Of porn, Ron Jeremy and...Jesus? Part II

In his second and final installment, Craig Gross tells the story of someone who was rescued from the

With over one million people visiting our website every year, we have seen that the issue of pornography reaches far and wide. Our organization aims to help those who consume porn and help those in the porn industry.
As an outreach to the porn industry for the past six years, we have attended many pornography conventions. There we hang out with people who call porn their vocations. We met porn producer Donny Pauling in the first couple years of our ministry at the Las Vegas show. He gave us a hard time for being at porn shows and for the faith we represented. Donny even went as far to post porn on blogs of the XXXchurch website, which we promptly deleted. Through this love-hate relationship, we became friends with Donny.
Donny had left the Church in his early twenties to become a photographer. He later found himself in the lucrative business of shooting porn. He rose to make a half million dollars a year producing porn.
Donny had a pretty normal upbringing. He was raised in a Christian home, and his father was a pastor. He never planned to be in the porn industry; it kind of just happened, and the money came next. Soon he was working with two of the largest companies in the industry, recruiting the girls, ushering them through the contract process, editing and finally selling the material.
It was in this process that he saw the dark side of porn. Girls would knock on the door of his home late at night and beg for their photos to be taken off the internet. Donny saw girls strung out on drugs and alcohol, and depressed because of porn. Their family or friends had found out about their secret careers and the stark emotional reality sunk in. Girl after girl would come to Donny, and all he could say was “You signed a contract, I am sorry.”
Experiences like these were overwhelming to Donny. One day he pulled over to the side of the road and prayed, “God I done, I do not know what it means to follow you but I am ready.” Later that day Donny called XXXchurch, with whom he had become friends at porn conventions. Two days later, a pastor was on a plane to help Donny in this major life transition.
It has been two years since Donny quit the porn industry. Since then, he has taken some flak from old friends, traded in his old salary for a more modest wage, and struggled in his faith. Regardless, Donny will smile at you and say his life is best it has ever been. Donny is trying to figure out what following Jesus means for him. He is currently studying to be a pastor and regularly shares his story on tour with XXXchurch.

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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage