The Thing I Love About Porn Is
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Jenna Jameson…
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So, I’ve spent days and nights in Los Angeles running around, having adventures, experiencing disappointments, meeting crazies, falling in love with friends and places, doing things that terrify me, defying my own odds, escaping pain, fighting, singing, dancing, knocking, annoying, wishing, dreaming, planning, hoping, and praying praying praying.
At the end of almost three years I had a list of accomplishments that surpassed my dreams, disappointments that challenged my ideas of “success”, an empty bank account, $1000 stolen by an ex-boss, and a notice to leave my apartment in 2 weeks. What had my life come to? Was I failing? Does God punish? Am I a fool for believing in the “impossible”? Would my family and friends laugh and call me naive? Would they tell me to throw in the towel and come “home”?
Thankfully, my cousin Jamie and Aunt Dorie, a sassy women with auburn hair, a PHD, and the mouth of a sailor begged me to move into their beachside home in Newport (an hour south of LA). Accepting the invite made me feel like I was an admitted failure until I remembered I am merely 22, in the palm of God’s hand, and perhaps there was something amazing to come of all this.
The three of us in this house look like sad Charlie’s Angels hoping we still have plenty fight left in us. The blonde, redhead, and brunette spend time working, riding bikes, skating, and discussing how to become a better us. My cousin cooks organic dinners and does yoga on the roof while my aunt smokes a cig and says things like, “You know, Bren, you’re a pretty girl. If I didn’t know you I’d be staring at your ass too!” after I complain about the old overweight gross neighbor bothering me.
In my desperate need to raise money, I got 2 painfully mindless jobs- one at a tanning salon (which is a hilarious contrast to my affection for pale skin) and another at an Indie movie theater- both in bike riding distance. The theater began as poignantly painful. As I swept the floor a tear actually ran down my flushed cheek, “God! I thought A Chord of Three Strands would be on that screen right now and I’d be sitting in the f’n seats not sweeping the damn floor.” I felt so foolish. How many people knew about my screenplay at Paramount? Who would point and chuckle if they could see me now?
But, somehow my faith still welled up within me, more powerfully than my tears. I knew there was a purpose to all this.
My first hopeful discovery was that I was allowed to read, but not allowed to write during downtime at both jobs. This was great because I always opt to write and never allow myself to just enjoy a book. Unfortunately the high school boys at the theater only offered sci-fi adventures and the salon was only equipped with reads like “Shopaholic”. However, my beautiful, blonde, and tan coworker Ashley highly recommended the daunting 600-some page How to Make Love Like a Porn Star by Jenna Jameson. I put it off for as many hours that Vogue issues could kill until I submitted to Jenna.
I blew through that book in two days, enthralled by the queen of porn.
In middle and high school I was painfully envious of all the pretty girls. I fantasized about being one girl or another and made fun of the most gorgeous girls for hours- pretending I was thrilled I wasn’t plagued with their lives. Lies, lies. Somehow, over the years my envy turned from destructive harassment into heterosexual girl crushes. I would find the hottest chicks ever and attach to them like glue. This has gotten me onto tour buses, into ritzy parties, and surrounded by the craziest people. Eva Reinas was probably the first of many of these, which still occur today. (Jennika, you’re my latest! haha). Also a latest, is Ms. Jameson.
I can’t say I’ve seen her in action, nor do I want to, but her pictures enthralled me. She has perfectly smooth skin, a teeny frame, beautiful breasts, flippable hair, and a desirable command of the motion of her body.
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Just as one might suspect, the story behind her persona is heartbreaking. At 15 she lost her virginity while passed out in a boy’s sloppy bed, a bit older she was raped by her boyfriend’s uncle. And at the most horrendous, while attending a small high school in Montana all 10 boys in her class took her to a field, knocked her out with rocks to the head, and took turns raping her. Every time she came to, they would knock her out again. When she saw herself in her bedroom mirror after painfully stumbling home, she was certain they intended to kill her.
Porn was her way to take back her own sexuality. At last, she was in charge. Jenna couldn’t stress enough to her readers, “DON’T feel sorry for me. I’m fine.” I don’t imagine she buys her own lie, either. I don’t. She won’t acknowledge her very first rape at all; she claimed she felt victorious and that it was deserved. After all, that WAS her intention and she WAS in his bed. But, beautiful, you were passed out! That boy’s nuts should be chopped off. End of story.
By the book’s end, she is the reigning queen, a millionaire, the most downloaded woman on the web, reconciling with her family, and falling in love with her healthiest relationship to date. In the last few chapters, I’m getting annoyed when customers come in, eyes welled with tears, thinking, “Don’t bother me! I wanna know if Jenna marries him or what!” Her future husband is down on one knee, gorgeous ring in hand, and I cheat to see that indeed the next picture he dons a wedding gown. Her face is in a vibrant laugh and her dysfunctional but proud family surrounds her.
All in all, it was the perfect book for me to read at this moment in my life. My love and affection for women gleamed as I thought of all my girls- known personally or not- that I want the world for. And as I read and watched Jenna’s fame and success rollercoaster spin, fly, slow down, turn upside down, plummet, reach new heights, I realized the absolute only way to maintain sanity and health as a human being in the spotlight is to have a root system stretched far and deep into the ground to sustain the heights you’ll reach.
In this lifetime, for me it’s not about fame or money- Lord knows I’ve never had either one- but it’s about women like Jenna. It’s about me, no matter what I do or achieve, maintaining roots long and wide enough to withstand any storm and to hide other women in the safety of the branches I hope to one day have. I want to know for myself and other women, that sex is not power- Jenna admits to feeling utterly powerless still.
Health, stamina, morale, and heart are power. Sex is the icing on the cake of what a beautiful woman can offer a deserving man. And to this day, even Jenna is deserving of the best of men, because she is beautiful, truly and deeply. As all are you, beauties.
So, no matter how demeaning my jobs, I think I’m here to grow roots. And I pray the ability and strength for all you gorgeous women to do the same, always.
Jenna and me at LA Fashion Week, where I met her years after writing this
