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Nobody in their right mind breaks into gay porn at age 35; nobody that is,
except those intent upon smashing its stereotypes. People like to think your
typical porn star is a pea-brained twink or tweaker on the slippery slope to
disaster ... Well, maybe that was true a decade ago when an entire generation
was wiped out by the plague. But now the mature man is back on the scene.
And to quote the Master --‘The times, they are a-changin’ ...” -- Matt Sizemore, Los Angeles, 2001

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"Mister Sizemore!" -- the voice booms from one of many 1950s-style microphones belonging to the Congressional committee before me -- "The question is really very simple. Are you or have you ever been the star of a bareback video?"

I can feel beads of sweat starting to form on my brow as my mouth goes dry. With shaking hands, I reach for a pitcher of water amidst all the papers and pens and folders. My lawyer, Billy Masters, whispers something in my ear: "Tell them you want to take the Filth -- I mean, Fifth. Just tell 'em, um, you're HIV positive."

"HIV positive? You think that's right?"

"Doesn't matter with these people." Billy replies, "They're out for blood. If you want to work in this town again, you're going to have to plead the Fifth. Or start naming names. And I don't mean Steve 'Titpig' Hurley!"

Suddenly, a member of the committee -- reminiscent of Frances Farmer in "The Party Crashers" and someone I immediately recognize as Lana Luster -- says in a soft, even voice: "Mister Sizemore, is it true you neglected to use condoms on a set in Palm Springs?"

"Y, Y -- Yes, it's true," I stammer, "I was fighting for my country as well as my right to choose."

"And your scene partner was Chad Adams? The notorious star of 'Bones For Cumpuppy'?"

"The video's called 'Cum Canyon', Miss Luster. It could've been anyone in that ravine."

Lana raises an eyebrow -- doing her best imitation of a suspicious Joan Crawford in "Sudden Fear": "Answer the question, Mister Sizemore. Was it Chad Adams or wasn't it? Whom did you drop that big, hot load in?"

I look to Billy -- who gives me a sympathetic shrug. Finally, I meekly whisper, "I don't remember ..."

"What was that, Mister Sizemore?" ... It's that booming voice again -- Will Clark, dead center, with a henna-rinsed mohawk, smoldering cigar and the pissed-off Piscean glare you could melt a glacier with.

I clear my throat and repeat, a little louder this time, "I can't remember!" -- then immediately mutter to myself : "Don't make me crawl, man ..."

"Can't remember? Or won't?" Senator Clark retorts and then says: "Mister Sizemore, in light of your flagrant disregard of the rules of the Bad Boys Pool Party, you leave me no other choice but to order you to spend 180 days watching deleted scenes from my new video, 'Redstar'. Maybe then you'll learn a thing or two about what it takes to make this world a safer place." He suddenly slams his gavel -- hard -- and rises. "Session adjourned!"

I, too, suddenly jump to my feet -- as Billy sighs and starts to gather his papers. I shout out "Hey, I haven't got a lawyer!".

Will does not respond, but instead walks to the courtroom's rear exit -- even as Masters replies: "What the hell am I? Chopped liver?"

"You're a fucking gossip columnist!"

"I know, sweetie -- it sucks ... Are you hungry? What'd you say we go for some Chinese?"

I ignore Billy as Will keeps on walking, ignoring me. Now, I'm getting all riled up not like a lobotomized Frances Farmer in "The Party Crashers", but Frances in "Son Of Fury". I start yelling at the top of my lungs: "What I want to know is have I got any civil rights? I've got a right to make a phone call!"

Two muscle-bound cops -- Jake Gianelli and Caesar in cameos, I think -- appear at my side and grab my arms. They start to drag me the other way. Out of the courtroom. I fight back as reporters J.C. Adams, Mark Adams, Leo Buck, Mickey Skee, Mark Kleim, Jason Sechrest and, yes, even my own lawyer Billy Masters are suddenly popping flashbulbs all around me. It's so terrible and surreal that suddenly I just ...

