Ryan Driller grew up in Littleton, Colorado, but spent seven years down in Key West. Conservative town, conservative house, yet the hormones still found a way out. He dumped his high-school girlfriend once the make-out sessions started feeling too heavy and her parents split. After that he decided the field looked a whole lot more interesting than one girl. His folks divorced when he was twelve; they fought nonstop, never cheated, and the split gave everyone two quieter homes. Both parents still showed up for every soccer game and swim meet, no trash-talking allowed. His mom is fine with porn; Dad’s Catholic roots make it a tougher pill. They wish he were a legit Hollywood actor so they could brag to the extended family. Mom even asked to tag along to AVN—he shut that down fast.
He lost his virginity after a swim-team banquet, still in his tux, girlfriend’s house, Powerpuff Girls flickering on the TV while they kept going past the usual make-out stage. Wild nights followed. A foam party after a summer on a remote island: his buddy grabbed a girl’s ass and ran, Ryan apologized, told her she was hot, and ten minutes later they were fucking against the DJ booth in the middle of the crowd. Another time he followed a bachelorette party home from the Flying Monkey bar in Key West and ended up the night’s private entertainment. At a radio-station promo gig he met a buddy’s ex at the bar after a brutal art-festival shift. Dead sober, the chemistry between them burned so hot the buddy jumped in, the dance floor turned into a grind-fest, and when the bar closed at two the staff locked the doors and let the orgy take over.
Off-camera he dodged a UPS truck sledding at nine, watched a hammerhead shark snatch a tarpon inches from a snorkel group in 2001, and may have unknowingly skinny-dipped with a pre-fame Shakira during MTV’s Summer in the Keys. A nasty breakup pushed him toward porn; a few conquests said he should be filming it. Craigslist ads led to LA, an American Bukkake shoot with Jim Powers and PornoDan, then Fuck a Fan, then Axel Braun’s circle and ClubJenna. On the Freaks of Porn set, his scene partner’s “vagina mouth” got him noticed by Braun’s production manager and opened the Superman door.
Desert-island list: one woman, a bottomless bottle, and a SiriusXM that never dies. Survival kit is just his pocket tool—dew catcher from leaves, rope from branches, friction fire, spears, fishing kit. Favorite books: The Shining, Inferno, and Tucker Max. Off-set he’s all about his dogs, his health, and family. Arrest record includes a BB-gun discharge in Boulder County and a .08 DUI in San Diego after spacing drinks three hours apart. He’s been caught having sex in more places than he can count—buddies’ exes, his boss, even on his own sailboat when an employee ratted him out to Florida Fish and Wildlife. Substances too, naturally.
Ryan Driller grew up in Littleton, Colorado, but spent seven years down in Key West. Conservative town, conservative house, yet the hormones still found a way out. He dumped his high-school girlfriend once the make-out sessions started feeling too heavy and her parents split. After that he decided the field looked a whole lot more interesting than one girl. His folks divorced when he was twelve; they fought nonstop, never cheated, and the split gave everyone two quieter homes. Both parents still showed up for every soccer game and swim meet, no trash-talking allowed. His mom is fine with porn; Dad’s Catholic roots make it a tougher pill. They wish he were a legit Hollywood actor so they could brag to the extended family. Mom even asked to tag along to AVN—he shut that down fast.
He lost his virginity after a swim-team banquet, still in his tux, girlfriend’s house, Powerpuff Girls flickering on the TV while they kept going past the usual make-out stage. Wild nights followed. A foam party after a summer on a remote island: his buddy grabbed a girl’s ass and ran, Ryan apologized, told her she was hot, and ten minutes later they were fucking against the DJ booth in the middle of the crowd. Another time he followed a bachelorette party home from the Flying Monkey bar in Key West and ended up the night’s private entertainment. At a radio-station promo gig he met a buddy’s ex at the bar after a brutal art-festival shift. Dead sober, the chemistry between them burned so hot the buddy jumped in, the dance floor turned into a grind-fest, and when the bar closed at two the staff locked the doors and let the orgy take over.
Off-camera he dodged a UPS truck sledding at nine, watched a hammerhead shark snatch a tarpon inches from a snorkel group in 2001, and may have unknowingly skinny-dipped with a pre-fame Shakira during MTV’s Summer in the Keys. A nasty breakup pushed him toward porn; a few conquests said he should be filming it. Craigslist ads led to LA, an American Bukkake shoot with Jim Powers and PornoDan, then Fuck a Fan, then Axel Braun’s circle and ClubJenna. On the Freaks of Porn set, his scene partner’s “vagina mouth” got him noticed by Braun’s production manager and opened the Superman door.
Desert-island list: one woman, a bottomless bottle, and a SiriusXM that never dies. Survival kit is just his pocket tool—dew catcher from leaves, rope from branches, friction fire, spears, fishing kit. Favorite books: The Shining, Inferno, and Tucker Max. Off-set he’s all about his dogs, his health, and family. Arrest record includes a BB-gun discharge in Boulder County and a .08 DUI in San Diego after spacing drinks three hours apart. He’s been caught having sex in more places than he can count—buddies’ exes, his boss, even on his own sailboat when an employee ratted him out to Florida Fish and Wildlife. Substances too, naturally.
