You gotta love the
Japanese. They never invent anything, but they innovate everything.
Electronics, the auto industry, the ten man American gangbang. We don’t need
plots or sets or actors. We’ll streamline the whole goddamn thing and we’ll
call it Bukkake! What does it say about a culture whose idea of recherché
erotism is to get 100 interchangeable widgets to blast the punim of some
allegedly willing respondent with man-glue? Not much apparently, as this type of
film grossier has become as mainstream as D-listers getting out of limos
without underwear. And you know
the Japanese…they'll want to take it global!
There used to be a time in
the erotic arts when the actors actually kissed and looked longingly into each other’s
eyes before they tore up each other’s shit. In the frontier days of porn bodies
also looked human with their various levels of hirsuteness and imperfections.
Women were round and curvaceous and didn’t possess the futuristic, bondo-ed,
snare drum look of today’s sommeliers de cum.
Films had plots with set
designs and wardrobe. Parodies of genres were not uncommon as anybody who has
ever seen Mike’s Hammer can readily attest. Today if you watch an adult film
there only isn’t a plot, but there isn’t any lovemaking going on either, just
of series of gaggings, clubbings and impalings. And if that doesn’t give you
pause to ejaculate add a little bondage, expectoration and humiliation. Women
give hand jobs like Sarah Connor cocking a shotgun. Men call women and their
genitalia despicable names, then spit on, or slap the corresponding orifice.
Whatever goes is the “creep de jour”.
A naked body for the sake
of nakedness is not good enough. Tattoos, piercings are the accoutrements that
help us get off now. This is the problem with the wild frontier of the
Internet. Too much until it is not
enough. Now it is not uncommon for a 12 year old to know what a booty call is,
or to have the website Busty Midget Cock Riders bookmarked, or for that matter
own the director’s cut of some German shise film.
Playboy magazine suffers
because of the extremity of what is offered elsewhere. The girls next door are
exactly what they are girls who would matriculate at the local university their
only kink: to walk around nude in their bedrooms and if you were lucky enough
to live next to one you might get a peak which would last you to the last days
of your minority.
When I was in 8th
grade my friend Stu beckoned me over to his locker where he showed my a
wrinkled, dog-eared, black and white photograph of some wrinkled, dog-eared
woman laying on a bed with her legs spread. As I recall she looked rather
relaxed as she stared into the lens. That was the first time I ever saw so much
of a naked woman my experience being limited to perusing through a paper bag
filled with the stroke mags, (Swanks, Pampers and Nuggets to be precise, mild
Playboy knockoffs of the era ) I happened to find one day along with an unopened six pack
of Colt 45 malt liquor in the bushes behind the municipal tennis courts near
my house. How it got there is anybody’s guess, but as I think about it now, the reprobate who tossed it there probably was being called to dinner by the
piercing whistle of a tired and aggravated father and hastily ditched the
enterprise.
Well, to say that the erotic
voltage I felt standing by Stu’s locker after witnessing the glory of this very
average woman was minimal would be an understatement, but as 13 year-old boys
go the image became so embossed in the sulci of my brain I was easily covered
for the next two years until my parents who had the foresight as to the needs
of a 15 year old boy got me a prescription to Playboy.
Too much until it is not
enough.
I
miss the kinder gentler days of 69 when a girl sat on your face because you
deserved it and not as a punishment and anal sex was for very special occasions
like finding a cure for cancer or negotiating a peace treaty between the
Palestinians and the Israelis. Today, the bar is so low it has become the new
goodnight kiss.
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