Call Me Gavin, The Revision

Call me Gavin. That’s not my real name, of course, but who in this business uses their real name? It’s all Mack Sweetwood and Virginia LaCour around here: names with just the right combination of glamour and sleaze. So, yeah, that’s me. Gavin Steel. One more slab of beef around the pool. One more coked up, glistening loser baring it all for the wet dreams of America.
It beats the shit out of law school.
I was waiting on set with Mike Hawk. Say that out loud a couple of times. Yeah. That’s right. He was real proud of that shit. Took him a week to come up with it. We had worked together four times. He was bright and funny and great to be around, even if he was a little pretentious sometimes. Plus, he sucked cock like he invented the fucking blow job. He was a great guy. I’m standing there with Mike and this red haired girl named, I think, Misty. The two of them were, I shit you not, going over their lines. It never fails to amuse me how seriously some of these guys would take themselves. I mean, it’s the set of Bi-Bi Love 2, not Gone with the Wind. But they insisted that they were actors and they kept trying to inject drama into their projects when the only thing that needed to be injected in those movies were plenty of saran wrapped cocks.
So, we’re standing there on this beautiful day, the sun shining in a perfect blue sky like a kid’s drawing. The place is littered with beautiful naked or barely dressed people, smearing lotion and oil on each other waiting for the climactic orgy sequence to begin that will wrap up this epic. Not one single person there could have predicted the horrors that were coming: A catastrophe that, to this day, leaves me weak and cold when I think of it. I’ve been in therapy for two years now, and I still have nightmares. The smell of burning flesh and hair and tanning oil haunt me.
Jesus.
Even now, as I close my eyes, I can still see Missy or Misty or Mitzy with her hair in flames, screaming in baby oil-fueled agony, her skin crisping up like pork rinds as flames lick over her. People jumped into the pool to escape the fire, most of them drowning each other in their panic. A slick of oil on top of the water allowed the fire to spread there too. Even the pool was a death trap. Talking about it now, everything floods back and I can see that gorgeous California day transforming into a sick, Hell on earth. I can still feel the agony of the flames on my arm, and yeah, I know how lucky I am that I didn’t get it worse. I didn’t end up dead like Misty and so many others. I didn’t end up pissing through a tube for the rest of my life like Mike Hawk.
Nobody ever knew who started that fire that day. Nobody knew how it happened. Just that once it ignited, it blew through that oiled up crowd in seconds. And now, three years later, I’m just beginning to understand it all. And I don’t think it was an accident. I mean, how could it be? Even though the police asked everyone whose skin wasn’t crispy, they couldn’t even catch a damn lead. Every time an Aqua Net-laminated, blue haired old lady goes to light her Benson & Hedges 100s, I break into a cold sweat.
Therapy doesn’t help, either, since my therapist wants me. Seriously, she does. Every time I sit on that couch, she sits across from me in her leather wing chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs, slow enough to give me a beaver shot; it just seems such a natural, fluid motion that I almost don’t even realize she’s doing it.
Yeah, I do.
Anyway, her blouse is always just tight enough that her nipples lift the fabric away from her breasts enough to let me know how cold it is in her office, or how hot she thinks I am. But, I digress. Therapy. What the hell do I think is going to happen? Suddenly, one day, I’ll wake up and be okay with watching my friends crisp up like the skin on a Thanksgiving turkey? Not fucking likely. And I told my therapist that, too. She said it takes time to get over a trauma like that. I don’t know… maybe.
In the meantime you just get on with the mundane aspects of life. Mundane? Me? Who's life once consisted of waking up next to a ridiculously hot and nubile body, a protein breakfast and five hour gym workout followed by hours and hours of doing what most of the world only fantasize about?
I mean, what more could you ask for? Days on end of every fucking wet dream ever conceived, and helping to create new ones. A world where nobody got old, where nobody had to wait until everyone left the bar and make do with whatever ugly easy bitch was left draped on a barstool. Where you could visit the doctor, catch a flight, take your car to get fixed or call in the plumber, and whatever licked your brain salaciously would instantly come into being. A world of pure Id.
