DOWNLOAD THIS AUDIO FILE AND LISTEN TO IT (21.1MB – right click, save as): Man Nite with Donny Pauling at Inland Hills Church in Chino, CA on 08 May 2009.

(or scroll down and watch a video of me speaking at a church in Arkansas)

PLEASE NOTE:

Yes, I was a porn producer for 9 years, contracting with Playboy and a group of other well known companies.  Yes, I have become a Christian.  And yes, I now speak publicly about what goes on behind the scenes here on this blog as well as at numerous Churches and Universities (including Yale University – WOOT!) across this great country of ours.  But the reason I speak about what goes on “behind the scenes” of porn is NOT because I have become a Christian. I do so because someone needs to do so. Porn is often portrayed as great fun, happy go lucky, and victimless. The fantasy shown on screen seems fantastic. The realities of porn, however, are not even close. I am a firm believer in freedom of speech and expression, and it is my personal belief that education, not legislation, is what changes hearts. Therefore it is my goal to educate so that those who hear can make a more informed decision. If you’d like to begin the education process, start with some of the stories I tell in the porn stories category on this blog (click here).

My story would not be complete without mentioning XXXChurch.com.  They are a group of non-judgmental Christians who love everybody and believe that there is nothing any of us could ever do to make God love us any less.  They are a group who do off-the-wall things… like attending porn conventions to share love: doing makeup for the girls at the show and telling them they’re beautiful and loved.  They don’t hold picket signs.  They don’t condemn.  They just love.  When I was still producing porn I gave them hatred for 4 years… and in return received love.  If you’re in the industry and looking for help, check them out.  If you’re sick of looking at porn but for some reason cannot seem to stop, they can also help.  Check them out.  They listen to a call that really helped change MY life, and the lives of countless others.

ABOUT DONNY

I’m extremely proud to be a good father to a wonderful son. He lights up my life. Until having a child, I wonder if it’s even possible to fully comprehend what it means to love another person. I thank God (and my son’s mother) for the opportunity to experience such love.

Although I was raised as the son of a Pastor while growing up, I began making my living producing pornography in the summer of 1997. I continued in the adult industry until Monday, September 25th, 2006. On that day I was driving in my car praying to God. If you’d like to know more of that story, keep reading below, as I share the first 3 pages of the book I’m writing, describing what happened during September 2006.

The following video is of me speaking at Mercy’s Cross church outside Little Rock, Arkansas sharing my story.  The first 3 or so minutes are an “intro” video that was shown, and since it was a video of a video, the words being spoken don’t exactly match the mouths speaking them.  That stops being the case when I am speaking onstage:

Click To Play

If you’d rather download an audio file to listen to on your computer, iPod or the like, here’s another audio file you can listen to in which I’m speaking at Journey Church in Los Angeles, sharing my story (right click/download the audio file).

Watch Craig Gross and I debate Porn Stars Ron Jeremy and Monique Alexander at Yale University on ABC’s Nightline Face Off – click here (then scroll down to where it says “Nightline Face-Off: America Addicted to Porn?”).

The first chapter of my book. I’m co-writing it with my pastor. I’ll tell my story, he’ll use examples to show spiritual truths.  Some names will be changed.

Introduction

Standing poolside with my camera pointing at her, Shelly trembles. Her hand shields her breasts, and her legs press hard together. Still, the lens loves her smooth skin and toned body. My clients flock toward amateurs; her nervous smile draws them like moths to a flame.

Like countless models before, Shelly takes her first hesitant steps down a predetermined path. I ease her into the business. First, I get her accustomed to the idea of posing for porn; then I get her hooked on the money. With every shoot, I nudge her toward more revealing poses. If I’m careful — if I feed her enough compliments and take my time — she’ll do anything. I know; I’ve seen it more times than I can count.

As the day goes on, the smile comes out. Genuine. Happy. No longer conscious of her nakedness, Shelly laughs. My plan works. She feels good about herself and she’s having fun. If she leaves today’s initiation on a positive note, she’ll be back. She’ll even talk her cute friends into returning with her — not many models can resist my $100 referral bonus. She’ll make good money today, but nothing compared to what I will make.

My profit margin goes way beyond obscene. I love this work.

Two weeks later, when Shelly calls crying, I’m not so sure. She begs me to pull her photos off the Internet. Somebody plastered them on Daddy’s car, she says. He discovered them leaving work. His colleagues saw them too. Her dad — humiliated and ashamed — cursed and wept as he ripped them away, she said. She could barely force out her final words out between sobs: “I was… Daddy’s little girl… and now… he’ll never speak to me again.”

Chapter 1
Shocking

DONNY
Did you say four thousand dollars a day?

