Your Space, or Mine?

Sooooooo many ways I thought about headlining this post featuring my friend Aya.  I could have said, "Out of this world" and been accurate.  Then too, I thought about going with, "I cum in peace," which is what all sexy extraterrestrials say, right?

Don't you think she lends an air of the exotic to XzillaRation?

After all, it isn't every porn studio that claims an Asari Commando as one of their own.

And as if that wasn't exotic enough, Aya is also a herm!

Intrigued?  You should broaden your horizons and get to know Aya better.  Look for her inworld, say hello, and you never know what final frontier you may soon be exploring.

Vixen Sinatra Inks Endorsement Contract

LOS ANGELES:  Ballz Deep Skateboard and Apparel announced the signing of porn star Vixen Sinatra as their 2014 spokesmodel.  

"We are stoked beyond belief to get in bed with Vixen," said Ballz Deep CEO Rowdy Cox.  "This chick is a baller!  She's got a killer rack, a rocking body, she does porn.  Me and the guys at corporate must jerk off watching her about seven times a day! Vixen Sinatra exemplifies everything we stand for at Ballz Deep!"

Vixen Sinatra is a contract actress with XzillaRation Pictures Limited.  Her latest films include Handjob Honeys 89, Barely Legal Bewbs, and Layin' Pipe.  Studio exec Paul Von Jelq remarked, "This is great news for everyone at XzillaRation.  Ballz Deep couldn't have picked a better spokesmodel than Vixen.  I've known her for a very long time, and I think she'll fit right in with the gamers and grinders over there.  I couldn't be happier for her, personally."

When asked for a comment, Vixen delivered her trademark stuck-out-tongue and replied, "I am so totally pumped! Go Ballz Deep or go home!  Fuck yeah!"

In conjunction with their announcement, Ballz Deep unveiled the first two board decks featuring Vixen Sinatra.  The "Chairwoman of the Board" series is a limited run of 100 decks each, and will be available on Valentine's Day.

Using pornographic models as spokespeople isn't new, but it is believed that with the signing of Vixen Sinatra to Ballz Deep, XzillaRation is also debuting in the endorsement arena.

Terms of the contract were not disclosed but are rumored to included annual vacations at the Ballz Deep villa on the French Riviera, and an unlimited annual supply of Strawberry Pop Tarts.

Ripped Off, Robbed, Burgled and Bootlegged!

Gem was having a soak out in the hot tub.  I was at the typewriter hammering away at some notes for an upcoming project.

Immi and Mikie were at the door.

They run a security outfit called The Usual Slutspects.  You may remember that Gem and I contracted them to help us out in the aftermath of our loft being trashed and burglarized on New Year's Eve.  Though the perps made a mess of our home, they only stole one thing: a clean print of Pound Cake, the latest feature-length film from XzillaRation.  Maybe because I always have backups I sort of forgot about the theft.  Or maybe it's more like I tend to blot out bad news when it's staring me in the face.

Whatever the case, I wasn't expecting a visit from these two.

"You'd better have a seat, Paul," Mikie said.

"How come?" I asked with a nervous laugh, sensing something dire was up due to the serious looks on their faces.  "Is there a blowjob in my future?"

"The only thing about to blow," Immi replied, "is a gasket.  By you, I'm afraid."  She called to Gem, who toweled off as she came in.  Not even the sight of her tilting her head to get the water out of her ear could make me smile.  I just knew something bad was about to be revealed.

"We made some progress on the Pound Cake investigation," Mikie said.  "The trail was never warm to begin with, but we managed to get a whiff of a credible scent."  With this she reached into her bag and pulled out a DVD case, which she handed to me.  "Have a look at this."


I turned it over and examined it.  "What am I looking at?" I asked.

"You tell us," Immi said.

"Gaudy-font headlines.  Half-ass copy that betrays a middling awareness of the English language.  Mixed metaphors.  A model showing plenty of skin.  What we have here," I said, flipping it to Gem, "is a cheap, streetcorner, bootleg porn DVD."  I turned back to the pair of gorgeous gumshoes.  "I have to say, I'm insulted!  You two went porn shopping and didn't come to me first?  Don't support these losers!"

"Dick Drunk!" Gem laughed, reading the title.  "Who comes up with this stuff?"