People talk about how porn isn't real, how that's not real life, but it was mine. When the director screamed “Cut!” I stopped being the plumber, the doctor, the pilot but I started the true joy of myself. I became Gavin Steel, porn star.
A celebrity, an adoration, a godhood. People would sit in front of their screens and get off on my body, imagine themselves there with me. Even if you're a rampant slut you might help a hundred people cum, tops. In your lifetime. I was helping thousands of people cum daily.
Did I mention I got paid? A stupid amount of money, because my sex addiction turned into my work addiction, and when I hit the clubs or the DVD signings it became my narcissism, and when I took any eager fan home it became my prowess.
It was a perfect celebrity too, I could switch it on and off as I so chose. I'd like to see Madonna do that. If I went to the right places I was Gavin Steel, bow at my feet and...Worship. My. Cock. When I just felt like being a normal anonymous whatever I'd steer off somewhere else, and I was just some random hot guy doing his grocery shopping, or drinking coffee.
That gap started closing more and more though. I lost the grip on the mundane completely, what the hell did I want it for? I wanted to be Gavin Steel forever and ever, international stud, pinnacle of masculine beauty extraordinaire. The more movies I made the more I would get paid, the more award shows I could attend, the more I could leave behind of my perfection for when I was old and grey and eventually dead. I would not be forgotten. People would still get off on me, even when I was in the grave, and that's something very few people can say.
But for the moment I was still the best goddamn sexiest thing that ever slapped his cock on the whole planet.
Now suddenly, I was a survivor of the California Pool Orgy Barbecue. Yes, the media has a sense of humour. I think the next person who quips me with a hot dog joke is going to get punched in the face. It was a perverse irony, that my face had been plastered across international news, that my DVD sales had risen, and I could not. That fire killed Gavin Steel, because every time I thought of sex my penis would shrivel up and cry, for I could not get the taste of charred human flesh and burning lube out of my mouth.
I have to admit, I wasn’t in the best of moods before the shoot. First, this wasn’t my film. I was subbing for Donald DiDildo, who had come down with the clap. Second, my agent Rodney had met with the film company (Balls to the Walls Productions) earlier that day for contract negotiations. This was to be the thing that propelled me from star to Super Star: I was signing an exclusive with BTW, for the next two years, they would own my ass, literally. For that honor, I was to get a nice salary bump, approval of directors, scripts, co-stars…and a few under the table perks as well.
As I was leaving my apartment, Rodney called me.
‘Gavin, I’m sorry, but the deal is off. Our negotiations broke down this afternoon. ‘
‘What the fuck, Rodney? This was supposed to be a cakewalk! You told me there would be no problems! What the Hell happened?’
‘They aren’t thrilled with the idea of you switching to straight-only films. You’re the hottest Gay-For-Pay on the market. If you insist, I’ll go to bat for you, but it will weaken your negotiation stance. You won’t be able to command your usual salary.’
‘FUCK THAT RODNEY! I am GAVIN FUCKING STEEL! I am done being jerkoff material for those faggots, they have made enough money off of me. It’s time for me to call the shots. FIX THIS!’
‘Let me see what I can do, but you have to finish the current film today, it’s a sign of good faith.’
‘SON OF A BITCH! I am not doing ANOTHER FUCKING THING until you fix this.’
‘Gavin. Do the God Damned Flick or you won’t be in a position to negotiate your way out of a paper bag. The whole industry will turn its back on you for breach of contract. You won’t even be able to get a part on the Red Shoe Diaries.’
‘Fine.’
I slammed the phone down and sped off to the shoot, running every red light, blasting my stereo with the top down. I was still 20 minutes late.
The director made a bee line to me. ‘What the fuck, Gavin? We’ve been waiting on you to shoot.’
‘Don’t give me any fucking attitude, Larry. You need me for this film. Get me a fluffer and I will ready in 5.’
