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The day of her Penthouse shoot, Stormy stares at her cell phone in Keith Munyan’s den while Peggy, a makeup artist, curls her hair. The room’s walls bear sexy pinup photographs and a sign reading YOU HAD ME AT WOOF.
“The trolls are going at it,” Stormy says, scrolling through Twitter. In response to a guy who tweeted, “Isn’t your job to get people to grow to like you,” Stormy types a retort: “Technically it is my job to get dicks to grow, which I have a pretty good record of doing judging by my long career in front of/behind the camera in porn. I got some cool awards, too!’”
Fellow porn stars attribute Stormy’s feistiness to her years in the industry. “[We] get so much hate online,” explains Sydney Leathers, who entered the adult business after BuzzFeed outed her as congressman Anthony Weiner’s sexting partner. “On any given day, you’ll get a rape threat, a death threat, every threat imaginable — that definitely forces you to develop a thick skin.”
Alana Evans agrees. “We’ve been battling these people calling us ‘whores’ and ‘come buckets’ and every other disgusting name they can think of for years,” she says.
“Technically it is my job to get dicks to grow, which I have a pretty good record of doing…”
Throughout the porn industry, Stormy is known for her work ethic, unflappable demeanor, and for standing up for herself. “Trump fucked the wrong porn star,” one industry veteran observed. And mainstream publications that used to criticize porn are now praising Stormy’s grace under pressure and gift for zingers. “On Twitter, Stormy Daniels Slays Trump Trolls and Steers a National Conversation,” read one Newsweek headline, while Time magazine’s Ryan Teague Beckwith lauded her “savage wit.”
Over the decades, a number of porn stars have become legendary following scandals that became known to the public via a mainstream publication or other mass-media form.
In 1980, Linda Lovelace published Ordeal, a feminist memoir that accused Chuck Traynor of beating her up on the set of Deep Throat. John Holmes was embroiled in the 1981 Wonderland murders, which inspired both the Oscar-nominated Boogie Nights (1997) and the reviled 2003 biopic starring Val Kilmer. Traci Lords — after she was outed for appearing in dozens of skin flicks while underage — renounced the porn industry and rode her notoriety into mainstream movies like John Waters’ 1990 film Cry-Baby. Similarly, for decades, Screw publisher Al Goldstein and Hustler tycoon Larry Flynt cashed in on dirt about hypocritical politicians (though they mostly only managed to catch congressmen with their pants down).
“In some respects [Stormy’s scandal] is the Holy Grail,” says porn historian Ashley West. Ironically, however, Stormy’s story lacks the key ingredient for most scandals. As feminist critic and author Laura Kipnis explains in How to Become a Scandal, scandals typically require a sense of shame.
Here, though, Stormy Daniels is an unabashed porn star who allegedly had consensual sex with Trump, a professional vulgarian. Their sexual dalliance only blossomed into a scandal because Stormy was paid shortly before the presidential election, which many experts consider a violation of campaign finance laws.
“This is not what I wanted on any planet,” Stormy says later, while seated at Munyan’s dining room table on this rainy March day. “He put his penis inside [her] vagina! Oh, that’s never happened before!” Stormy sighs. “That’s not that big of a deal.”
But Stormy gate has resurrected the porn star archetype, and some believe Stormy could walk away from her predicament as history’s most famous example.
Not everyone is happy about it, though. Jenna Jameson, who overshadowed Stormy at the AVN Awards a decade ago, has retweeted conservatives who are harassing Stormy. When asked if she was jealous, Jameson responded, “I think she’s good at referencing people that are more famous than her to help her get ahead. I think we all know who the most famous porn star of all time is — Ron Jeremy. Hehehehee.”
But whatever exact ranking she deserves in the porn star annals, Stormy takes her hard-earned professional status seriously. She’s the first to arrive at the warehouse-size studio near Munyan’s ranch, the location for part one of the photo shoot.
