Tera Patrick - Sinner Takes All

I grew up in that tough-guy Brooklyn way where you wanted respect and your girlfriend was supposed to be a virgin. It’s that typical Jewish and Italian way of thinking. Your girl should be a virgin, but a slut with you behind closed doors. If someone in my neighborhood dated a girl who fucked a bunch of guys, she was considered a whore and a slut. And you couldn’t be proud to bring her around. I don’t agree with that way of thinking, but I couldn’t help but have it on my mind.

I never set out to fall in love with a porn star. It just happened. My only fear in meeting Tera was wondering if I would measure up below the belt. I thought, “Oh my God. She had sex with professional guys who get paid to fuck who have really big dicks.” Now, I know my dick is big. Girls have told me so. Lots of girls. But I did have to wonder if it was big compared to what she was used to. That was the one thing I was afraid of. I wasn’t afraid that I was falling in love with a porn star. But I did wonder, “What if I’m in love with her but then I can’t deal with what she does?” I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t help but fear that I might end up feeling like, “Why did I have to fall in love with you?”

The night before I was supposed to fly to California to meet Tera for the first time, I randomly ran into Jenna Jameson backstage at Korn’s show at Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City. I knew who Jenna was, of course. And I had been introduced to her before. I have to say, I wasn’t impressed. She used to be really cute. But here she was with no makeup on, bad skin, visible hair extensions, and she was wearing stretchy pants that had a hole in the butt.

So I’m talking to her and I politely tell her that I’m a fan, even though I really wasn’t, and she tells me that she likes Biohazard. I believe her because she’s friends with lots of rockers.

We’re chitchatting and everything’s cool. She had this weird guy with her who was wearing this Cat in the Hat hat and sporting scraggly dreads and tiny purple sunglasses. He looked like a douche-bag and followed her around like a puppy. She kept shooing him away as she sat on the lap of David Draiman from the band Disturbed. I was totally creeped out by the guy. I asked Jenna who he was. And she goes, “Oh, that’s just Jay. Don’t mind him.” Later, I find out Jay is her husband. I thought, “I hope I never hear the words ‘Oh, that’s just Evan. Don’t mind him’ out of the mouth of someone I’m with.”

She asks me, “Don’t you date some girls in the business?”

“Nope. I don’t, actually. But funny you mention it because I’ve been talking on the phone with Tera Patrick for months and I think we’re falling in love. I’m flying out tonight to see her.” I don’t normally share like that, but I was all goofy and in love. I never talked about a girl like I did with Tera. That’s not like me. But Tera was different.

Jenna sighs. “Ugh. Tera Patrick.” It sounded as if she was sick of hearing her name. And then Jenna goes, “Ewwww,” and tries to change the subject immediately.

I’m like, “Wait. What? Tera is gorgeous.”

Jenna takes another dramatic deep breath and replies, “She’s kind of big.”

“Huh?” She is so skinny, I’m thinking.

“Yeah. She’s kind of big, loose, and jiggly.”

Now, if I have a female phobia, it’s “big, loose, and jiggly.” Jenna Jameson’s catty little comment struck a nerve through my fucking heart. She could’ve said “cracked out, diseased, and ugly,” and it wouldn’t have bothered me as much. Something deep inside me was shaken, not stirred. Here I was convinced that I was flying out to meet this girl who was once hot, but who’s now “big, loose, and jiggly.” I know I shouldn’t have cared, but it’s my one pet peeve. Here’s where I’m coming from. If I’m standing at the bar with two girls and one girl is an 8 with a face like an angel but overweight and the other girl is a 5 with a hot little body, I’m taking the 5 with the hot body home because you can dim the lights. I can fuck a girl who’s ugly; just turn her around and dim the lights. I can fuck average chicks. But the one thing I can’t fuck is “big, loose, and jiggly.”

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I briefly considered not going to L.A. But then I looked over at Jenna and realized the source. Jenna wasn’t looking that hot and Tera’s star was on the rise. It was obvious she was just being a bitch. And besides, every picture I saw of Tera was stunning and I was falling in love with her and she with me.

I got on the plane, but I couldn’t get the fear of the unknown out of my head. I somehow convinced myself that Tera was really just some ditzy porn chick and that even though we’d had all these great conversations, everything out of her mouth must have been a lie. Part of it was self-loathing. Here’s this girl who can go out with any A-list celebrity or billionaire she wants and she likes me? Something must be wrong with her. To make myself feel better I made backup plans. To this day, Tera gives me shit about this. I had three separate backup plans with friends, and even one ex-girlfriend, who I’d go see if Jenna was right.

We finally made a date for September 4, 2002. The night before he was to fly across country, we stayed up on the phone for hours. He would fly into Long Beach Airport, arriving at seven o’clock in the morning and I’d be there to pick him up. I was really nervous about meeting him. But most of all, I couldn’t stop thinking, “Is he going to like me?” And as great as our conversations had been on the phone, I was also a little worried about some of the things I’d heard about him from my friends. The words “pig,” “womanizer,” and “cock puppet” kept coming up. “Cock puppet” I liked. But what worried me was whether he really was a womanizing pig. In my heart, I knew from our hours on the phone that he was a good guy, but my head was trying to talk me out of it.

When I pulled over to pick him up, he was wearing his grand-father’s fedora, shorts, and a sweatshirt. He looked very classy. He put down his small suitcase and took the toothpick out of his mouth, smiled, and said, “Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Tera Patrick.” I thought, “Yep, that’s my husband. That is the smile I’m going to see when we’re both ninety and gray.”

I completely melted and felt weak all over. He put his hands on me, and when he touched my skin I felt this warm, intense feeling just building up inside of me—there was so much sexual tension. I had never in my entire life felt this way about anybody. His big hazel eyes were so alive, and I just wanted to stare into them forever.

He got in the car and he said, “Hi, Linda.” I loved that he called me Linda. He saw me for who I really was. He’d flip between calling me Linda and Tera. Either was fine with me, really. And it was Linda he was meeting. I picked him up in nothing but a simple pair of Miss Sixty jeans and a white tank top, with my hair brushed straight and little makeup on and diamond studs in my ears. I wanted him to see the real me—pure and natural and not all porno-ed out. I wanted him to love me.

I can’t remember our first kiss. But I remember our first sniff. He got in the car, leaned in really close, and smelled my neck and my hair. He gave me goose bumps. He touched my neck very gently and I got nervous. He said, “Wow. You are so beautiful.” He just kept touching my hair and saying sweet things to me and I just kept thinking, “This is real.”

We raced back home to my apartment in Sherman Oaks and couldn’t wait to have sex. We walked in, he dropped his bags on the floor, and he took me by the hand and twirled me around to get a good look at me. And then he kissed me. This would be the first time of a zillion times he would take me by the hand and spin me around. It became our special little thing. After that tender moment, we couldn’t help but rip each other’s clothes off. I finally got to see that big cock of his that I got a glimpse of on Oz and was happy to see that it was even bigger than I thought—nine inches and with good girth. We were trying to impress each other and outdo the other. We had a competitive vibe going, like “I’m a porn star.” “Well, I’m a rock star.” He thought he was the sexual dynamo, and I knew I was the sex bomb. We literally tried to outfuck each other, doing all of these crazy things to impress the other. “Yeah, you like that? Well, take this!” Or, “You like doggy-style? I’ll do doggy-style on my head!” It was fun and exciting.