"The guys who ripped you off," Mikie deadpanned. "That's who."

It took a few seconds for the realization to sink in.  "No!" I moaned.  "No!"

"I'm afraid so," Mikie said, "especially since I'm in Pound Cake.  But if you hit the bodegas downtown, you're gonna see this DVD all over the place.  Every corner, every seedy shop."

"Shit!"

"They're going for $3.50 apiece," Immi mumbled.

"The cover art was drawn up for a film that never got made, or if it did, it never got distributed," Mike continued.  "So, some sleezeball was sitting on the empty cases, and along come the guys who pulled the job here."

"It's a match made in hell," Immi said.  "Waste not, want not.  Now they can get rid of the cases AND your movie."

"Call my fucking attorney!" I gasped, slumping in the chair like a spent pecker.

"Immi, Mikie, thanks.  But if there's nothing else, I think maybe you ought to leave now," Gem said, knowingly.  I had lost the ability to think, let alone speak.  Nodding dumbly, mouth agape, I watched as our friends left, promising as they went to stay on the case.  Gem obligingly stuck her thumb in my mouth, and I reflexively suckled.  "There there," she said, patting my ass.  "I'll get the blender out, baby.  Two scoops or three?"

I answered by holding up three fingers, chocolate milkshakes being the second-most most effective weapon in the fight against debilitating stress that I know of.  Sex is the first, of course, but this was the rare moment in my life when that avenue just didn't seem right.

That night I was unable to sleep.  I watched this travesty, (it pains me to even type it) Dick Drunk, twice.  The first was an assault on my emotions.  During the second viewing, I furiously took notes.  Herewith is a summary of the butchery:

• The overall length was increased by an astonishing 154 minutes.  That's over two and a half hours!  This, despite the fact that they took the scalpel to each and every non-hardcore scene.
• Hardcore sections were actually lengthened; segments were spliced to repeat!  Examples of the stupidity:
• A ridiculous sixteen-minute stretch showing nothing but a cock going in and out of Gem's ass the entire time!  (In the original this close-up shot lasts fifty-seconds.)  I lost count of how many identical "Ahhhhhhs!" were overdubbed.
• Derry Auer delivers a fourteen-minute blowjob, wherein we are treated to the sound of Rush Bennett saying, "Yeah, suck it, bitch!" eighty-nine (seriously) times.
• Fox Schenkel works me up, with a riding crop and her boots, to a cumshot that endures for literally six minutes.  I'd need to get my ass to the hospital or the offices of the nearest fertility clinic if this was possible, but I suppose some dumb ass will accept it as real.
• What was scripted and shot as a nine-minute quickie featuring Mikie gets so jumbled and fucked up via splicing that after twenty-one minutes we hear her snarling, "Keep it out of my hair, mister!" The main problem I have with this is that because of the apelike editing and insistence on cutting everything but the fucking, we no longer see an important scene where she is exchanging flirtatious banter with a stylist while getting her hair done.  I wrote that line for a reason, you morons!
• A soundtrack that I labored over long and hard was completely wiped out, replaced with what can only be described as Martian surf music.  You heard it here: a soundtrack makes a movie!  This new soundtrack only makes me cringe.
• A "Featured Presentation" loop and a "Please keep the theater clean" segment were bolted on to the beginning of the film.  (Editor's note to thieves: Is this really necessary for a DVD that you watch at home, you fucking morons?!)
• Yes, the title really was changed to Dick Drunk.  They also changed the XzillaRation and Kawishiwi logos!

These jackals are clearly amateurs.  The DVD in my possession looks to have been pressed from a grainy, scratchy third generation print.  Jumps are abrupt, edits are clumsy and ham-handed.  Even so plenty of teenagers and stay-in-mom's-basement types are probably firing up their cocks right now, thinking XzillaRation made this piece of shit!

For the sake of this post, I am presenting the title sequence of the real film (watch this first):

And here, though it about kills me to give these guys an audience, is the same footage, only with the Dick Drunk treatment:

To the thieves: you have not heard the last from me!  Everyone else, stay tuned, and boycott Dick Drunk!

69th XzillaRation Bowl is Cumming!

