Impressionistic Porn: A Portrait of Carter Cruise on Set

“If I have to talk about a dick in my ass for two more minutes I’m going to freak out,” Carter Cruise says. “I just can’t talk about James Deen’s penis that much.”

Cruise sits in the makeup chair, sipping coffee and chatting with the director, Derek Dozer, on the kind of behind the scenes (BTS) footage she wants in her showcase film for Airerose Entertainment: “All Access Carter Cruise.” 

Cruise is bored with the standard BTS interviews, which mostly consist of porn stars describing the sex they are about to have, or just had, as though viewers can’t just fast-forward or rewind to see the scene. This raises the question: how personal of a portrait do consumers want from a film billed as an intimate look into the life of a porn star? In the end the only question that matters is, what sells, and what sells seems to be footage of starlets getting fucked, or talking about getting fucked. 

I pretend my motives for covering this set are more journalistic, that I want to know the “real” Carter Cruise. But, my writing is just as biased, as I too am primarily interested in details about various objects that have been in Cruise’s ass.

Cruise and I chat while the makeup artist transforms the performer's face into that of a porn vixen. Below the neck Cruise still looks more like a teen getting ready for prom than one of the hottest working adult stars. She wears soccer shorts, flip-flops, and a long sleeve shirt featuring flower prints. Her pierced nipples poke through her threadbare shirt, hinting at the sex star lurking beneath. One of the biggest differences between the Cruise fans know from her x-rated films and this twenty-something lounging around in comfy clothes is her disinterest in the superficial.

Instead of blowing her porno paychecks leasing a fancy car, Cruise got a commuter car to conquer LA. When buying heels for shoots, she hits a Beverly Hills Goodwill. She also doesn’t bother wearing bras or underwear in her personal life.

“I’d rather spend my money on experiences,” she says.

She just booked a trip to Australia for a week. This will be her first vacation since delving into porn full-time and shooting almost nonstop for months.

“Why do I do anal three days a week if I can’t afford to go on vacation.”

Cruise lives in a studio apartment decorated with discarded clothes. She claims these outfits aren’t really hers. They belong to “Carter Cruise”—the porn girl she pimps out for money.

“The studios always want me to be such different people,” she says when explaining the need for so many outfits. “Some want me to be a teen. Others want me to play a full-on porno chick.”

She recently had to clean her room when a guy she likes promised to stop by with breakfast. He didn’t realize this sweet gesture forced her to stay up all night putting away clothes. She didn’t want him to see that side of her just yet, especially considering they hadn’t even had sex.

“I only fuck guys for money,” she says, half joking. “I don’t have time to fuck for fun.”

Cruise expounds on all the bad sex she’s had in her personal life. She once stopped fucking a guy because he wouldn’t tell her what he liked. She was on top, doing all the work, when she abruptly dismounted, hit the waiting gravity bong, and fell asleep. She finds herself attracted to nice guys, but nice guys don’t often make for dominant bedfellows. She wants a guy who doesn’t try to control her—except when it comes to sex. In essence, she wants two different people. She wants the mild mannered gentleman who can switch into a super freak with the flip of his erection into the on position.

Cruise retreats to her dressing room to change out of her comfy clothes. She emerges in heels and a black dress that accentuates her side-boob. Speaking with only the click of her heels, she struts endlessly toward the camera. She walks downstairs—always downstairs—through the multileveled living room that has three separate living rooms. She lounges outside in a cabana overlooking a resort-sized pool as the camera circles like a vulture. She glides passed shelves ornamented with a menagerie of abstract glass objects. These artistic pieces are not unlike the porn stars themselves—beautiful objects intended to be appreciated almost purely for their delicate beauty.

Never mind how far removed this set is from Cruise’s disorganized apartment, from her flip-flops and sweats. Pornos don’t just sell the dream of sex with beautiful women. They sell the fantasy of excess. So the camera rolls as Cruise wanders the empty mansion, through this labyrinth of opulence, seemingly searching for something.

Dozer signals Cruise to disrobe for photos. Cruise undresses the way she might at her apartment when shedding her work clothes. Naked, she towers over us on the edge of the stairs, transforming instantly into a sensual statue with her mouth agape, eyes narrowed, her ass and tits pushed out, and her arms artfully framed about her.

Dozer shows Cruise a few of the pictures. 

“I look like a real person!” Cruise says, more impressed with Dozer’s talents than her own sex appeal.

With the photo shoot finished, Cruise’s air of elegance dissipates. She awkwardly maneuvers back into her dress and flops on the couch beside me as if to share an invisible bong. She blows her nose and tells me about a sloppy blowjob scene she shot the last time she had a cold; her nose was running so much they had to keep stopping the scene. Who knew there are limits to how messy a sloppy blow should be?

She tells me how guys on porn sets often try to get things out of her. A business associate recently tried to get her to sign up for a service where fans pay to call her.

