Our First Day of Interviews

In porn, the Girl Next Door is queen. She’s the girl you fantasize about. Maybe she runs in the same circles as you, or she might not know you exist, but you drink more water at the gym just to run into her. Your stomach drops when her shirt or skirt rides up even an inch. If she loves cinnamon gum, you always have some — just in case. She is so close and yet painfully, sweetly impossible.

In 2002, most porn sites embodied the Girl Next Door as a young blonde cheerleader type; we had a hunch the Girl Next Door could be more. Yanks wanted all types of attractive women spanning all different shapes, skin shades, heights, body types, ages, and attitudes towards sex — they were all welcome. A Yanks girl conveyed the best version of herself on the day of the shoot. Every girl is someone’s fantasy when she is the truest version of herself.

We started with a three-step approach to finding the best talent for Yanks:

1. Our Ads would distinguish us from other sex work.
2. We would do phone interviews before we met with models.
3. Then we would meet with them face to face before the day of the shoot, in a professional setting.

Hand-picking the Girls of Yanks was important, and it was never more vital than for the first few models. If they didn’t have a genuine connection to their own sexuality, our concept wouldn’t work. Yanks was going to be the online address where connoisseurs of the female orgasm could find the treasure trove they’d been searching for. Our tagline “Real Girls, Real Orgasms” wouldn’t just be messaging that rolled off your tongue; it would be our holy grail, an end goal we reestablished with every new model. We would codify our shoots to create and protect a space in which mutuality and spontaneity could thrive.

In 2002, this was a cutting-edge approach — to some extent, it still is. Our models were going to perform differently; we would make sure they were comfortable enough with us in our space to allow us a brief window into their true sexual selves while Bilye and I captured it all on film.

Most ads for adult/porn gigs sounded the same at the time: “Females Wanted 18+.” It was up to the potential model to figure out, based on accompanying phone numbers or email addresses, whether the shoot was for a video (DVD/VHS), online work (still new enough to be an unknown element), a job at a strip club, or someone looking for escorts. We knew we had to take a different approach. We wanted to pique the interest of the women who were on the fence about being in an adult video. Our goal was to make it clear to them via our ads that there was less of a chance of rejection, and with a female present, they would have an ally on the job.

“Yanks — We’re looking for 18+ female models. Safe, clean and fun environment — Female photographer always present. We’re looking for natural, real women of all types.”

We scheduled the first round of interviews without asking the models to provide a picture of themselves. If they responded to the ad, we set up a face-to-face interview. We wanted to show our models that we were reputable — different from the others, so we met them in a public place that projected sophistication and professionalism: the lobby bar at the Emerald Plaza in Downtown San Diego.

It was Monday morning at 11am, on a typical sunny San Diego winter’s day. Bilye and I were nervous, so we arrived 30 minutes before the first interview and had a couple of drinks. She ordered two Stoli Raspberry and 7-ups, and I got two vodka Red Bulls. Vodka leaves the lightest scent on your breath, something we knew well since we both worked as bartenders. We weren’t trying to hide that we were drinking, but we didn’t want to smell like it either.

There was a piano in the bar, but no pianist in the late morning, so we listened to the canned lobby music playing overhead as we waited. Polished professionals walked through with blueprints and presentation folders, briefcases and coffees, on their way to their 8–12 hour workdays. After a while, we finished our drinks at the bar and moved to a low cocktail table with cushy, brown leather chairs to await our first interviewee.

Her time came and went, and so did the second girl’s; both no-shows. We retreated back to the brass-trimmed bar to reinvigorate ourselves. The next girl was about 15 minutes late when we started to lose hope.

“This is why not everyone does this, you obviously can’t just put an advertisement in the paper and get girls to show up and masturbate on film for you.” I stated authoritatively while hoping I had no idea what I was talking about. I had no understanding of the entrepreneurial world, naked or clothed.

It was then that she showed up, our first potential Yanks girl. Her name was Michelle, and she was 22 years old. She strolled into the bar area wearing a tattered Care Bear backpack, the straps pulled snug so the Tender Heart bear was pressed close to her. We asked if she was Michelle when she got close enough to us.