It ended up taking 2 fluffers and 20 minutes to get me ready. Usually, my personal life does not interfere with my work, but today, work was interfering in my life.
‘Dammit, Julio. Not so much with the teeth!’
‘Sorry, papi. Ju know how mush I like to service you.’ Julio’s accent was all fake, like his name. In reality he was Joseph Smith (I kid you not) from Utah. But he knew how much that turned me on.
As the filming progressed, all I could think about was how I was the one getting screwed by this company. I guess I let my displeasure show a little too much, mouthing off at everyone and telling anyone who would listen not to ever work for these people again. Larry finally called lunch. I didn’t even bother to shower. I threw on a bathrobe and sped off to the nutrition store for a power shake. I had two big 3-way scenes this afternoon, and I’ll be damned if Gavin Steel doesn’t give it his all.
I walked into the shop, barefoot, with just the white robe on. Of course, the counter help was some little faggot.
‘Oh my God. It’s Gavin Steel!!!!’
Here we go again.
‘Hey there, what’s your name?’ My professionalism tries to step in. Always keep the fans happy.
‘It’s Freddy. Don’t you remember me? We made out at a party about six months ago.’
‘Uh…sure I remember that. You were pretty hot. I just forgot your name, that’s all.’
Wrong. Thing. To. Say.
‘You can’t be bothered to remember my name??? You went on and on about how hot I was. You said you would take me to your place. You said I might be Personal Assistant material. We spent 2 hours together.’
Crap. That line works on everyone. How can I be expected to remember every guy I swap spit with? I mean it was six months ago.
‘Oh FREDDY. Yeah, I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve just been busy. Plus, I don’t know how much longer I am going to be doing this. I was really thinking of you. Would it be fair to hire you if I am gonna get out of the biz?’
‘FUCK YOU, GAVIN STEEL!! I have a fucking college degree in chemistry. Why do you think I am working in this stupid convenience store? I have been waiting for your call. I knew if I worked here, someday you would walk in and remember me. Then I could leave this shitty job and this shitty life behind. You FUCKING Owe Me!’
Man, I have to diffuse this, and quickly.
‘Freddy. I am so sorry. Listen, I’ve got to get back to the set, but why don’t we talk about this over coffee or something? Even if I leave the biz, I am sure I’ll still need a PA.’
‘But you can’t quit. You’re the hottest guy on screen. Let me show you how grateful I would be.’
‘Sorry, don’t have that kind of time. Gotta get back to the set. But I will give you a preview.’
I spread my robe open wide, so he could get a flash of The Real Steel.
‘Take a look, take a picture if you want. This may be the last time you see it. I am fucking done with this business.’
Aaand, here we go. Quiet on the set. Cue the music and fade the light. I mean seriously, did this little fucker actually think that his pimply ass actually had a chance? I’m Gavin Fucking Steel. Literally.
Okay, fine. He did have a chance. I like to be honest, with myself at least. Change my conversation with Larry and reschedule my 3-way for tomorrow. I’m a professional for Christ’s sake and no matter what I refused to sabotage myself. Sure I could have thrown him a bone (yeah that’s right), but I was not in the mood to coddle a star-struck fool, for fuck’s sake.
I closed my robe and turned my back on Mr. Fucking Too Excitable and headed to the back coolers to get my protein shake. There you go. My back plus excitable. What does that equal? I’d be lucky if I got 5 minutes. The little faggot.
I grabbed the shake out of the cooler and snatched an extra large bottle of water. I needed to hydrate. I never could get enough water on a shoot. Sure, the production company always provided well for us on set. But I could feel my tongue sticking to my gums.
On my way back up to the counter, I cracked opened the water and started to drink. I had honed my gulping skills at college parties with beer and funnels. I had made them into a craft over the years, being Gavin Steel. Not too hard, really. You just have to relax your jaw and get to the point that pressure on the back of your tongue and throat didn’t kick in your gag reflex.
