“Why do these motherfuckers from faraway places keep friggin’ messaging me?” I grumble, seeing a new message to one of my (very) dirty internet profiles. I’m in Toronto. It’s not like I’m going to San Francisco any time soon so I won’t meet ’em.

Curiosity kills, though, and I open the stranger’s message anyway.

“My name’s Patrick and I work in casting with TitanMen.com. Is there any chance you’d be interested in modelling for us?”

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Me? A Titan porn shoot? You’re not screwing with me?

Some things I would literally trade my soul for. Maybe this one I won’t have to. But it’s not a decision I should rush. After no less than seven minutes of careful deliberation, I cast the die to make me the freshest Canadian face in gay porn.

I’m 29, the age most pornstars are lining up for Geritol and preparing for retirement, but clearly it’s my time to shine.

Am I crazy?

I’ve got a real job, making good money. My gig’s consistent, I’ve got healthcare, client parties, vacation and perks. Most importantly though, I’ve got respect.

On the flip side, I’ll get fucked by Tyler Saint. And get filmed by TitanMen in full-on, inglorious HD while it goes down. Decisions. Decisions. By my calculations, nine inches far outmeasures any cotton-candy promises of stability. Easy.

See, I’d been planning — for years — to get into the magical world of porn. You could ask most of my friends and they’d all tell you how bored they were of hearing me say, “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna do porn. I don’t know how, but I’m gonna’ do it.” And it’s not like there was any shortage of opportunity. Since turning 17 I’ve been approached by six different studios. Despite temptation I’ve always turned down the opportunity because it had to be right.

Then along comes Titan and I know it is my last, best shot at industry penetration. So I say yes.

Titan arranges a shoot in San Francisco in six weeks. My schedule goes into overdrive as I spend every possible minute alternately in gyms or state-of-the-art tanning beds, beautifying to depths unknown. It pays off too. I’ve got nerves but at least I know I’ve done everything possible to make the scenes a success.

***
 
I step off the airplane and am whisked to the Titan apartments in downtown San Francisco. I can’t help but think I’m walking into the gay porn Big Brother house. The rules are simple: No guests, don’t make a mess. Mostly no guests. And to ensure strict respect of the rules, cameras on all exits. No problem. I’ll keep my dick in my pants — until told otherwise, anyway.

The apartments aren’t your everyday accommodation. The kitchen is stocked, not with food, but low-fat spreads (mostly expired), unidentifiable raw-food product and countless half-consumed feedbags of high-impact protein powder. Privacy isn’t a consideration either; the model suites are merely curtained-off rooms, if you’re lucky (or demure) enough to even get a privacy partition. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors adorn the modern loft-like walls, excepting a few gaps where kitschy retro porn posters remind me why I’m here. The bathroom is fully outfitted with a piped-in ShowerShot. A few days later I came back to find one of the other models obsessively cleaning the shower with this convenient and maneuverable enema nozzle’s high-pressure spray. Unsettling and hilarious.



My first stay at the apartments is short; only a few hours of relaxation before we head back to the airport to pick up model (and a personal porn hero) Tyler Saint. For real.

While looking around for Tyler in passenger pickup, I realize that I barely know what I’m looking for. Wondering if I’d even be able to recognize him fully clothed, my gaze locks on this hot, muscle-stud laughing away on his cellphone up ahead. Yep, it’s him alright.

Tyler hops in the back and a rush hits me as I come to terms with the reality that this friendly, deep-eyed and dark-skinned man is gonna be makin’ it with me in the morning. At this sexless moment, I love porn more than ever before.

We drive for about an hour, along a coastal highway that I’m pretty sure is from Basic Instinct, to a town outside San Francisco where we find the Titan ranch. Past the security gates and pulling up the driveway in the darkness, Patrick and Tyler trade stories about nosy neighbours, big mountain cats and the endless debauch that’s been committed here by studs in the past. The house itself is gorgeous and sprawling. No pool but acres of forest. Cabanas with outdoor showers surround the main house. I’m overwhelmed wandering through and imagining just how much hard-core fucking has gone down here.

