Are there scouts in the porn business like in baseball who travel the minor-league circuit looking for the next big star? If so, I think that’s what I’d like to do when I grow up.
Are there scouts in the porn business like in baseball who travel the minor-league circuit looking for the next big star? If so, I think that’s what I’d like to do when I grow up. I feel that I have an eye for who is and isn’t slutty, and this goes far beyond my default fantasy of “Well, she’s got a mouth, she’s got to be slutty.” Like a batter, there are a lot of telltale signs. Instead of hip movement or bat swing, first check the eyes. Are they slowly scanning the room, seeking something? If so, most likely you have a good case of daddy issues on your hands and she’s probably a nice prospect.
As I’ve said in the past, tattoos are the quickest indication that a gal likes anal. Is she covered in ink? Chances are she loves it in the ass and prefers it there first. Freud tied the whole yearning-for-pain thing back to the loss of virginity in his book about porn; I forget what it was called.
The young lady above is named Christy Mack, and I wish I were the scout who found her in Indianapolis. Aside from the necessary three holes, she’s got all the attributes needed to play in the big leagues: attitude, a unique look, and big tits. I don’t know who the (not dead) George Steinbrenner of porn is, but I can imagine calling him from my cell phone in the parking lot of the Brass Flamingo or whatever club I found Ms. Mack patronizing, and saying, “I just found your next Derek Jeter (of butt sex).”
I always wanted to own my own Brass Flamingo. From the moment I walked into my first strip club—smelling the coconut lotion and pressing my head to a stripper’s vagina in the champagne room and hearing the ocean—I knew it was the tropical locale where I wanted to live out my days in retirement. At the time we were at war with someone in the Middle East, and I remember thinking that the Gaza Strip would be a great name for a strip club, but as I traveled more I realized it was important to come up with the basest name possible to attract the sort of clientele who frequent such places: Tit World, Ass Palace, and Place to Look at Pussy (PtLaP) were quickly added to the list of possible names.
Then I moved to Cincinnati for nine long months and ballooned from 135 to 215 pounds. While living there I went to Sudsy Malone’s, a local rock venue/laundromat, and that’s when it hit me: Open a titty bar in a college town where you can pay the girls to do your laundry and give you a lap dance. I’d call it the Muff ’n’ Fold. Every year I’d get a new crop of girls who honestly and truly were just trying to put themselves through college. If they were unsure of what occupation to pursue, and if they had the right stuff, perhaps I could suggest to them a fun and exciting life in the not-at-all seedy world of pornography. I envisioned it as a wholesale family business with my sons recruiting the prospects for training camp, me scouting for the bigs, and my wife making sure the girls knew how to do laundry because I have no idea how that works. I tried once and flooded the entire basement with suds. Then again, they love those foam parties in Ibiza. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Previously - Panty Pops