Maxxxed Out

By Meg Foster

THE STORY OF PORN THAT'S NEVER BEEN TOLD: Maxxxed Out is based on the true story of Meg Foster's experience working in the office of a modern-day porn company.

Spanning six years, this collection of outrageous and unexpected stories weaves together a young wom

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meg Foster
• Release date: May 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988137221

Meg Foster

Meg Foster has worked with the world's largest adult entertainment companies and has a wealth of knowledge and experience in the industry. She has since moved on from the adult world but still has many stories to tell.Maxxxed Out, her debut novel, is the culmination of her personal and professional experiences all tied together in one unique story of porn that has NEVER been told before! As a woman who has only ever worked behind the scenes, Meg's story is not just rare, but almost unheard of.

Book preview

For inquiries and rights, contact:

Meg Foster

[e-mail]

Maxxxed Out by Meg Foster

Copyright © 2023 by Meg Foster

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form

without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023906901

ISBN: 979-8-9881372-0-7 (hardcover)

ISBN: 979-8-9881372-1-4 (paperback)

ISBN: 979-8-9881372-2-1 (digital)

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Foster, Meg.

Title: Maxxxed out / Meg Foster.

Description: Phoenix, AZ : Meg Foster, 2023. | Summary: Autobiographical fiction based on the author’s experience working in the office of a modern-day porn company. Spanning six years, this collection of stories weaves together a young woman’s rise to extreme heights within the adult industry and her doubts along the way regarding her career.

Identifiers: ISBN 9798988137207 (hardcover) | ISBN 9798988137214 (pbk.) | ISBN 9798988137221 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Abused women – Fiction. | Bildungsromans. | Feminism – Moral and ethical aspects – Fiction. | Internet pornography – Fiction. | Pornographic films – Fiction. | Sex-oriented businesses – Fiction. | Arizona – Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Biographical. | FICTION / Women. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Prostitution & Sex Trade.

Classification: LCC PS3606.O88 M39 2023| DDC 813 F--dc22

This body of work is an autobiographical fiction and is meant to reflect the author’s perception of their experiences only. All names, events, locations, and timelines have been altered to protect the privacy of those who have worked and are still working in the adult industry. The materials provided within this book are for general information and entertainment purposes only. With the exception of named public figures and entities, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual businesses, operating or not, or actual events is purely coincidental. The thoughts and opinions reflected in this book are not intended to be a definitive representation of the entire adult industry, nor are they meant, express or implied, to represent any individual but the author.

Everyone has a different takeaway from their experiences, and this is simply mine.

To my husband

WELCOME TO PORN

It’s always the same questions when someone finds out that I work in porn.

Is it like Boogie Nights?

Can you get me a job there?

And my personal favorite: are you in them?

Why does everyone assume that if a female works in porn, she’s getting screwed on camera?

By now I’ve convinced myself that everyone thinks the same things about this industry. They think that we all go to extravagant parties at hillside mansions. Hot chicks are everywhere just walking around with their huge fake tits on display. Everyone’s always laughing, joking around, and having a great time—while sniffing rails off gold-plated tabletops, of course. But still, everyone somehow maintains that image of pornographic perfection. You know… Basically, everything you’ve seen in those chalked-up Hollywood movies that try so desperately to make this world look glamorous.

It’s such bullshit.

If people only knew what it really takes to create this image, this idea of porn, they would probably keel over. We have a small army of employees at KlimaXXX Industries. We all work together to create this illusion of erotica for your viewing pleasure. And no, we are not actually in the videos.

Everything about our work life is different from yours. You say memo, email, and spreadsheet in your office. We say cock, pussy, and fuck in ours. The shock and awe of the porn world is anesthetized by the normalcy of our everyday work. Millions of people go online every day to pop one off while watching beautiful girls get pounded, or whatever else they’re into, and we are just some of the people who make those fantasies a reality.

No; this world may not be for everyone. But everyone deserves to know the truth about this world.

