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clothes off. He walked out of the pastel yellow room to go answer the door. I just sat there stunned on the bed, with my panties dangling from my right ankle.
    Victor returned with a skinny guy in a floppy baseball cap carrying some more professional looking photo equipment. “This is the still photographer. He’s going to get some different poses. Keep it really young-girl and innocent looking. This is for the box cover.” Victor then moved about the room, looking busy. He and I didn’t make eye contact at all. I still had no idea what was going on. I wish I had asked, but I didn’t know I had to: What the fuck? I thought Victor was taking the picture for the box cover. Why did I have to get there two and a half hours early? So he could fuck and molest me?
    I felt ashamed of being so clueless. I let Victor force his cock in and dry fuck my asshole. I didn’t even know if it was okay to be upset about it. The guilt from being so high on coke and doing porno in the first place outweighed everything else. I assumed I had signed over my basic rights as a human being—respect, personal will, self-determination—as soon as I decided to be a porno girl.
    The real photo shoot only took about forty-five minutes. When I got home, Tyler eagerly asked how it was. I replied, “It was fine. I think I did a good job.”
    “Did anything happen? Did he try anything with you?” Colby told Tyler that Victor was notorious for fucking all the new girls he shoots off-scene. Thanks for the heads-up. I’d had no knowledge of this. How could I tell him that his hero Victor was a sexual predator?
    “No, nothing happened. Nothing like that at all. He was really nice. He said to tell you hello.” God, I am such a horrible liar. It shows all over my face and in my body language. I have a tell: When I lie I shake my head and plead with my eyes. My upper cheeks scrunch, which creates a forced dimple, a liar’s dimple.
    Tyler wouldn’t understand, I thought. He would never believe that I didn’t like it. He thought Victor was a superstar. In Tyler’s eyes influential, attractive people, especially porn stars like Victor, don’t have to force someone to fuck them.
    I worked for Victor a few more times. I did what I thought was the professional thing a performer should do: I didn’t talk bad about him to anyone. He was more popular and powerful in the business than I was. I was afraid that I would look like someone who made trouble. Producers and directors don’t like girls who cause trouble. What legitimate accusations could I make and be taken seriously? Rape? I was new to the business, fucked-up on coke, and not yet aware of the power I still had to say no. Victor took advantage of that, sexually and otherwise.
    Several other girls I’ve come to know in the business have told me their own stories about Victor. The girls were all young, pretty, new, and on drugs, too. Like me, they were scheduled to get to the shoot hours before anyone else arrived. One girl told me she ran out of the house screaming. She had to borrow a phone to call her agent for a ride. She told everyone that Victor tried to rape her. Nobody cared or did a thing, because this girl was a beautiful, nineteen year old, crystal meth addict. There would be plenty more na ï ve, messed-up girls for Victor to prey upon.

Chapter Five
    Spring Chicken
    O ne scene I did for Anabolic was for a movie called Spring Chickens . It was the debut title in a new series of videos. Colby called the director, Brett, on my behalf. Brett was a “good friend” of Colby’s. All of the people Colby knew were either his “good friends,” his “really good friends,” or his “best friends.” Tyler had the same rating system. I was not so quick to call anyone a good friend. Colby was Tyler’s “really good friend,” so we trusted his opinion.
    Brett’s porno name was John and he’d been doing scenes since the eighties. He was in porn’s Hall of Fame and was another one of