I meet some of the cast of Titan’s wonderworks including directors/cinematographers Brian Mills (Funhouse, Bad Conduct and Flux) and Paul Wilde (Triage, Fist and Piss and Shock Treatment). Tyler and I horse around a bit to get comfortable. It’s late, though, and before long it’s time for a snack then off to bed. I wish I could sleep but the time shift is making me jumpy. Or maybe it’s ’cause I’m gonna be shooting porn in the morning? Fighting my way down, I finally doze off. Get your beauty sleep, man.

The shoot schedule goes like this: Wake up and eat for 7am, “hose off” at 8am and be ready to shoot for 9am. The meals on the ranch are expansive spreads, lovingly prepared by Wilde and full of the healthiest most nutritive things known to humankind.

 
Download the latest issue of Xtra, featuring cover boy Ryan Russell (PDF, approx 30MB)
This first scene with Tyler is for a flick called Folsom Maneuvers (Titan’s official release for the Folsom Street Fair this past September). It’s a full-on military scene. Tyler fucks the hell outta me while I’m strung up in parachute rigging, dangling from some heavy foliage, as if my chute got caught in the trees and I couldn’t get myself loose. But somehow my fatigues got lost on the way down. Air resistance, I guess?

Getting nailed in this improvised sling is the single hottest, hardest and best fuck I’ve known to date. Three hours later, I’m covered in piss, cum and sweat; Mills shouts, “Cut.” The scene ends and I can’t wait to do more. Though I am walking kinda funny.

The scenes with Tyler take about two full days to shoot before he disappears into the night. New hottie, recent TitanMen exclusive JR Matthews, returns in his place. JR is a muscle-twink strawberry blond who’s got a massive dick, still more massive shoulders and can be coerced into self-sucking on command.

For my scene with JR we’re both bottoming with some pretty heavy toys: unsurprisingly on-brand Titan Tools (“toys are for boys, tools are for men”). This one’s gonna be called, fittingly, Toolbox when it’s released early in 2010 and, among other things, we plow each other with vibrating nightsticks and a double-ended monster. The scene culminates with me working JR’s ass while he sucks himself to completion. Seriously, I get paid for this?

But things aren’t all fun and games on set. These are outdoor scenes and the weather isn’t fully cooperative. Despite looking like it’s a blazing summer day, we’re hemmed in with massive heaters just out of frame. Keeping raging hard-ons in the cool is tough stuff but being able to fuck around with the likes of JR and Tyler in between shots makes the going a touch easier.

The single biggest hard-on killer, however, comes just as we’re taking the first couple of still photographs for Toolbox. Totally unannounced, a real estate agent shows up with an older married couple who are there to see about buying the property (the Titan ranch is moving from San Fran to Palm Springs next year). Quick! Hide! Or at least put on some pants so we’re not just wearing boots and boners!

As the trio, who probably have about half a millennium among them, approach the house, I remember that I’ve left some of the tools all over a bed inside. Charging down the hill from the cabanas where we’re shooting, cordially greeting and passing our guests on the way in, I slip ahead and hide all the black rubber strewn about. Our hard-ons last just long enough to be awkward for the entire duration of the prospectors’ visit so JR and I can hurriedly pump ourselves back up when they leave and it’s finally time to start shooting again. It’s all about timing, really.

A few hours of assplay and fucking later, I’m chilling with some of the coolest homos around. That night Mills and I sit around watching American Beauty, laughing hysterically as Peter Gallagher pounds Annette Bening and asks, “You like getting nailed by the King?” before she screams, “Oh, yes, I Iove it! Fuck me, your majesty!” I suddenly know exactly how she feels.

It’s these magical moments that I’ll cherish forever. And, of course, the intensive, hours-and-hours-long poundings with monster cocks.
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