THE INTERVIEW

May 8, 2012

Time in Industry: 0 days

Since the porn industry is pretty much larger than life, let’s start with something simple. My name is Meg Foster. The only people who call me Megan are my mom and my doctor. And rightfully so. Megan is such a peppy name that I never thought suited me well. I always pictured a beautiful girl with a gleaming smile when I heard Megan. And that is certainly not me.

I have brown hair that I would call mousy brown if I had a fucking clue what that description meant. Obviously, I curse like a sailor. But I was the only girl in a family full of boys. And a brief stint in the military helped my vocabulary plunge into the murky depths of the English language.

My body is what I like to call well-insulated, ready to get me through any atomic winter. I have layers of proof that I turn to food when I feel happy, sad, or any other emotion that comes to mind. My looks land me somewhere in the forgettable category. Not attractive enough to garner lots of attention, but not ugly enough to get rotten tomatoes thrown at my face. And sometimes I can be Miss Gloom and Doom as my family so nicely puts it. But I’m not always the dark clouds coming to rain on your parade. Take my interview at KlimaXXX for example. I was upbeat that day. Dare I even say, hopeful?

I had just given up what some would call a dream job. I was selected to head a brand-new logistics company with a considerable salary. And at twenty-four years old, that was a pretty good opportunity. Even I could see that. It’s not like I come from some long line of wealth where high-paying jobs are just passed down like an heirloom vase. I came from nothing. I grew up in a duplex that was about as big as it was safe. And I had to learn early on that to survive in this world, I could rely on one person, and one person alone. Myself.

So, when this position was offered to me, I should have been primed and ready to take it. It was the reward for all my hard work. It was what I’d wanted my entire young adult life—to be successful and have money. But when that glorious dream job was put in front of me, it no longer aligned with the life I wanted. That dream job had strings attached, like a fake smile and a stuffy business suit. I’d basically be trading my soul for money for the rest of my life.

Sure, I took a lot of crap for declining that position. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Others saw it as a financially secure future. I saw it as a lifelong sentence to a dull and meaningless existence. Most people need security in life. I guess I just needed hope in mine.

It was hot and sweaty that May when I walked into the KlimaXXX office for the first time. The Arizona oven was turned on to broil, creating this flattering sweat ring underneath my armpits that was sure to make a great impression. The black and white striped dress that I had clearly outgrown kept riding up my legs to create a cheap streetwalker look. Unintentional, of course, even considering where I was interviewing.

I was really nervous and quite hesitant to interview with KlimaXXX. But I fucked up. Big time.

Thanks to my quarter-life crisis, I quit my job on a delusional whim. Childish dreams of grandeur, as my mom so kindly put it. For the first time ever, I wanted to seek happiness and fulfillment over money and material shit. But, as usual, my mom was right. Needing happiness is not a bad thing, except that my needs came about in one of the most disastrous economic climates in American history. I’ve always been known for impeccable timing.

Though a few years had passed since the big crash of 2008, the job market had not bounced back completely. In fact, 2012 was still a barren wasteland of opportunity. I was naïve enough to think that my professional skills were so coveted, so rare, companies would be banging down my door to get a chance to speak with me. In my mind, job prospects would line the block around my house, all holding brochures and presentation decks about their company and why I should go work for them.

But this was now a Mad Max type of world where you had to fight dirty to get a leg up on the competition. Simple secretary positions were garnering thousands of applications. One might have found themselves rubbing elbows with big wig execs while interviewing for a job at the local print marketing firm. It wasn’t just hard to find a job, at times it was nearly impossible.

I so badly dreamed of professional fulfillment. But at this point in time, I was lucky to find an opening at Burger King. Every morning I scoured the internet for a job, for anything that would help pay my bills. Time after time I was rejected and passed over, and job after job would come and go. Weeks went by and my tiny savings account was being drained like a pool after summer. When desperation set in, I began applying for jobs I never thought I would. Jobs that I once thought were beneath me and my incredible skills.

