Much like webcam shows, I’d get requests from fans to shoot custom videos catered to their specific wants and fetishes. Fans rarely have the same budgets as mainstream producers, but their expectations are often lower, so custom videos are an easy way to get a nut and earn a quick buck.

I got an email from a fan offering $400 for a custom blowjob scene with a girl of my choosing. A simple enough request. Who was I to say no to a blowjob, let alone a paying one? It was an easy sell. “Sounds good to me,” I said. “Once payment is received you can expect the video in about a week.”

The money hit my account within minutes; it was now time to find a co-star. I hoped to keep as much of the $400 as I could for myself. I did have to shoot and edit it, after all. I settled on a maximum of $200 for the female talent—nothing to brag about. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to do that on an average shoot. In this instance, I’d either have to convince a friend to do it for cheap or settle on talent who was decidedly lower tier, likely someone who also moonlighted on Backpage.

After giving it some thought, I looked through my phone and settled on the number of an old fling, someone I knew to be downright filthy with no bias toward pay rates or status within the industry; she was only there to get fucked up and get fucked. I stared at the name in my phone, unsure if she still had the same number. She probably used a new burner every month. I gave it a shot anyway. To my surprise, the call rang, and in an even greater shock, she picked up the line.

“Well, well, well,” she said. “How is my little fuckboy?”

“Nikki Sinn, as I live and breathe. How the hell are ya?”

“Keeping clean. Sort of. Living in Riverside these days. Trying to get my ass back on sets now that the dust has settled.”

“Only you would get arrested at an award show.”

“Yeah, yeah. You still slingin’ dick or what?”

“Sure am. That’s why I’m calling. I got a job for you. BJ for one-fifty. You down?”

“Make it two and you got a deal.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Nikki. All right, two hundred it is.”

“When and where, fuckboy?”

With talent secured, my next order of business was to find a suitable (read: inexpensive) location. Initially I planned to use my apartment, but Nikki had lost her driver’s license. Whether it was taken from her or just missing was to remain a mystery. So, instead of having her come to my place, I headed to Riverside and booked the cheapest hotel room I could find, a $60 a night Motel 6 right off Highway 99. Now my take-home would be $140.

Three days later I was playing it Bogart in the lobby while the receptionist activated my key, completely unaware I was about to get my dick sucked. After checking in to the room and seeing the stained green carpet, lopsided nightstand drawers, and fist sized cracks on the walls, I figured a porn scene probably wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen there. The bathroom had chipped powder pink countertops and no shower curtain. I gave myself a once over with my body trimmer and rinsed off, doing my best not to splash water all over the floor. I tossed on a pair of sweatpants and set the lights up facing the room’s wobbly desk chair.

Nikki arrived, her long acrylic nails rapping on the door. I let her in. She was dressed head to toe in black: spike heeled boots, fishnets, a mini skirt, a corset covered by a leather jacket, and oversized sunglasses. Her pale skin and peroxide blonde hair stood in stark contrast. She sauntered past me and pulled a bottle of Jameson from her knockoff purse.

“Lezz party!” she said, taking a generous swig. Just like old times.

“Looking like a rock-star,” I said.

“’Cause’ I am one, mother fucker. You know you love this shit.”

“Yeah, you definitely got my number, don’t you?”

“I’ll have more than that in a minute,” she said, tossing her jacket and sunglasses on the bed. “Get that cock out.”

Camera running, I lounged naked on the desk chair, rubbing my chest and giving my cock a few healthy tugs. Without saying a word, Nikki entered the frame and dropped to her knees, deepthroating and face fucking herself, sucking aggressively like a woman on a mission to earn her keep. I sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Suddenly, Nikki’s eyes bulged; her cheeks puffed, and her mouth filled with an intense warm fluid. She retched as steaming black and white chunks splashed against my skin. Shocked, I stared as Nikki continued to suck like nothing had happened, and then, as if on cue, another stream of vomit shot out and covered me, soaking the fabric of the chair, dripping to the floor in long, thick strings. It was too much for me. I started to dry heave, my eyes watering and my nostrils flaring from the stench.

I gritted my teeth and tried to yell “Cut!” but even that single word was too much for me to speak. My throat filled with food. I covered my mouth and pinched my nose, craning my neck toward the ceiling, doing my best to swallow everything back down.

Nikki finally took notice. “Damn, my bad, dude. I thought you loved this sick shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that rice and fish for breakfast.” She grabbed her whiskey and walked into the bathroom, rinsed her mouth, and spat into the sink. “Need a towel?” she called out.

“Please!” I said, holding back another potential mouthful.

“How many you want?”

“All of them!”

She came back with a few, tossing them at me. “Damn, motherfucker, acting like you never been puked on before.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, finally able to relax. “I was just, uh, surprised by it.” Surprised, disgusted, regretful. Another day, another mess to clean. At least Nikki didn’t seem too phased. I think puking might’ve actually lifted her spirits.

“Let me know when you’re ready, baby” she said, admiring herself in the room’s full-length mirror. “Hot damn, I look good.”

“Yeah, just, uh, give me a minute here,” I said, using one of the towels to mop Nikki’s breakfast from my lap. I looked at the camera and noticed it was still recording. Perfect. BTS. At least it’d make for one hell of a blooper.