Codirector Jean Claude Heriot tells of the misadventures he and Tiger Tyson had filming in France.
Tiger and I are suffering from a severe case of jet lag. But we’re scheduled for a morning shoot where we’ll meet our French production crew for the first time. I knock on Tiger’s hotel door to wake him up. “No fucking way am I going to do a shoot now. I’m going back to sleep!” he says and slams the door. Shit!
I go to meet our crew and look at the shoot location. It’s a stunning space and we have two hot models standing by. Fuck! I’ve got to get Tiger motivated. I bring one of the models with me. That does it. Instant hard-on.
All is fine until we learn that the model is a top who thought he was going to fuck Tiger. Try explaining to a French-only-speaking top that he has to take a nine-inch cock up his ass. Then we have to describe to our production assistant, who also doesn’t speak English, that we need an enema for the top. After an hour, the top finally takes it from Tiger, so the first scene is done. Now we have to figure out how to tie it in to make the story work.
Still on no sleep, we are driven to the apartment of French artists Pierre et Gilles for a photo shoot. They are amazingly hospitable. Their house is like a museum, populated with artifacts from a life-long history of production with and love for one another. Artists like Madonna, Iggy Pop, Nina Hagen, Yves Saint Laurent, and Jeff Stryker have been their subjects.
Tiger just wants to sleep, but once he sees the set they’ve built for him, he turns into a teenager and his eyes light up. He stands there naked with a full hard-on holding a 20-pound piece of meat over his shoulder as a prop, in front of an open refrigerator stacked with tons of raw meat. And that’s only the first set-up.…
Our big night happens at the club Follies Pigalle. The club doesn’t know we’re shooting sex scenes, but its promoter, Foaud, says it’s no problem. The first scene starts in the men’s room as two horny Arab boys kiss and suck each other at a urinal in front of a huge mirror. As they begin, the club opens and patrons start walking in. Some of them want to get in on the action, so we move to a darker area upstairs in the club’s balcony. Music is pounding as the Arab boys fuck in every possible position. Some club kids sneak into our staged area and watch with hard-ons. They get so horny they start kissing, and another section of the club turns into a mini sex romp! What have we started? Management finally discovers what we’re up to and puts an end to it. I check the videotape. Thankfully, we have enough to edit a scene.
Tiger arrives a little late to get ready for his final performance. As he starts to get ready backstage, he finds some humpy boys and has his way with them, forgetting he has to go on in 10 minutes. Two boys start sucking the famous Brooklyn nine and won’t stop. Tiger still has to get into his thong for the show when the announcement is made in French: “Ladies and gentlemen, Tiger Tyson!” A full minute goes by and no Tiger. The crowd starts to look bewildered. Suddenly Tiger walks on and the crowd goes nuts! He throws them flowers. He throws them his latest DVDs. He’s smiling and high-fiving the boys as they reach out for him. He bounces his thong across their lips. Everyone wants a taste! What no one realizes is that backstage, as Tiger was oiling up for the show while getting a blowjob, some lube squirted into his eyes and he couldn’t see a thing when he was onstage!
Afterward, two boys take Tiger to an exquisite flat with a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire. We couldn’t have planned it any better. As they suck, fuck, and banter in French, moaning Tiger’s name over and over, we start recording. As they get plowed, I hand them a pen and my official paperwork and have them sign off to release their images for the movie. How do you like that casting? Well, the scene was one of the best Tiger ever shot and his load tumbled across the back of one of the bottoms in gooey streams.
See more in Tiger Tyson’s Eiffel Tower: Paris Is Mine, available November 20 from Pitbull Productions. To order, call (877) 848-4767 or go to ThugMart.com.
All models were at least 18 years old at the time of their performance. 18 U.S.C. 2257 Record-Keeping Requirements Compliance Statement.
