"There is also, possibly, sexual intelligence, a human capacity for discerning, manifesting, and constructing sexual integrity. Sexual intelligence could not be measured in numbers of orgasms, erections, or partners; nor could it show itself by posing painted clitoral lips in front of a camera; nor could one measure it by the number of children born; nor would it manifest as addiction. Sexual intelligence, like any other kind of intelligence, would be active and dynamic; it would need the real world, the direct experience of it; it would pose not buttocks but questions, answers, theories, ideas - in the form of desire or act or art or articulation."

"Most girls get their first experience in gonzo films - in which they’re taken to a crappy studio apartment in Mission Hills and penetrated in every hole possible by some abusive asshole who thinks her name is Bitch. And these girls, some of whom have the potential to become major stars in the industry, go home afterward and pledge never to do it again because it was such a terrible experience. (Pg. 132)

In a worst-case scenario, a gonzo director will take a girl to a hotel room and have their friends shoot a cheap scene in which she is humiliated in every orifice possible. She walks home with three thousand dollars, bowed legs, and a terrible impression of the industry. It’ll be her first and last movie, and she’ll regret it – to her dying day.” (Pg. 325)

In other scenarios, she’ll work for two weeks until she’s only getting paid seven hundred dollars a scene and then, finally, no one wants to use her anymore. So she’ll agree to do double penetration or drink the sperm of twelve guys just to stay working.” (Pg. 325)

If you take the time to read it (a sample adult-film contract) carefully, you will notice many ways in which a female performer can get shafted – both literally and metaphorically.” (Pg. 353)

It was the most irritating shoot of my life. When I spread for him, he joked about there being an echo in the room. When I went into a doggie position, he commented on needing a fish-eye lens for my ass. All evening, he kept making comments that one shouldn’t make around a woman, especially if one wants her to feel sexy.” (Pgs. 359-360)

For my first Wicked movies, I kept my mouth shut and absorbed everything that was going on. I looked at how the other girls were being treated (basically like Tinkertoys) and what type of people got to call the shots (the male directors). I was determined not to just be a fuck toy but also retain as much power as possible off camera.” (Pg. 368)

When they were finally ready to shoot, J.B. came into the makeup room and ordered: ‘Get your whore ass on set and do what you do best.’ He had just used the wrong word. I ran after him in a Tasmanian Devil frenzy. The crew had to pull us apart. It was late and my nerves were frayed, but nonetheless J.B. was out of line. And I was right: they were wasting time arguing about the lighting. When he left, I collapsed in my makeup chair and started crying. (Pgs. 453-454)"