“He kept telling me how it was basically free money,” she says. “Talking to a stranger for $8 a minute is not free money. Getting fucked in the ass on camera is free money.”

She tells a story of being on set for fourteen hours capped by a two-hour sex scene, all while she was sick. By the end she was genuinely begging for the facial. The male talent chose that exact moment to say, “Hey, we should hangout after this.”

I nod and briefly wonder if this is an appropriate moment to say, “Hey, we should hangout after this.”

Cruise tells me how people are constantly pulling her in different directions. Once she decided to sleep in and woke to 60 texts telling her what to do and where she should be. She puts a premium on her personal freedom. Of course she qualifies this statement by admitting that she can’t live without being constantly connected to the Internet.

“I’ll pay anything for Wifi,” she says, smiling.

The male talent slated to work with Cruise is a no show. As I build up the nerve to announce to the crew that I am prepared to volunteer my body for the betterment of the scene, Dozer enlists Ramon Nomar to pull double duty. The Spanish cock star arrives early so he can fuck Cruise before his scheduled scene with Jillian Janson for another Airerose Entertainment film.

Cruise’s scene begins with little ado. Dozer allows Ramon and Cruise to dictate how the sex unfolds. Ramon speaks with his smooth Latin accent, issuing commands, positive reinforcement, and dirty talk. 

“Yes, exactly like that,” he says when face fucking Cruise.

“Give it to me,” Cruise says, gasping for breath after removing his dick from her windpipe.

When Cruise crams Ramon’s dick in her pussy, she becomes more dominate.

“Hit me,” Cruise directs Ramon.

 He knows to slap her instead of say, punch her, as was the case with another of Cruise’s exes who had communication issues.

“Pull my fucking hair!” Cruise commands. “Choke me! Slap me!”

She rides Ramon and tugs on her honey colored pubic hair to trigger an endorphin rush of pleasure mingled with pain. This is one of the benefits of performing in porn. It forces you to explore sides of yourself that might have otherwise remained dormant, like the side that craves a good pube pulling.

“Keep hitting me!”

The mansion echoes with the thud of bodies in collision and dirty talk in conversation with moans. It’s the little things that make Cruise a professional—the way she points her toes during missionary, putting her years of dance training to use.

Cruise’s eyes roll back and her features transform into her trademark sex face—the expression of unadorned ecstasy that got her signed as the face of Airerose Entertainment.

Dozer tells Ramon to fire when ready. Earlier when Cruise and I discussed facials, she couldn’t understand why so many fans want to see her face covered in come. I picture facials like perverse Jackson Pollock paintings: impressionistic portraits of desire. 

Cruise begs Ramon to finish inside her. He obliges. Then she fingers out the come and plays with it for the camera, providing evidence of the deviance lurking inside her sweet exterior.

The next time I see Cruise she is standing in the kitchen, hunting for food. She wears her loose, long-sleeved shirt with the end hovering just above her crotch. She swabs herself with baby wipes and paper towels. Dozer fixes the camera on her to grab more BTS footage.

“So you just got pounded by Ramon,” he says, goading Cruise who tries to maintain her porn persona while diving into a salad bowl.

“Oh yeah. He pounded me good,” she says, digging into a salad with her hands, too hungry to search for utensils. “Forks are so bourgeoisie,” she adds, chuckling.

Cruise eats with one hand and rubs her pussy with the other. Through a mouthful of lettuce she says she’s sore from a strap-on scene she shot the day before with Dakota Skye.

Sticking on the subject of food, Dozer asks about the cheesy pizza delivery scene Cruise will shoot the next day, which will involve James Deen’s penis and her ass.

“I want James Deen to come on the pizza,” Cruise says, “And then Adriana and I will eat it. If Adriana can take three dicks in her ass, I think she’ll be okay with eating pizza topped with come.”

It’s odd how creative Cruise is when it comes to onscreen sex considering her repeated claim that her personal sex life is tame.

“Honestly, I don’t need to have crazy, kinky sex to get off,” Cruise says. “On a shoot I’m fucking my friends. I do weird shit mainly to keep it interesting. I’m secretly into pretty vanilla sex.”

I highly doubt this sound bite will make it into the BTS footage, as it doesn’t characterize Carter Cruise as an insatiable sex fiend. And yet, this is the image I’m left with of Cruise, a multilayered portrait, a collage of sweat-smeared makeup, saliva, and dots of salad dressing connected by a mischievous smile.

I lug my gear to my car—my camera, notepad, laptop—all the props I brought to appear more journalistic. I wonder if there is a true-self lurking behind all the masks we wear, or if our identity is simply a composite of all the people we pretend to be. But mostly I wonder about Cruise’s ass and the various penises that have been inside it.

Follow Carter Cruise on twitter, @cartercruise, and see more explicit content from "All Access Carter Cruise" at airerose.com

Read more by Alfie at shawnalff.com