Under Aereste!

The charge: stealing bases.  We also have the feeling she is about to steal many hearts as well.  We at XzillaRation are hereby issuing a warrant!

Staring the opposition down.

Aereste Laval and I met some time ago, after she approached me via a group we both belong to.  After saying hi, I did what I always do: popped open her profile.  What awaited me there was one of the most original and attractive profile pics I have ever seen (do yourself a favor and look her up before you read another line here: Areste Laval).  Before I could say "Put up your dukes!" we had exchanged friendship and started talking about plans for a photoshoot.

Settling into the box.

In keeping with the general athleticism that she exudes, we both thought it might be fun to take a baseball-related set.

She likes 'em high and inside.

We worked through a variety of poses, and she enthusiastically stripped down until it was nothing but her, the bat, and her expertly-coiffed "infield" between me and the camera.

Choking up on the wood while we admire her upper deck

Wouldn't you just love to round her bases?

Giving the runner the old "round third and slide into home" signal.

Thinking about taking a high hard one.

There's something to be said for old school natural turf.

 

One strike, no balls.

She speaks softly, but she carries a big stick!

We had so much fun, I decided to make a trading card in her honor!  Only I doubt you'd be trading this, or care much about the bubblegum, if you ever got your hands on Aereste or her card!  This is one case where you probably do wish you were under Aereste!

Want a photoshoot?  Drop me an IM!

Crazy Like a Fox

Make that crazy about Fox!  One look at this delicious dominatrix and you'll be crazy for her, too.

Fox joined the studio awhile back, and upon being interviewed by phone, revealed a desire to star in a feature or two.   I asked if she had anything in particular in mind.  Now, please remember, all of our conversation was being conducted via phone.  We hadn't laid eyes on one another, and at this point my only awareness of her was via her well-written profile.*

"Perhaps I should send you some photographs, which will give you an idea of my . . . capabilities," she slyly suggested.

"Sure, fine," I said, hanging up the phone.  Honestly, I didn't know what to expect, except that I probably would never hear from her again.  SL seems full of people who say they want to be in projects, who, when the time comes for the rubber to meet the, er, road, they disappear.  Paperwork was calling me, and it didn't take long for me to forget the dulcet voice that had calmly, evenly, soothingly spoken to me about a future partnership.

So imagine my surprise when, in no time at all, I received a plain brown package marked "For the eyes of Paul Von Jelq ONLY" written (with purple ink, no less) in a neat but florid gothic script.  The sole sign of a return address: Schloss Schenkel.

Schenkel?

Fox Schenkel!

My handy dandy letter opener made quick work of the tightly sealed flap, enabling me to shake loose an assortment of Polaroids (obviously, one would have to contract the services of an incredibly discreet and trustworthy photo lab for processing the likes of the photos I was about to feast my eyes upon).  "She certainly is old school," I thought, having expected a zip archive with some jpegs.

I could not have been more surprised.

My fingers literally trembled as I held the thick photographs up before my eyes.  A sudden blast of music from the other room snapped me out of my lust-induced stupor.  Gem was dancing to some Ivan and Alyosha, as she is wont to do, partner or no partner.  "Baby, come dance with me!" she shouted above the din.

"First come have a look!" I replied.  Something about holding the actual photographs made the prospect of actually meeting and working with Fox more immediate and real.

"What now?" Gem laughed, as she boogied into the room.  "Yowza!" she cried, before I could get another word out.  "Look up the word 'ballbreaker' in the dictionary, and you'll see her picture.  Who's the Iron Maiden?!"

I gave her the story of Fox getting in touch.  "These are sort of an audition, I guess," I stammered.

"She passes," Gem said in her steadying way.  "Lover, she'd be perfect for the opening scene of Pound Cake."

Speechless, I let the Polaroids fall from my fingertips as I turned to look at Gem.  In the time we have been together, I've become used to her finishing my thoughts.  This time, however, she beat me to the punch.  The hug I gave her was tight and intense.  "Oh, baby, you are so right!  I knew there was something about Fox!"

Fox and I agreed to a photoshoot in record time.  It quickly morphed into filming the opening scene of Pound Cake ( a feature you'll be hearing much more about in the days ahead, so be a faithful reader and check back often).

I gotta admit, it was a challenge directing and co-starring in the scenes with her.  At one point, salivating over her latex-sheathed curves, I mumbled something about how spending time in her presence was enough to make me almost wish I was a sniveling, simpering, supplicant subbie.

