Hardcore Lesbian Pornstars

Just a short, sweet & sexy story…

The first time I met Sanja we were at opposite ends of a long, blue, double-ended dildo. I like to tell people that that was our first kiss, our lips pressed tenderly together at the midpoint of that enormous skewer. Truth is, I don’t remember that, but I do remember kissing her goodnight at the end of the day. I also remember that the dildo kept escaping us, like a serpent struggling to be free, and we couldn’t stop giggling. The director was furious with us afterwards.

We were both very young, still new to the business. It’s a lot to take in, having wild, passionate sex with a stranger, people watching and giving orders, glaring lights, intrusive cameras… I wouldn’t have been there at all if I hadn’t been an exhibitionist at heart, but having a handheld camera shoved in your face at the point of orgasm (it does happen) does rather kill the moment.

It takes time to sort out your feelings. Being a pornstar is a lot like being a chef. You spend the whole day in the kitchen, an almost clinically clean environment that gets gradually messier during the day, surrounded by bright lights and heat sources, people constantly giving you orders, hours of exhausting activity where you are the main performer.

It’s not that you don’t love cooking, because you do, but this is work, and you focus on getting through the day, doing your best work because people are very unforgiving of mistakes. And, most importantly, making people believe that this is your moment of passion, your aim in life – your raison d’être – being to please the customers.

But it’s a lie, or mostly a lie anyway. You’re a chef because you love to cook for yourself and for those you love. So your heart is not in the restaurant, but in the kitchen in your home, where there are no demands except the hunger to explore new tastes and aromas, where you can relax and enjoy your creativity.

I love sex, and when I’m working that’s all it is. Sex. An act of passion. Let me be clear. An act. I don’t mean that the orgasms are all faked. If you’ve ever watched me squirting, then… trust me, it’s intense. Also a little scary, because you feel completely out of control, your body literally exploding, no lover there to hold you, to keep you safe.

Sometimes pleasant, sometimes painful. Ultimately meaningless. But there are worse jobs. And there are days when I get to play with someone I genuinely like.

People are usually surprised when I tell them I’m a lesbian. Most of my screen time, after all, features me begging to be fucked harder by a big cock. Often more than one. It’s just an act. In some ways it’s easier than doing it with a woman, because you don’t have that voice in your head going, ‘I hope she’s enjoying what I’m doing to her.’

Like that first time with Sanja, a token lusty girl-on-girl scene, the rest of the film being ménage or straight one-on-one with a man. We were nervous around each other to begin with, feeling a mutual attraction, but the hilarity over the errant dildo broke the ice. Being bawled out by the director just solidified our dawning relationship. We did a sixty nine in the next scene, and really put heart and soul into making each other come.

Maybe that was our first kiss… Lips playing with lips, tongues exploring, delving playfully into warm depths… Not entirely an act.

No, our real first kiss was later that night. We left the party and went for a walk along the beach, hand in hand, the cloudless sky darkening as the sun sank into the Atlantic. Strange to have been so intimate during the day, and so shy to do less in the evening. Perhaps it was the knowledge that fate would soon tear us apart. We didn’t understand yet that what we had found in each other was more important than the career we had chosen for ourselves.

It was on the beach that we kissed goodnight. It was a perfect moment. The sand soft beneath our feet, dark waves washing the beach with gentle sighs, the sky bright with stars. We were far enough from the villa that it added charm rather than being intrusive. We were alone, the beach our own private kitchen, seductive and erotic, and our lips met in tentative exploration, delicate, curious, until we broke apart laughing.

We had discovered meaning.

We didn’t make love that night. I think we were afraid that more sex would trivialise that kiss. I don’t believe that any more, but I don’t regret that decision. I only regret that we thought we could live without each other.

Sanja is my life. We live together in a cabin by a lake, far from civilisation. Neither of us is freshly shaven or waxed, we don’t wear designer clothes or expensive perfumes, we’re certainly not as young and fit as we used to be. We don’t go for monthly medical tests, and we don’t taste of lubricant and men.

We are dirty, smelly and lazy, and we are perfect.