Post by steph2 on Dec 6, 2012 1:18:30 GMT -5
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[style=width:350px; font-family: josefin sans; font-size: 30px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align:center; color: #000; line-height: 80%; text-transform: uppercase; padding-bottom: 5px;]ISLA MALIK TAZI
CRIMINAL. STEPH. CANDICE SWANEPOEL. PORN STAR. TWENTY THREE. SASSY. BLUNT. MYSTERIOUS.
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,386,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, width:130px; height: 200px; background-image: url(http://i47.tinypic.com/1fy538.png);][/style] | [style=height: 180px; overflow: auto; font-size: 9px;] LET’S TALK ABOUT SEX. “So,” you let out an ear splitting grin as you sit across from the blonde bombshell, her hair down in golden waves and her blue feline orbs standing out against the smoky eye makeup. She looks at you like a predator does its prey, an almost carnal feeling that runs down into his bones. You’re nervous, despite feeling superior to her. She’s nothing but a porn star – another actress wanting to gain her fifteen minutes of fame. At least that is her stereotype and so far, she hasn’t lived up to it. The hype surrounding her – what hype? Oh yeah, she doesn’t talk about her past. No one knows much about her other than she’s from South Africa. There was a rumor floating around that she was here illegally but that was beside the point. You had to interview her according to the editor-in-chief of GQ who always had a thing for blondes and rising stars or maybe he’d just been paid off by her agent to make her seem somehow special. She probably got raped as a kid. Most porn stars had some type of dark history like that. I was molested by daddy, My uncle liked touching me, My boyfriend forced me to go down on him. They were all mostly the same. You didn’t know why you were sitting across from the leggy female with obvious sex appeal oozing from every pour. What you did know, though, was that you was getting hard just looking at her and she was arching a manicured eyebrow in that familiar facial expression she used in most interviews that said What the fuck are you looking at? “Let’s talk about sex,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth and she nods, crossing one leg over the other on the white leather sofa. She is wearing navy shorts, tailored to fit her perfectly so they reach her small waist with gold buttons going down the front in two neat columns. A skin tight white top with a dipping scoop neck line shows off her assets while sky high patent black open toed pumps are on her small feet to reveal just a peek of her blood red polished toenails. The entire ensemble made her look like a sailor which was the point. It was the theme of the issue and they had her all dressed up for it in a teasing manner, “What about it?” she answers him, her South African accent thick, sounding like a twist of Australian and British with quite possibly a bit of French on certain words. Her reply is blunt, almost unnerving, and you glance down only momentarily to see that yes, the recording device is on, “You’re in the industry of sex, I mean, pardon, film. I know a lot of porn stars get offended at the mix up.” “Why? It’s only the truth,” she rolls her eyes and lets out a devilish grin, making you hold the oxygen in your lungs with anticipation, “Porn stars are in the adult film industry. We have sex in front of cameras for a variety of reasons and most of the time it comes down to simply because it pays fabulously. I’m sure a lot of them, in general, would agree,” she is surprisingly well spoken as she lounges there lethargically as if this is the last place she wants to be and maybe it is but you don’t know. You’re too busy remembering the POV video you watched on her last night while conducting *ahem* research, “I was told you were opinionated; not caring about any toes you might be stepping on.” “Well, they told you right,” she smirks at you with a wink and you almost have a conniption over how much you really wish you could just get in her pants, “Anyway, so your earlier contracts stated you were only to do scenes with females and, when doing scenes with a male, it was always a specific one. Any reasons why he’s the lucky guy?” She stares at you hard, her eyebrows coming together. Have you caught her off guard? No. She must have known this question was coming. It was one that was on everyone’s mind after all. Why only Ken? It had literally become his nickname considering her stage name was Barbie. She never revealed her real name either, the one on her birth certificate. Despite it not being in your notes, you make a mental note to ask her eventually – maybe off to the side if this interview goes well, “He’s my agent. I didn’t draw up the contract – he did. You can say it’s a territorial thing but he might get pissed if that gets printed. He was the one who discovered me when I was eighteen and made me the star I am today in the adult film industry. How many other female porn stars do you know won six different awards on the same night?” You want to tell her she was in her own class – able to win awards for simply showing up in the scene naked. You remember watching that award show, how she had won an award for best solo film. No one else – just her. It was in black and white and featured more toys than you ever thought could be possible – but she won a damn award for it. You blame her curves, her genes, everything. Still, sitting across from her, you want her to reenact it but she won’t, “Touche, Barbie. So everyone wants to know your real name. Care to enlighten us here at GQ?” You turn off the recording device as she arches an eyebrow again and then laughs in your face, “No. Not in a million years.” LOOKING FOR ALASKA. You had interviewed her in New York City three years ago. Since then, her career has boomed even further. No longer a rising star, she is considered an elitist in her own class. She’s right there, walking down the street in an all-black jumpsuit you think you saw in a Juicy Couture Ad once but you push it out of your mind. It’s late, much too late for you to be out walking around despite being a male. You are both in the park, in Boston, with nothing else to do and as you watch her, you see Ken, right there, smoking a cigarette and handing it to her. She takes a drag and says something in a language you don’t understand. Swahili? No, you later learn the language is called Afrikaan, and no, it wasn’t a made up language. It was real - the official language of South Africa. You dip into the shadows and watch, wishing you had a recording device of some kind to capture the moment. She is poised, serenely blowing the spoke out as Ken’s hand snaked around her to pop open the trunk of his Nissan Sentra. She keeps the cigarette between her full lips as she grabs the large black box and immediately you know what it is. But what on earth is a porn star doing with a sniper rifle? Your father used to be a hunter. He had forced you to memorize and classify guns and ammunition much to your own discontent but you try not to think about it. Who knew such knowledge would serve some kind of use in your career as a journalist? There she is, your favorite blonde porn star with a heavy box and she carries it as if she has done so her entire life. He barks something out at her, like an order, and she tells him something back in a harsh whisper as she goes to the slick sports car in front of him. She has too much money to play with, you muse, considering the sports car she owns is pretty damn fast and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was illegal in a few states. When she showed up to the interview, however, she had come in a simply Land Rover. Why would a porn star need two cars? “Alaska,” you hear him say the name of the state and she glances over her shoulder, acknowledging him as if that were her name. Is it her name? and then he continues in their odd little language that sounds like code. She puts the case in her trunk and then pulls her hair up into a high and sleek ponytail before grabbing a pair of gloves from the trunk, leather, and slipping them on. She tells him something while motioning up to the sky, the moon, possibly the stars, “Maine. Eight hour drive,” she tells him and he nods. These states…His birth name wasn’t Maine. From all the digging he’d done, he couldn’t find Ken’s birth certificate either – at least not one from South Africa. In America, they went by their stage names and by the way they acted around each other – he definitely knew her longer than they let the public on. But then they both froze as the air shifted, as if dogs poised or lions getting ready to pounce on a gazelle. They didn’t look at each other as they got into their vehicles and seemed to quickly speed off into the night. You stand there, attempting to figure out what it was that really happened and in the recesses of your mind, you don’t want to know. She was just a stereotype. Just a porn star. But was she? |