Fox merely laughed.  I got the sense she'd heard it all before.

"You must have quite a stable of willing men," I said as the camera clicked away.

"I'm happy with my . . . collection," she agreed.

During shooting for Pound Cake she surprised me by going confidently off script.  Grinding her Bax boots in my groin, she chuckled.  "You seem to enjoy that," she hissed.  All I could do was nod and groan.  All in all, it worked perfectly with the story.

Below, some behind the scenes shots taken during the making of Pound Cake.

"I'm ready for my closeup, Mr. Von Jelq."

"Is the caterer still here?  Anyone besides me fancy a Savoy Truffle?"

Resting between takes.

Being a dominatrix isn't all whips and chains!

Working with Fox Schenkel was a joy.  Do you want to be an XzillaRation Pictures Ltd porn star?  Join the XzillaRation Nation group in SL (see my picks or Gem's for info) and drop me a note.  And yes, I do accept Polaroids!

*Editor's Note: Do spend time on your profile.  Reading yours is the first thing we pornographers do when we meet you and hear you want to be in pictures. 

Twin Peaks! An Exclusive Peek!

Winter is just around the corner, but we're not going to let colder temps get us down.  Just to prove that the cold isn't something to be afraid of, I recently repaired to a mountain chalet with Monika Brunswick, a star under contract with XzillaRation, for a photoshoot.

 It was hard to decide which peaks were more scenic, the jagged, snow-covered mountains that provided such a beautiful backdrop for our photos, or the anything BUT jagged mounds that Monika unveiled on the balcony!  Plans for an impromptu boy-girl shot fell through, but she and I made the most of it.

I was also able to learn that she's a very talented piano player.

Monika was fun to photograph.  The fun will come out loud and clear, too, once she achieves her dream of an onscreen scene with two men.  "Call me when you're ready to set up a DP," she said, before catching a limo for the airport.  Guys: any volunteers?

Sallemm Witch Hunt

There's an old saying: boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses.  Um, does that still hold true when all they're wearing is a pair of glasses?  And when the girl in question is our very own XzillaRation Porn Star, Sallemm (still looking to make her first feature), you might even want to amend the saying to, "Boys kiss the asses of girls who wear glasses."  We sat down with her recently, snapped off a pic, (and rubbed out something else), and ran six sets of choices by her.  Enjoy!

Straight, stacked, and supremely sexy: Sallemm!

Dog or cat?
Love my dogs . . . there is only room for one pussy in my house :)

French fries or onion rings?
Mmmm, a choice between long and stiff or round and mushy with a hole in the middle . . . not a hard decision, is it?

Beach or nightclub?
Love the beach, having the waves splash against my body, rolling around in the sand with my sexy man, then realizing you have sand in places that should not be . . . maybe I should have said nightclub now that I think about it.

Sports car or motorcycle?
Love to wrap my arms around a hard body as the vibrations of the motorcycle hum between my legs.

Rock star or professional athlete?
I enjoy sports, so an easy answer . . . give me a sweaty hot athlete anytime.

Sneakers or heels?
I am all about activity, so sneakers are the required shoe selection, however it is very erotic wearing my stilettos and having them wrapped around his body.

Think you have what it takes to be an XzillaRation Profiled Porn Star?  Contact me inworld (paulvonjelq) or via email (paulvonjelq@gmail.com).

The Harlette Story, Continued

That horny little hottie from my past, Harlette, is getting more notice.  Suits her, because she always was a whore for attention (among other things).  Ever since I made mention of the book and subsequent film adaptation, the queries and reminiscences have been pouring in.  I must say I am rather surprised.  It never sold very well (and it is no longer in print), a fact I attributed less to poor writing than to poor marketing and promotion.  Still, the story obviously struck a few chords, rumbled a few cocks, and moistened a few pussies.

Of all the correspondence I have received in the last week, the letter below may be the most interesting.  It begs the question: how would a re-release go, if it was at all possible?  At the very least, rest assured that I will be going through the archives here looking for additional Harlette-abilia.  Like the man says on TV, “Stay tuned!”

