When I was fifteen my Ma decided it was time for me to get a job.

Personally, I was against it.  I was perfectly content just sitting on my ass and watching television.  Mama disagreed.  A friend of hers had a sister in law who managed a restaurant.  Turns out they needed a busboy.  Kelsey’s Restaurant was host to a veritible cavalcade of characters, each with their own brilliance and hilarious backstory.

Perhaps my favorite was Dave the Porn Star.

They called him G Money because of their love of irony and hate of rap music. Dave was in his late forties/ early fifties.  An aging Jewish man who’d seen the road and lived the life of a drifter;  he waited tables in this place and that to save away for the house he was building in Hawaii.   At some point in his life, Dave was offered the opportunity to thrust his penis into a vagina on camera.  He took it.

Clearly this was the sort of porn that you find in bargain bins and dumpsters.   Modern porn stars look like gay male models.  G looked like he jerked off in mens rooms.  

I’ve never seen this legendary pornographic film, but every time I visit my local adult bookstore, I keep an eye out for G Money’s penis.

G never lost his love for showbusiness.  He took every opportunity to pull out his cock like there was a fire and only his genitals could extinguish it.   (I’m kidding.  Mostly.)   Many was the Saturday night when we would close up the restaurant, the beer flowing like wind on a mountain top,  when some poor drunken fool would yell out “G MONEY!!!”  Dave would smile shyly.  “Come on, guys, no. Not tonight.”  But he could not halt their cheers and chants.  They would beg Dave for a show. 

I was only 16 the first time Dave put on a show.  I didn’t know what I was in for.  What in God’s name was he about to do? He walked into the back room, where the darkness consumed him.  We all stood in a line around the bar, waiting for the Dave train to come on through.  Three men down from the door, I stood impatiently.   He called out from the blackness.  “Turn it up!”  I don’t remember what song they played on the radio.  I don’t remember who was around me or what they said before.  I don’t really even remember what color the waitresses’ thongs were.  But I remember the first time I saw a half naked male porn star.

He strutted out with his poofy chest hair and un-pedicured, smelly feet.  His tighty whitey Fruit of the Loom undies were stretched out and loose hanging.  Our laughter was instantaneous and grew exponentially as he walked past us.  One by one we fell like dominoes as he sauntered past us, falling into pure hysterics.  We were nearly dying as he jumped on top of the bar.  G’s pelvis thrusted back and forth lasciviously.  He shook his money maker like it was his last day on Earth.  Indeed, G hadn’t lost any of that old Jew penis magic.

Still, after a few minutes, he could tell something was wrong.

Sure, it was funny.  It always had been.  But it was never quite that funny.   So what were we all laughing at?  And suddenly, “lil G” stopped pumping.  The money maker stopped with the rump shaking.  And he asked us why we were crying.   Begrudgingly, we pointed to the mirror behind him.   His head turned and dropped down.  His eyes shuttered and his head shook as he noticed the giant brown skid mark dividing his butt like the Grand Canyon of poots.

Sure, he laughed despite himself.  But I think a little piece of Dave the Porn Star died that day.



Nah. I’m bullshitting.  He just got fucked up and kept dancing.


6 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Ad Astra on April 14, 2009 at 12:33 am

    Rofl. Greeeeeat ending 😀 Nice. I know a porn star too. Small short lived career that was. Or, who knows, maybe he just got really good at hiding it. *shrugs*



    I can’t believe he didn’t whip it out though:(


  3. I get so embarassed when someone embarasses themself like that I want to crawl under a rock. And then I get mad at all the people laughing.
    Pretty much, I’m not much fun at a party .


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: