Porn Valley- In the opening moments of the movie Rat Pack, Ray Liotta, playing Frank Sinatra [and tremendously miscast at that], looks at the incredible life behind him, adjusts his cuff links and says very sadly to himself, "I miss my guys." I guess I could probably say the same thing for my early years in the adult business when kinships with female porn stars had amazing chapter potential for a book.
On XPT there's a current thread debating the pros and cons of adult legend Victoria Paris. Some like her look. Some don't. Depends on your tastes, I suppose. At the height of her fashion, Paris featured a kind of cuddly, Easter bunny thing with the cheekbones and teeth. A look I'm seriously attracted to and never got over. I believe it was Bill Margold who used to call Paris 'Crusader Rabbit' after the 1950's cartoon character. Paris was one rabbit I sorely wanted to pull out of my hat.
We met as she first entered the business. At this particular convention in Vegas, Paris was signing at the CDi booth - and the thing you noticed about her besides the bunny shtick was her deep, abiding decolletage. Paris was quite affluent in the chest department as well as possessor of a serious pair of quads- all of which are shown to fine advantage in the Arrow Productions, www.xxxdeepthroat.com, movies Deep Throat IV and V, www.adultfyi.com/read.php?ID=17840.
No one wore short black skirts and matching pumps better than Paris with the possible exception of Tracey Adams, and I'll get to her in a later flight of fancy.
As for Victoria, a lot of people in the business got on Paris' case about her womanly curves, and I believe there was a time, in a spirit of resignation, when she had some of the bulk sucked out of her ass and legs. Which is a heartbreaking development for anyone who appreciates an aerodynamically constructed woman.
I yearned for Paris as a fat man, a Dagwood sandwich- to the point where my balls about burst ever time I ran into her. Although we never got past the flirting. I'd see Paris at industry parties, and we'd porno-grab one another's asses and exchange suggestive chit-chat. But nothing ever came of it. Until one summer in Vegas when VDSA still had a sizeable adult industry presence although everyone knew VSDA merely tolerated adult and kept it at arm's length. Paris, who I believe was signing at Peter Davy's booth since she was his contract girl at the moment, was particularly onery on this occasion. All of it suggesting this was finally it, hotel room numbers would be exchanged, and the Mexican standoff declared over. Within hours Santa Anna would be yelling wagon train coming through the Alamo.
Except what do I do? I come down with a variation of swamp fever from overstaying a poolside welcome in the 110-degree Vegas heat. Something of a tanning pro, this had never happened to me before, and its effects, not only startling, weren't apparent until the next day as I'm walking the convention floor. Along with a general malaise is this feeling of disorientation- the kind you'd get either by hopping a high speed elevator or interviewing a porn star who talks at 78 rpm. Either way. And while I'm all clammy, my teeth are chattering the opening bars of Beethoven's Fifth. What the fuck is going on?
With no other choice, I go back to my hotel room and need to get under the covers. This is mid summer, mind you, and I've now got the heat on full blast instead of the air conditioning. It's at least the equivalent of the Panama Canal in the room while I'm shaking like a junkie. And I remain in this Man with the Golden Arm state throughout the evening.
Comes a knock. It's about 11:30 pm, and I can barely get out of bed much less answer the door. It's Victoria Paris, and the wagons are obviously outside the Alamo. And, sadly, there they'd remain while the generalissimo offers some trumped up excuse why Victoria can't come into the mission to play.
