Lawrence Ross: Peddling Black Sex for Profit and/or Pleasure

Lawrence Ross is a multifaceted individual—to say the least. President of two successful businesses, as well as a respected journalist, Ross earned his Tinseltown chops at the UCLA School of Theater, Film and TV. After a suggestion from a magazine editor, and armed with his unique combined savvy of the business and film worlds, Ross embarked on a literary journey probing the mysteries of the African-American adult film industry.

It was in “Porn Valley,” the part of California’s San Fernando Valley that serves as the hub of this country’s adult film business, that Ross gained entrée into the careers of numerous major black adult performers. His efforts culminated in the groundbreaking work, Money Shot: The Wild Nights and Lonely Days Inside The Black Porn Industry (Thunder’s Mouth Press, 2007), earning praise from porn insiders and literary critics alike for its astute insights on the genre’s artistic and commercial trends, as well as the social and racial implications of the flesh trade.

According to industry figures, African-American porn accounts for about 10 percent of the porn industry, which annually produces 4,000 to 11,000 films, and earns an estimated $9 billion to $13 billion in yearly revenues. So, what separates the black porn fan from his white porn counterpart?

“The black porn market is essentially supported by white fans,” Ross (pictured right) explains. “While there are tons of black male fans of black porn, the porn industry, in general, is driven by white consumer dollars.”

Ross further concludes that black porn is defined by white porn fans' desires: “Whether it’s of the black, interracial, gonzo, gay or lesbian variety. There’s a huge fetish with black actors having super-sized penises,” he adds. “In a way, feeding into racial stereotypes is part and parcel of feeding white porn fans’ wants and desires.”

When he interviewed female black porn actresses—such as Victoria Allure and Vanessa Blue for the book—Ross was struck by their lack of influence in the industry. “Black women are definitely low on the porn totem pole,” he concedes.

Black male performer/director Lexington Steele told Ross: “In a boy/girl scene, one girl one guy, no anal sex, the market dictates a minimum of $800 to $900 per scene for the girl … A white girl will start at $800 and go up from there, but a black girl will have to start at $500 and then hit a ceiling of about $800.”


Director/performer, Lexington Steele

Ironically, while black actresses have reputations with consumers and fans as being “wilder” than their white counterparts, in the industry, they are often stereotyped as difficult to work with or less willing to perform extreme sex acts. “As a result, they have little power,” says Ross.

By contrast, black male performers and directors such as Steele, Justin Slayer, Alexander DeVoe, B. Pumper and Sean Michaels are on a more level playing field with white performers, but Ross believes that is more a function of gender than race. “I don’t necessarily think porn is kinder to black men than the women,” he notes. “It’s just different.”

Porn is the only of the only industries in which females out-earn males. “Mainly because the actor is simply the proxy for the viewer,” Ross explains. “The viewer thinks of himself in the actor’s position and imagines [he’s] having sex with the actress. The industry discards women faster than the men.”

The typical porn actress—black or white—has a short shelf life, whether it’s because “there are others who are younger, or the directors tire of working with them.” Male performers last longer in the business thanks to their “equipment.” Getting—and keeping—an erection on demand is not as easy as it sounds. “For men, it’s all about their performance when the lights come on. If you can’t [perform], porn has no use for you,” says Ross. “That’s why you rarely see a lot of new men in porn. It’s a hard life, and actors and actresses pay a price.”


Vanessa Blue may earn less than her white counterparts, but still does a thriving business.

While some critics blasted Ross’s lack of attention to gay and S&M porn in his book, he says he set up time for interviews with the top black gay performers but their schedules “could never sync up.” He admits Money Shot would have more complete with those inclusions.

He does shed light on the successful subgenre of porn and hip hop crossover releases by the likes of Snoop Dogg, Luke, Lil Jon, Ice T and others. Ross posits having a gangsta performer associated with porn makes it less taboo or shocking, but wonders how many collaborations will happen in the future. In the end, he believes, it will be profit that does—or does not—drive that equation.

As with hip hop, some civil rights groups and black churches have come out against the lasting effects of porno on the young black community, attacking the immorality and hedonism of the images. “I don’t know if porn has a different effect on black youth than with white youth,” Ross argues. “In society generally, porn is more readily available and more easily seen by younger and younger people, which can have a detrimental effect on how they see themselves and values themselves sexually. When that’s combined with non-porn entertainment to market things to the youngsters, [it becomes] a societal issue, where some youth may not be sexually mature, either physically or mentally, to receive these messages. And that can be a problem.”

In the end, Ross maintains that Hollywood, Wall Street and Madison Avenue all cook up the psychology of lust, desire, and fantasy in a common crucible with the porn industry. “Porn taps into the sexual taboos that consumers find entertaining,” says Ross. “It’s the extreme end of the entertainment spectrum. You can look at all types of film genres, from horror to war films, which tap into various areas of our psyche that are dark and violent—our ‘blood lust.’ The same happens in porn. It’s simple capitalism.”