Free The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz by Ron Jeremy Page B

and the top half of me was completely out of the frame.
    “What the hell?” I grumbled, unaware that I was speaking out loud. “I spent an hour in makeup, and they didn’t even shoot my goddamn face !”
    “Will you keep it down?” a man sitting nearby yelled at me.
    I mumbled an apology and eased back into my seat. A part of me wanted to turn to him and say, “Listen, jerk, you see that huge pecker up there on the screen, shooting off like a fireworks show made entirely of viscous fluids? That’s me , asshole.”
    But I didn’t.
    I just sat there and watched myself in action, dreaming about the day when my face wouldn’t get second billing to my cock.

“Ron ‘The Hedgehog’ Jeremy. I think that has a nice ring to it.”

    Victory shot. 1980. (Photograph by Len Tavares)

A STAR IS PORN
    I knew I was in trouble when it started to snow.
    I’d been cast in a movie called Olympic Fever , which was being shot in the mountains of Southern California. It was my first trip to the West Coast, and I’d tried to pack accordingly. I brought a few pairs of shorts and linen shirts, everything I needed for the eighty-degree weather. What’s more, I had opted against renting a car, assuming I could get around just as easily with a motorcycle. Back in New York, a bike was my main mode of transportation. I owned a Honda Hawk that I used to commute between Queens and the city. During the winter months, it could be a major pain in the ass, especially when the roads were icy. But here in the Sunshine State, I thought, it was the perfect environment for motorcycle travel. Nothing but sun and warm weather. It was going to be glorious.
    But I had been seriously misled about just how goddamn tropical this state was.
    When I walked off the plane at the L.A. airport, the weather was pleasant, almost humid. So I jumped on my bike wearing the skimpiest outfit I owned and headed up to Lake Arrowhead. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour journey north of Los Angeles, up in the canyons near San Bernardino. I wasn’t thrilled about driving through unfamiliar mountains, but I had the luxury of taking my time, because I wasn’t needed on the set until later that afternoon. I planned on taking a long, leisurely trip, enjoying the views, and soaking up the rays of my first April day in California.
    When it started to snow, I thought it must be some kind of sick joke. The snow turned into hail, and then just as quickly became a blinding blizzard. Before long, I wondered if I was going to die.
    Up until that day, it had been a great couple of years for me. I’d worked steadily since Tigresses , making an average of six films per month. And best of all, I was even given speaking roles, where my face was seen about as often as my penis. I appeared in high-profile movies like Mystique , Object of Desire , Blonde in Black Silk , The Good Girls of Godiva High , Pink Champagne , and Women in Love , to name just a few. But it was a film called Sizzle that put me on the map. At long last, I was really able to act , showing off my comedic abilities with a goofy southern accent that was played more for laughs than authenticity.
    It was because of Sizzle that I had caught the eye of Phil M., the director responsible for one of the most lauded big-budget pornos of the late 1970s, called Lust at First Bite . It starred all the major names in adult movies: John Holmes, Seka, Serena, and Jamie Gillis. I’d seen the movie when it opened in New York, and I was floored by it. It was by far the funniest comedy I’d ever seen in porn. Some of the dialogue was so smart you forgot that you were watching a skin flick. And what’s more, it featured some kinky scenes, from sex with vampires to mental patients with delusions of prepubescence. Gillis, who played Dracula, had anal sex with at least two of his female costars. I couldn’t believe what Phil had gotten away with for that time period, and I wanted to work with him. When he offered me a role in his second big