Aaliyah's tits.

Turd hole been blowed out. Not gonna qualify for the Prettiest Starfish Award.

After the novelty of fucking whores regularly wore off, porn began to consume Brandon. While he might've been the one fucking, was essentially he the fucked one? Dignity, a fading memory. This was about primal, heavy stuff - like branded corn flakes and the better meth further down the park.
It took a while and dawned on him: If he wasn't a used man, would he have what it takes to use others; men, women - everyone? He didn't think of it for a while and saw an ad of a modeling agency in some paper he used to protect his glass pipe.
Attractive wages, flexible working hours. He could really use that. To the phone he walked.

Mikey was on the case, every case. All the time.

He began to breathe the air of the industry way back, when hair was funny and drugs had good quality. Even he could do some on-camera work then and all it took was one more pretty country girl with a lot of hopes and dreams. He liked hopes and dreams. They were so fragile it was hard for him not to jinx it all, basically being a self-admitted klutz.

After her fame clocked out, she ended up as a strawberry express BJ hooker on a lil' turkey disount while he was sent among us for a higher cause to uphold.
For porn. For freedom. For society. And a bit of ego as well.
Today he's more than an institution; he's a silent guardian. A fighter, forevermore an arbiter of light.

I'm at the point now where I provide a revenue share on future earnings. I show examples of my content on some of the leading tube sites, including the AVN award-winning one, and they seem to believe the money will follow.

One "user" uploads. Another "user" hires the talent.