That's Mysti on the left, and Tinkatoi on the right, brandishing their more than ample pom poms (and Tinkatoi even has a purple set!) in service of the first annual 69th XzillaRation Bowl.  That's right, every one of these from here on out is the 69th, because that is how us porn stars roll.

Stop by Sexspresso on January 25th, starting at 1:00 PM SLT, and hang out with other XzillaRation Nation members.  And I do mean members!  Which I hope will start by hanging out, but rapidly proceed to standing up at full attention.  We're talking more than fourth and inches here, folks.  Who knows, but you might get under center with one or more of your future co-stars.  It's about time we had a gathering.

Clothing optional.  I will be handing out eye-black!  Hope to see you there!

Casting Call: Male Talent Sought

The coolest things come across a pornographer's desk.  Just now, this lilac-scented piece of heavy bond, creamy letterhead awaited me:

I am smiling as I read that over, because this approach is what I had in mind when I started the group.  It is great to see people coming up with their own projects and using the group as a means for bringing them to life.  Stay tuned to this space, where in the very near future I will be sharing a new way for you to pitch your project ideas, or volunteer your services for those started by other people.

Hell's Belles #1 ought to be the start of something great.  Oh, and fellas, here is a picture of Ms. Anja Cristea in her burlesque outfit.  Get in touch with her today!

Nat Larimore and Forgath Star in Third Pound Cake Trailer

I am pleased to present the latest Pound Cake trailer, and more than that, pleased to present Nat and Forgath.  What a session this was!  These two were acquainted beforehand and I think you'll see that chemistry come through in the film.  They were eager to get down to business, and one of the biggest challenges I have ever had as a director was keeping them in their seats for the initial scene.  These two were chomping at the bit to get things going!

You can see the trailer here and/or here.

One challenge I couldn't resist was putting the camera down once all the footage was obtained, and joining them on the bed in G-Spot's Frisco skybox for some unscripted frolics.  When it was all over Nat wiped a strand of her gorgeous hair from her forehead and panted, "OMG, I loved it.  All of it."  Forgath made sure I knew he was available for future projects, with other starlets, as well.

Here's advanced press on the trailer:

You'll notice that reference is made to the theft of an edited print of Pound Cake, as if it was all staged as a means for us to somehow attract investors.  I don't follow the logic, but, what's the saying?  Haters gonna hate?  You may recall, we have a security team investigating the theft, and I will be releasing additional details about this team, and their work, in an upcoming release.

For now. we celebrate the new trailer, and we celebrate the XzillaRation debuts of Nat and Forgath.

A Ball With Bel

Morning after Christmas, and the world was pretty quiet.  I picked up a newspaper and headed over to what used to be my favorite cafe, Sexspresso.

Don't take that to mean I don't still love the place, because I do.  It's just that since a recent makeover, it's way more than a cafe.  You got your coffee shop still, but you also have an art gallery and a place for exercising your film making proclivities.

And that's just the inside of the building.  There's camping, and even a little bit of a funky trailer trash vibe happening on the grounds (a little bird told me that the campsite is just awesome for threesomes).

All that aside, no sooner had I obtained my Sexspresso house grande with half and half and opened my paper to the racing form than I heard a familiar female voice saying, "No, I am most certainly not paying for these!  Beat it!"

It was Bel, who, along with her partner, Lew, owns the place.

The guy she was talking to was obviously a salesman.  No offense to anyone who is in sales, but it's guys like him who give you all a bad name.  His mullet was straight out of the NHL, 1985.  His mustache, out of a 70's low-budget porn (take it from me, I know).  He had what must have been three packs of Bubble Yum working in his jaw.  Either that, or a massively abscessed molar.

"Come on, Bel!  It's the holidays!"

I am a naturally curious guy.  I had to see what all the fuss was about.  When I did, I nearly spewed coffee all over the place.

"Bel, is that you on the . . . . "

"Paul," she calmly intoned.  "Your coffee is getting cold.  I can handle this."

And handle it she did!  She repeated her intention: the cup sleeves were to leave on the same train they came in on, minus whatever money the doofus in the cheap suit claimed he was owed.  I watched as he packed up his bags and shuffled off the premises.  "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!" she growled.

Honestly, I think she was embarrassed that I saw these sleeves.  Were they a joke, ordered up by Lew?  It was clear to me that she had about as much of a clue as I did.

