Gay Porn Memories: Paul Morgan — The Sex Geyser

Looking for a scintillating, enigmatic man of mystery who’s an avid reader and can make you believe again?

Paul Morgan is not that man.

No, for anyone who’s even remotely acquainted with gay porn, Paul should be immediately recognizable as one of the medium’s all-time cum-dousing sluts.

Yes, slutty is such a…slutty word, but life trajectories can be so untidy and inconvenient that way. Some women are predestined to end up on stripper poles or cowering in Charlie Sheen’s closet, while guys like Paul are basically born for porn. “I was born trash!,” they defy against the very fates themselves. “I don’t gotta learn nuthin’! I’m just gonna do what I wanna!”

“Do what I like!”

Gay porn tenures are all over the place. Some are regrettable and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. Some are just about having fun and experimenting. Others are what you’d call prolific. Ubiquitous. Profligate. Paul Morgan has a resume — boasting innumerable set-soaking money shot bullet points — that could crack a crocodile’s jaw.

He was among a relatively small stable of workaday studs — Tanner Reeves, Paul Carrigan, Drew Andrews, and Chance Caldwell among them — who for a time popped up in every other feature that hit the market. We’re talking a ton of porn here — gay, straight, bi, interracial, transsexual, A-Grade, and Z-List performed under multiple aliases, with only snuff being the one subgenre he wouldn’t put out for. It’s no real stretch to claim that Paul probably shot a load on camera whenever he needed to fill up the tank or order a pizza.

Paul’s presence was rather happily at odds with itself. At first glance, he has the look of a polo-shirted preppy ‘bro — the immaculate tan, the bleached-out locks, the super-taut bod — but there was also an unrefined, sleazy trailer trash aura there too. On a box cover or DVD sleeve he could look like a fitness model, then convey total horn-dog dorkitude in live action when he opened his mouth and let fly with some of the looniest, most hilarious sex-speak on record, his dialogue recitation ranging from the truly terrible to the sublimely madcap. The man actually starts singing in Freshmen Recruits and proclaims “I love cock!” while taking it from Logan Reed in the front and Jeff Stryker from behind in Underground. I actually thought he was a former child star (whose name I couldn’t place for the life of me) gone seriously wayward when I first encountered him in Nude Getaway, which found him playing a short-on-threads bellhop.

You’d think a performer that visually accessible would provide a wealth of anecdotal workplace info, but no, Paul was and still is something of a biographical cipher with only tiny smatterings of revealing industry accounts defining him. Word has him subsisting as a door-to-door salesman (aw yeah…) who made a post-divorce segue into gay porn, subsequently becoming a member of the amateur SoCal skateboarding subculture as well.

He was also reportedly one of those male performers with a deep inner schism in his personality, meaning he was elated to go balls-out on camera while bristling at anything remotely gay off-set (he was purported to have been married to adult actress Laurie Cameron in the early ’90s, and was later romantically linked to co-star Seth Black). Something of an enfant terrible as well, he was prone to mercurial mood swings which often resulted in his scene partners either getting the sunny side of his charm or being left with sore egos at his cavalier treatment of them.

Any way you slice it, Paul’s big claim fame is widely-held to be his incredible Peter North-worthy cumshots. His scene in Invaders From Uranus features a fall-out-of-your-seat finale in which his jizz stream clears a headboard and soaks a mirror on the wall. His volcanic eruption in Something About A Soldier is so intense that it very nearly sends the condom he fumbles with flying clear off his dick, while Chained Heat has him deliver two back-to-back burst pipe cataracts, leaving me convinced that he’s one of those rare men with virtually no refractory/recovery zone between orgasms. Likely his greatest moment would have to be The Chosen (upper left) — a head-for-the-hills-and-build-an-ark deluge that has co-star/collateral damage Derek Cameron practically running out of frame for dear life. No wonder he started being billed as “The Geyser,” “The King of Pop,” and “The Shooter” late in his career.

Ultimately, Paul was such a taken-for-granted porn fixture — sort of the Dr. Who of gay porn — that there was a tangible void left in his wake when he just up and vanished in the late ’90s with nary a trace. Wherefore art thou Paul? Is it only in dreams now that we walk with you? Did you take that super soaker with you on the run? Will your pearly river lead us to the rising sun?