Finally, the real contract was ready. The photo shoot was set for Saturday. Jeff and I met at the Blue and Gold bar on 7th street. I resented all the unpaid time I was sacrificing. My rate for Saturday has also changed somehow from $300 to $200. I decided not to make it an issue of the change, since I had no idea if I’d even be any good. If I was, they’d want me back, and then there would be plenty of time to negotiate a higher price.
Jeff was at the bar when I got there. He chatted nervously about the past weekend and how his day had been. We hadn’t even had the shoot yet, and we were already pals. His desperate need to encourage a friendly relationship was starting to make me tense. I understood his insistence on a good working dynamic, but this was ridiculous. I cut to the chase and asked if he had the contract. The point of this meeting was to go through an elaborately detailed list of potential activities for the shoot, crossing out the ones I didn’t feel comfortable performing.
For both our benefits, the list was explicit. There would be no confusion about what I would or wouldn’t agree to do. We were as professional as possible. Jeff emphasized that I wouldn’t be required to do the things that weren’t crossed off, but that I should cross off all options that I definitely would not want to do. I crossed off anything that involved pain, ingesting fluids, touching feces, and anal insertions. Some of the more intense bondage experiences I also crossed off. Feeling like I might as well go all the way (literally), I left intercourse on the list. If I was going to be a porn star, I had better be prepared to suck dick and fuck. Jeff again reassured me that they wouldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.
He cautiously broke the news that they wouldn’t be supplying any drugs during the shoot. “We can give you beer or wine, if you want, though.”
I laughed. I told him I didn’t do drugs and I barely drank, so it wouldn’t be an issue. He became extremely relieved, pushing his hair back and wiping some of the persistent perspiration off his forehead.
“Good, that’s good. We had a girl last shoot who was so doped up, she couldn’t apply her own makeup.” He laughed nervously.
“That won’t happen with me,” I replied.
We finished up with the contract, and I beat a hasty exit. Once again, Jeff wanted to keep hanging out, but I said I had to go and left. If he wanted my company, he was going to have to pay for it.