Andrew's Upstanding US Citizen Homepage

In their minds, everybody has their ideal "dream job" in which they get to do everything that makes them happy - and get paid for it. Its a job that your friends hate you for having it; where you do hardly anything and get paid a comfortable salary doing it. What's your dream job? Video game tester? Esteemed food critic? The guy responsible for perking up a celebrity's nipples before she goes onto a movie set? (They do exist.) Well, I once got mine, and I'm here to say that it was both everything I ever wanted it to be with a whole lot of shit I didn't expect.

The Interview

The lead was inconspicuous; an ad on craigslist seeking a webmaster for an established website. All the normal nerdy requirements, which I met, were there. The starting pay was more than I had made at my previous job. There was one rare detail that caught my attention for a moment; to work for this company, I had to be over the age of 18 and open to viewing material that may be offensive. Check and check. I eagerly sent in my resume for consideration.

Two weeks later, I received a response. This guy by the name of Matt wanted to know when I could come in for an interview, and he also wanted to clarify, one more time, that I was indeed open to viewing offensive material. We agreed to a date for the interview and I got excited. I hadn't been to an interview in a couple years, so I polled my friends for tips. They all chimed in with suggestions to prepare me for the barrage of questions that was about to come my way. One friend gave me a seemingly clever idea that the most important thing to have during an interview is a pair of nice shoes.

The day of the interview arrived and I showed up at a high class apartment building in Hollywood wearing a silk dress shirt, a nice pair of slacks and the same shoes I had worn to my prom. I left my car at the free valet and headed up the elevator toward my glistening destiny.

I was greeted at the door by a girl who I would later know as Raluca. For the moment, though, she was "fucking hot." Passing behind her in the hallway as I stood in the doorway was Ginger (also fucking hot); she waved and greeted me. Raluca invited me in with her sexy British accent and I helplessly complied.

"Matt will be back in about ten minutes. He went down to grab some coffee. Have a seat. Get comfortable."

Raluca lead me into the large living room of the apartment and gestured toward a red satin couch, then disappeared into another room. Unbeknownst to me, this was THE red couch. I sat down on it without a thought. Had I been more conscious of what a couch was used for in this industry, I would have been more reluctant to get as comfortable as I did. I sat there and let my eyes drift around the room. Another girl appeared, Gia, and greeted me as she quickly left the apartment. I began to get suspicious about all of these fleeting glimpses that I was getting. I decided to pay more attention; I wasn’t going to let anything in this interview catch me off guard or distract me.

I resolved to remain stoic in the face of all the delicious sights flashing from room to room. Surely my ability to remain professional in the face of all this temptation would be a virtue. This delicate thread of concentration remained taut for only a minute more, until my eyes found something I couldn’t quite process. On the tiny glass-top table not four feet from me stood a large flesh-colored dildo about fourteen inches tall. I paused to contemplate its existence for a moment. Raluca emerged again as I was trying to decide if staring at the dildo was considered rude or not.

"Oh, I'm sorry. How improper." She rushed over and picked up the silicone phallus from the table. A loud, sharp *pop* resounded in my ears as the suction cup on the bottom released its grip on the glass. My concentration was lost. She gave an exasperated giggle as she scurried back to the shelter of that damn room.

"Awkward," I thought to myself.

Not a moment later, Matt made his entrance. He carried with him three large (sorry... Venti) drinks from Starbucks. He was, by all considerations, just an average guy. He had no strange quirks or mannerisms. He was not soft, abrasive, loud or quiet. He was a normal, completely regular guy. We introduced ourselves quickly and settled down to the moment I had been preparing for: the interview.

"So, uh, when do you think you could start?"

My Job Description

My job by itself was nothing special. It was the context I did it in that made it worthy of this write-up. Matt was a photographer who took amateur-style (read: no technique at all) digital photographs of hot naked girls stripping off their clothes, posing provocatively, and spreading their labia for all the world to view. Along with all the standard programming, design and maintenance, it was my burden to select the best photographs from the sets that he shot and update the site with them. I worked in the living room, where most of the action took place. Not only did I get to be there when these photo shoots took place, I got to stare at these naked pictures for hours afterwards.

Now, I know what's going through your mind right now. How could I possibly work that job without walking around all day sporting one of egypt's pyramids in my pants? Well, you may be a little disenchanted to learn that one can get quite desensitized to sights most men can only fantasize about. They can even become repulsive.

Imagine this schedule: Every week, we shot two brand-new girls. For each girl, Matt took about 500 photos. It was my job to whittle those 500 down to half that amount so that they formed two different sets with different outfits and different poses. There were to be no duplicates, no bad angles, no awkward poses or facial expressions, and nothing that might cause our dear sweet subscribers to hurl all over their keyboards. (I've never vomited while masturbating, have you?) I was the filter.

I'm not sure if anyone can necessarily sympathize with me, but looking at porn all day is tough. Especially if it's porn where half of it is never meant to be seen again. Months into my job, I began to suspect I was suffering from synaesthesia. I would close up my nose as I shuffled through what we called the "pink shots," as the sight of a vagina stretched to the size of my computer screen would tease my senses with the imagined scent of a wet dog. It was in those same months that I learned what a yeast infection actually LOOKS like. I consider myself lucky to have grown up around three vocal women who held little back about what was going on with their bodies, otherwise such sights would have had me thinking twice about this wonderful job.