Some time ago (nevermind how much, precisely) I found myself in a regrettable state.  Whether it was the departure for supposedly juicier pastures of my long-time lover that brought on a months long bout of ill health, or the onset of said period of unwellness that sent my long-time lover scurrying, I may never know.  Life doesn’t reward those who dwell on such inanities, anyway.  So whatever the case, I was alone, I was miserable, I was teetering on the brink, when along into my dreary existence strutted brazen Harlette.

A silly book, judging by the silly cover.  The prominent silhouette of a pistol-packing, or should I say pistol-pointing (though I am certain a gun nut would say “aiming” that does not deliver the shot of alliteration I require) female looming about similarly silhouetted, though unarmed, males, promised a massive payload of lunacy.  A college freshman would be unable to miss the Freudian undertones suggested by a strong-willed, take-what-she-wants woman’s adoption of a gun in a world full of (presumably) penis-packing men.  “Even so,” I mused, “mindlessness may be just the ticket.”

From the opening pages, though, I was transfixed.  Here was the brassy heroine, a crime-solving outsider (we are informed that she was once in fact a rising star on the police force, but disregard for protocol and a penchant for fellating confessions out of suspects led to her inevitable dismissal) consulting with the DA, the Chief of Police, a squad of detectives, atop an orgy bed at a leather club.  “A man will tell you anything when he’s sixth in line at a gangbang.”  So observes Chastity Harlette in the tale’s opening line, and so saying, I was hooked.  A detective who summons up a roomful of studs for a gangbang whenever she hits a cognitive wall?  This was my kind of thriller.

Desire to finish the book overcame my illness.  Desire to turn the page, to stew in that funky brew of lust and subterfuge that Chastity (I came to call her this, in my own fantasies, which I indulged incessantly) wove, filled the emptiness left by my newfound status as single and alone.  Chastity was, after all, alone, but never alone.  Going fully against what I know my doctors would advise I tapped into my financial resources (which are quite ample) and, inspired by Chastity Harlette, organized an orgy.  The old me would have only dreamt.  The Chastity inspired me, unsure of what life had to offer but sure of the pleasures of fucking (there, I said it), had to do more than dream.

I was on the road to wellness.

Attached please see a photo of my copy of Harlette.  That silly book, with its silly cover, that means so much to me.  Normally I am not much for film though in this case, I have to know: is there any possible way that your backer can be bought off?  As I said above, my financial resources, through a series of prudent investments and shrewd wheeling and dealing, are incredibly sufficient.

We should talk.

The $3,300 Meal, or, Going Broke for Art

"Sir, your credit card is seeing a great deal of activity in Manhattan tonight."

Trust me, these are not the words you want to hear after being awakened from a sound slumber by a ringing phone.  Yet those are the words that greeted me on Sunday, around three in the morning.  Upon further discussion, I learned that the charges, $3,300.00 for a single meal, were billed at Le Coq.

Le Coq is Gem's favorite NYC eatery.  Ask her and she'll tell you, with a smile as wide as the East River, "I love Le Coq!" And Gem was in NYC, with Bitt and Luv, two of XzillaRation's up-and-cumming actresses, working on her directorial debut.  Let's call it Project X.

"Those charges are fine," I gulped.  "I mean, they're not fine, but, they're authorized.  I mean . . . . "

"Very well, sir.  Have a good evening, and thank you for doing business with Kawishiwi Express."

Could I have heard this helpful representative properly?  $3,300.00 for a meal?  There was no chance I'd be heading back to sleep without learning more.  So I dialed Gem up, and went straight to her voicemail.  It went like this for about three hours, before I finally passed out and had restless dreams.

Suffice it to say, these three, under Gem's encouragement, did in fact rack up a $3,300.00 restaurant tab.  And an outrageous spa tab.  She spent another $800 on lube!

Herewith, the restaurant bill reproduced for your (gulp) entertainment:

"Eight ounces of fucking Pushkinian?" I asked a completely nonplussed little redhead when she was back at our loft, smearing peanut butter on a Kawishiwi bar.  "Martinis?  Two legs of lamb?"

"Miniature legs of lamb," she replied, demurely.  "Miniature."

"Six salads?"

"What can I say, baby?" she said with a shrug.  "We were hungry!"

"You three are slender women, but this bill looks like it's for a class reunion of European royalty!  There's a fucking cigar on here, an El Lobo Corona!"

"Yes, and four brandies.  We asked the waiter to join us for a little post-prandial drink."

"We're gonna go fucking broke at this rate!"

