Array Seka - Inside Seka

Once, a director brought in a guy who absolutely, positively turned me off physically. He was new and I didn’t know him from Adam. But he had what I call a jailhouse complexion — grey, pasty, pockmarked — just not a good-looking boy. He may have been the nicest person in the world, but I’d probably have to spend a month-long platonic vacation with him before I could see myself warming up to him sexually.

I pulled the director aside. This wasn’t easy for me because I hate to hurt people’s feelings, especially if they’ve done me no wrong. I said, “Look, this guy does not do it for me and I don’t believe I’m that good an actress to fake it. It’ll be a bust for all of us. I’ll be miserable, he won’t be able to get it up and keep it up, and you won’t get a usable scene.” The director hemmed and hawed until I finished with, “Just look at him. Now look at me. In real life, would you ever see the two of us together unless his daddy left him a billion dollars?” That finally did the trick. I can’t recall if they sent him away or simply cast him in a different scene. In our movies, people were swapped around pretty easily most times, so I doubt I killed the poor fellow’s career.

Do porn girls cum? Yes, about as easily and often as any other woman. Unlike the men, there is no standard for achieving orgasm. Like anywhere else, there are some women who cum in two seconds every time, some who never cum at all, and some who cum after four hours of diddling, but only in months with five Tuesdays. Me, I cum pretty easy and pretty often, much to the pleasure of the men I’ve been with. Is it one hundred percent? No, of course not. Does it make a difference if a camera is halfway up my hoochie? No, believe it or not. I learned early on to block that out. Don’t ask me how, but I did it.

But here’s the rub — or lack of it. The guys all have to have that precious “money shot,” where they pull out and demonstrate they have indeed cum. Us ladies? We just get to groan. For the moviegoer, maybe we did and maybe we didn’t. Only we know for sure. Yes, we know we have to be loud about it, and we know that when the guy is about to cum we have to make like we are cumming, too. With me, sometimes it was actually real — simultaneous orgasm. Many times I came before the guy. But the girls never got to cum after, because once the guy came, everything came to a screeching halt.

I, for one, would have liked to have my sexual needs taken into consideration, just like in real life. Off the set, if I was almost there and the guy was done, I’d expect him to be a gentleman and finish me off somehow. Ladies, demand this of your men!

But on camera, once the guy shot his load, everyone started breaking down equipment and moving onto the next scene. This pissed me off. On the rare occasion I didn’t cum, I was usually pretty darn close, so shutting everything down really left me hanging. This was an irritant I dealt with time after time, until one day I just boiled over.

I was doing a scene with Mike Ranger, my best buddy and roommate. Mike and I were like brother and sister off the set, yet we were able to turn it back on and be lovers when the cameras were on and we were being paid to do it. Mike was great. He was an excellent lover and a total professional.

We were in a feature called Anytime Anyplace, and we played a couple of burglars. Nobody liked the director, which may have contributed to me finally having my “female orgasm catharsis,” which was to come. Early on, we had an outdoor scene where we were live-miked. We finished the scene and they yelled, “Cut.”

I, being the idiot that I am, assumed the mics automatically shut off. They didn’t. Mike and I started chatting. I said, “I can’t stand this little sweaty troll piece-of-shit director,” and Mike agreed.

One of the crew came out and said, “Your mics are still live. He heard that.”

I was embarrassed, but consoled myself by adding, “Well, it’s true!”

But back to the female orgasm. Our next scene was the sex scene and it’s a hot day in a hot room under hot lights in Southern California. In other words, it’s a hundred twenty degrees and I’m supposed to be in sexual ecstasy. I’m dyin’. Mike’s dyin’. But we’re pros, so we get it on and do our thing.

Mike was one of those guys who could always give you a three-count before he came. This was incredibly important so the cameraman could capture the money shot. Like I said, he was a pro. He could stop and start on a dime; another thing that is so rare in real life and is another reason why there are such a small handful of great woodsmen in porn. These few guys were in every film, while it was more common for girls to cum and go from the business.

Mike did his thing, made his three-count, pulled out, came and, as always, the director yelled, “Cut,” and everyone started closing up shop. No one knew or cared whether I had cum.

Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was my dislike for the director, maybe it was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back, but this time I roared, “CUT, MY ASS! I’M NOT FINISHED YET!”

Mike looked at me and cracked up. I looked back at him and said, “Are you done?”

Mike said, “No.”

“All right. Everybody, out of the room. We’re finishing up.”

No one thought I was serious, but Mike had my back (or shall I say, my front) and we shooed everyone out the door and locked it behind them, then pulled down the shades.

Did we keep going and did I cum? No! After lights, camera, and action were over, Mike and I would no sooner make it with one another than your average brother and sister. We did it on camera and nothing else. But I was making a point. If they’d have just let me go for another three minutes or so — which Mike would have happily done as well — I would have gotten off and been a happy woman.

What did we do? We toweled off, broke open some cold sodas, smoked a few cigarettes, and chatted. We’d hear the crew outside the door and when we’d be silent for a while, they’d start knocking to come back in. Dummies. Didn’t they know we made sex sounds for a living? “Ooo, yes. Give it to me baby. That’s it; right there. That’s the spot. Oh, I just love it when you take me that way.”

It was all for show, just like the overdubs we did for the sound guy. And these clowns bought it. They thought we were having Tarzan marathon sex when all we were doing was chilling out and unwinding. This went on for about an hour and a half until we finally got bored and let them back in. The looks they gave us! They thought Mike was the stud of the universe — which wouldn’t have been far from the truth.

I’d made my point, but I only could have pulled it off with Mike, who was always up for fun and knew to follow my lead.

Oh, and one last thing — on the topic of sweaty, troll, piece-of-shit directors: There was a Hollywood movie about our Golden Age of Adult Entertainment entitled Boogie Nights. It wasn’t bad. Paul Thomas Anderson, the writer/director (not to be confused with Paul Thomas, one of my old co-stars who later went into writing and directing as well) definitely did his research. Some of the characters were based on real people I’d worked with, such as John Holmes and others. The story lines — the porn girl who lost custody of her child — were mostly all based on real tales from our industry.

I was asked to work on the film. The offer was rather vague, but by that point in my life (1997) I wasn’t interested in working cheap, and the offer was just that — cheap — so I passed. I say it was vague because it was unclear whether they wanted me to play the aging porn star, which would eventually be played by Nina Hartley, or to come on board as an advisor. I was often asked to be an advisor on projects having to do with adult films, but they always thought I would be so flattered I would work for nothing. Ha! You want me, you pay me.