Snagging a power bar I slapped my purchases on the counter in front of the goggle eyed fool staring at me awe struck. And I waited.
“So how much, buddy?” I snapped.
“Nothing man! On the house!”
And because I was who I was, I grabbed my stuff and walked out drinking my water. I guess it was a good thing the little bugger was working, now that I think about it. My wallet was tucked into the pocket in my jeans, hanging neatly on a hook in my trailer. Yeah, MY trailer. I wondered briefly if he was going to pay for my goods out of his own pocket. Made for a great story, I guess. I was in a crappy mood, but I didn’t want him to get fired. I made a mental note to go back to that store later and, I don’t know, be nice I guess.
Walking on set, I saw Mike chatting with Misty (Muffy? Miffy?) and headed towards them. That’s when I realized that they were actually running lines for the three way.
What’s to practice? “Ohhh” but with more feeling? Or how about “I’m not sure about this” with just the right mixture of tentative curiosity and slight wariness.
And then I heard a scream. I mean a real scream not a “work” scream.
All eyes shot towards the direction of the scream. From where I was standing, I saw three blondes and the token black guy in this movie standing near the hot tub -I only knew the black guy by his porn name, “Lincoln Logg”. Blonde #1 on my left was the screamer.
Like the rest of us on set, they were all naked. But another dude was standing with them -fully dressed in some raggedy ass looking threads. Dude was behind blonde #2, (Carissa? Clarista? Clytemnestra?) and from where I was, it looked like he was kissing her on the back of her head.
That was until I saw the blood.
Dude backed away from her, and as he did, I could see blood running out of the back of her head, flowing through her near-white platinum blond hair. The path of her spine was like a valley with a red river running through it. As the guy pulled away, I could see dripping arcs of gunk and goo hanging in the air between the blonde’s head and his mouth. I could see that he was chewing and I could see what looked like her brains sticking out of the fucking hole in her head.
Blonde #2 collapsed forward towards the other two blondes, who in a fucked up display, moved out of the way and ran off, letting her fall face-first towards the hot tub. Lincoln caught her and lowered her to a seated position against the hot tub wall -accidentally slapping her in the face with his 13-inch monster in the process. At the same time, he turned his bald head to face up towards dude to ask him what the fuck his problem was. Linc turned just in time to see teeth bite into his skull right above the eyes.
Fucking hell broke loose. Fake tits remained perfectly still as blondes ran in every direction trying to get away from whatever was happening. People were pushing and shoving each other to get out of either of the set’s two exits. The oil on their bodies allowed them to slip together into one tight spray tanned mass that once pushed together was hard to get apart. At the exit nearest the hot tub, a mass of people pushing together shifted to the left, knocking a fake ass looking tiki torch off its base and onto a pile of towels on the hot tub’s wooden deck.
At the other exit, more screaming started. The group of people who had plowed into the doorway and were now stuck, started yelling and the people I could see were squirming and slamming into each other. A dude in the back of the glob of people fell down backwards and got stepped on as they started trying to move backwards. As the doorway cleared, I could see that dude that had chomped on the blonde’s head had some friends. I could see them chewing too and noticed a couple of other people bleeding from the head. The story in the first doorway was the same.
The fire had spread quickly from the deck to the walls of the set and the walls of the building. At this point, we had a windowless wall on behind us on one side and a wall of fire and well, some god damned zombies on the 3 others. At the same time I saw Misty(?) slip on an oily spot and her catch her hair on fire as she landed on the hot tub deck, I noticed Linc chewing on the head of another blond. The blood from the wound on the side of her head was dripping all over her and Linc, flowing across his abs and then down and off the end of his cock onto a growing pool on the floor. While I tried to overcome the urge to throw up my lunch, I looked around and tried to figure out what the fuck to do next.
