Free Insatiable: Porn — a Love Story by Asa Akira Page A

the whole misunderstanding about whether or not I told him I wouldn’t fuck anyone at the blowbang. But it was too hilarious not to share, right? We were above fighting over trivial matters—after eighteen years in the business, one little slip of a dick couldn’t possibly upset him. This was a legitimately hilarious story. I mean how many people can say, “I had no idea he fucked me!???”
    If there were a category in Guinness World Records for “Sluttiest Thing to Accidentally Happen to a Woman,” this would definitely be in the running.
    I decided to chance it for the sake of a laugh.
    He didn’t think it was funny.

8
Girls
    “Do you think I should tell Katie?” It was two in the afternoon and Mia was over. We were lying on opposite sides of the sofa in stained T-shirts and period underwear, passing back and forth a jar of peanut butter. A rerun of Real Housewives of someplace or another was on the TV but we didn’t pay attention.
    “Why not?” I replied. “What does she care if you fucked James or not?”
    “She’s trying to cut off her fuckbuddy she’s in love with.”
    “Oh shit. Like you’re in it together.”
    “Right. She’s watching me.”
    Mia was my closest friend in L.A. She always had something going on; if it wasn’t a cokehead boyfriend with babymama drama, it was her ex threatening to kill her from jail. An aspiring actress, she dated my ex-boyfriend after we had broken up. One day I had sent him a naked picture of myself, and she called me from his phone screaming. We’ve been best friends ever since.
    “Omission isn’t lying,” I offered as I licked the spoon.
    “She’s gonna ask. Fuck it, I’m just gonna tell her I stayed in last night. My sex life is nobody’s business. I’m gonna lie to her—just tell me I’m not a bad person for it.”
    I smiled. Mia could rob someone and I would probably justify it as the victim’s fault. In fact, that had happened before.
    “You’re not a bad person for it.”
    “It’s just he called me last night and was talking about fucking . . . And my pussy got so wet it was bubbling and dripped down to my ass without even being touched. His voice just makes me instantly wet.”
    “Like when people hear the word cocaine and instantly have to shit?” We laughed.
    “Whatever. He limpdicked me half the night anyway.”
    James was a nightlife guy Mia had been seeing. He wasn’t her boyfriend, partly because she already had one of those. He was a side piece she had caught feelings for. According to a self-help relationship book I once read, he was a classic “avoidant”—sends mixed signals, afraid to get too close, cold, insensitive, insecure. We were also suspicious he was on something, drug-wise, because his dick went limp all the time.
    “It’s so bizarre. I don’t think I like him anymore anyway. Last night I shat on him a little while he was fucking my ass and I didn’t care.”
    “If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. I’ve been with Toni for how long? And I don’t want him to even know I shit, ever.”
    “Yah. I think I would’ve cared two fucks ago.”
    It was true. My friend Dave says it best: I’m anal about anal.
    I never thought I’d be famous for my asshole. Really, I didn’t. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been infatuated with porn. Growing up a Howard Stern fan, slutty girls were my heroes, somehow glorified in my mind. In movies and books, I was always drawn to the trashiest character in the story; the one who smokes cigarettes, is admittedly promiscuous, and almost always crazy in the most fascinating, brilliant way.
    And yet, I never thought I’d be one of those girls. I never thought I’d have the guts.
    Never say never.
    I never thought I’d actually do porn. If anything, I thought I’d be a teen pregnancy case, divorced by twenty-one, second baby daddy by twenty-three. Possible herpes. I never thought the day would come I’d be labeled “Anal Queen” in every skin rag, or my asshole