John Holmes - Porn King

There was only one dark cloud in our beautiful blue sky. I still had one hell of a debt with Bill, and one afternoon he called me on it. One of his pals in the gay market decided that a gay film with John Holmes would make several million dollars. The money sounded great, more than enough to get me off the hook. And while I didn’t jump at the suggestion, I knew I had to do it.

Leave it to Bill to run and tell Misty. She was shocked and couldn’t wait to call me on it. It helped that she had a submissive nature. It helped even more when she heard I would be making a million dollars on the deal. Not long before the offer, I had asked Misty to marry me, hoping to be able to get enough money together so that we could get out and away from the “business.” The truth is I knew I would never make a million dollars by doing the film; it was just a way to pay off an old debt. But I had to tell her something.

Because of my prior experience in a gay film, again because of money, I felt that there was only one way to get through it: I had to be high. In truth, even high, I really had a hard time doing this film. They even had to dress up a woman to look like a man to finish one of the scenes. How could I tell Misty I was doing drugs? She was so proud of me. She looked up to me. I was her “Daddy.” Thank God. She believed in me so much that as time went on she wound up being my perfect little alibi. The little money I made off the film, after Bill got the major share, was just enough to pay some of our bills for a few months. I told Misty that Bill and his pal had claimed they didn’t make the money they had hoped for, so there was no million to be had. Although she was disappointed, she seemed satisfied to hear that. And knowing we did make something, she believed an effort had been made to pay me.

With Misty under my influence she didn’t question my actions too much. Still, there were times when I had to make it appear that things were not quite as they seemed to be. If I learned anything from my dealing with Bill and his pals it was how much it bothered me not to be totally honest with Misty. In the past, the business had forced me to lead numerous double lives, especially with tricks. I once had four different apartments, four different cars, sets of jewelry and clothes. I was very skilled at subterfuge, but this was different because I really loved Misty. Nevertheless, if necessary I knew I still had to create a story to cover my ass for anything that might come up in the future. It usually worked out fine in the past, and it did this time, too. Misty not only believed the money story: she began to resent Bill. From then on, she never believed anything he told her.

It was several weeks after finishing the gay film that I almost died. I really don’t remember much about this time except that I was raging with fever and violent to the extreme, not at all myself, almost as if something foul had possessed me. If anyone set food before me I would throw it against the wall. My bedroom smelled of death for weeks. Finally, in a moment of weakness one evening, Misty was able to talk me into going to the hospital. That was fine until I overheard a nurse telling Misty she couldn’t lie down with me. Upon hearing that I ripped out the IV and demanded Misty take me home immediately.

The next day Misty got me to go back to the hospital where she talked a nurse into readmitting me, and just in time, too. They were able to get enough fluid through the IV back in my body to cool my brain so it didn’t fry. And while the doctors never told me what was happening, I knew. It was the drugs I had taken to get through the gay film. I had been clean for at least eight months before then, and now my body was rejecting them. I was going through “post-freebase blackout.” My lungs, my brain, even my sense of existing were fried to hell, and it was all because of my stupidity. One would have thought I would have had more sense considering the mess drugs had gotten me into before. This time, however, there was no snapping back. I did get better eventually and everything returned to normal.

Bill knew what was happening of course, because he was my connection. It was Bill who had turned me onto cocaine in the first place. He and I had an understanding about Misty; he knew better than to tell her I had been doing drugs. However, I later found out that he did try to tell her, but she didn’t believe him. It was just as I had hoped where Misty was concerned. The “game” was working.

Yes, I was doing drugs again, but not as heavily as in the past and not all the time, as before. If I had learned anything from my earlier experience, it was that there was a time and a place for me to get high, and one definite wrong place and time was during the production of a film. I’m not making any excuses but doing cocaine again became only an occasional thing following my illness. Most of the time I just smoked marijuana; Misty liked to partake in that as well.

Even though I was not feeling all that well, Bill told me it was time for Misty and me to get our own place. In other words, he was kicking us out. That was okay with me, he was charging us too much rent anyway. Misty soon found us an apartment in Encino. (It didn’t matter that our view was of the freeway directly behind the building.) She even went so far as to move most of our stuff all by herself. I could have probably helped her, but I was still very weak and she insisted she had the move under control.

Once we were settled in our new surroundings, I began to feel really badly about everything. Misty was such a trooper. She had endured so much from me, and yet she was still hanging there at my side. I think if she’d had known the games I’d been playing and involving her in, she would have run for any place she could find. But to her credit and my good fortune, she didn’t. And luckily, for her sake and mine, not long after our move my health began to return. It was a lot easier for me without Misty having to be around Bill so much. Soon after we moved to Encino, Misty’s three-year old son, Ian, came to live with us. We were a happy little family, full of love and laughter; it was great.

The porn business, which had changed so much through the years, was really booming. We were an industry now, and a very big one, at that. Years before it was primarily films shown only on movie screens in random theatres, and before that it was sleazy, middle-aged men selling grainy 8mm reels out of the trunks of their cars. Now, porn was seen almost exclusively on video. Making videos was faster, more economical, and more profitable. It was also safer as far as racketeering was concerned. We could get hundreds of videos across the states instead of just one reel of film to some unknown theatre. Video all but killed the theater business. Dozens of once-thriving operations folded, leaving basically only one theatre chain still operating. That was because it was owned—and I do mean owned, by some very powerful people who needed the “front” for other matters.

Back in the 1970s, the business needed “stars” like Marilyn Chambers, Seka, a few others, and me. The thought behind the “star system” was to familiarize the public with a favorite performer, who would sell the product. Over the years, however, the reasoning began to change. The bigger the actors’ heads got, the bigger they wanted their paychecks to be, and it was far easier to get unknowns to work for less. Actually, the public really didn’t care anymore. In fact, the appetite for new faces was greater than ever.

I was one of the lucky ones. Since I had more than a face to sell, the audience never seemed to tire of watching me slam the meat to some young starlet. Call it an animal type of sex, if you will, but it worked for me. Besides, I was “IN.” Having achieved more than a slight degree of notoriety provided me the opportunity to take care of other matters when I had to travel somewhere without anyone else knowing, and still have an alibi for my time if it was something important. Since the Wonderland episode I had become a great money collector for other people. Even though I didn’t kill those people at the Wonderland house, no one was really sure of my innocence. Because of that, no one wanted to mess with me. Between scenes, I could easily slip away without the wrong people knowing. They would just think I was resting in my company-paid hotel room, and since I had been escorted there, it wasn’t a problem. I had it made! At night after filming, I was able to pick and choose among the cast to “play.”