Full DisclosureBook - 2018
Instant New York Times bestseller
"Standing up to bullies is my kind of thing."
How did Stormy Daniels become the woman willing to take on a president?
In this book, Stormy Daniels tells her whole story for the first time: what it's like to be a leading actress and director in the adult film business, the full truth about her journey from a rough childhood in Louisiana onto the national stage, and everything about her interaction with Donald Trump that led to the nondisclosure agreement and the behind-the-scenes attempts to intimidate her.
Stormy is funny, sharp, warm, and impassioned by turns. Her story is a thoroughly American one, of a girl who loved reading and horses and who understood from a very young age what she wanted?and who also knew she'd have to get every step of the way there on her own.
People can't stop talking about Stormy Daniels. And they won't be able to stop talking about her fresh, surprising, completely candid, nothing-held-back book.
From the critics
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I was a student at Scotlandville Magnet High School in my hometown of Baton Rouge, sure, I got straight A's, but I always took a zero rather than talk in front of the class. My fear was so crippling, my voice so shaky, that I could not get out of my seat. The first time this happened was in ninth grade — an oral book report on Little Women. Of course, I read it — I read everything I could back then. And Jo March was the perfect character for me to talk about because, just like me, she wanted to be a writer. More than that, I identified with Jo’s frustration with what the world was ready to allow a girl to do. And no, I did not think she should have married old Professor Baer. (Sorry if that is a spoiler, but if you narrowed your next read down to this one or Little Women, you need to examine your life choices.)
“You Give Love a Bad Name” came on the radio. ... I nearly drove off the road when it got to the line, “Your very first kiss was your first kiss good - bye.”
I have a photographic memory, so I can put myself right back in every place we lived.
My mother instantly became a different person, as if my father’s leaving had triggered an off switch. She drank Coca - Colas all day, lighting each new cigarette off the one she was just finishing, then stubbing it out in an ashtray or whatever was close. She didn’t care what she looked like, and her hair became gray and got curly, seemingly overnight.
My mom and the neighborhood were in a race to see which could go downhill faster. The population of the neighborhood changed just as the crack epidemic hit Baton Rouge. What was once a stable, working - class neighborhood became a real - time loop of Cops. Even the yards gave up. The trees and lawns all died, and cars started getting parked in the yard.
I was nine. I was a child, and then I wasn’t.
It’s part of why I never sought help from an adult to stop the abuse. I thought that would just affirm what people thought about me. I suppose that’s what a serial abuser counts on — the notion that kids blame themselves. If you didn’t tell the first time, it’s harder to tell the second time.
I’d finally outright asked for help from an adult, and I was called a liar.
In a recent survey of two thousand people, 81 percent of the women alleged they had experienced sexual harassment or assault. Did they all become porn stars? By that logic, if you polled a hundred female surgeons — or politicians — would none of the women say that they got through growing up female scot - free? Vanessa and I endured assaults from the same man. Why isn’t she doing porn?
Being a rape survivor does not define me at all. If anything, what was ingrained into me was the expectation that I would not be believed if I ever asked for help.
They had a song called “Bleed Me an Ocean,” a line of which I still want to get tattooed on my body: “Just like a raindrop, I was born, baby, to fall.”
“You’re supposed to curl your lashes?” I asked. “Oh, sweetie,” said Mercedes. “Raised by wolves,” sighed Cheryl, fixing her lipstick.
I graduated from Scotlandville Magnet High School with straight A's and a goal of deferring college for a year.
I also named my breasts because I love them so much. Thunder and Lightning. I’ve had the same implants since 1999 — they’re almost old enough to drink.
A feature dancer is someone who is known for her pictorials or films. She can travel all over and draws her fan base to a club. She is paid by the club, keeps her tips, and when she performs — usually about two shows a night — the other house girls all stop because the feature is the star attraction.
“What’s a FIP?” I yelled. “I don’t know if I do that!” It’s a fake orgasm, a “ Fake Internal Pop.”
I went fully blond, and it’s amazing what blond hair and big boobs instantly do, by the way. Everyone thinks you’re stupid, but they sure want you around.