Wake up! And realize, of course, it was all just a very bad dream ... Or was it? With you and you and you there, who's to really say? But honestly -- a lot has happened since I left you all hanging last month with my decision to do my first bareback video for Hot Desert Knights. So I think the best thing to do on this one would be to follow the Good Witch's advice to Dorothy and Toto and presume "it's always best to start at the beginning" -- in this case, our journey not commencing in Munchkinland, but Palm Springs (ironically enough, the same place where this column -- a two-parter, this time -- will finally end).

On May 3rd, I was in Palm Springs for the latest edition of Will Clark's Bad Boys Pool Party. Having just got back on my feet again after having my car totaled in March -- which you can read in all its harrowing entirety here -- it was not something I really felt prepared for: I was at least ten pounds underweight from my doc's strict orders for bed rest -- with no gym, of course -- and, knowing how these events are, not feeling at all camera ready. But hey -- it was a charity event, right? Pornstars in (and occasionally out) of Speedos notwithstanding, I'd made a commitment to Will to show up as one of his featured stars. And outside of the intermittent pain I was still feeling in my left side, I have to say -- once I let go of the Narcissus complex -- I had a blast: the food may have been minimal, but the drinks definitely put hair on your chest (or in my case, just curled it). And the fans! My God, you really do forget how many people turn out -- and I mean from all over the country -- for this very special, once-a-year event.

Considering that I'd also arrived with the true superstar of the day, reclusive Exclusive Falcon stud Chase Hunter (pictured above left, courtesy of www.gaypress.org) -- he needed a ride from LA, where he was visiting friends -- you'd think the day was to be totally carefree (at one point, before we were officially assembled for press pics, it was like watching Marilyn Monroe mingling with a bunch of starlets) ... But -- in spite of everything, including the dramatic desert winds that periodically descended upon us -- I had some heavy things on my mind: namely, a commitment I'd just made days prior to Hot Desert Knights to film my bareback video debut.

As I walked around the party thinking "Well, Matt -- you can kiss all this good-bye!", I remember wondering if I'd made the right decision. And here's actually how it came about: originally, I'd just been bored -- this hyperactive pornstar does not make a good invalid, had been jerking off like a fiend in response to the temporary suspension of his gym privileges and, too boot, had been fantasizing for months about doing a bareback video (to be specific, I wanted to fuck porn veteran Ray Butler in a sling -- mimicking his scorching scene in "Bareback Raunch"). Partly on whim, partly on pure testosterone-infused ego, I sent a casting inquiry Email to Ray at HDK's website and -- to my surprise -- got an immediate response. With an offer for more money than I'd ever been offered for a project up front. But I still was far from fully convinced: in my response back I asked them to double their very generous original offer and threw in a long list of demands -- including scene and scene partner approval. To be perfectly honest, I expected a very polite "Fuck You" via Email. And that would be the end of that. Instead what I received -- about thirty minutes later -- was a surprise phone call from Ray Butler himself.

For the first time in my career as an adult video performer, I didn't have to play the agent -- in fact, Ray's exact words to me were "Matt, I've taken it to committee here at HDK and we feel you're well worth it. We want to build a video around you if you'll let us." Well, how could I back out now? So I accepted. The car accident had left me in terrible straits financially -- April had been a month full of cancelled clients, post-poned business trips and mounting medical bills. And all that was left for me were the moral issues surrounding the still very controversial topic of barebacking (which I will get to soon enough). And now here I was at the Bad Boy Pools Party, with a much too strong margarita in my hand, wondering just what in hell had I done ...

To backtrack a bit, the two people I'd become closest to in gay porn -- without having suffered through the kind of twisted and terminal romances I've become notorious for -- were Michael Brandon (pictured left) and Will Clark, two unique and very different individuals. A quick glance at my Video Page here will reveal Michael Brandon to be my most frequent co-star. He came back to the biz after a well-documented, life changing hiatus -- about six months before I myself made my big splash. When we met on the set of a Gino Colbert flick, he immediately took me under his wing; back then, I may have been a bit green, but it certainly wasn't lost on me that sporting a moniker like "Sizemore" -- that touted not only large endowment, but potential competition -- could be a waving red flag to a lesser performer. But Michael Brandon? No way. That kind of bitchiness -- so common in this biz you have to sometimes swat it off like flies -- is so far beneath him. His reputation as one of the most loving and level-headed persons performing in gay porn today is well-deserved.

