copyright © 2006 Brian E. Rochlin


by Brian E. Rochlin


(Dick Slate sits at the edge of a bed, wearing a T-shirt and underwear. Through the scene, he gets dressed, pulling on his pants, socks, tying his sneakers, etc.)

Dick Slate

There are some things you can’t tell just by looking at someone. Like I didn’t expect it, but you were great, baby. Really great. And I should know.

I just want to be honest here. You know, not go leading you on or nothing. I figured you knew this was a one-time thing, but I just want to be sure. So there’s no hard feelings or anything.

I mean, you don’t really want a relationship with a porn star, anyway. Right?

C’mon. You didn’t know?

Well, I don’t watch that stuff either. I just work in the field.

You mean, you couldn’t tell by the size of my…. Or the full body makeup? Sorry again about the blouse. I’m sure your dry cleaner can get it out.

I guess if you didn’t know who I was how could you tell just by looking at me that I have a 12" dick. So what was it? What made you decide to take me home? Sure, it’s not unusual for me to have one of these one night things, but always it’s been because I’m a star.

No, I’m not saying that to brag, it’s just that in the biz, I’m kinda the go-to guy. More than 750 films in the past three years, and in some I’ve been asked to perform several times. Plus, with all my recreational sex, I’m at my dick’s end.

No, that’s what makes you special, baby. Let’s just say I don’t need to get laid. You’re one in a hundred. One in 750.

I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s that I get to sleep with the most beautiful women in the world, the best fucks on the planet, and I chose you. I mean, to me, you were more beautiful than any woman on earth last night.

I don’t do this too often. I try to keep my private life…as it is…private. It’s just…there are risks involved. All sorts of risks. My parents don’t know what I do, but I’m sure their neighbors do. I’ve seen the way they look at me as I’m walking up my folks’ front steps. The way they whisper and stare. But they’re not going to say anything because the "How would you know?" question comes right into play.

It’s ridiculous. After all, the industry is bigger than Hollywood. There’s only a few fewer viewers, but lots of repeat business kinda makes up for it. What I do is legit. But still, I have to keep it from my folks. They’re religious folk, if you know what I mean.

So I lie to them, which, when you think about it, is really much better. This secrecy, it keeps me modest. Like, I do all my own makeup, maybe get a little help with my hair. I always say "please" and "thank you."

Sure, maybe it’s a little ridiculous. After anally reaming 18-year-old Tanya, to say, "Hey, you were great. Thank you." Um, by the way… Thank you.

I get concerned about these young kids though. I think they’re too young to realize the risk of what they’re doing. I’ve seen more women lose their sense of self and fall prey to the wild parties and drugs and all. And some producers, they just keep demanding more and more. Like "I’m sorry, but can we put two dicks in your ass while you’re giving a blowjob to this guy while he’s taking a shit."

I apologize. I guess I sometimes don’t realize how I talk. You’re around it enough, you forget. Living on the edge like this all the time, I maybe have lost some of that sense.

I want to stop, but I’ve got to make a living, and really this is all I’m good at. God blessed me with a gift, and I feel obligated to use it. But it’s nice to spend a night with someone real, even if it’s just one night.

I only have a few more years before my dick won’t stand up on command. And I need to work as much as I can until then. So, I really don’t have time for a relationship. Besides, you don’t want to be with me. I’m really not that good a guy.

(He takes off his pajama top to put on his shirt. He is covered in purple lesions.)

After all, there’s a lot you can’t tell just by looking at someone. And when you pick someone up at a bar, you’ve gotta know the risks.



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