Asa Akira - Dirty Thirty: A Coming of Age Story

Copyright 2016 by Asa Akira.

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson Street, Thirty-Seventh Floor, Suite 3705, Jersey City, NJ 07302.

Printed in the United States.

Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink

Cover Art: David Choe

Text design: Frank Wiedemann

First Edition.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-164-0

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-165-7

Dedicated to Toni

Intro

It was one month and thirteen days before my birthday. I wasnt normally one for counting down to holidaysespecially when they were personalbut this was a special one, my thirtieth. So far, anticipating it was turning out to be a lot like waiting for a tab of acid to hit; one by one, as my peers experienced the customary thirty-year-old freak-out, I patiently waited for my turn. With every moody period day, I wondered: Is this is itam I feeling it? Is this the beginning stage? Is this when I start to panic about my age? I think Im feeling it! But as every period ended, I realized no, this was not it. I was still stone-cold sober.

For as long as I could remember, Id known with absolute certainty that turning thirty came with a whole show of dramatics. Knowing this was like knowing the earth is round. On television, in the movies, there was always the girl on her birthday, crying because nothing had gone according to plan, crying because her boyfriend had not proposed, crying because of, well, just the overall pressure of being a real-life adult. It had been ingrained in me, the idea of the thirty-year-olds panic attack. Whenever someone asked me my age, I found myself automatically saying something like I cant believe Im about to be thirty. Thats so crazy.

The truth was, it didnt feel crazy at all. I almostno, absolutelywished it did. It was what Id been expecting. Sometimes I would try to force myself to think of all the things I thought Id have by this age but didnt: a child, a primary care physician, a credit card. Id close my eyes and concentrate on thoughts like: My mom was already pregnant with me at this age. Biggie had already been dead for seven years when his thirtieth birthday came around. I didnt think Id be thirty with Hello Kitty stickers still on my phone. I didnt think Id be thirty and still be watching Teen Mom; grownups didnt do that! And certainly, I didnt think Id be thirty and still be using the word grownup.

That weekend, we were in Philly: Me, Jay, Mike. They were brothers, guys I had known since I was nineteen years old. I met them when I was waitressing at an underground poker club in New York Citythese guys had known me since my boobs were real. Since before I had worked in the adult industry, in any capacity. Since I had still lived at home with my parents. Since before I was married, the first time. Now, whenever I had a feature-dance gig on the East Coast, I had them drive up from New York City to help me. Its not a glamorous job, helping me on the roadits all staying in cheap hotels, counting dirty singles, making sure I dont get raped during lap dances. Its a job that pays alright, but its not like they needed the money. I like to tell myself theyre in it more for the intangible compensation of their old friends company.

We were sitting around the table in my dressing room. Dressing room. A term Id come to use very lightly. Its rare that a strip club has an official room solely dedicated to housing the feature performer. There were no green rooms in the feature dancing world. One time, a club just put me in a spare bathroom; I sat on the toilet to strap my heels on before going onstage. Tonight, we were lucky: They had given us a nice champagne room to use. Nice. Another word Id come to use lightly. If you ever get the chance to go into a champagne room with the lights on, I strongly suggest you dont take it. It will make you question why a place like a strip club would decide on fabric upholstery.

The guys were counting the singles I had just made onstage, while I looked at my phone while wearing nothing but a towel, my feet crossed on the table. We probably looked like a scene out of some gangster movie, only with much smaller denominations of money. I scrolled through my Twitter feed.

Oh shit! I sat up, stomping my six-inch heels on the floor. The AVN nominations are up.

I scanned through the list looking for my name. I found it a few times: best anal scene, best solo scene, best website...

I couldnt fucking believe it. Squinting my eyes, I looked at the list againmaybe I had missed somethingusing my finger, pointing at each name, making sure it was not mine. I did this four times before giving up.

For the first time in five years, I was not nominated for performer of the year.

I looked up to see that the guys were finished counting the singles.

Well? Howd you do? Jay asked.

Im up for a bunch, I casually answered, not wanting to seem like I cared. Except for performer. Its fine though, I mean I already won it two years agoplus, its not fair if a contract star gets nominated for it anyway. The other girls work way more. Like, I really dont care, I said way too fast.

Cool, Mike answered. The guys knew me well enough to know that I was lying. That I did care. That I felt like shit. They also knew me well enough to know that discussing it would only make it worse. Pretending he needed to go do something, Mike left the room. Jay soon followed, mumbling that he was thirsty. Silently, I thanked themI was sure my pride could not have continued the conversation further.

I didnt always care about the awards. My third year into porn, my date to AVN was the original Gonzo Queen herself, Jenna Haze. As we got our makeup done for the show in her hotel room, I distinctly remember being shocked at how nervous she seemed, unable to sit still in the chairshe was Jenna Haze, a huge star by then, winner of dozens of awards, one of the biggest names in porn ever.

Im so nervous! Jenna had squealed, gripping the armrests on the makeup chair. I just want to win one. Once I win one, Ill be fine.

Did she know these were just porn awards? Winning an award in porn, wasnt that like being the tallest midget? Did it really matter so much? Without saying anything, I silently judged her as she lost cool points in my mind. Its that classic thing about meeting your idols: They become real human beings, with real insecurities and personality flaws.

That night, I won my first award. It was for best double penetration scene, which had been my first DP, ever. And then I won for best anal. And then best lesbian three-way. I won five awards total that night.

And I came to understand Jennas love of winning.

The next year, I was the same nervous wreck Jenna had been. I even repeated the exact phrase I had found so ridiculous twelve months ago: I just want to win one. Once I win one, Ill be fine. I had tasted the fruit, I wanted more. Only, rather than fruit, it was more like an illegal controlled substanceI