Will Clark and I actually had some history -- although, when I reminded him at the very first "Cocktails" he asked me to be a part of, he didn't at first remember our meeting at a photo shoot almost a decade prior. He was a star then and he remains a star today. And I owe him a tremendous debt for all the promotion he's done for me and my career ... But what of Will Clark, the person? Well, he has an enormous heart -- as evidenced not only by his tireless public fundraising for AIDS, but in the private way he waited upon me hand-and-foot recently when I was temporarily disabled. He is also one of the most complex individuals I've ever met: like myself, Will Clark should come with a high maintenance warning.

So where was I? That's right -- getting tipsy on tequila (with a splash of mixer) as I wandered around the Bad Boys Pool Party, racked with guilt for accepting a highly lucrative offer from HDK. Well, what I'm about to tell you went a long way in suddenly lifting that weight and making me realize that what I was doing was the right decision. For me, that is. And this I cannot stress enough. For me and nobody else ... At one point, late in the day, when it had become obvious to one and all that -- despite a bad economy -- the event was a smashing success, an elated Will gathered a few of us together and let loose with some information that I found both shocking and deeply disturbing. Initially, I chalked it up to Will's natural inclination to embellish -- something that, as a fellow pornstar-with-a-theatrical-background, I've been guilty of, too. On the rare occasion. But then I checked it out with HDK myself. And it was true: Hot Desert Knights had made a substantial -- and by substantial I mean 2k as the low estimate -- donation to the Bad Boys Pool Party. LA Shanti -- a wonderful organization and the recipient of most of the proceeds -- had no problem saying yes to this offer. But now Will was proudly proclaiming to one and all present that, despite Shanti's enthusiastic approval, he put the kibosh on this donation -- that, in his words, this event would not be accepting any "bareback bucks".

There comes a point when you must separate yourself from something or someone you no longer believe in -- and that point came for me and the Bad Boys Pool Party the moment I heard those words from Will Clark. Though I cared for him very much -- and still do -- I realized that providing much needed funds to people suffering from HIV had now taken a backseat to his crusade against barebacking. I just couldn't understand how someone would turn down money from anyone -- even the quote enemy in this case -- if it would somehow alleviate suffering. To me, it was just senseless. And also bad business. And all too indicative of the fact that Will's public image -- and that of the Bad Boys Pool Party -- had become top priority.

I couldn't bring myself to attend a very private post-party celebration Will had specifically invited me to the next day. Instead, I left Palm Springs early -- after a quick stop off at the Citadel to say hello to a few friends, including Michael Brandon and Billy Masters (pictured right with Chase Hunter and George Fleece) ... About a week later, shortly before the HDK shoot, I was contacted by journalist Jason Sechrest. Since Jason knew nothing of my plans with HDK -- I'm quite convinced of this -- I chalked it up to his uncanny ability to sniff out a good story; since I've no doubt this talent will one day be working for "Sixty Minutes", I felt fine with granting his request for an exclusive scoop on his website at www.jasoncurious.com. We decided to break the news on May 16th.

But first I had two important phone calls to make -- one to Michael Brandon and another to Will Clark. I wanted these two to hear it from me first. And not to get is second-hand from someone else (or, God forbid, just read it on the internet). I felt I owed this to both of them -- and it reminded me a bit of the way I first broke the news about doing mainstream gay porn to my poor parents. In many ways, too, it was just as painful ... Michael's response, interestingly enough, was very much like my Mom and Dad's: "You know I won't be able to publicly support what you're doing. But, other than that, sexy man, I only want you to be happy!" ... Will's reaction -- which I truly dreaded and braced myself for -- was actually closer to a full-out terrorist attack: "Are you insane? Do you have any idea what this will do to me? In one fell swoop, you'll be undermining my entire life's work!"