"Nice picture!" I said after a sip of Sexspresso house grind.

"Fellas love the boots," she quipped.

"I see you have them on now.  How about you let me snap a few, put them on the blog, and we'll see how your theory holds up?"

"You're on!"

We hastened to the second floor photo backdrop.  "Bra and panties!" I demanded.  "Boots stay!"

"Of course," she purred.

Sales guy must have forgotten something (besides his manners) and trotted back in.  "Does Lew know what you are up to with Paul?" he asked, the very voice of morality.

"Fuck in my place and then have the balls to call me out on my behavior?" she roared, stomping off of the pose stand.

"Fellas love the boots!" I repeated.

"He will, up his ass!"

After she had brushed the "asshole debris" from her delightful lace ups, we got down to the fun of taking a handful of pics.  Time was limited but I did manage to talk her out of her bra and panties (had to really twist her arm, cough cough), though the boots stayed on.

Don't settle for some grainy, two color image on a paper coffee cup sleeve!  Head over to Sexspresso and spend some time with Bel yourself!

Trashed!

Gem and I got trashed on New Year's Eve.  And I am not talking about spending far too much time at the working end of a Champagne bottle.

No, I'm talking about coming home, to the place where you live, love and work, and finding that it has been wrecked.  The kind of trashing conducted by thieves and vandals.

Have a look for yourself.

We'd been out to a showing of three James Bond reels (Dr. No, From Russia With Love, Goldfinger).  Midnight was approaching and we had more than a smooch in mind for ringing in the stroke of twelve (big question: how many strokes past twelve would I last?).  All that carefree thinking went out the window when we opened the door and were greeted by sheer chaos.  It was as though our home had been mistaken for Times Square.

"Kids," I said to Gem.  "Kids did this."

"Now will you call Mikie and Immy?" she asked, reaching for her phone.

Mikie and Immy are friends of ours who are also in the XzillaRation fold (you can see Mikie in the first Pound Cake trailer.  First scene, the bank executive I am shouting at).  They also happen to be top notch security and weapons experts.  For awhile now Gem has been trying to convince me to have them perform a security audit on our place.  "After all," she reasoned, "we keep all of our film work here."

My worry, though, was that if I got in the same room as the three of them, a security audit would have been the last thing on my mind.

I should have realized that Immy and Mikie are far more professional than that.

Minutes after my call they dropped their own celebrations and came over to survey the wreckage.  They quickly determined that it wasn't kids behind the mayhem.  "You're dealing with a professional crew," Mikie said as she paced off the distance between the wall and the toppled bookshelf.  A fierce looking pistol of some kind (I am a lover, not a fighter, and thus never enrolled in Lethal Weapons 101) dangled from her hip.

"Come on," I asked in disbelief.  "Pros?  Aren't you getting a little . . . "

"That shelf didn't just topple," Immy insisted, holstering a gleaming handgun.  "It was carefully put in that spot.  Now what we need to determine is, what did they take."

"The only thing missing is the bed!" was my instant reply.  "Otherwise, they just trashed . . . oh fuck!"

That's when my eye followed Mikie's gaze to the empty space once occupied by the bed.  "I was hiding a working print of Pound Cake underneath the bed!" I cried. 

"Paul!" Mikie said.   "Aren't you a little old to be hiding porn under your bed?"

"In his case, old habits die hard," joked Gem as she took my hand.

"What about a backup?" asked Immy.

"Yeah," I mumbled.  "Well, sort of.  All the raw, and I do mean raw, footage that went into the print.  The version missing was edited and ready to go for distributors to copy.  I'll just have to do that again."

So, not only did we have a major cleanup on our hands.  I was looking at a trip back to the proverbial drawing board in order to get another Pound Cake print ready for distribution.  The holidays were officially over.  2014 comes in with a new security detail, protocols for ensuring our own safety and that of our work.  In short, we're now under the protection of two armed-to-the-tits badass ballistic bitches, who, when they aren't popping their tops, give a whole new meaning to putting a cap in your ass.

And that's a good thing.

Because when I turned on the lights to that mess, the feeling I had . . . let's just say, I felt less violated the first time Gem did me with her strap-on.