“Yes,” she quickly responded, the wonder in her wide eyes magnified by the half-inch-thick glasses that rested on her otherwise closely featured face. Her pixie cut was a chestnut brown, and she wore knee-length khakis and a men’s Hawaiian shirt. Her legs, tan and fit, were hidden by white socks that crept a bit too high for the style of the day, which were covered by classic Keds. Despite the androgynous nature of her look, there was something about her that resonated femininity, she was a cute girl.

We started the interview by explaining what we wanted to do in detail before asking her if she was interested. Our pitch was too excited and aggressive. Instead of welcoming her to the interview and engaging her first as a person, we jumped right in with our philosophy of capturing real orgasms on film, and why that will happen during a Yanks shoot, and how great it would all be, our voices high with excitement and movements overly pronounced. We spoke defensively, seeking immediate validation that what we were doing was fine, that interviewing potential porn models was a real business that normal people could do.

Michelle nodded her head in the affirmative and said “yes” softly but surely. She was in better control of the interview than we were at its onset. I took a deep breath and started at the top of my sheet of questions. This made no sense, but I was nervous as hell and felt like I should steer the conversation away from sex.

“Thanks for meeting us, Michelle, did you find the hotel OK?”

“It was fine, I walked to the bus station at the corner of my street… I took the number 1 bus to downtown… and found the hotel from the address that you told me,” she stated, pausing with her smile growing a bit more at each of the three steps of her journey.

“Where do you live, what city I mean?” I asked reflexively, filling time.

“I took the number 1 bus, so La Mesa,” she answered with an exaggerated but friendly eye roll, expecting me to have already made that connection. The gesture was innocent, but you could see it gave her real pride to feel on equal or perhaps higher footing in a common adult interaction.

“What do you do, you know, for work?”

“I’m a maid, I live with my boss in La Mesa and I clean, help cook, mow the lawn, use the net on the pool, wash the cars, and do laundry.” A job that gave her independence and yet also provided a home and constant connection to other people made sense for the person I saw in front of me. I wondered about her life, how long she had been on her own, and if it was difficult for her. I continued with small talk for 5 or 6 more questions, 5 or 6 too many.

With no segue whatsoever, I jumped back on topic. This was more difficult than I’d thought.

“Do you like sex and masturbating?” I popped off, feeling discomfort with asking this girl these questions.

“Yes, I love it… but I don’t get laid very often,” her answer excited until her qualifier trailed off and she seemed to wilt with disappointment.

“Sometimes getting laid is overrated,” I said smiling, because the word laid seemed dated but adorable.

“How often do you masturbate?” I asked, as I felt my skin break into a slight sweat, my comfort level again plummeting as I dove just a bit deeper into her sexuality.

“Oh, 5 times I guess,” Michelle replied after giving the question a respectable amount of consideration. Her eyes looked up and to the right, as if counting the number up in her head.

“5 times a week?” I asked for clarification.

“Oh yeah, a week, but sometimes lots in a day, it’s fun,” her voice quiet and her eyes sparkling, like she was letting us in on a secret she found out we shared in.

“Really, how many times in a day?” I asked, relishing the fact that despite the obvious challenge to the interview, she was fun to talk to and I was feeling more settled doing it.

“3 or something,” again giving the answer serious thought.

“Do you think you could have an orgasm on film?” I emphasized the importance of this question and yet felt like connecting her sexuality to our business pushed my own comfort limit to the brink.

She looked a bit confused, and before she could speak I rephrased my question, “Do you think you could get off on film?”

I clarified as the question was already on the table. Michelle didn’t seem to equate the word “orgasm” to the act of masturbation.

“Oh yes, I love it!” she said too loudly, the bartender close enough to hear our exchange — they always are.

Digging deeper, I asked, “When you touch yourself, what is your favorite way to do it? Do you have a vibrator or do you just use your fingers?” With each question, I gauged whether or not we were close to a comfortable exit ramp.

“Like this,” she held up her hand a bit higher than her head and made a limp hook with her right index finger. She left her finger hanging there above her head for an uncomfortable moment. Billie and I met eyes, hers widening as her mouth dropped open ever so slightly; I knew the word “wow” was just inside.

“Why do you want to shoot with us?” I asked after she lowered her hand.

“My boss watches me masturbate! For my job. He pays me more, and I love it!” Her animation surprised me and clashed with the shock and awe I felt in my own mind. Her reveal was jaw-dropping, as was her contentment with the situation.

