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Welcome to Queer Sex Horror Stories! This Autostraddle miniseries features embarrassing, shriek-worthy events that have happened to our writers during sex (and they’re all 100% true). Gather around our virtual campfire and prepare to clench your butt cheeks. In the words of R.L. Stine: Reader, beware…you’re in for a scare!

After years of creating solo adult content, it was finally happening: I was shooting my very first partner porn scene. A director whose work I greatly admired had reached out to see if I was available to shoot a scene with a super talented, drop-dead-gorgeous local performer. After a moment of fan-enbying over both of these deities, I gathered my composure to respond with a resounding “yes.”

The shoot location was about an hour away from my place, so I had plenty of time to collect my thoughts and brainstorm ideas for our scene. I brought far more lingerie than I could possibly need, of course, and a bevy of toys and props. We would be filming in a forest, so I was eager to see how our various playthings and wardrobe bits would look against the woodland backdrop. What I was most excited about, though, was meeting and collaborating with these super talented artists.

I pulled into the parking area at the edge of the forest and immediately saw my collaborators waving and grinning. This was going to be so much fun!

We gathered up our bags and headed into the woods until we happened upon a beautiful spot, set back away from the trail, with one big tree in the center of a small clearing. It was the perfect tree to tie someone to — and that’s exactly what we did. As we started rolling, I used bondage tape to secure my partner’s arms to the thick tree trunk. Our chemistry felt so natural and effortless, and my nerves melted away. We started with some playful groping and barehanded spanking before moving onto harder striking with my various implements.

Then I pulled on my strap. I began toying with my scene partner, sliding up into them from behind. It was hot — like, filthy, nasty hot. And I loved the stark contrast of fucking like that in such a romantic setting: the sun high above us and the sounds of nature all around, punctuated by the occasional boom and crackle of a firework in the distance, as it was the day before the 4th of July. Everything was perfect, and I reveled in this opportunity to create beautiful, provocative work with like-minded people.

As I grasped my co-star’s hips and thrust in and out of them again and again, the tension began to build. And then, on what should have been a culminating thrust, we both froze as we heard what can only be described as…a queef of confusion. Something felt wrong. I stepped back, only to watch my cock, which had somehow popped loose from my strap, tumble to the forest floor in slow motion, rolling its sticky self in dirt and leaves as it landed.

Time stood still. In thick of the summer heat, I broke out into a cold sweat. Was I going to cry? Throw up? Die? I was beyond mortified. I’d been so excited to meet these artists and make a good impression, and I couldn’t even manage to keep my cock on straight. I felt like such an absolute mess. How could we go on? As beautiful as the forest was, I started wishing we’d been shooting indoors, where we could have had luxuries like sinks and showers. We had toy cleaner with us, but it was no match for a dildo that was caked in the contents of the forest floor.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally looked at my scene partner. My scene partner looked back at me. We both looked over to our director. After a moment of shocked silence, we all started cracking up uncontrollably. We doubled over and laughed until we were flushed, winded, and tearing up, each of us at a loss for words. I mean, what does one say in a situation like this? There’s no platitude for your wang jumping ship on you, no proper condolences for a cock that kicks the bucket, and no sympathy card that can soften the sorrow of a schlong gone sour.

You can’t just pick up a cum-covered dong breaded in deciduous forest matter and keep going. But sex workers are a resilient people, so I finished the scene dickless, the three of us stifling giggle fits the whole time. As embarrassing as that moment was, I knew right then and there that the three of us would not only be collaborators, but friends for life — and we smutted happily ever after.

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