“So, what do you do for a living?”

Usually not quite a daunting question upon first meeting someone. But in my case, it was one that was dreaded in every new encounter, afraid of their response. In even worse situations, no response was given at all. It became very apparent to me that this was a topic, though I had come to view as completely normal, was a rather extreme one to the average civilian. Most women wouldn’t sweetly smile and answer that they used to be an internationally recognized adult performer.

I entered the adult industry in March of 2010, only a few months after my ambitious move to Los Angeles. The initial purpose of my escape from the frozen tundra of the midwest was purely to pursue my already active fashion modeling career. Minneapolis just wasn’t enough for me. Not enough glitz. Not enough glam. Not enough stardom. I wanted more. Immediately upon my arrival, I worked nearly every day, working with a level of photographers I never had in my career. The images were flawless. I felt beautiful, like I was blossoming, my tendrils reaching for a bigger and better life.

The unfortunate but harsh reality of the nouveau modeling world is that there truly isn’t much money involved for the majority of us. The idea of “exposure” is a selling point for most photographers to ensure they get their images without paying a dime. And myself, like many other naive young ladies who are fresh off the bus, accept this mentality in hopes that the paying gigs will eventually come though. More exposure, more chance of a paid gig, right? There will always be fresh new faces. There will always be a hunger for exposure that overshadows the necessity for payment. Needless to say, the little lump of money I had reserved for my move out West had been sucked up more quickly than the cheap alcohol out of my glass. I felt defeated. Sure, I attended a few great parties, made some new connections, and procured a slightly inflated ego, but I had nothing to show for it except a book of beautiful images. The thought of returning to my hometown was absolutely wrenching to even consider. How could I fail? I was too proud to admit that I “failed”, like so many back home were certain I would do.

So what next? I could only be a couch surfer for so long. I didn’t want to be the girl relying on everyone else for free handouts and an ultimate pity party. The thought of having to be reliant on others made me feel so helpless, and it’s likely one of the most dreaded emotions for me to endure.

So in likely the most vulnerable time of whatever condition my mentality was in, I contacted a friend that I knew was in “the Biz”.

I knew nothing about porn, and frankly, hardly even found myself watching it. The thought of even putting myself in front of a camera, naked, was absolutely absurd; I had no idea what I was doing, but I was intrigued at the thought of creating some sort of potential income. And from her description of her successes thus far, it sounded all too good to be true. The acquaintance of mine and myself originally met back in Minnesota. She had relocated to Los Angeles not too long before I had made the plunge into the chaotic world of entertainment. She had already been newly involved at the time of our introduction, and I remember being fascinated about the subject entirely. Embarrassed and still very much in a sheepish manner, I prodded her mind about the lifestyle of hers that she portrayed to be so glamorous. The picture painted in my mind was a glorious one, filled with expensive handbags, designer shoes, constant adoration, and a seemingly effortless amount of work involved.

But of course my interest was piqued. It dazzled and sparkled in my young eyes in such a way that it remained in the back of my mind, stuck. That life could be mine. The fascination only grew after my move to the West Coast.

After I found myself strapped for cash, dreading an almost inevitable return the place I swore I never would, the memory of my interaction with this starlet came to mind. It seemed like the obvious solution to what I perceived as an impossibly difficult situation. With only a brief thought of the damaging effects (which at the time, didn’t consist of hardly any), my eyes were even more longingly searching for a route to achieve this grandiosity. A decision as final as becoming an adult performer was not taken as seriously as it should have been. But at the age of 20, long-term consequences weren’t something that necessarily first popped into my mind. I wanted immediate results; immediate ease from the financial burden that was ruling the path my life would follow. I wanted to feel admired. Loved. I was in Los Angeles; I wanted it all.

Nervously, I scrambled through my phone contact list, hoping that I had at least gotten her number. I had to have it. Behold, there it was, with the title ‘porn star’ in her contact description. Upon so frantically searching for a way to contact her I was suddenly frozen with the realization that I had absolutely no clue what to say to her. Um, hey, I’m the ridiculously awkward girl from Minnesota who picked your brain about porn as if I’d never even seen sex before in my entire life… How do I become like you?

Yeah, real smooth.

To my surprise, her response was actually quite endearing. She happened to be with her agent at that very moment, asked me to send her some photographs of myself, and moments later said that he wanted to meet me in person. My heart just about fell out of my butt – the whole interaction occurred in no more than 3 minutes, and I was already prepping to bolt out the door to head to the infamous Porn Valley, unaware that her agent happened to be one of the most reputable in the world.

