I Let My Roommate Film My First Threesome for Porn

This is how it happened, in real life: One Friday my hot queer performance artist friend Pepe ran into a cute straight metal drummer I'd been flirting with, Adrian, and invited him out with us that night. We club-hopped through downtown Mexico City, accompanying a DJ friend of ours who was looking for a venue for her next party.

The three of us wound up at a massive gay after-hours club that had once been a grand movie theater. I was dancing with Pepe; I was dancing with Adrian. The two boys danced together. Adrian's hands explored us both. A universal attraction seemed to be emerging, and at a certain point it became apparent that it was time to go home—which we decided to to do together.

It was my first threesome, and during the extravagant sex we wound up having that night, I found myself dwelling, of all things, on the concept of trialectics. Dialectics, as Plato tells us, is a system in which two entities interact with each other in an ongoing dance of push and pull, one factor effectively negating the other. Theoretically speaking, when you add another entity, this interaction becomes trialectic, no longer a matter of tops and bottoms, "your place or mine?" Three bodies are forced to find ways to negotiate the others. There are moments in which you withdraw, and others in which you are grabbed and pulled in. This is the beauty of queer relationships: stripped of a well-worn blueprint, we're free to fill in their own rules, to test out what feels good.

My afterglow faded a bit the next day when a bewildered Adrian told me that it could never happen again, but relit the day after that when he changed his mind and the three of us found ourselves hooking up again. There was something in that combination of selves that none of us were willing to let go of so easily. To me, it felt like the future. After years of telling myself threesomes were too complicated to manage, I had found a perfect, albeit ephemeral, love triangle.

All of this was—not surprisingly—of interest to my roommate, a pornographer named Damien Moreau. I'd worked as assistant camera on his sets and seen the beauty of his work. Everyone looks good. His shots are painstakingly crafted. His characters gaze at him through the camera, their mutual attraction palpable. He's shot everything from masturbation porn with a cast of beautiful cis and trans boys to hetero couples getting it on the old-fashioned way.

He sat in a brief silence the day I told him my threesome story. Finally, he ventured: Could he film us doing it again? I giggled the request away, but his idea lingered.

I finally agreed when Damien upped the ante and told me that he had actually written a scene based on our threesome into his new vampire film Lust for Life. After negotiating with the boys, we decided we'd do it. We were too pretty. People had to see us.

This is how it happened, in reel life: Adrian played a vampire who has lost his memory of what it is to be human. The basic plot of Lust for Life is that he takes to filming people in his apartment to remind himself. Pepe's and my scene takes place near the end of the movie. The vampire sees a sexy couple in the club, takes them back to his place to watch them, and is surprised to find himself taking part.

I was nervous and shaky in the days leading up to the shoot. But Damien's conviction was comforting as I faced down the idea of baring my vagina to the world. 

We wound up filming the sequence over the course of 16 hours. The club, the sex, the morning after—it all happened in more or less the time frame that the events did in real life. During the shoot, I fell into the contours of bodies that were already familiar to me, and friends with whom I was already in love. To be honest, there was little acting involved. The boys had more physical factors to deal with, and after having seen their struggle firsthand, I'd council anyone with a penis to go ahead and take the Viagra your director offers before making your porn debut.

Once Lust for Life is available for public consumption, anyone who is so inclined will be able to replay a moment that made my life better. I hope it prompts them to think about the multitude of options that exist within their own sexuality. For my part, I feel freer after making my first porn, like I've broken a rule I didn't agree with—or maybe one that I never believed in the first place. 

This essay is a part of our series on women and porn.

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