I felt confident in my assessment that Michelle was not operating on the same plane that I was, even before my last question, but this solidified that notion. It sounded to me like this girl was being taken advantage of. While we had invited Michelle to interview so we could discuss paying her to masturbate for us, her saying yes or no to the opportunity held no bearing on her keeping her home and her ability to provide for herself long-term. What if her boss had asked her the same tonight and she refused?

The moment he asked her to perform sexually as a part of her job as a maid, he crossed a line. The fact that she proudly did her “job” and derived a healthy pleasure from it was a blessing. We knew we would encounter unique people in the adult industry; however, Michelle was a wild card we didn’t expect.

Bilye and I confirmed with each other later that we both knew the moment she walked up that we wouldn’t film her. Michelle seemed content, even happy with her life, but we were at a loss for what to do with her story. Without the experience to guide us, we weren’t sure it would be ethical to shoot her. We didn’t want to add to anyone’s already complicated relationship with sex. Michelle walked out of the bar and into the lobby, the ears of her well-loved backpack flopping against her back.

The next two girls were no-shows. With one last appointment left on the books, we ordered two lemon drop shots in an attempt to boost our morale.

“We tried; what else can you do?” Despair was creeping in. After such a rough start, I was ready to accept defeat. I folded my arms in front of me on the bar top and emptied my shot glass.

“Trying and failing doesn’t get you ahead.” Bilye twisted her lemon drop, still full to brimming, counterclockwise as she delivered the sad calculus, getting sugar all over her fingers without noticing. I could tell she really was upset — Bilye hates being sticky. Michelle had been a disappointment. As scrappy new entrepreneurs, we knew we needed an early win. It wasn’t her fault, but it didn’t feel fair that she be our only interview to show. You can’t scale up from nothing.

But hope arrived in the next appointment, on time. Hope took the form of Isabella, our porn savior — caramel skin, fit body, and stunning brown eyes that smoldered on her fine-featured Latina face. With an upright posture and her arms swinging by her side a bit faster than normal, possibly from nervousness, Isabella approached us with the smile of a girl greeting friends at the bar on an early Monday afternoon.

“Are you here to interview for the adult video shoot, for Yanks?” I asked with every digit possible crossed. Please, if there is a porn god, let this be true, I thought loudly enough that I’m sure Bilye heard me, even as she scanned Isabella from head to toe with a sly smile on her face.

“Yes, I’m Isabella.” And with that, I gestured that we should all head towards the cushy chairs and we started our migration. Isabella was closer, so she led. Bilye followed, and as we walked, she turned with her drink and mouthed a big, almost silent, WOW, this one slightly audible to only me, most likely courtesy of our most recent shot.

Both Bilye and I were stunned to have such a girl in front of us, but we reserved our excitement because we’d had so many disappointments that day. Nonetheless, we’d rehearsed all this, so we got right to it.

“Isn’t this a great hotel!” I said to Isabella as we dropped into our seats. It certainly is now.

“Yes, it is very nice, I think,” Isabella replied as she got herself comfortable in her seat and put her purse off to the side. I explained the premise of the site as Isabella nodded along with everything I said. She kept constant eye contact, with her hands on her thighs and the same great posture she walked in with. The transfer of information was seamless. With every up and down motion of her head, my excitement, initially driven by nervousness, became fueled by potential.

“When was the first time you masturbated?” I dove in, feeling comfortable going in this direction after already broaching the topic of sex and meeting no verbal or non-verbal resistance.

“How often do you masturbate?”

“Every day.” She was rolling her eyes in a way I took as Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you? I felt like this was a girl I could have tended bar with and had a great time.

“Do you think you could cum on camera?”

“Absolutely,” a coy smile on her face, sparking as the corners of her mouth peaked. Isabella was engaging and relaxed as she answered our questions. We could tell she was sexually comfortable, curious, and energetic — a perfect Yanks girl.

But it was the final question of her interview that ensured the day was saved.

“Why do you want to shoot with us?” Isabella looked from Bilye’s eyes to mine, alternating between the two of us. She spoke in her soft, but confident Colombian accent, “My husband says I shop too much. So I think… I like to do two things — shop and fuck. So I think, if I need more money to shop, then I will get a job fucking.”

Isabella got the job. We were off and running.

This article originally appeared on Medium