from www.sandiegoreader.com - I saw a heavyset woman charge the stage, and wave her arms overhead. She stuffed a dollar bill in the dancer’s G-string, then grabbed his head, and planted a long, deep kiss on his lips. Women in the audience were screaming and cheering, lights were flashing, and “Let’s Get Physical,” by Olivia Newton John, was booming throughout the smoky club.
It was late at night in 1983. My friends and I had come to The Main Attraction in La Mesa, to see the hot, new thing--male strippers. The dancer was Ron Jeremy. He was stocky and handsome, with an abundance of black curls on his head, and thick mats of hair on his upper lip and chest.
I sighed. “God, he’s gorgeous,” I said. “Dark and hairy--I love it.” Months had passed since I had split up with my last boyfriend. This guy’s “ample assets” reminded me of what I had been missing--and then some.
“Don’t you know who that is?” Joanie asked. “He’s huge in porn. Claude and I watch all his videos.”
I didn’t know a thing about his videos--all I cared about was right in front of me. When the final note of the song died out, Ron left the stage and began signing 8 by 10 glossies on a table by the door. I went to the back of a long line of ladies who, like me, wanted to have a moment with him.
When it was my turn to talk, I realized the wine was having a profound effect on my speech.
“I wuuuv your dancing,” I said. “You’re so hain-sum.” Even I knew I sounded like an ass, but Ron overlooked my indiscretion. He looked at me with golden eyes, and said, “Thank you.”
I took my autographed photo back to the table. After a few minutes, I approached him again. We talked for awhile, then someone offered to take our picture. Ron kissed me on the cheek, the guy snapped the button on the camera, and I subsequently bought the Polaroid photo for $4.
I was stunned when Ron leaned over and began kissing me. I tingled in places I didn’t know I had. Like the crazy women who threw their panties at Elvis, I started trembling, and allowed him to lead me to a dressing room. We kissed and groped each other until the club closed at 2 a.m.
“Ron’s invited me out to breakfast,” I told Joanie. "Can you find another ride home?”
She choked on a swig of her Mai Tai. “Breakfast, huh? Girl, you have no idea what you’re in for.”
Later, I learned that “what I was in for,” measured a full 9.75 inches.
Ron drove my car, since I was in no shape to do so. We cruised down Friars Road , bypassing the all-night Denny’s, without even mentioning it. On the way to his room in Hotel Circle, he assured me that porn actors were completely safe to have sex with, because they were constantly required to get tested for disease. If I had known about AIDS in those days, I probably would have leaped from the car.
Once we arrived at the room, he tossed his bag in the closet, then turned to me with heavy eyelids.
“I’m sorry I’m so tired,“ he said “I’ve been on the road for two weeks.”
I shrugged off his apology. “Go ahead and sleep,” I told him. “I don‘t care.”
He wouldn’t even consider it.
We peeled off our clothes, and slipped under the covers. As we kissed and rolled around on the King-size mattress, Ron struggled to keep his eyes open. Finally, I insisted he stop, and lay down. I pulled the blanket up to his chin, and kissed his eyelashes, before we both drifted off.
When I awoke, the drapes were glowing with sunshine. The sound of I-8 traffic down below, was enough to make my head explode. For most of the night, the room had swayed. Now, I felt seasick.
When Ron woke up a minute later, he held his head.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no big deal. You were tired,” I told him.
"No, this is terrible. If word gets out that I fell asleep while having sex, my reputation will be ruined.”
“You can’t be serious. Even porn stars need their rest.”
I smiled at the last remark, but he continued to stew. I finally promised him that I’d never tell anybody--and until now--I haven’t.
I had to be in class at SDSU within the hour. Ron had to get back on the road. We dressed, said good-bye, and as I turned toward the door, he promised to call me. I filed his promise in the back of my mind under, “Yeah right.”
But two weeks later, he called in the middle of the night. “I’m back in town,” he said. “Want to get together?”
I looked at my clock. Two a.m. “Sure, what else have I got to do?”
The situation was awkward, now that I was sober. He was still enticing--even with his clothes on--but I suspected he wasn’t there just to see me. I really didn’t know what he was there for, unless he wanted to prove he had “it.”
Ron made himself at home on my couch, and told me he was trying to go “legit” with his acting career. He also said his family name was “Hyatt,” and he was from Queens. After his picture appeared in Playgirl, his dad threatened to kill him because women began calling his grandmother, whose name was listed as R. Hyatt in the Yellow Pages. From then on, he went by “Ron Jeremy.”
He followed me into the kitchen, where I had gone to get us something to drink. When I opened the door of the refrigerator, he said, “My sister used to keep her nail polish in the refrigerator--I just remembered that.”
Once the glasses were drained, I fidgeted in my seat. The next logical step was to retire to the bedroom. Ron was very sweet and sexy--but for me--having sex without an emotional connection was as pointless as turning on a lamp with no light bulb in the socket. I excused myself, went to the bathroom, and pondered how to get out of sleeping with him. Finally, I chose a direct approach.
I went back to the living room, and confronted him.
“You mean we aren’t going to have sex?” Ron said, after I offered to let him sleep on the couch.
“That’s what I mean,” I said.
“Well, if we aren’t going to do anything, I might as well go.”
Normally, I would have written him off as a giant tar ball, but he wasn’t out to use me; he was offering to let me use him. Despite having a master’s degree, he saw himself as nothing more than a party favor.
I didn’t see Ron again until he appeared on The Surreal Life in 2007. He was older and heavier, but I was mesmerized as he consoled Tammy Faye Messner. I could totally see why I had fallen into bed with him so easily, and for a moment, was tempted to do it again.