I’m fighting the urge to jump up and down like a kid. It’s early September, 2006 and I’m sitting in the office of Playboy, Inc. vice president Joe Lackey. Joe calls in Mark Navarro, one of his managers. The two of them have an offer to present to me.

“We want to start a new web site and we think you and Brenda are perfect to produce the content for it,” Joe tells me.

Mark lays out the details. I nod my head; the models we specialize in recruiting would indeed be perfect for this project. The additional $4,000 per day on top of what we’re already shooting for Playboy blows my mind, but I play poker. Oh sure, I get that kind of offer every day.

I leave the office in high spirits.

On the drive home I speak with God. This isn’t something new: I’ve been praying from time to time, especially since the XXXChurch team started getting inside my head. Over the past four years, they have radically altered my perception of Christianity.

“God, it seems to me that Christians have it all wrong,” I begin, “because it doesn’t seem to matter how much porn I do; you still bless me.”

My skin tingles and my hair stands on end, a moment later, I’m hit. The jolt that goes through my body feels like electricity. An audible sound escapes my lips, as if all the air is going out of my lungs. The moment passes quickly, but my hands keep shaking. I pull off the road; there is no way I can drive for the next few minutes.

I know immediately what happened — call it intuition, call it revelation. Whatever it is, God touched me. He reached out and touched me. The thing is, this zap didn’t seem in any way malicious. I’m not being punished. I’m not being warned. The intended message flashes into my mind: “This is so petty. I have much more for you than this. You wanted me to prove myself to be real, right? I just granted your wish.”

I instantly lose all desire to produce porn. I can’t explain why, but in that brief moment — in that literally shocking experience — my life has been changed. I don’t understand it, but that’s just the way it is.

Once I’m on the road again, I pick up my phone to call Brenda, my fiancé and partner in porn production.
“I have good news and bad news,” I tell her. “The good news is, Playboy offered us another four grand a day to produce a lesbian series.”

Squeals of excitement fill my ear. She’s not going to like the bad news.

“The bad news is, I’m not doing this anymore…
“I’m done…
“I’m out.”

Brenda doesn’t believe me. “We’ll talk about this when you get home,” she says.

But I’m dead serious. I’m never picking up a camera again to shoot porn. I have no idea how I’ll pay the bills, but porn production won’t be part of my life anymore.
As I drive home I bargain with God. “God, if you answer my questions about the Bible and Christianity I’ll surrender my life to you.”

Two weeks go by and God doesn’t answer. He isn’t miraculously telling me why unborn babies were ripped out of their mother’s wombs in Hosea 13:16. He isn’t explaining why thousands of people have been killed in his name since the beginning of time. He isn’t shedding any light on the reasons the church people I grew up with radiated so much cruelty.
Instead, he is silent. And I am miserable. I no longer want to produce porn, yet God is not taking up the other end of our bargain. Doesn’t he realize I’m eagerly waiting for a reason to believe? Doesn’t he know that if he can just answer a few simple questions I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to Him?

It is now September 25, 2006 and I’m once again returning from Sacramento, this time on personal business completely unrelated toPlayboy. I’m contemplating God and Christianity, as I’ve been doing nearly nonstop for the past fourteen days. The lights come on and I suddenly realize the truth: God wants me to want HIM. He wants me to choose him without conditions. He wants me to trust him.

“God,” I say. “You know I have a hard time believing the sacrifice on the cross really happened. You know I have a hard time believing some of the things I’ve read in the Bible. But I feel like I’m supposed to surrender my life to you and trust you to help me through those issues. By faith and by choice I am accepting Jesus’ sacrifice and am surrendering my life to you. God, it feels so good to say that.”

A weight has been lifted off my heart. It seems to beat easier. I feel at peace, and excited about the future. I pick up the phone and call Craig Gross, co-founding pastor of XXXChurch.com.

“Craig, I just surrendered my life to God.”

Our conversation goes on for a few minutes as Craig tells me he’ll be sending J.R. Mahon to my house the very next day to spend some time with me. I assure him I’ll pick J.R. up at the airport.

As I end the call I’m blown away that XXXChurch would spend good money to send one of their pastors to California just to see me, especially on such short notice. There they go again, behaving as if they represent the Jesus I’ve read about in the Bible. There they go again, further demonstrating the stereotypes I’ve had about Christians for so many years are totally wrong.

There they go again, giving me hope.

There is no doubt God’s presence has filled my car. I’m covered in goose-bumps. For some reason, I feel compelled to turn on a Christian radio station I normally detest. Something changes in me. A song is ending, a song whose title I’d quickly forget. But as that song ends, a new one begins, and I know I’ll never forget this one:

Almighty God.
The great “I AM.”
Immovable rock.
Omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord.
Victorious Warrior.
Commanding King of Kings.
Mighty Conqueror.
And the only time…
The ONLY time I ever saw Him RUN…
Was when He ran to me, took me in His arms,
Held my head to His chest, and said “My son’s come home again!”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes,
With forgiveness in His voice He said,
“Son do you know I still love you?”
He caught me by surprise when God ran.