This road of desperation is what led me to a job post for KlimaXXX Industries. KlimaXXX with a K, ending in triple X. It was clear from the get-go what the company was. It’s not like I woke up one day and decided that I wanted to pursue a career in porn. One doesn’t dream of going into the adult industry someday. It’s not like career day at your elementary school featured a doctor, a firefighter, and a porn editor. The decision to pursue a job at KlimaXXX Industries was born out of pure necessity. And God, did I need a job.

I was defeated. I was just about out of prospects when I saw this post from KlimaXXX. They advertised a video editing position for their brand-new cinematic-style adult films. It didn’t seem like it was all out smut—triple anal penetration and gang bangs. It seemed like a milder version of pornography, a version that perhaps I could morally justify working on. I tried to subdue the person inside of me that was screaming in horror. She protested adamantly as I pressed the send button to submit my resume and editing reel.

Three hours later, I received an email from the company’s owner Maximus Kline, also with a K. He asked me to come in for an interview the following day. It was exciting and terrifying all at the same time. I tried to suppress my fears. Fears of the unknown. Fears that this interview was all a ploy to get me to undress and fuck a stranger. But I kept telling myself that I was just interviewing for a video editing position. I put the content far out of my mind.

Though I was scared, I was ready to interview. But I had no idea what to expect. To be honest, I mostly expected to show up to something like a backlot in L.A. I pictured some giant dark warehouse with fully built porn sets, large film crews, and people everywhere having sex—a large-scale production house of adult films.

I pulled into the parking lot of a run-down, but otherwise completely insignificant office complex. Surely this was not the hub of a major porn company. It couldn’t be! There was a special needs day camp advertised on the office park sign when I pulled in. It looked like every other office cluster in the valley of the sun. Tan, stucco rectangles littered almost every major intersection. These dingy one-level buildings formed squares around tiny patches of grass that some overreaching commercial real estate asshole would have the nerve to call a courtyard. So, what was so different about this particular complex? There was nothing I could see that made it special in some way, or somehow uniquely able to contain an adult empire.

As I walked closer and closer to Suite 110, my heart hammered against my chest. My throat felt like molten lava had been forced down against my will. What was I in for? What would be behind that old wooden door? And why the fuck had no one maintained that courtyard?

Seriously, I stepped on a dead cockroach, branches from a brittle and dying tree, and a kid’s shoe. It was probably from the doctor’s office across the overpriced grass patch. The mother, I assume, took one look at this place and made them flee for their lives.

I felt that same need to flee.

This was it. No going back. I knocked on the door with three heavy bangs. A rusty chain slid through its channel, a deadbolt on the top of the door turned over, and the tarnished brass doorknob jiggled. The door to my future opened with a slow and painful creak.

HOTNESS TEST

Same Day

Hey, are you Megan? A young man, far younger than what I was expecting, stood in the doorway.

Hi! Yes, you can call me Meg. My voice was shaky, as unsteady as my resolve.

As this guy stood in the doorway, a wind tunnel blasted outward making his frizzy brown curls bounce around on top of his head. That cool air was the most glorious feeling after practically melting into a puddle. I’d only been outside for two minutes but felt as though I had been transplanted to the surface of Mars.

Are you Max?

I tried to weasel my way in through the door as I asked this question because I assumed he would let me in of his own volition. Apparently, this guy had no intention of sharing the cool air with me as he decided my fate.

Hold on, I’ll get Maximus.

Great, I’ll just wait here then. The door slammed in my face.

Okay, it’s Maximus, not Max.

I tried so hard to repeat that in my mind like a mantra.

Maximus, not Max. Call him Maximus.

I just hoped Sir Maximus wasn’t appalled by boils and blisters because if I spent one more minute out in that sun, my skin would’ve looked like an egg getting fried in a cast iron skillet.

Finally, the door creaked open once more.

Hi Megan, I’m Maximus Kline. He flashed a smile. You ready to interview?

His lime green shirt blinded me as he opened the door to finally share his precious air conditioning with me.

Yes, I think so, I laughed nervously. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maximus.

