LOS ANGELES — “Have you had sex with a woman before?” I asked Domino Presley.
“When I was a dude,” she says. “Years ago, but not as a woman.”
We’re on the set of Jessica Drake’s showcase, “Jessica Drake is Wicked.” Today marks the first-time Wicked will shoot trans performers. Drake lounges in an ACLU sweater while a makeup artist shadows her eyes with swooshes of black. Her dark makeup and black wardrobe contrasts with the all-white backdrop. The set is meant to evoke a fashion shoot. She wants to promote the idea that beauty is beauty, no matter what blend of genders it comes packaged in.
“How did you decide to finally shoot with trans performers?” I ask.
“I’m at the point, not only in my career, but in life, where I’m doing things that are truer to my sexuality,” she says. “I identify as pansexual, and I want to have sex with who I want to have sex with.”
Along with being the director and Drake’s significant other, Brad Armstrong coordinates costumes. He outfits Drake, Presley, Aubrey Kate and Venus Lux in collages of black. He pieces together looks that are both tough and feminine from two folding tables covered in items cannibalized from lingerie sets, fetish gear and a few of Drake’s famed red-carpet gowns.
Soon the women are posing against the white backdrop while dressed in an all-black ensemble of spiked heels, lace bustiers, fishnet leggings, pleather chokers, ruffled skirts and downy trains that hang off them like tail feathers. Drake stands in the center of the group in a black veil and tiara. The women sway to music, filming a tease that will precede their sex scene. The cameras mimic the movements of the performers’ hands, slowly exploring their curves.
I snap a photo and message it to a friend. I ask him to pick the one performer in the group who was born without a cock. He guesses wrong — three times. He takes this failure as an indictment against his heterosexuality as opposed to a testament to just how feminine these performers are. After all, trans content often caters to a unique market segment predominantly comprised of male consumers attracted to a trans woman’s feminine curves and their cocks — “big dick” is apparently one of the most searched terms this demographic types into porn sites.
The production team breaks for lunch before starting the sex scene. The crew gossips about adult performers who have gone too far with plastic surgery, transforming themselves into caricatures of femininity.
“Which of the women do you think has the most natural looking boob job?” I ask Presley.
“Probably Jessica,” Presley says. “But I have the nicest ass.”
“Is it real?”
“No,” Presley says. “But it’s nice.”
In a modern context, the concept of “natural beauty” is meaningless. We’re all androids, augmenting ourselves through technology. Hair extensions, acrylic nails, spray tans, implants and makeup are all staples of the beauty industry. Men too artificially enhance their masculinity with supplements, steroids, weights and acne medicine. Even technologies as simple as toothbrushes, razors and lotions help polish our appeal. This is to say nothing of the photo-shopping techniques we use to craft our virtual identities. This pursuit of an idealized form is a fundamental aspect of human nature. Ancient Greeks and Egyptians crafted myths, sculptures and paintings of supermen and women. Both worshiped hybrid deities who were equal parts god and man, animal and human, male and female. Androgynous fertility gods were praised in cultures across the globe. Pornographers are simply the latest architects of the erotic, facilitating our desires on film. Porn stars are modern deities, erotic illusions we worship on plasma-screen altars.
The cast assembles on a white couch to discuss their impending sex scene. Drake removes her spiked collar to avoid impaling her costars.
“In a perfect world,” she says, “I’d love to get DPed in this scene, but we’ll see how it goes.”
Armstrong explains how they will start the scene with softcore action. The trans performers are unfamiliar with the concept of softcore sex.
“Basically,” Armstrong explains, “just keep your junk hidden for the first ten minutes.”
“What, this?” Kate jokes, spreading a flap of skin hanging out of her panties. “That’s just my labia majora. It’s bigger than most girls.”
In anticipation of the scene, Kate and Presley act the way most female performers do when fitted in strap-ons. They dry hump their costars and pop their hips to make their cocks bounce.
Armstrong calls for action. The sex quickly transitions from soft to hard. Kate and Presley go from rubbing their panties as if fingering their clits, to whipping out their dicks. Drake opens up for the camera, spreading her legs as Lux spits on her clit and licks it clean.
The action gets so hot that Armstrong repeatedly cuts so the models can cool down.
“Can we turn the fans on?” Lux asks. “I’m sweating my balls off.”
Kate, Presley and Lux step out of the warehouse to get some fresh air and to smoke. One of the PAs runs after them with American flag towels, yelling that they can’t go outside with their cocks swinging in the wind.
Between each take, Drake continues sucking every cock within reach to keep them camera-ready.
“What’s your favorite position for banging vadge?” Armstrong asks Kate while Drake orally stokes her erection.
“I don’t know,” Kate says, holding Drake’s hair. “I’ve only been with like four girls.”
The cameras roll. Drake takes control, riding Kate. Then Lux fucks Drake from behind, digging her stilettos into the couch, until Lux cums on Drake’s ass.
The production takes a last break as Kate and Presley prep their erections for the finale.
“We need some cock motivation,” Kate tells Armstrong. “Can you have the crew strip?”
The videographer, Barret Blade, sheds his shorts to his cactus-print boxers. The muscular cameraman, Edwin Lee, strips his shirt. I too peel off my shirt to do my part as a visual fluffer. That and I think sitting shirtless on the couch between Kate and Presley as they masturbate will make for a memorable photo.
“Can we put our cocks in your face?” Kate asks the moment I pose on the sofa.
Without waiting for my response, Kate and Presley sandwich me between them. I smile nervously and stare straight ahead. I still have some work to do when it comes to being comfortable with having two attractive women drape their cocks over my bare shoulders.