I had no idea of what to expect. I didn’t imagine there’d be some sort of “audition” or anything to that extent. The idea was just too preposterous to be real.

Expecting some lavish Hollywood estate, my GPS brought me to a fairly unassuming apartment complex in the middle of suburbia. I was anxious. I could feel the hammering of my heart slamming against my chest. My palms were embarrassingly sweating, though I could likely blame it on the notorious valley heat. What was I even supposed to say to the guy? The journey from the car to his apartment door took entirely longer than it should have, but as I stood awkwardly at his door I knew I couldn’t stall any longer. I knocked, quietly, and then immediately panicked, worrying I hadn’t knocked hard enough. What if he did hear me and I knocked again and he thought I was an impatient brat? I waited. Longer. And longer still. My hand slowly crept up to knock again, and just as my knuckles nearly made contact with the door, it swung open, revealing something I’m not sure anyone could have expected.

What stood before me, well, I should say below me, was a rather stout man. And to be brutally frank, he was rather reminiscent of a troll. He gruffly invited me inside and sort of hobbled to what I perceived to be the living room, littered with dozens of copies of adult magazines and boxes stacked full of various XXX movies. I cleared myself a spot on the sofa and looked at him anxiously, still absolutely unsure of what to expect. And then the bombardment of blunt questions ensued.

“So, what’s your name? Andy said you wanted in the biz.”

“Uh.. Melissa.”

“You’ll need a stage name. You live in LA?”

I nodded.

“You gotta car?”

“No. Well, kinda… my friend let’s me borrow theirs-”

“That’s fine. Okay. Get naked.”

A million scenarios ran through my mind in the instant after I registered what he had just said. The one that rang loudest was that please, for the love of all that is pure and holy, please God don’t make me have sex with this man. And I’m not even religious in the least. At all.

I slowly undressed, wishing I had worn something with a few less buttons so my fingers wouldn’t keep clumsily struggling with each one. I draped my clothing over the side of the sofa and stood there, somewhat trying to shield myself but also only giving it a halfhearted attempt as I knew there was no point. He asked me to turn around. Slightly bend over. Every request was in a gruff, monotone voice. Seemingly, he was not even phased that a woman was naked in front of him, her ass in the air. I was showing myself like a show dog to a man I had only met ten minutes prior.

“Good. No scars. No bad tattoos. You’re a little skinny but I guess it’s fine unless you’re a fuckin’ druggie. I don’t have time for that bullshit. You can put your clothes back on.” I reassured him of my lack of drug use as I hastily clothed myself, feeling all the more comfortable without being so completely exposed. The feeling of comfort was only temporary as even more questions began to follow.

“Do you do boys? Girls? Anal? BDSM? What about gang bangs? Interracial?”

I wrung my hands in my lap completely taken aback by his bluntness. I hadn’t even thought of these questions myself, even in my own perceived perversion. I couldn’t even look him in the eyes because of shyness, and I wasn’t sure if it was my own embarrassment, or my embarrassment for a man who was seemingly so unaffected with requesting a young female undressing herself, and what preference she had on what body parts entered her body. But even then, in my complete lack of understanding, I knew that his behavior likely would be mirrored by many others that I would surely meet in the near future. The immense detachment from sexuality blew my mind, even though the intent of the industry was to emote that very thing.

“So, we gotta get ya tested. It’s about a hundred bucks. You got that?”

I shook my head.

“Well then I guess I can cover it this time, we’ll just take it outta your first check. I’m gonna call a few people and maybe we can have you go on a couple go-see’s today. Lemme make some calls.”

He waddled back to what I assumed was his bedroom and shut the door, and I remained in silence, unsure of what to do with myself. My palms were still sweaty. Damn it. I felt stupid because I wasn’t being very talkative and didn’t really know much about the industry. I wanted more to offer to prove myself to this man that I just met. But for what reason? Why the need to impress some random person that I had only known to be a porn agent? The even brief notion of my worry of having “class” and “etiquette” completely blows my mind in hindsight. For fuck’s sake, I had just stripped myself nude and bent over in front of the man. The thought of myself having any sort of dignity at the point was long gone in almost a laughable obviousness. It was pathetic. But what was more pathetic was the fact that I felt like I truly didn’t care.

By the end of the day, my urine and blood samples were en route to some lab in the valley and I waited anxiously in the comfort of my bed. Not that I was anxious at the results of my test, but having being tested made the whole situation all the more real. I was just intrigued at the idea of possibly dabbling in the industry, but it seemed in less than 24 hours I was already on my way to be a full fledged porn star.