It was my last contact with him. And it was awful -- just awful ... I was never even remotely successful in getting him to see that this was not a personal betrayal or attack, but a very difficult business decision on my part. And something that, quite honestly, had very little to do with him. After he took me through some pretty interesting analogies to himself and HDK -- including comparing himself to Jimmy Stewart in "It's A Wonderful Life" (and HDK as the evil Potter, of course) -- I began to feel concerned. And defensive. I pointed out to him that he'd had very little -- if any -- interaction with HDK and that they were actually a very nice company. But that was like convincing a Southern Baptist homosexuality wasn't a sin. Or that abortion was sometimes necessary.

What upset and disturbed me the most, though, was Will's utter fury and despair that my intelligence, honesty and natural ability to articulate would now lend "the forces of darkness" a fair amount of credibility (in other words, I wouldn't be so easily dismissed -- like the less vocal Jackson Price or more eccentric Jeff Palmer). I suppose that was just another analogy -- to "Star Wars", of course. In Will's eyes, he was Luke Skywalker or Han Solo. And I was now the Darth Vader of gay porn. But the fact that he was seeing things in such black and white terms -- when it was really all so very gray and much more complex to me -- made me realize just how far apart we'd grown. It soon became obvious to me that our entire friendship was predicated on the fact that I had to portray myself a certain way. And that way had to be Will's. Or else.

The "or else" ended up being two rash and reactionary decisions on his part: 1) to remove this column from his website at www.cockring.org and 2) to dismiss me from an event I'd been scheduled to appear at in Chicago. I say "rash and reactionary" because shortly after being fired by Will from "The Men Of Raging Stallion" -- a pre-Grabby's event held at Cellblock -- I received a call from Michael Brandon asking me back. Apparently, Will never had the full authority to do such a thing. So you can imagine how pissed off I now was -- and only went back because of Michael, Raging Stallion and, of course, the friends and fans who would be there. It was later that same night that I shot off a very angry Email to Will -- warning him in no uncertain terms that I would not be bullied, intimidated or blacklisted from events. In other words, I was once again reduced to being the skinny little kid who got the shit clobbered out of him for refusing to forfeit his spot on the schoolyard's monkey bars.

Well, needless to say, some time has now passed. The Cellblock event went off without a hitch and there was the incident at The Grabby's that you can read about on the websites listed above. And since that awful day, even more shit has hit the fan: pornstar Scott Bradley, who has a strong association with Mark Adams, the well-known columnist, who -- in turn -- has a strong tie to Will and Cockring.org, ended up popping up in the featured cast of my video for HDK, "Cum Canyon". This surprised me as much as it must've surprised poor Will. And I'd imagine he must be feeling like he's up to his eyeballs in "barebacking Benedict Arnolds" these past weeks -- especially as more and more of us decide it's okay to come out of this new and very strange closet.

Is a kind of McCarthyism alive and well in gay porn today? Well, I'll tell you something: when friends can no longer agree to disagree on an issue and then turn around and try to prevent them from being seen or heard in public, something is definitely wrong. We in gay porn are a community -- albeit a business one -- comprised of misfits that have been hammered on all sides by society and told for the majority of our adult lives that what we are doing is shameful and nasty and wrong. Haven't we learned yet what Christ, Mohammed and Buddha so wisely showed us by example? Must we, for the sins inflicted on us by an unjust society, turn around and hurt each other?

Unfortunately, I can run on forever with this. So I'm going to have to save all the moral, medical and other important questions about my informed choice to bareback for part two or the next installment of "Sizemore Speaks" -- including the big one that I'm now getting asked (and the one every gay pornstar seems to dread): are you HIV positive? ... But for now, let me close with some words to Will Clark (pictured left) -- words I've adopted and, unfortunately, paraphrase terribly from "The Diary of Anne Frank":

"My friend ... Despite everything we've put each other through, intentional or not, I still believe in the innate goodness of people. This includes you. And me. I believe that under all the fear and uncertainty we have to deal with in our daily lives, you and I are basically good, kind men living in a very hard and increasingly complex world. I never wanted to hurt you with my decision. I never wanted you to even agree with me. Or understand me. All I ever wanted was for you to be the one who can say "You can make a million mistakes -- and a million more -- and I will be there for you. Because in the end, when all is said and done, I have no fear. Because I care." I have no fear. Because I still care for you ... My friend."