Still, I was there for all the photo shoots and I got to talk with the models. What more could a guy ask for?

The Perks

The Internet porn industry is a fiercely competitive field. Anyone who looks at it and sees easy money is only seeing the shiny surface. Every day, people are coming out with new, more outrageous stunts to shock viewers and win some sign-ups out of pure curiosity. The sites that cannot keep pace will often fold into obsolescence. It's a wonder, then, how Matt managed for so long to maintain a site in which none of the girls were artificially enhanced (either by surgery, makeup or digital airbrush); nor did they ever co-star with a team of naked circus dwarves, let alone a standard issue stud with a giant penis. His secret is as simple as getting the hottest girls, getting them before anyone else did, and shooting them in a nice comfortable environment. His secret was my very unprofessional pleasure.

Matt occasionally kept models away from my desk if he felt that they could not perform with a nerd with raging hormones in the room. Sometimes, we had girls who thrived on it. For example, Violet.

I remember Violet as the stripper from San Dimas. She had driven over an hour and a half just to earn some money so that she could pay the rent or buy some drugs - who knew. She wasn't a knockout, so you could argue that any attention you gave her was appreciated. She had a few crooked teeth and it was obvious she didn't exercise anywhere else besides the stripper pole. Along with some tattoos and piercings, she had (fittingly enough) violet streaks running through her raven black hair. In other words, she had a great personality.

After her photo shoot, Violet was supposed to leave, but Matt left to run some errands and gave me the task of showing her to the door. I didn't really get around to that, though. We talked. She told me about how she plays dungeons & dragons and does drugs too. I could have sworn that I was turned off to learn of such things, but somehow I found my hands cupped over her breasts, gripping them firmly for the lens of our office webcam. Isn’t it funny how these things rush up on you?

Violet told me that she liked to be spanked. Like any true gentleman, I gave her what she wanted. Slap after slap after slap, my palm and fingertips were going numb against her denim-clad ass. She begged for more as I quietly wondered what the hell made this woman tick. I hoped that I could satisfy her before I broke a blood vessel in my hand. She moved to lean against the wall. I was taking running starts with each slap now, and with each one she moaned, and I wondered if my rosy hand would ever regain its natural pasty hue.

Matt walked back into the apartment with a droll look on his face and I suddenly realized that I had crossed the professional boundary. I apologized, acting meek, subtly insinuating that she came on to ME. Matt became amused when he heard what we had been doing. He reprimanded me, insisting that next time I needed to get it on video. Slightly humbled and confused, I turned to Violet and shrugged. She grinned back at me.

A couple weeks later, Violet was back for the video shoot. I had been mentally preparing myself for this moment ever since it was suggested. You have to be really focused when you're about to beat someone senseless entirely for their pleasure, right? The thing that really interested me was the fact that Violet got anything out of it at all. I suppose I was happy to be able to give her a little pleasure, but at the time I would rather have given her a nice massage as she basked in a bubble bath. I was such a pussy back then.

I discussed with Violet what she wanted me to do and what I was not allowed to do. Whipping, spanking, pinching, twisting, squeezing, rubbing, scratching: yes. Kissing, licking, spreading, fucking: no. It occurred to me that the concept of romance was entirely lost on some people. The next issue was tying her up. I played with the nylon bondage rope that Matt had acquired for the day, but was ultimately lost as to what I was supposed to do with it in relation to the task at hand.

As an aside, I want to state how awkward it was working inside my boss’s personal living space. While it created excellent opportunities for bonding, some things became too familiar too quick. For example: Matt’s own little form of bonding with his girlfriend.

Matt was happy to help me tie Violet up. He took the rope and quickly demonstrated a few techniques for me, then called Violet over and began to bind her wrists and ankles together. I observed with an uncomfortable look on my face. Something I wasn't particularly willing to let enter my mind at the moment wiggled its way in. Images of the random props strewn about the apartment every morning flashed before my eyes. One thing in particular, the Bondage 101 book I had only given an uncaring glance at before, hovered above me in my mind. I told my brain to shut up.

With Violet prepared, her ankles together and her hands bound behind her back, I put on the finishing touch; a strip of cloth to gag her. The camera began to roll and I threw her down on the red couch, ripped off her clothes, and spanked and whipped the hell out of her for all I was worth. At least I thought I did. Friends who saw the video later told me that I looked like I wanted to apologize after every slap. So much for my budding porn career.

We took a lunch break in the middle of the shoot and ordered pizza. Unwilling to go through the process of tying all the knots again, we left Violet tied up, much to her sick pleasure. As the front desk called up to announce the arrival of the pizza delivery man, an idea crept into my head and I gave everyone their direction. We dragged Violet over to the hallway that lead to the front door. The doorbell rang and Matt went to open the door. He opened it wide. When Violet's eyes met those of the pizza delivery guy, she began to scream against her gag and squirm in her restraints. I moved into the picture, gave the pizza guy an accusing look, grabbed Violet and dragged her out of view.

Matt said the look on the guy's face was priceless. It took a few minutes to fully explain himself to the man so he wouldn't call the cops. We had a little chuckle and ate our food, keeping an eye on Violet as she attempted to eat with her hands and feet incapacitated. She assured us, through it all, that she was enjoying it. Violet, we salute you.