I held out my hand to give him the firm handshake I’d learned in my various business dealings, but his awkward expression led me to realize just how unnecessary that was.

As I walked into the small office I was really taken by surprise. There were expensive computers, sleek decorative interiors, and an overall feeling of some fast-paced modern tech company.

Just kidding. It was nothing even remotely close to that. There was a cheap desk to the right of the door that looked like it had been purchased at the local thrift shop. Behind the desk was a redheaded man dropping flakes of food into a fish tank. He looked at me and smiled before returning to his hungry fish.

I followed Maximus, who fidgeted with his tiny green shirt, past a string of small Ikea desks with computers lining the plain wall. The air conditioning gatekeeper sat hunched in front of his dusty computer, ignoring the world completely. I longed to be in his place of total ease.

Maximus continued toward his private office in the back, walking quickly and jerking his arms forward and back as if he had to think about every stride.

Maximus ushered me to sit on the cracked leather sofa in front of his desk. The old electric fireplace in the corner of the room was completely out of place and looked like it hadn’t been used in years—if it even worked at all. His oversized executive chair seemed more like a King’s thrown. It was jacked up as high as it would go, and Maximus’s feet didn’t even touch the ground. But still, he sat atop the chair with confidence and raised his chin as if he were about to decide, pardoning or the guillotine.

Stranger than the random architectural failures of the fireplace, was the fact that this office looked like a temporary call center that conducts shady business for a month, then jumps to another office without notice. It was empty and sterile. Devoid of any humanity. Every wall was completely bare except for a road map of the United States behind Maximus. One map stapled to old paint that at one time had been white.

Maximus wouldn’t leave his shirt alone, constantly adjusting and readjusting the sleeves around his shoulders. He looked as nervous as I felt.

So– so you’re aware of what we do, correct?

He stuttered like an overexcited child trying desperately to force his words out. His thoughts flowed too quickly for his mouth to keep up. The top of his head glistened through his sandy blonde military crew cut as he anxiously cleared his throat.

I looked around the room, unsure how to answer the question. Of course, I knew it was porn. I applied for the job post titled, Adult Film Editor.

I forced a smile. Yes. I was sure to include the section about my age and that I’m okay with adult material.

Okay, great. Let’s get you set up with a test then.

Maximus stood from his thrown. We sat for maybe a total of three minutes. No inquiries about my work history, no questions or trying to get to know me, no actual interview. But I was glad to finally get off that damn couch. After those three minutes, the back of my legs began to sweat profusely. And my too-tight dress started riding up my legs against my will, forcing me to question the activities that had been conducted atop the very couch on which I was now sitting, bare assed.

I followed Maximus back out to the main office where he called for the guy who was feeding fish.

Hey J– Jeff, can you get Megan set up to do a hotness test?

Jeff stood up from behind his desk and moseyed toward me, nearly tripping on his chewed-up Tevas that time traveled from 1993. He held out his freckled hand for the introductory shake that I’d been denied just minutes earlier by Maximus.

Jeff Barone, nice to meet you, Megan.

Oh, just Meg. Nice to meet you, too.

Jeff pulled out the chair for me as I nervously sat down, praying that he was not going to ask me to flash my tits on a webcam.

So, I have three camera angles pulled up. Just go through this timeline and select which shot you’d use in the edit.

I looked up curiously, too scared to ask anything. The curly-headed guy with oversized earphones ignored us as he fished through his brown paper bag full of greasy fast food. The stillness of the room made me even more uncomfortable. My insides felt like they were vibrating with electricity, moving too fast for my stagnant surroundings.

Jeff could see that I was confused. Literally just click the camera you think has the best angle—he pointed at the two dirty computer monitors—and it will highlight it on the timeline.

Cool sounds good, my voice cracked, leaving a gaping hole in my cardboard wall of confidence.

I was relieved to find out that they wanted to test my ability to see a hot angle in a video, not judge whether I was hot enough to work there. That test, I was certain, I’d fail.