Flames were licking at my bare skin. My bronzed, flawless skin. I had to do something - but everywhere I looked, there was more chaos. Half of the cast and crew were engulfed in flames, and the ones who weren't, were being munched on by zombies. And then they, in turn, were becoming zombies. Mother-fucking zombies!! What the hell?!? How did my life suddenly become an '80s horror movie? Worse still, the kind you would've seen Rhonda Shear hosting on late-night TV. If I weren't scared out of my ever-lovin' mind, I'd have probably been doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter.
As I snapped back to reality, I noticed the canvas tarp that had been covering the indoor pool. It was laying in the corner of the set, folded up and forgotten. So far it seemed unscathed by the fire and, even though it seemed like a long-shot, I figured that it was my best bet to survive this ordeal. Doing my best to dodge zombies and flaming porn stars, I ran over and started crawling under it - quickly unfolding as much as I needed to cover my body.
Peeking out just slightly from the canvas, I could see Tawny (Tanya? Tana?) chewing on the inner thigh of my buddy Harry Coxwell (yep, say that one out loud a few times too). As she happily feasted on the beefy stud, one of the crew-members fell on top of them, catching both Harry and Zombie-Tawny (Tina? Tyanna?) on fire.
I looked up from that scene, and realized that the original zombies - as well as many of the newly-created ones - were catching on fire, right alongside the siliconed bimbos, donkey-hung himbos and hapless crew-members.
The smell of burning human flesh and hair finally became too much for me, and I blacked out.
I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but when I came to, I realized I no longer heard any shouting or screaming. I was still under the protective cover of the canvas tarp, and as I rubbed my dry, stinging eyes, I tried to shake off the fogginess that was clouding my mind.
Cautiously, I peeked out from under the canvas again as I had earlier. Surveying the situation, I saw several police officers, firemen, paramedics and EMTs. They were tending to the scant few survivors and covering the bodies of the rest. It was a grisly scene, but I couldn't help chuckling when I saw our lispy little assistant director slumped, doggy-style, over the big, burly key grip. I have a sick sense of humor, what can I say?
As I snickered, my smoke-filled lungs caused me to rasp and cough, and I heard someone shout, "Hey, there's a survivor over there!"
Several men then rushed over and helped me out from under the tarp. Most of what happened directly after that is blur now, but as I was being examined by the paramedics, I remember the fire chief telling me that I was damn lucky to have survived pretty much physically unscathed. Apparently the canvas was flame retardant, but by all rights should not have been able to withstand the intensity of a fire of this magnitude.
I'm glad the fire chief thinks I'm lucky, but me and my traumatized dick sure don't feel that way.
I wake up in the hospital, feeling nothing but searing pain all over my body. Screaming out, the day nurse comes running in.
‘Shhh…it’s ok, we’ll get you some more morphine.’
‘How long have I been here?’
‘4 days. You’ve been in and out of consciousness.’
‘Why am I strapped down?’
‘The restraints are for your own safety. You tend to thrash around in your sleep. That’s not going to help the healing process, Honey.’
She injects morphine into my IV and I drift off. But the sleep is anything but restful, as I relive each horrifying moment: flames, smoke…zombies???!! Must be the drugs. Zombies aren’t real.
When I wake up, it’s dark outside. How long have I been out? Who knows? The pain has gone from unbearable to merely excruciating. I lay in the dark, trying to piece the events of the last few days together. Every time I think I have it, those stupid zombies come back into focus. Man, that must some good morphine. Zombies…It would be funny if I could laugh. The pain comes back in full force. I press the button for the night nurse.
A few minutes later, a figure enters the dark room and starts fiddling with machines and IV tubes. I can’t make out which nurse it is, it’s so dark in the room. After a couple of minutes, I do realize it’s a male nurse. First time since I have been here a male nurse has waited on me.
‘Nurse? When do I get to talk to a doctor? I don’t know how long I have been here, but I would like to know what’s going on and what happened. My memory is kinda flakey.’
‘Memory, flakey? What do you remember? I need to know so we can inform the doctor.’ Did that voice seem familiar? Maybe he had been in here before.
I began to spell out what I remembered. I hesitated to bring up zombies, but I decided it would be medically relevant if I was hallucinating.
