The Most Famous Cock in the World

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And I sucked it. I've even got photos to prove it.

It's 2:30 AM and I'm staring down at both of my tits, which have the letters "RJ" and a heart penned in magic marker on them. One of them is more faded than the other, but the mark of the beast is the same. They're Ron Jeremy's initials and tomorrow I will wake up with a reminder of easily one of the sleaziest nights of my entire life. Considering I've lived a life full of sleazy moments, it's no wonder the one that tops them all involves the most famous porn star of all time.

Let's start at the beginning. My friend Ellen and I went to see "The Great Porn Debate" featuring Ron Jeremy debating self-proclaimed "(Anti-)Porn Pastor" Craig Gross (story on this coming later). After the debate, Ellen and I lined up to get meet and greet Ron, like many other attendees, at which point Ron first signed our boobs (after sneaking a peek first). After quizzing us about what our plans were for later in the evening, I replied, "we don't know what are you doing?" Ron then handed me a business card with his address, voice mail, and cell number on it and instructed me to call him in half an hour. Astonished, Ellen and I skipped away like little schoolgirls into the night, giddy at the thought of hanging out with The Hedgehog for the night.

Could it really happen? Or was he just fucking with us? Does he just give out cards to girls who come to see him, hoping they'll call? Probably.

For the record, yes, he is gross and hairy and extremely sleazy, but on the filpside, he is intelligent to a degree and seems to genuinely enjoy meeting his fans. He makes a point to chat with everyone who waits to see him, signs autographs, and takes photos without rushing anyone. Ellen and I are both in the porn industry, she as a performer, myself as a director/crewmember, so for us, it was the chance of a lifetime. Why the hell not?

So about an hour after the signing, we placed a call to Ron's cell, but got a voicemail, figuring he probably never answered his phone anyway. Ellen had to be up at 5AM for work the next day anyway and was ready to retire for the night, but was willing to hold out for a few minutes. I called my friend Kathy, who missed the debate, but was more than up for hanging out.

Then the call came. I saw Ron's number turn up on the caller ID and almost shit my pants. This was really going to happen.

"Hello ladies, this is Ron Jeremy," he said and then informed me that he and his entourage were headed for a bar downtown and would call as soon as they reached their destination.

We rushed to get ready, but ended up staying in the jeans and t-shirts we'd already been wearing. Why the fuck not? Jeremy himself was dressed in a dirty "I Love PETA" t-shirt and sweatpants. Not exactly Mr. Fancy.

After a pit stop to get Kathy, we were on our way to meet up with Ron, who'd already changed destinations because the first bar he arrived at didn't serve food. Go figure. Talk in the car hinted that the possibility of something sexual happening with the 'hog wasn't totally out of the question, as long as we could get some photos of it. The three of us have sucked and fucked a lot of dicks in our day, so what the hell's one more. I mean, hey, at least this one's famous. The three of us began to feel a bit like sleazebag ho's at this point, but let's face it...we are sleazebag hos'. And damn proud of it.

We picked up a disposable camera at Walgreens and headed toward the bar, sandwiched in with a dozen or so other bars in an area called "Rush Street", but is actually Division St. Most of these bars are frequented by jocks, desperate young singles, tourists, and suburbanites, but on any given night, you'd have to hold a gun to my head to go into one of these places. Since it was a Monday, I was willing to make an exception. Our guest of honor was sitting at the first table by the door, flanked by his manager, a documentary crew, and a few other hangers on. They pulled up some chairs for us and we began chatting.

Kathy, being the sex worker activist, started to chat up Ron about the political activism she was working on, but he was having none of that. Ron wanted to chat with Ellen, who's young and was more than a little tipsy at this point, so they exchanged seats. As Ron and Ellen got into some deep conversation about her work as a porn performer, Kathy and I began chatting with the debate's moderator, an intelligent and likable guy from California. Ron's cranky manager sat silently next to me, checking his watch periodically and egging Ron on to wrap things up. A camerawoman videotaped the proceedings for a documentary she's working on about the debate tour, in which Ron, Craig, and Craig's family tour the country in a bus, bunking together despite their difference of opinions.

