It's not often--covering the jiz beat--that I go on an assignment that could potentially be dangerous. But recently I investigated some intriguing rumors--more like shreds of rumors--that took me to the very heart of darkness within the porn biz.

For some time now, I've been reading and hearing more and more about a charismatic pornographer, Slain Wayne. At first, I chalked the hype up to, well, simply to hype. In fact, I began to admire this guy's ability to get others to speak and write so positively about him. But maybe 'positive' isn't the right word. Everything I began to hear, and everything I began to read, took on a tone that seemed more than merely positive, it was something that began to sound an awful lot like reverance; and a mysterious sort of reverance at that.

Reverance is not a word often associated with the jiz biz, except maybe when describing a very few, rabid, fans of certain pornographers and/or porn stars. I certainly can't ever remember hearing anything close to reverance from within the ranks of this business speaking of others within its ranks, except from certain directors or talent who were speaking of themselves. (Tom Zupko, Al Borda, and Nick Manning come to mind). But never have I heard, or better yet, 'sensed,' reverance from ordinary porn people towards one who I thought was simply ordinary porn people himself.

I decided I would have to meet this enigmatic Slain Wayne.

It turns out he wasn't hard to find. I know this guy, Joey Strange. Now Joey's no ordinary Joe: He's a professional bloodletter, suspension artist, and Dom. That means he spends his time either being suspended by ropes attached to meathooks that are pierced in his flesh, or he's opening his veins and arteries (either for profit or for the fun of it), or both, or he's gleefully whipping the attitude out of some bound-up, suddenly humble, bimbo. And by the way, when we're talking bloodletting, we're not talking about donating blood to the Red Cross here. When Joey opens a vein or veins, he does so for its entertainment value. Joey's also been a Dom in a fair number of videos, one of which I have a copy of in my own, personal collection. It's called "Punished in Plaid," and I highly recommend it.

Recently, Joey was featured on TV on either the "Ripley's Believe it or Not," show, or the "Guiness Book of World Records" show; I can't remember which. In the segment, Joey was hung from a helicopter, much like Richard Harris was hung by Indians in that movie, "A Man Called Horse," while the chopper hovered near the Hollywood Sign. Joey either won the "Guiness' Book of World Records" record for hanging from a helicoter, for the longest time, near the Hollywood Sign (which you know has to have plenty of competition), or he simply did it for "Wow" factor on RIpley's, which if you add a buck-sixty-five to, gets you a 'venti-size' coffee of the day at Starbucks.

So I get in touch with Joey through my many industry contacts, and when I ask him about Slain Wayne, Joey gets kind of solemn and downright weird and begins whispering things on the phone to me like, "Is this a secure line?" and "Are you sure you want to know about this?" and "Who else wants to know about this?" I assure Joey that only I want to know about this, and that I have no idea about the phone, but I think it's secure, I paid the bill. Believe it or not, it turns out Slain Wayne resides in a house directly next-door to the house Joey Strange regularly bleeds in.

I figure the best way to get the skinny on this Slain Wayne would be to arrive unannounced and without warning. My plan was to get in the house and in his presense by using the ruse of hiring him to do some video editing for me. I heard the guy's a pretty good cutter, and being both a shooter and a cutter myself, it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary.

I jump into my clean, smooth-running, '85 Silverado Suburban, gun the big V-8, 350, gas-gobbling monster, and listen to that dual-exhaust rumble as I head East out of the West San Fernando Valley to meet the mysterious Mr. Slain Wayne.

I arrive at the address Joey gave me and park my big, white, Cowboy Cadillac on the street. The house looks pretty non-descript: A house much like thousands of others you see every day in this neck of "The Valley." The first thing I notice is the gardening and the lawn care. Either Slain Wayne's pretty damn good with the flora, or he's got a kick-ass gardener. Everything's blooming and blossoming and green as hell as I walk up to the front door. I wipe my brow and straighten my trademark, black visor, and prepare to enter a nether-world few have seen or heard of.

Suddenly, I'm knocked back by an all too familair quandary: Should I knock or use the doorbell? This always baffles me. I'm never sure. With doorbells you run the risk that they're not working, but you don't know they're not working, because you can't always hear if they're working or not. Knocking works, but sometimes you have to pound pretty hard on the door, which often-times startles the people inside and makes them nervous and thinking there's either a maniac or a Jehova's Witness outside. Sometimes you have to open a screen door first, which I really hate to do because it's an aggressive move and now you have very anxious people inside who are even more sure they're dealing with a maniac or a religious zealot. After a bit of careful deliberation, I decide to simultaneously push on the doorbell's button, and rap on a small, nearby window with my knuckles.

I'm startled when almost at once the door swings open and standing in the doorway is this bomb of a cute girl, maybe 18 or 19, wearing low-cut hip-huggers, and a tube-top that barely covers her natural C-cups. She smiles like she knows me in the Biblical sense as my eyes travel to her erect nipples that are working so freaking hard to peek through the weave of the tube-top. "Hey!" She says in an upbeat voice. "Slain's been waiting for you." She steps back and to the side, allowing me to get past her tits and enter.

"Slain's been waiting for me?" I think to myself. But how could that be? He didn't know I was coming. He doesn't even know me! Maybe Joey Strange said something. That's it! Joey mentioned it. The girl didn't specifically mean Slain Wayne was waiting for me to arrive right at this precise moment. She meant he was waiting for me in a general sort of way. Okay. That makes more sense.

I followed the girl into the house. As she walked in front of me, i found myself staring at the perky way her ass-cheeks moved in those extra-tight hip-huggers. As she continued moving down a hallway, she non-chalantly pulled her tube top up and over her head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. She turned her sweet face back to me and smiled. "It's really hot today, don't you think?" I nodded vigorously while admiring her perfect 18 or 19 year old C-cup breasts.

No matter how long I'm in this business, I thought to myself, I'll never get tired of looking at a pair of puppies like the ones that jiggled, oh-so-perfectly, on this little minx's chest.

My topless, piece of eye-candy led me into an inner room of the house where I was confronted with two more little minx's lounging on a sofa together, watching an "I Love Lucy" re-run on the tube. Although these two were probably about the same age as my hot, little guide, and just as delicious, there was a slight difference: These two were completely naked.

TO BE CONTINUED





"