"Calm down, baby," she said as she pointed to the tip line.  "Life is short, and money isn't everything. I drive a hard bargain.  Look, I didn't spend a dime on a tip!"

"Yeah," I said.  "I noticed that.  How'd you manage . . . oh no!"

She got up from the couch displaying a wicked little grin.  "After we got through with him, Pedro wasn't complaining a bit.  You might even say that he stiffed us!"

So you see, "Art" isn't some friend of ours who needs money.  "Art" is the god that Gem bows down to.  I have to admit, it has been a blast to watch her rev up this project.  I can only hope it is worth these expense reports.

Oh, and guys, if you want pussy, try being a waiter, spa attendant, or masseur.  From what I hear, these guys did pretty well.

A Peek Behind the Scenes of Harlette (the movie)

Here are a couple of additional artifacts from Harlette.  In this case, you can see a couple of pages from Gem's annotated script.  People often ask me, do you use scripts when you make your films?  These images should answer that question quite nicely.

The Best Porn You Will Never See: The Story Behind Harlette

I’m not gonna lie: making high quality cinema costs money. In this business, chances are pretty good that if you’re not writing a big check, you’re stroking someone’s ego in the hope that they’ll write one to you. It’s tough out there for an artist. (As an aside, look at how closely the phrases “big check” and “big cock” resemble one another, in English. Hmmmmmm.)

Why bring this up now?

 Back in the day Gem and I made a movie that was bankrolled by a partner. Legal injunctions prohibit me from naming him, but I will say he has deep pockets . . . and a little cock. The film in question was a straight-to-DVD number called Harlette. Gem played the lead role, Chastity Harlette, a private investigator with a steel trap mind, a heart of gold, and a pussy of silk. She relied on her twin 34Cs as much as her ever-present 9mm. This curvy cumshoe was put on the case of a missing person, who just so happened to be a movie producer with deep pockets and a big dick. See what we’re dealing with here?

The thing is, Harlette the movie is based on a detective novel I wrote. Spent over a year on it. Many was the night I was at the word processor, and Gemini was under the desk, head bobbing in my lap, helping the pages go by. Given that routine, is it any wonder that the final draft came in at over 800 pages? What can I say? I enjoy writing, and I love having Gem suck my cock! Suffice it to say, I loved the project.

When I finally closed the laptop for the evening, we’d head out for some pizza, or some Chinese food. We’d dream out loud about the movie we hoped would be optioned. Even then Gem was talking about how Chastity Harlette needed to be brought to life onscreen. She was full of costume ideas, and practiced dialog in between bites of pupu platter.

Fun times. But be careful what you wish for.

In contrast to the writing of the novel, the months we spent making Harlette the movie were some of the toughest Gem and I ever endured. She’d be in a makeup trailer at 5:45, sucking down diet Mt. Dew before hitting the set or location to suck down something else. By the time we got back to the loft at night, she was usually too fucked out to fuck. “Oh, baby, tomorrow night, I promise!” was her mantra. Hard to believe, right? Talk about touch and go!

Midway through shooting it became apparent that the money man was interested in one thing. Well, make that five things: Gemini’s mouth, pussy, ass, and left and right tits. The whole thing was a very expensive attempt to get his peepee inside of her, and get it on film. When you’re filthy rich, I guess nothing’s out of the question when it comes to chasing that fantasy fuck.

The silly asshole should have just offered her a pile of money and who knows? In any event, what we ended up doing was making a very high-priced home movie. Back then I didn’t have the legal advice I do now. Hell, I could barely afford to keep us in lube! The fine print gave Mr. Little Dick full discretion over distribution and release of Harlette. As such, I had to turn over all copies of the finished product. If there’s anything that sucks more than killing yourself for a film, it’s not being able to watch that film.

However, besides the money we were paid, which was ample, there is one artifact I was able to keep. One of the final bits of production was the creation of a main menu for the DVD. Thirty seconds is all that’s left, for me to share with you, anyway, of Harlette. My lawyers recently okayed me to share it on the blog, citing eminent domain and the fact that the supreme court has roundly rejected prior restraint in the past. Hopefully this isn’t too big a teaser for you. I’ll shut up now, and I hope you are able to get a feel for Harlette, starring Gemini Michalak.

A Peek at the Swedish and UK Distribution

Porn is a global industry, too.  Here's a glimpse at our Swedish distributor's poster for Cock Cock, Who's There? based on the UK version.