Array Seka - Inside Seka

Stepping out of the restaurant, he motioned for a limousine to pick us up. He asked if I wanted to have a drink with him in his room. I said, “Okay,” because so far everything had been all right. He hadn’t been forward and hadn’t made any advances. I also knew Fred was in the next room if anything got out of hand. If he got a little handsy, I’d just leave.

When we opened the room there was flowers everywhere. It smelled great. Suddenly, out walked a beautiful girl with olive complexion who looked like a runway model. She was wearing the same shirt I had on.

I asked, “Just what are you doing?”

He looked at me like I was nuts. “I thought you wanted a nightcap. Isn’t she beautiful?”

She certainly was. And she was also clearly a “woman of the evening.” I told him, “I’ll sit on this chair. You sit over there. And you tell me what the hell is going on.”

“I just want some pictures of you two together.”

It was harmless enough. I’d been paid to pose for pictures before. But this was disingenuous. When I did modeling gigs, I knew I was there for modeling before I even woke up that morning. Furthermore, I was getting paid and I knew what the pay was. Tonight, I’d been wined and dined and it must have cost a pretty penny, but that made it barter, not a gig. I decided I wasn’t going to do it.

Meanwhile, I spotted plenty of pictures lying around of the two of them in various states of undress. However, nothing sexual was going on.

He looked at me and said in a disappointed tone, “You mean you won’t take any pictures with the two shirts?”

What the hell was with these fucking shirts?!

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, let me come clean with you.”

This is going to be good. “Thrill me, chill me, shock me, amaze me, but just tell me.”

“Let me tell you what I want from you.”

“And what would that be?”

I noticed him glancing at a lovely glass coffee table. It was huge. I mean, two to three inches of heavy glass. You could have a party on it or underneath it, it was so big.

“I loved your ass from the first time I saw you. I would love to see you sitting bare-bottomed on top of the coffee table while I’m underneath so it can be as if you’re shitting on my face.”

Lovely. And here I was, thinking it was going to be something weird.

Without blinking an eye, missing a beat, just very matter-of-factly, he made that statement sound like something you’d hear in everyday conversation. I didn’t say anything for a couple of moments. The man had shocked me speechless.

We stared at each other for what felt like the longest time. He just asked a woman he didn’t know the grossest request I had ever heard, and I’d heard a lot. For some reason, out of nowhere, I just started laughing. I could not contain myself. I was so stunned I was laughing my ass off, cackling like a hen.

He said, “Well, are you going to answer me or not?”

I managed to say, “Not,” through the laughter.

Once I’d collected myself, I stood up and said, “With all due respect, you set a very nice stage.” I looked at the girl who stood there silently throughout. I picked up two bottles of Cristal and said, “I’m going to bed,” and left the room.

Clearly, I never got a part in that movie. But I did get to keep the shirt.

Another time I got word that Tommy Lasorda wanted to meet me. I love baseball so I figured “What the hell?” It was a casual restaurant on Sunset. Nice food in an open area with brick walls where you could see out onto the Boulevard and people-watch. Tommy was very flamboyant but it was just basic B.S. chatter with Tommy talking about himself, which is what most people do. In the middle of the conversation he told me about a friend of his named Sy Sussman, who worked for the William Morris Agency. I had no idea at the time what that was so it didn’t mean a whole lot to me, but Fred seemed impressed by it. We took Sy’s number and gave him a call.

It turned out he was the third agent from the top at the number-one entertainment agency in the world and he wanted to meet me.

I had no idea what Sy looked like, nor did I know much about him. But I figured after the other two Hollywood bigwigs, the third would be more of the same.

The Morris office complex was huge. It was like three city blocks with screening rooms and everything else. We went to the front desk and asked for Mr. Sussman. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he wasn’t it. He was rather short, gracious, older than I thought, and a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn.

He took me around the office and introduced me to everyone. Sy would talk about different things — not just the agency or himself. He seemed sincerely interested in everything I had to say. But I caught myself. “Don’t fall for this,” I thought. “You’re slipping.”

He had to go back to work and invited us to dinner. I figured, “Here we go again….”

The dinner was more of the same. I was practically ready to ask the guy what he really wanted from me, just to get it over with and save me time, but he remained a perfect gentleman. I went back to my room and was waiting for his heavy-breathing phone call. But nothing. No hits. No runs. No errors. Nothing.

The next day he did, in fact, call. He told me what a pleasure it was to meet us. But there was no come-on. No kink. Nothing except a genuinely nice, lovely human being. A salt of the earth person. Just a joy to know.

And twenty-five years later, he’s never approached me in a rude or sexual fashion. We’ve seen plays and movies together and that’s all it’s ever been. It may be one of the best friendships I’ve ever had with anyone. I guess there truly are some nice guys left in the world. Even in Hollywood.

Running adult bookstores, I was used to seeing gigantic cocks on porn men. It was part of the whole enchilada. Did it excite me? Yes, in the same hormonal way men feel about big boobs. I can’t explain it; they can’t explain it, but big boobs make them hard and big cocks make me moist. I may have fantasized about what sex would be like with one of those one-eyed monsters, but it wasn’t like I was holding out for one in real life and I wasn’t obsessed with the thought.

Once I got into porn, of course, I actually did get to play with them right off the bat. How was it? Pretty cool overall, but it never jaded me or made me a “size queen.” The first time I saw one live and in person I was still shocked. Seeing the magazines and loops at the store, I wasn’t sure if there were camera tricks or something that made every guy look so huge, so seeing my first big one was surprising — a pleasant surprise, I might add. But it never stopped me from going back to normal-sized ones and enjoying myself. It’s not all about the dick; it’s about whether the person attached to it is a dick or not.

Something I got to see that the public never did was the transformation. Everyone knows there are “showers” and there are “growers.” Some guys are well hung all the time and when they get excited they get just a little bit longer, but mostly just harder. Other guys may end up just as long when they’re erect, but they start off pretty darn small. In real life, it’s all good. I mean, who cares how it starts out; it’s how it ends that matters. But in porn, you never see a small, limp penis. It is always either hard, or it is flaccid yet still enormous. Are all the porn guys “showers?”

No.

I got to see a lot of these famous woodsmen with tiny little limp dicks when they weren’t filming. It brought a breath of realism to the experience, although this realism was never shared with the general public.

Perhaps it should have been. It may have made men in the audience feel less inadequate.