Tuesday, April 27, 2010
of course it wasn't all bad...
Now, before you all jump to the conclusion that my marriage to Lady Fingers (LF) was one long, urine-soaked orgy of discontent, I’d like to introduce some balance into the equation by way of a little story about our sex-life.
Soon after I got my first digital video camera I was overcome with a terrible urge to make home- porn!
Having already cut my directorial teeth on the mandatory beginner films, which consisted mostly of interviews with LF, during which I asked penetrating questions such as, ‘So do you have any idea where flies go when it’s raining ?’, while she screamed, ‘Take that fucking camera out of my face !!!’, I then completed a series of fascinating documentaries about our apartment before finally committing the ultimate cinematic indignity and filming our dog licking its own ass.
With no other compelling screenplays on my drawing board, it was an easy leap into the world of Indie Porn.
Deep down I really believe most guys want to try making their own blue movie because let’s face it; we’re clueless dirt bags. I believe that the average male will try to find porn within twelve minutes of logging onto the internet for the first time: though my research is predicated entirely on personal experience.
For most men it’s natural to watch it, so why not try and make it?
And I’m not talking about a grubby, unauthorized peepshow; luring your unsuspecting partner into the bedroom and secretly taping her undressing or performing a series of gymnastically improbable acts, oblivious to the camera whirring unseen in the closet. And certainly not one of those graphically medical, up close and personal ‘twiddle-the-diddle’ clips filmed with vadge-cam and incorporating surround-sound squelching noises.
I’m talking about something artistic; and for mine there’s nothing that showcases that artistry more than a nice, long, slow blowjob. Plus, it’s just about the most thoughtful thing a chick can do for her man! So, I mentioned this to my wife, who enthusiastically (???) agreed to let me film her rendering unto Caesar the comfort of her lips. In truth, we both thought it might be a rather exciting experience; one that would enhance our sex life immeasurably (er...not that it needed it).
So, after some hasty brainstorming with regard to set-location we chose a classic scenario; I would be seated on a chair and she would assume the position on her knees in front of me. We opted for a side-on camera angle, rather than the trendy point-of-view (POV) routine. I knew POV was a trap for young players; you never, ever, ever use POV unless you're hung like a moose. POV fore-shortens things terribly through the lens; the side angle is much kinder. It's why the guy peeing next to you always seems to have a bigger dick than yours. YEAH IT’S TRUE !!! I mean I can accept that some guys have a bigger dick than I do…BUT NOT EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM.
Anyway, I set the recording equipment on a tripod, optimized the lighting conditions, grabbed the remote control and took my seat in the director/star’s chair. LF took up her position on the floor, some preliminary adjustments were made to ensure ‘Mr Wibbly-Wobbly’ was looking his finest and the action began…
I won’t go into details regarding the actual length of the scene; suffice to say that duration was the least of my eventual worries. Throughout the entire performance I felt I was managing admirably, whilst LF ran expertly through her extensive oral repertoire with the sort of uninhibited grace I’d come to expect over the years. The finale was predictably spectacular as far as I was concerned; the usual panoply of epileptic spasms and ‘come-face’ grimaces from me, (which incidentally look remarkably similar to my ‘rubber-spider-in-the-lunchbox-face’ grimaces) and some dreamy licking of the lips from her. We could barely contain our mutual excitement at such a great ‘take’ and hurriedly raced over to the camera, hooked it up to the PC and downloaded our first-ever home-porn-movie…
Now, ever the realist I knew in my heart that I wasn’t a genuine porn star but unfortunately, like most young men I’d been brought up on a steady diet of professional work; you know the stuff I’m talking about…
The girl, suitably sweet-looking with just a hint of naughtiness, suddenly dislocates her jaw like a reticulated python preparing to swallow a giraffe whole and clamps her lips around her partner’s dick; a preposterously monumental example of penile super-abundance, seamlessly and somehow impossibly grafted onto the body of a normal male. This is followed by the obligatory bulging of the eyes, the puffing of the cheeks, whereupon the girl commences the act in earnest, a look of sheer terror gradually replaced by one of pure contentment. This is accompanied by an exaggerated, trombone-playing-like flailing of both hands, much lizardly tongue action and the depositing of several litres of saliva in the crotch region, before the salami-sized appendage is magically removed just in time to erupt all over the happy girl’s face.
Well, I wasn’t expecting to see anything on that grand a scale, but neither was I prepared for what unfolded on the screen before me.
There was my wife and there was I…in all our glory, re-enacting what I can only describe as the bit in the pre-flight safety demonstration where the hostess shows you how to manually inflate a life-jacket by blowing through the little valve. She was playing the hostess and I was playing the safety-jacket…