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Confessions of a porn reviewer Once the strong sense of incredulity had given way to actual confirmation of the video's existence, we hurriedly arranged a screening of the notorious (and colossally stupid on behalf of all involved) production. Popcorn and beer were provided, and we even snagged a video projector for maximum effect.
Was it really R. Kelly? Uhhh, probably … but I had to admit that after the initial novelty of seeing a major celebrity videotaping himself in an illegal (not to mention morally repugnant) act wore off, it got really boring, really quick. Although I will hasten to add that while he really did urinate on the girl, he was classy enough to bust out the towel and help with the cleanup. A real gentleman … Despite the truly novel urine stuff, though, there was so little entertainment to be found that I actually walked out in intervals during the screening. After a little introspection on the subject, I concluded that I am indeed a porn snob. And surely, this display did not meet my criteria in terms of adult entertainment. First of all, there's the whole 14-year-old girl thing … ewww. I don't think anyone's ever accused me of being a prude (or averse to the young stuff, for that matter … just legal is all), but that's definitely "a bit" over the line in my opinion. But moreover, there was a lack of charisma and excitement in both subjects-the girl acted like she was on drugs, and Kelly wasn't exactly a dynamic performer. How did I get to be such a porn snob? Simple - reviewing porn. Maybe my more savvy friends at the screening knew that they weren't enjoying the video, but to qualify that dissatisfaction with specificity? Nope, that only comes from two possibilities - either I'd spent so much of my own money on porn that my collection would make the Library of Congress look like a few paperbacks scattered on the sidewalk of a garage sale, or at some point I'd actually made money doing what so many lose money on, watching hours of fucking on film. I wasn't always this way, of course. When I first got into reviewing adult films for the purpose of writing promotional copy for them, man, all it took was a pair of tits a-jigglin' wild and free to get a rise in my Wranglers. I would sit in the dark screening room alone with my shame, occasionally getting so distracted by the festivities that I'd have to administer a little self-medication, if you follow me (and I'm sure you'd rather not …). I guess the threshold for porn exposure occurs when someone who was once a novice, only occasionally splurging on, say, a Spice channel softcore, can actually identify the girls by name, or even cite their predilections, whether they do anal or not, etc. It's at this point that you begin to develop criteria for what how you judge the quality of performers and their performances. For me, it was gradually realizing which performers actually enjoyed their work and which ones were basically strippers who wanted to make extra dough. For instance, Jenna Jameson is a girl who just loves to fuck. While some girls can almost seem like they're watching the clock during a scene, it's cool to watch someone like Jameson or Felicia really get into it. This is especially evident in those magic moments when the camera catches them coming. Not the histrionic-laden banshee wails of affectation, but the genuine holy-shit-hand-clenching-teeth-gritting subtleties apparent mostly to porn hounds and those obsessed with human sexuality.
A lot of people don't believe me when I tell them that watching porn after porn after porn eventually becomes as titillating as watching Ford Explorers roll out of the factory, but it's true. After a couple of hundred hours spent watching the jizz fly, it's a true rarity when a scene or performer catches your eye long enough to raise the brow a bit. And as far as that seam-stretching tingle in the trousers … well, after you've become jaded to even the most extreme behavior, the only rise going on is your productivity, which isn't so bad, I guess. I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining too much-reviewing porn sure beats the hell out of digging ditches. It's just that ditch diggers get to go home and jerk off to bad porn, while I get all wonky talking about "charisma," and nothing short of donkey fellatio stirs my interest. Not even an R. Kelly video.
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