About twenty minutes later, Ron and Ellen get up and announce they're "going outside for some fresh air", along with Ron's manager, who also seems to substitute as his full-time baby-sitter. The rest of the entourage can sense where this is going, but Kathy and I stay put and continue on with our conversation. I feel somewhat mortified that we are "the chosen bimbos" for the night, but we dispel the myths by striking up some engaging conversation with the other members of his posse. We'll never see these people again anyway, so who the fuck cares?

Ron and Ellen return some time later, along with the manager. Ellen's got a sly grin on her face so I decide to start snapping some photos, the whole reason we came out anyway. If there was ever a Kodak moment, it was this, and the rest of the world agrees. All night, men and women stroll up to the table to take their photos with Ron and he always gladly obliges. I'd be willing to guess he's one of the most photographed people in the world.

After I snap a few pics, Ron cops a feel by sticking his hand down my pants, which I laugh off, but find more than a little inappropriate. He signs my top of my left boob with his trademark "RJ" again and asks me if I want to take see his cock.

But of course I do...who doesn't?

This is, of course, his way of getting you to give him a little more. I want Ron Jeremy's famous cock on film, but what must I do to get it?

Ron replies, "Well I can't show you here, in the bar, but come with me out to the alley and I'll show you."

Duh! 'Sure Mr. Jeremy, just whip out your dick, let me snap a few photos and I'll be good.' But come on...everybody asks for pictures of his dick. He's gotta get a little something in exchange for it.

So we go through the alley, up a stairwell behind the bar and I whip out the camera ready so snap away. Ron's not ready, though, and wants to fool around a bit to help him get hard, so I oblige, showing him my titties and ass, until he gets hard. He pleads for more and finally whips out the monster cock, which is thick as all hell and long, but not too long. He performs the famous "hedgehog pinch" in which he holds the base of his cock to keep it hard, making it go from soft to hard and back again. The truth is that the cock never really gets fully hard and he must hold it like that to maintain the erection (I've seen him do this in movies as well). I take the whole thing in my mouth for a few seconds and he finally lets me snap away. He continues to plead for more, asking to shoot his load, but I instruct him to put it back in his pants and deny his requests. As we walk down the stairwell, he points to a side alley, full of dumpsters, where we "can do a little more", but I laugh him off and say "are you kidding me?" Sure enough, the manager/baby-sitter is waiting for us in the alley, complete with grumpy look on his face.

Ron says, "She had a good time...right didn't you?" The disgruntled manager reminds Ron about the bus leaving soon again.

"Yeah, I got some great photos," was all I could say.

We return to the bar, where Kathy kids me about having cum on my face and I try to pretend that all I did was take photos of Ron's cock. But these people know better.

Still, Ron's not done yet. Like a dog in heat, he pursues Kathy this time and asks if she wants to see "it", to which Kathy replies "sure, might as well." Oh boy, we are total suckers. If Ron Jeremy' penis was a circus sideshow attraction, people would come and suck it, one by one.

Kathy and Ron go to the alley for the same routine, but by now, the entourage is worried about missing the bus and begin to dissipate into the night. Their van pulls up and Ellen and I stand awkwardly in front of the bar, comparing our experiences, which seemed to be eerily similar. Kathy finally appears with Ron, complete with cum dripping off her wrists and hands, which I promptly snap a photo of. Ron had wanted to cum in her mouth, but she talked him out of it, instead offering to jerk him off. Apparently he shot his load without any help or touching at all, as if on cue.

We say our good-byes and Ron's van rolls away, taking them to the bus and onto the next city, where surely Ron will repeat this sleazefest with some other random women. Good riddens.

As we finally reach my car, I start screaming, realizing there is nowhere I can take these photos to be processed. None of us were equipped with a digital camera, so my little Kodak disposable remains full of this smut until I can find a proper and discreet way of having them processed.

If anyone knows of somewhere, please let me know. Our MySpace profiles are waiting.


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The Libertine's Room

"I consider myself to be an intellectual slut, a deep thinker with a dirty mind, so to speak. Unlike most women, I don't aspire for children or marriage, but for personal satisfaction." She also runs

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