Oh, my God! You’re running to me? You’re welcoming me home? After producing nearly two million pornographic photographs and countless hours of video, you are still running to welcome me home?

The visual in my mind is overwhelming. I begin to weep.

* * * * *

BILL

“God shocked me.”

I’d never before met the heavy-set guy sitting across the table. When he told me God shocked him, I didn’t know how to take it.

“Yeah, God does surprising things like that,” I said.

“No, really, he shocked me,” Donny said.

“You mean like an electric shock?”

“Yeah, like that.”

I immediately regretted saying yes to this nutcase. He found me at a local coffee shop, sitting with some fellow pastors. During a lull in our conversation, he swooped in and said, “You don’t know me, but I recently started attending your church. I’m wondering if you have time to talk after your meeting?”

No way, I thought. I’m super-busy. I don’t know you. Make an appointment, like normal people.

“Sure,” I said.

When my colleagues left, Donny Pauling, introduced himself, shook my hand and sat down.

“Um, now that I’m a member of your church, I thought you should know a little about me.”

“Great. Shoot.”

“For the last nine years, I’ve been one of America’s leading producers of pornography.”

I fought immediate urge to excuse myself, hustle to the bathroom, and scrub my right hand. Actually, I wanted to slather my whole body in hand sanitizer.
So began a most unlikely relationship that has blessed me with one of my best friends and opened my eyes to a world of hurt. The pastor and the porn producer.
Make that ex-porn producer.
Make that fellow sinner saved by grace.

After my hygienic panic subsided, I listened to Donny’s rambling story. I tried to imagine photographing thousands of women, naked. Then I tried not to imagine.
I lost both times.

I had a sneaking suspicion that God was messing with me. Why send a porn-king to my church? To me? I’m a pastor. I’m a lifelong, confirmed, church brat and moral boy scout. I’ve had sex with only one woman, and I married her. My Christian cubicle gleamed squeaky clean.

Okay, maybe not squeaky clean, but clean enough.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m as temptable as the next guy. Given the right circumstances, I can commit just about any sin, including porn. Including the sneaking that often goes with it. I confess.
Even so, I’m a pastor. I’m a happily married man. I adore my wife. I cherish my kids. I love Jesus and God and the church. I encourage my church to sexual purity. I endorse pre-marital abstinence.

I’m a good guy and I have my porn hunger under control — at least as much as any male could in our sex-saturated society.
So why does God shove a guy into my life who’s seen it all, done it all, photographed it all, and made a mint selling it all? A guy who’s shaken hands with Hugh Hefner?

Why me?

As Donny shared his incredible journey, little did I realize that God would take me on a journey of my own.

So here am I, a confirmed evangelical pastor, co-authoring a book on porn, and telling the world that I struggle repeatedly against it. At times, I failed in that struggle. As much as I would love to proclaim my moral superiority, I can’t. Donny sold something. But I’ve bought it.

I have a hunch you’ve bought it, too.

Producers or consumers: who’s better?

Without intending it, Donny rubbed my nose in my own dark side. By doing that, God opened my eyes, my mind, and my sexuality to dimensions of grace I never knew existed.

By that grace, God shocked me.

* * * * *

We’re not writing to slam anybody. We don’t advocate censorship. We don’t hate people in the porn industry. We’re not anti-First Amendment. We’re not porn-Nazis. And we don’t promote guilt and shame as long-term strategies for dealing with your porn-appetite. We believe in freedom.

We just want to suggest a bigger, broader freedom than anything porn might offer.

This is not a self-help book.

We write as fallible men, deeply aware of our own temptations, and increasingly aware of God’s resources to overcome them.

We won’t beat you up; we promise.

Consider this book part reality-check and part invitation.

Your Inner Porn-Hound needs a reality check. Seen from the other side of the lens, maybe porn isn’t so pretty. Maybe it’s not the victimless pleasure you’ve thought it to be. Before you write porn off as a harmless pastime, why not look at the realities porn producers edit out? Why not see the whole picture before you pass judgment?

Here’s our invitation. We invite you to bring your sexuality under the influence of the One who crafted the breast, vagina, clitoris, and penis. The one who engineered ejaculations and orgasms. The one who first imagined women soft and men hard; who embedded lust into our psyches and pronounced it very good.

Open your sexual closet to Jesus.
Maybe he’ll shock you, too.

* * * * *

To find out what has happened since that time, start with the “Chapters” section of this blog, where I’ve kept a running journal of my life since that day. Click here.