John Holmes - Porn King

Whenever I had a night off, or a weekend pass, just about everyone at the base knew where to find me because I was always with Madam Helga. Everything was going smoothly until one day I arrived to find Madam away on an errand. A lot of the girls flirted with me whenever they had the chance, but few of them would cross the line for fear of losing not only their jobs but also their nightly romps with horny soldiers. But with Madam Helga gone, one hot little number decided the risk was hers for the taking and, given the circumstances, I wasn’t about to argue. We were going at it hot and heavy when Madam Helga suddenly burst into the room. That’s when I learned the meaning of the words, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Ranting and raving, Madam Helga dragged my lusty partner of the moment out of bed and down the stairs by her golden hair and out the door, all the while threatening that she would end up in a box if she ever returned. By the time Madam Helga came back for me, I too was gone, never to return to her establishment again. That confrontation left a lasting impression on my young mind for it was the first time I really ever experienced the wrath of jealousy. I guess I didn’t expect an “older woman” to react that way.

While in the army I met Tony. He was from New York City and he seemed to know all the ropes when it came to seducing women, sometimes for lust, sometimes to boost his ego, but more than anything, for money. Tony fascinated me with stories of his sexual escapades, and before long I found myself hanging around the young dark-haired fellow with the piercing blue eyes. How he could end up with the most gorgeous girls, then later brag about the money and jewels they would insist he have, absolutely amazed me. He had so many girls in love with him at one time that he could have given some young movie star stud a run for his money. I liked women, too, and I loved to have sex, but Tony gave a whole different meaning to “enjoying a job well done.”

Tony and I were released from the army together on August 24, 1964, sixteen days after my twentieth birthday. During our time together in Germany, Tony had invited me to go to Brooklyn with him to check out the sights before my return to Ohio. I wasn’t in a hurry to get back there anyway, and I hadn’t a clue of what I was supposed to do with my life. “Why not,” I told him.

Tony became a very good friend, and a very good teacher. He introduced me to so many people in the fast lane that I thought my head would never stop spinning. Why, there were more women in New York than there were farmhouses in Ohio! I thought I had been a sex-craved fiend before I returned to the states, now I knew for sure that that’s what I was.

The sexual revolution was clearly on its way in New York. I realized that once I had gone out with the sister of one of Tony’s girlfriends. At first she came off as being a petite, seemingly shy little gal, but she ended up being a flying nymph. Shy? I don’t think so.

The next day Tony approached me with an odd look on his face. Apparently my date told her sister of my unusual appendage, who was then on the phone to tell Tony. I was really embarrassed when he asked me if it was true that I had three legs (Tony had seen me naked but never with a hard on). My embarrassment soon faded, however, when he began to tell me how much money I could make with my “extra leg.” That was all it took to whet my appetite, and before I could change my mind Tony was teaching me the fine art of being a male prostitute.

It wasn’t long before I was having more fun than I’d ever had in my life. Who would have thought that little (big) “Johnny Buck” from Ohio could have his cake and eat enough of it to survive in New York City? It was a definite improvement from the life I thought I’d be returning to, without question. For seven months, I had all the sex I could handle; my pockets were always filled with money, car keys, jewelry, and all the night life I could stand, but I was living a fantasy that seemed to be spinning out of control. Satisfying as it was, I knew I couldn’t go on like that much longer without burning out or getting in deep trouble. There was something else. Strange as it seems, I had been raised with strong morals, and a voice within me kept saying. “This is really crazy.”

I had heard about the warm, paradise-like climate on the California coast. All the babes in their little bikinis soaking up the sun would be more welcome than the brutal cold I had grown so tired of. I could get a job, go to school and learn all about Hollywood. I halfheartedly joked around with myself saying, “Who knows, I might even be in a movie someday.” I never really believed that would happen of course, but the warm, sunny climate and the beaches filled with shapely women were enticement enough for me to seek the journey.

It wasn’t much later that I bought a bus ticket and headed west, first stopping to see my family. I had hoped to avoid Harold but I knew that if I wanted to be with everyone else I’d run into his sorry ass, too. I even visited Mary Kay while I was there. She was going through some really hard times and needed money desperately. I gave her all the cash I had but twenty dollars, figuring she needed it more than I did. I was certain I could get more where that came from. Maybe I felt guilty about the way I made the money and believed that helping Mary Kay would right what was wrong. All I know is that helping her made me feel better. After my short stay in Ohio I didn’t have enough money for the bus ticket that would take me all the way to California. I went as far as I could on fifteen dollars then started hitch-hiking westward across the states. From then on it was odd jobs along the way, whatever it took to get across the miles.

I thought I’d never get to California.I wasn’t in any rush, but there were times when I thought I’d never get out of Missouri. With no money, it seemed I was stopping at every farmhouse along the way to ask for a day or two of work, a meal and a place to sleep in the barn. “I just got out of the military,” I’d tell the farmers, “and all my money’s been stolen. I am trying to get home to California.” A blatant lie, but I had to earn some cash. Half the time I got lucky. A few good people even gave me five or ten dollar handouts as I was on my way again.

The pace picked up once I crossed the Oklahoma state line. As I was hitchhiking along the highway, a man in a new Mustang stopped to give me a ride. His name was Terry and he had recently left his wife in Virginia to head for Hollywood to try for a career in acting. When I heard where he was going I knew my days of roughing it was over. Unfortunately, Terry was also short of cash. By the time we reached Texas, both of us were stone-cold broke. This time I took the easy way out. A collect call to my mother netted us twenty bucks, enough to get us to California. We looked like a million dollars traveling in Terry’s new car, but we were counting our pennies the rest of the way.

I was hoping that Terry and I could share a room or small apartment once we arrived in Hollywood. He was an easy going, pleasant guy in his mid-twenties, and we got along great together, with no problems. But Terry had other plans. “I’ll be staying with friends in the San Fernando Valley,” he told me. “You’re welcome to come along. It’s a big house. They have plenty of room.” I thought I was doing the right thing by turning down his offer. Once Terry had driven away, however, I found myself stranded in a strange city with no place to go, and without any money.

Hollywood in March, 1965, was even more bustling than it is today. The streets were crowded not only with tourists eager to see all the sights, but with people who worked at the networks—CBS and ABC—as well as the local radio and television stations and nearby motion picture and recording studios. Then there were the movie and legitimate theaters with their glittering marquees, the restaurants and night spots, and the shiny stars of the Walk of Fame. Wandering about was fun for a time, but I felt totally lost.