Unlike Woody Allen in What’s Up, Tiger Lily?, death and danger are not my various breads and various butters. I primarily spend work days shooting camera for Hank Hoffman when he directs for Naughty America.

Today we’re shooting the very sweet, nubile, elongated 21-year-old Phoenix Askani, who I’m pre-disposed to like since her stage name is an intentional amalgamation of X-Men characters.

Phoenix is pretty new. Today, she’s also bleeding. This is very common in porn, and most girls quickly learn the proper application of makeup sponges to get through the scene.

Phoenix has never done this.

I’ve been in porn for two decades, so when I volunteered to get the sponge in the right place — and fish it out afterwards (most girls can’t reach them once they’re tucked up in, so I’ve done this often) — she was relieved.

So, in a passing way, I got to become acquainted with Phoenix’s tiny pussy before the scene.

It’s an odd business, this.

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If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will. — Antonin Artaud, On Suicide