Chapter 12

I really didn't have to worry about finances after I'd shot the porno flick for Ernie. Not that I got rich on it-I just got my flat salary, like I've said. But my agent turned up some really fantastic work for me in advertising soon after the dry spell, and I've been busy ever since.

For a change, it wasn't the association with Pussy that got me the work. My ad I'd done for the dishwashing product had come out and created a minor sensation. I was once again surprised at people's tastes, feeling that this ad, along with the drink layout I'd done for Ralph, vie for top honors on my list of poorly-done work.

But who's arguing? That little gem got me more work in New York than I'd ever dreamed possible. I got to travel to various locations around the world on some assignments; meet famous people; make more money than I knew what to do with; and established a reputation as a fine photographer, gaining recognition from many of my peers.

The last part was the best part for me. I'd really proved it to myself that I could make it. Oh, once in awhile I'd get panned by some jerk, but they usually didn't know what they were talking about-like the guy who insisted on calling me a photographess. That's why I joke about the word so much now. Imagine, trying to put a gender to it. One of the few occupations where they don't classify by a generic term, and he has to invent one because he feels so threatened by it. I suppose some of the other women photographers who have made it have had to go through the same shit, but it's not fair. You have to actually be better than a man by a long shot to make it, just the same as a black man and a white man competing for the same job. Probably the reason they never put a female tag on the word is that it never occurred to someone, way back whenever it was that they named it, that a female might someday actually take photographs.

But I'll back off the soap box for awhile, lest you think it was all a bummer. It was far from it. I've got to admit that it was really an ego-trip for me as I could hardly believe I'd made it so big. If I hadn't have made it, I wouldn't even be able to point out the negative effects of photography (no pun intended-O.K., so it was, so what?), for I wouldn't have a forum. And the only reason I point out such discriminations is in hopes of developing a positive alternative.

I took an apartment in New York since I was working there so much, keeping up my place in L.A. as well. My income jumped to a fantastic sixty-thousand that year, and it was all I could do to find a good investment counselor to take care of it for me. And the next year it got even better.

I started getting offers from good old Ralph again about this time, and I just put him off, digging on the satisfaction of having him where-I wanted. I finally did consent to do a layout for him, since his magazine was becoming more prestigious, but still not up to snuff of the other new magazines like Penthouse that had entered the field, cornering the market on above-the-counter kinkiness. I insisted that I do it on my terms, demanding three times the amount I used to get from him.

I was surprised when he agreed to it, so I offered a final kicker-he was to sell all the photos taken of me, with the exception of the original centerfold bit. I didn't have anything against the display of the nude body-I just didn't want him exploiting the shit out of me in the future, blackmailing me with those photos being run over and over again. I didn't really expect him to go along with this part, but he struck a compromise, offering me a fee about one-third less in exchange for the photo rights. He knew I could sell magazines, and he was willing to go this far to give it another try.

So I was locked into the deal. I agreed to let him show a small reproduction of the original centerfold as an intro to my photo/article, but warned him not to drum it up. I later learned that his feelings for me weren't so sentimental as I'd imagined. He'd sort of overextended himself with the various clubs, record companies and so forth, and he wanted to regroup his finances into the publishing end to pull himself out. In short, he'd tried to get too big too fast, and now he was facing other competition from would-be challengers to Hef's throne.

I did a very tasteful layout of nude models superimposed in nature settings, and he was very happy with it. Plus, I got the rights to the photos, and mainly the ego-trip of dealing with him on equal footing.

I did another layout for Pussy later on, this time getting the salary I demanded as he had no other negotiable items to hold over my head. I only wish I hadn't done that last thing for his new magazine, but that's a whole other story, one that I deal with later in this saga.

I made a lot of new friends during this period of my life, finally getting to travel to some far-off spots I'd dreamed about, often as part of a job, the particular agency I was working for at the time picking up the tab.

As the old saying goes, the busier you are the more you can take on. At a publisher's request, I began to collect some of my photographs together for a book. I used primarily shots I hadn't published before, special photographs that meant something special to me.

I finally got them all together, and when it was published I was amazed that I got such good reviews, being taken as a serious artistic photographer for the first time. The sales of the book was moderately good to boot, for a photographic book at any rate, and it was another feather in my cap. I had really been fortunate since leaving Pussy, with the exception of that one brief spell. I was recognized and making money besides, having the best of both worlds. It may sound like it all went to my head, but I assure you that I'm not so much bragging as downright amazed that I'd come so far. I had never hoped to even practice photography, much less become so successful at it.

My love life was rather full in those days. I had a brief fling with a famous ballet dancer while in New York, who shall remain nameless here. Just let me say to those of you who might scoff at the masculinity of men who dance ballet

-you're all wet. He was the most adept, the most vigorous, virile and well-hung man I've ever known. Many's the night that he outlasted me in the sack. There's probably no athlete in the world in better condition than a ballet dancer, so before you decide to call such men 'sissies,' you'd better think twice.

I had a somewhat longer-term relationship with a woman I met back there, a librarian I met at a party. We lived together for a number of years, Jean-that's her name-taking care of the New York apartment while I was in L.A.

She was several years older than me, a confirmed lesbian. While I did enjoy her expert love-making-she was really good with a vibrator-I began to tire of her jealous rages whenever I'd go out with another man or woman. She took to calling me in L.A., asking me who I was with, and she really became quite a bother. When I gave her the boot, she threatened to blackmail me, but I called her bluff and dared her to try. It wouldn't work now anyway, as she was going to exopse me as a bisexual, and I'm afraid this book pretty well opens that can of worms doesn't it? Not that I view it as being a can of worms, mind you.

Besides these two, I've had a constant variety of sexual partners all over the world. As I'm always on the move, I try not to get tied down.

My sister, having first been shocked by my lifestyle, has come around to understanding at least a part of me. I think it's my material success that's swayed her though, as I'm sure she and her husband (yes, she's still married to the same miserable man, leading the same dull life) don't approve of my activities outside of photography, and probably don't like some of them inside it. To those who seek to knock it, I can only say 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but fuck off.'