Ryan Driller grew up in Littleton, Colorado before spending seven years in Key West. A strict household and small-town mindset put the brakes on his horny streak early. Dumped his church-girl girlfriend in high school because things were getting way too handsy; after that he started sampling everyone on the menu. His folks split when he was twelve. No long, bitter custody wars—just two steadier homes and weekend events everyone still showed up for. Mom's chill about the porn gig. Dad, raised Catholic, isn't thrilled. They'd both rather see him on the big screen and brag to the neighbors. Lost his virginity at a swim-team banquet, tux still buttoned, Powerpuff Girls blaring in the background, three girlfriends and not one square inch left of the traditional date. Fame in the foam pit: random beach town DJ booth, stranger bent over the decks while everyone danced inches away. On the Key West bachelorette cruise, a few dozen buzzed women offered more than just tips. Radio-station day, brutal heat, three hours of cold beers, left the bar at closing with his buddy and the buddy's very enthusiastic ex. Security sealed the doors; the whole floor turned into a sweat-soaked pile. Non-sex highlights: twelve-year-old bombing down a snow-packed street under a UPS truck, skin untouched. Tarpon launching out of the water, Hammerhead right behind it, beach-goers sprinting for the dock like hell. Rumor that the girl shaking off saltwater next to him during MTV's Summer in the Keys may have been an unknown Shakira. Entry into the game came after a messy breakup. A couple exes laughed, "you should film this." Ryan took it as marching orders, answered Craigslist gigs, landed the Jim Powers American Bukkake shoot, parlayed it into Superman for Axel Braun, and started banging starlets on ClubJenna sets. One of those days he spotted his first silicon-lipped surprise partner and lined up the next job in the same breath. Desert-island essentials: endless booze, SiriusXM, a woman, and his pocket tool to turn palms into shelter and sticks into bow-fire. Book stack includes The Shining—he stayed at the actual Stanley when King scribbled it—the Inferno, and Tucker Max bar stories. Free time belongs to dogs, gym, family. Arrest rap: BB gun mischief and a .08 DUI in 2010 after nursing beers over hours. Reduced to wet reckless, cheap fines, no breathalyzer, five-thousand lighter than a felony. He's been busted mid-thrust in every civic nook possible—bosses, employees, buddies' exes, even one nautical lay reported by coworkers to Fish & Wildlife while the boat rocked under them.
Ryan Driller grew up in Littleton, Colorado before spending seven years in Key West. A strict household and small-town mindset put the brakes on his horny streak early. Dumped his church-girl girlfriend in high school because things were getting way too handsy; after that he started sampling everyone on the menu. His folks split when he was twelve. No long, bitter custody wars—just two steadier homes and weekend events everyone still showed up for. Mom's chill about the porn gig. Dad, raised Catholic, isn't thrilled. They'd both rather see him on the big screen and brag to the neighbors. Lost his virginity at a swim-team banquet, tux still buttoned, Powerpuff Girls blaring in the background, three girlfriends and not one square inch left of the traditional date. Fame in the foam pit: random beach town DJ booth, stranger bent over the decks while everyone danced inches away. On the Key West bachelorette cruise, a few dozen buzzed women offered more than just tips. Radio-station day, brutal heat, three hours of cold beers, left the bar at closing with his buddy and the buddy's very enthusiastic ex. Security sealed the doors; the whole floor turned into a sweat-soaked pile. Non-sex highlights: twelve-year-old bombing down a snow-packed street under a UPS truck, skin untouched. Tarpon launching out of the water, Hammerhead right behind it, beach-goers sprinting for the dock like hell. Rumor that the girl shaking off saltwater next to him during MTV's Summer in the Keys may have been an unknown Shakira. Entry into the game came after a messy breakup. A couple exes laughed, "you should film this." Ryan took it as marching orders, answered Craigslist gigs, landed the Jim Powers American Bukkake shoot, parlayed it into Superman for Axel Braun, and started banging starlets on ClubJenna sets. One of those days he spotted his first silicon-lipped surprise partner and lined up the next job in the same breath. Desert-island essentials: endless booze, SiriusXM, a woman, and his pocket tool to turn palms into shelter and sticks into bow-fire. Book stack includes The Shining—he stayed at the actual Stanley when King scribbled it—the Inferno, and Tucker Max bar stories. Free time belongs to dogs, gym, family. Arrest rap: BB gun mischief and a .08 DUI in 2010 after nursing beers over hours. Reduced to wet reckless, cheap fines, no breathalyzer, five-thousand lighter than a felony. He's been busted mid-thrust in every civic nook possible—bosses, employees, buddies' exes, even one nautical lay reported by coworkers to Fish & Wildlife while the boat rocked under them.