Christian counselor!

I'm not gonna lie, I went a few times. She seemed really sincere, but the whole thing kind of scared the shit out of me. I didn't understand why just after a few hours of talking to her, I felt like I should tell her stuff. I did tell her stuff, too. I told her about the time my daddy burned my paintings. I told her about the time that he raped my Mama and tied me to a chair and made me watch. I hated myself for that. I hated myself for not doing anything to help her. I think I hated myself even more because I felt like I was a pervert. I don't know how to explain it, but if ever a woman deserves her privacy, it's when her drunk husband is...well...you know. Maybe that's why I don't like watching porn. I told her about losing my virginity to Jake Bates in ninth grade, and how afterward he just said that he'd had better, even from virgins. I told her how that night I went home and threw up three times, and then took a knife and sliced my wrists open. That dumb bitch said that that was the reason I was a porn star.

I'm a porn star because the pay's so damn good.

When you're a real actress, you might like it when people come up to you tell how much they liked your movie. Not me. One time a little pimple-faced teenager came up to me after mass and told me how much he loved me. He said that he always knew that I was a Catholic girl, and since I was we could get married and his Ma wouldn't even mind a bit. I told him to get lost. It was for his own good, though. Catholics are weird.

My sister, Janie, she's not even a Catholic anymore. She's not even anything. She's just a mama. She's got three babies. I'm sure I have more sex than she does, and I don't got any. It's because the company I work for makes me take the pill. Sometimes I think I'd like to have a baby, but the stretch marks would kill my career.

I never thought I'd call it my "career". I always just thought it was temporary, but now it just seems like I'll do it fo really do it much longer. I'm already one of the oldest. But don't you think I'm just a washed up soon-to-be-destitute whore. I got myself a retirement plan. A regular 401k. I'm gonna go on a cruise after I finish my last movie. Maybe I'll find myself a nice guy on that cruise and maybe I'll finally be a real wife. Maybe I'll get myself an easel and paint all day. Maybe I won't let my husband smoke cigarettes. Maybe that Catholic kid is grown up now.

I don't mean to sound desperate. I get hit on all the time. Guys always come up saying how familiar I look. I don't bullshit them. I tell them that if they recognize me it's because they've seen me in the movies. All of sudden their faces turn red and they just walk away. I sometimes think that if they're embarrassed for watching porn, then maybe I should be a little embarrassed for being in it. But I guess I'm not a porn star to fall in love.

I'm a porn star because the pay's so damn good.