‘Zombies? Well, that’s not exactly correct. I would use the term Deformed Clones, myself.’ The nurse turned on the light and in that instant I recognized him: Freddy, the Convenience Store Stalker.
He walked over to me and injected me with something. I tried to scream, but my face was paralyzed.
‘You see, Gavin we didn’t just ‘Swap Spit’ that night. I gave you the best head of your life. Although I am sure you use that line on everyone. Not one to swallow, I spit into the nearest empty cup. It was then that I got the idea to use that spunk to make my own Gavin Steel, to keep with me forever. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to swipe cash and various sundry materials from my store to help pay for this. Working part time as a sex line operator helped out a bit too.
Every day, I inched closer and closer to growing a clone. But something went wrong. No matter how I altered the procedure, the clone not only ended up rejecting its own flesh, but it Would Not Die. Even beheading them didn’t quite work. I would have a headless body writing around in my basement, with a detached head in the next room, screaming. Still I kept trying, all the while depleting my supply of Steel Spunk. The number of clones kept rising. They didn’t need to eat, so I kept them in a storage unit behind your studio.
When you came in the other day and couldn’t even remember my FUCKING NAME! I decided the world would be better off without another asshole of a porn star. As soon as you left, I went over to the storage unit and let my clones out. Turns out they do like to eat…human flesh. They tore up your pathetic little film shoot. I watched the whole thing, and in the process found the one thing that can kill my clones, Fire. Once they ignited that was that. End of story. So that worked out well, the evidence is all gone. And to top it all off, here you are, a burnt husk of a man, no longer useful to the profession you spent your whole life promoting. But don’t worry dear, I have use for you. Oh no not like that. Do you really think I would want to fuck a burnt up freak like you? Don’t make me laugh. No, I am going to keep you alive and harvest your DNA. You see, the DNA works best when the body it’s harvested is alive. And who knows? Maybe I can regenerate some skin and use the bits of you that aren’t horribly deformed. Then I can have my own Gavin, forever and forever.’ Freddy laughed.
I could not believe my ears, and here I was, completely powerless to do anything. I was going to spend the rest of my life a prisoner to some little kooky obsessed fan. Well, I had spent my life being wanted for my body.
‘Now, Gavin, I am going to induce a coma and cart you downstairs to the morgue. By the time you wake up, you’ll be in my basement…forever.’
As Freddy injected me sleep overtakes me. The last thing I remember is my room door opening.


I was sitting around the house feeling bad that Gavin was in the hospital, scarred for life because I had caught the clap. For days I waffled about going to visit him. For all I knew, he didn’t want to see me. I’m not sure I would have wanted to in his shoes. Finally, I decided I needed to see him for myself to make sure he was ok, and ask him to forgive me. I went to the nearest floral shop and got him a nice bouquet to brighten his room. Never let it be said that Don DiDildo wasn’t thoughtful.
It takes me a while to find his room, but when I do, I hear someone talking to him. I decided to wait in the hall. Don’t want to bother him with too many people at once. As I sit on the bench across from his door. I begin to listen to what is being said. Clones? Fire? Coma? What the fuck? Obviously, whoever this guy is, he’s a total whackjob. I burst open the door just in time to see the fuckwad inject something into Gavin. I grab him by the neck and throw him across the room. He lands against the wall with a sickening thud. The noise brings in the night nurse. She screams and calls security.

Six months later, I am released from the burn unit. I’ll never look like the porn star that I was, but I am healed and can pretty much function like a normal human being. The downtime gave me opportunity to take stock of where Gavin Steel should go from here. I can no longer be a performer, but I managed to get me a new agent, who scored me an even better deal with Balls to the Wall. Now, I have my own production unit, and I can direct and produce. It keeps me in the business, and I am still giving pleasure to thousands of viewers, just from behind the camera. I’d love to keep talking to you about this, but I am late for a production meeting for ‘Zombie Sluts Beach Party VI.’