My nerves went haywire. Hands trembled; palms filled with sweat. I sat up straight and let my mind drift into another place. A place where social etiquette and what people might say or think didn’t matter. I took a deep breath in, having no clue what to expect on the blank screens in front of me.

With a press of the space bar, the timeline trudged forward. At that moment, the naïve person who knew almost nothing about online pornography had disappeared. I took my very first steps into the world of porn, and there was no turning back.

IT’S JUDGMENT DAY

Same Day

The video started. Two girls slowly walked down a luxury cabinet-lined hallway that seemed to stretch into eternity. The golden California sun reflected on their supple skin. They held hands and exchanged the occasional flirtatious glance. It was the same video playing, but three small squares on the monitors showed the sequence of events from different angles. Seeing the camera roll in the editing program made me realize two things: first, I was going to be a person who had creative control over what people saw in their porn videos; and second, I was in way over my head. What the hell did I know about porn? Why was my eye for "hotness" better than someone else’s? As I watched the first shot, I had a total out-of-body experience.

It was not Meg controlling my thoughts. It was not Meg with her hand on the mouse. It was Megan; the uptight, neurotic freak governing my every move. I let go of every preconceived notion and fear I’d had about porn, and just looked at the shot for what it was; girls walking through a hallway. I highlighted the camera angle that I felt was the best, or the hottest, and moved on.

As I picked through the next set of clips, I thought to myself that these porn stars were nothing like the girls I expected to see. They actually had flaws. I truly had no clue just how imperfect they were. Acne? Cellulite? Hell, that’s the everyday, average girl! Perhaps I’d just been subjected to too many images of what society thought of as the ideal woman. Or seeing nothing but photoshopped and airbrushed images that created a false sense of femininity in my mind.

It gave me reassurance knowing that I could do this. I could look at these videos all day long and not start to feel like a total ogre after being bombarded with images of the perfect female specimen.

I continued picking the best frame for about ten more minutes of video. It was at this point that I realized hot was a very relative term. Just because I thought a shot looked good, didn’t mean someone else would. What if someone liked when an ass jiggled? What if someone didn’t like that? At the time, I believed it was so subjective that guessing was the only thing I could do.

After faking my way through the last section of the test, I pushed myself away from the desk.

Hey Jeff, I’m done, I shouted across the tiny room. The frizzy-haired man ignored me and continued to chow down on his fast-food burger.

Right on. His laid-back tone was disarming and calming, like a hippie. Why don’t you go talk to Maximus while I take a look?

My stomach soured. While I was still there? Couldn’t Jeff wait until I was home? It felt like I had been asked to wait in the principal’s office while my teacher graded my test. I gently knocked on the light oak door frame of Maximus’s office.

Jeff asked that I come in while he reviews the test.

Maximus looked surprised and a bit annoyed. Sure, you can uh– just uh– sit there.

He pointed to the sweatbox couch without even looking up at me. I waited for Maximus to ask me something, anything, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away from his laptop. So instead of being properly interviewed by Maximus, I just sat on the couch in front of him mulling over in my mind just how awkward this all felt.

I’m sure you’re wondering why I stuck around. Why I didn’t turn around and bolt for the door. Honestly, a big part of me wanted to. But another part of me knew nothing was waiting for me outside. Nothing but a stack of unpaid bills.

After ten excruciating minutes, Jeff came to my rescue. Everything looked great. I think we can get her set up to take an editing test now.

Kay, let me know how it goes, Maximus muttered without looking away from his laptop.

I quietly followed Jeff to another computer station and sat down.

Okay, Jeff exhaled, "have you ever seen Black Swan?"

I nodded.

You know that scene where Natalie Portman starts masturbating in her bed?

I nodded again without saying a word. That’s not something you hear every day from a stranger. From someone you are interviewing for a job with. From someone who holds your financial future in their hands. That is the first time a grown man had talked about masturbation in front of me. And he said it so nonchalantly. As if he were discussing the football game from Sunday. I wondered if porn would ever become normal in my life—where I