Society also drills into you the importance of family. “But that’s your mother,” we hear. “That’s blood!” No matter how toxic it is, we’re supposed to just drink the poison, and maybe this time they won’t let you down.
Seth recounted to Ellen DeGeneres on her show in April. “At the time, when you asked a porn star who they’ve been sleeping with and the answer was Donald Trump, it was like the least surprising thing that she could have said.”
My dream job was to be a writer for Saturday Night Live, and Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were my best friends in my head.
“I like you.” He fixed the belt of his pants and added, “You remind me of my daughter.” Now, I know everyone has made that sound sexual, and I feel so sorry for Ivana because she’s had to hear all these things. Yes, he said what he said, but it was not a creepy or sexual conversation. It was not some perverted, “You remind me of my daughter. She’s so hot. ” No, it was, “You remind me of my daughter.” And these were the exact words he added: “You’re smart, you’re beautiful. You’re just like her. You’re a woman to be reckoned with. ”
I pointed to his hair. “This,” I said, taking a long beat. “What’s going on with this?” “I know,” he said with a smile. ... I could basically have a head transplant if I wanted, okay? ” “Okay, well, why don’t you?” “Everybody talks about it,” he said with an air of in - on - the - joke smugness. “It’s my thing. It’s my trademark. Plus, if I let this person do it, it will just piss off all these other people.
I am sorry to report that it is not freakishly small. It is smaller than average — below the true average, not the porn average. I didn’t take out the measuring stick.
It has a huge mushroom head. Like a toadstool. I lay there, annoyed that I was getting fxcked by a guy with Yeti pubes and a dick like the mushroom character in Mario Kart.
Keith led me through to the VIP area, which was very dark. There was a long couch, and Trump was sitting in a corner with Ben Roethlisberger. Shortly before his twenty-fourth birthday, “Big Ben” had become the youngest quarterback to win the Super Bowl, leading the Pittsburgh Steelers to the win in Detroit that February. They were in mid-conversation, but Trump stopped and smiled at me. He made a kissy face like an invitation, and I just nodded. I sat next to Ben, who introduced himself.
I looked around for any sign of Melania, but she wasn’t there. “I did!” I said. I introduced him to Tera, and he brought me over to meet his son Don Jr. Don was there with his then wife Vanessa , who was pregnant with their first child. I know from recent reports that Karen McDougal was at the party. He didn’t introduce us, but as I go back in my memory I think I remember her in the VIP area. My hat’s off to him for having the balls to juggle two women at the party.
He was just run-of-the-mill insecure, which I find happens a lot with people with money that they didn’t earn themselves. They harbor this inner self-esteem problem that they try to mask by overcompensating. That’s him to a tee.
I sat under the crook of his arm as he became entranced by the documentary Ocean of Fear: The Worst Shark Attack Ever. “Have you heard about this?” he said. “It’s horrible. Horrible. ” I hadn’t, not being quite as up on sharks as I would learn he was. It’s the incredibly dark and tragic reenactment of the aftermath of the World War II ship Indianapolis sinking in July 1945. They were adrift in shark - infested waters, and the sharks were swarming because of the blood in the water from the dead and injured. Most of the sailors didn’t die in the actual sinking, but then the sharks just picked them off. Six hundred people.
Nancy was the “Nancy” Trump was talking about turning him down on the 2005 Access Hollywood “grab ’em by the pussy” tape released by The Washington Post in October 2016.
Hillary Clinton called. I could hear her voice through the receiver, and that accent saying “Donald.” “Hello, Hillary,” he said, briefly distracted from the sharks. He kept the movie going but started pacing around the room. She was up against Barack Obama seeking the Democratic nomination, and he had a whole conversation about the race, repeatedly mentioning “our plan.” They also discussed a family trip they wanted to take together — something involving a ski area. Who knows if Hillary was just humoring him.
I can’t know what Trump intended when he sent me upstairs with Ben. I kept thinking of what Trump said: “What did I tell you about this one?” Had he told him, “Hey, she’s down?” I have no way of knowing, and I don’t want to speculate.
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