Wearing a bathrobe and Ron Jon flip-flops, Stormy walks around the set itself, which smells vaguely like a Payless shoe store. She inspects the room’s purple neon lights, black leather couches, and photo backdrop of Los Angeles. At a long gray table, where Munyan has placed his testicle-shaped key chain, Stormy examines ziplock bags filled with costume jewelry. She holds two bracelets up to the light and clasps a silver band around her wrist.
Later, as Lady Antebellum’s “Bartender” muffles the downpour outside, Stormy readies herself in a dressing room. “This is my music,” says Munyan, gray-haired and muscular. “She’s gonna play rock ’n’ roll!”
An hour or so later, Stormy reemerges in a silver dress and knee-high boots, looking like a Bond villain who was raised in Louisiana. She climbs onto a low leather ottoman and pauses to situate herself.
Flash!
Instantly, Stormy is in her comfort zone. With each of Munyan’s camera flashes, she tilts her body, touching various spots with a pro’s precision: butt, boobs, cheek, thigh, repeat. Her hands skim lightly across bare flesh, then pull gently at her top, teasing her breasts. Moment by moment, Stormy can be fierce or demure, teasing or vulnerable. At one point she sticks out the tip of her tongue. While the poses may be calculated, they convey an effortless, playful sensuality. Porn star or not, she’s a woman of undeniable charisma — a breed that both scares and inspires, powerful enough to make the most bombastic of men go silent.
Clearly, Stormy knows what she’s doing.
Several times during the shoot, she stops to inspect the shots on Munyan’s camera. When determining it’s time to change the soundtrack, she hooks her smartphone to the speaker and passes through various choices, skipping over Katy Perry to reach her final destination: Rob Zombie’s “Thunder Kiss ’65.” Satisfied, she returns to the couch, Peggy trailing behind her with a bottle of hairspray.
Stormy jumps right back in action, even more energized. By the time the song changes to Marilyn Manson’s “Tainted Love,” she’s really hit a groove. “Sometimes I feel I’ve got to,” Manson hisses, and Stormy bumps her hips to the beat. Sensing good shots, Munyan grows invigorated as well, his flashes speeding up with every grinding swing of Stormy’s hips. The room takes on a new rhythm — speakers thump, Stormy bumps, the camera flashes. “Run away I’ve got to.” Bump, bump; flash, flash. “Get away from the pain that you drive into the heart of me/ The love we share/ Seems to go nowhere…”
Time for something new — the couch. Stormy sprawls across the black leather. “I’m a swan,” she proclaims.
“Be messier,” Munyan orders.
Stormy slides forward, her derriere in the air, and turns her face toward the camera. Slowly, she sticks her finger down her throat. She bounces up and steps behind a curtain of beads.
Then Stormy stops and tells a Penthouse executive who’s observing the shoot to download the Kirakira application on her phone. “It’s a camera app that adds sparkles,” she explains.
“It’ll put sparkles coming out of her ass,” responds Munyan.
Stormy bursts through the curtain of beads and the exec snaps some iPhone photos — sparkles fly out of Stormy’s butt on the screen. Stormy laughs.
She obviously relishes modeling, but during a break at the studio’s bar, she looks dour in her bathrobe. “I feel bad for Michael Cohen,” she says. “Did you see his lawyer and my lawyer on CNN last night? His lawyer isn’t even licensed in California.”
I ask her if she’s enjoying any aspects of this crazy ride. For all the unwanted attention and legal drama, there are also the perks: sold-out club shows, magazine photo shoots, and newfound admirers, some of them willing to pay for stomped Cheetos.
“I like the work, but I’m sick of defending myself. I see no end in sight,” Stormy says. I tell her she should at least profit off the notoriety and land a book deal, but she shakes her head.
“I wanted to write a book for years,” Stormy reveals. She says she walked around with a notebook collecting funny stripper stories and quotes. (Example: a dancer who credited her thinness to “an overactive hemorrhoid” instead of thyroid.) The Trump encounter would have just been a chapter in the book; now Trump would dominate it.
“I just feel like my story isn’t over,” Stormy adds. She’s used her scandal to elevate her stripping and porn work, but these are things she’s always done for a living. She’s refrained from exploiting her alleged one-night stand in other ways. “It’s not what I want to tell people about,” she says.
