Even for Porn That’s Silly

You mean he’s NOT here to fix the cable?

I’m not sure why any­one both­ers try­ing to write plots or sto­ries for porn.

I don’t like porn much because it’s so sil­ly and unre­al­is­tic, but like most guys, I have to admit I do like watch­ing peo­ple do things I like doing (viz., bondage).

But the vast major­i­ty of bondage video I’ve ever enjoyed or col­lect­ed is much like my favorite mar­tial arts movies: The best ones don’t even try to come up with a coher­ent sto­ry; they’re just vignettes.

When Bruce Lee died he was part­way done film­ing a movie titled Game of Death. In this movie, he had to fight his way to the top of a five-sto­ry pago­da for some rea­son, get­ting past a mar­tial artist of a cer­tain style on each floor to get to the next.

When Lee died, three of the five fight scenes had been com­plet­ed: The fight against Filipino/Kempo mas­ter Dan Inosan­to, Hap­ki­do mas­ter Ji Han Jae, and bas­ket­ball-fu mas­ter Kareem Abdul Jab­bar (no, I’m not mak­ing this up).

And that’s it. The orig­i­nal script is out there some­where, but I hon­est­ly don’t care why Lee had to fight to the top of the tow­er or what hap­pened when he fin­ished or any­thing else — you just get to enjoy vignettes of some awe­some fight chore­og­ra­phy with­out wor­ry­ing about whether the plot makes any sense.

That’s why I like the kind of bondage videos done by, say, Kink.com — where they sim­ply film a scene and inter­view the mod­el before and after. It’s real; no pre­tense. It’s like watch­ing UFC: There’s no sto­ry or plot. Two guys get paid to fight, and they fight.

I don’t mind the afore­men­tioned vignette-style bondage video, either:

  • Vignette 1: A hogtie and ballgag.
  • Vignette 2: Chair bondage.
  • Vignette 3: Spread­ea­gled on the bed with a vibrator.

None of that messy char­ac­ter devel­op­ment or sto­ry arcs or any of that nonsense.

There are only a few basic sto­ry lines in chop­socky kung fu flicks: A mas­ter has been humil­i­at­ed or killed and his stu­dent must save his hon­or. An out­sider with no train­ing or lin­eage shows up and saves the day from some cri­sis. A mas­ter’s stu­dent turns evil and has to be stopped.

Mar­tial arts film­mak­ers have man­aged to hang a lot of movies on those anorex­ic plots (hell; those three sen­tences just described the entire Star Wars franchise).

Porn has sim­i­lar­ly thread­bare plots: Bunch of girls in a dorm are out of cash, but offer to pay the piz­za boy anoth­er way; a plumber plumbs his cus­tomers more than their plumb­ing; some women “black­mail” some poor, poor guy into hours of hot mon­key lovin’, etc.

Despite Porky’s and Cad­dyshack,1 I just can’t see any of this stuff hap­pen­ing in real life.

But what’s much, much sil­li­er is porn where they try to cre­ate an actu­al plot of some sort. Ever heard the old joke about guys protest­ing that they buy Play­boy mag­a­zine just to read the arti­cles?2

I have to won­der — does any­one who makes porn videos think peo­ple watch them for the writ­ing or char­ac­ter devel­op­ment? (Much less watch them all the way to the end?) I mean, at least Play­boy actu­al­ly has articles.

I was look­ing at Kinky & Pop­u­lar on FetLife a cou­ple days ago and saw a video clip with the fol­low­ing “plot”:

A grade school teacher is hav­ing trou­ble con­trol­ling his stu­dents, so he vis­its a col­league who is more suc­cess­ful and asks her for tips.

So nat­u­ral­ly, she push­es him down on her desk and pegs him, flips him over and pegs him again, then walks out with his clothes and leaves him hid­ing under the desk naked.3

Um — what’s the mes­sage? That being pegged a lot makes you a bet­ter teacher? Or that doing a lot of peg­ging makes you a bet­ter teacher? What’s he sup­posed to do with the “advice” — peg his students?

I’m not into anal, but is this real­ly any­one’s fan­ta­sy? “Gee, I wish I was a mediocre teacher and some­body would repeat­ed­ly ass­rape me at work!”

(If that IS your fan­ta­sy, please get a job doing any­thing but teach­ing. Like feed­ing croc­o­diles by hand, maybe.)

When I was 11 or 12, there was a lot of buzz among the oth­er guys in junior high about some­one named Lin­da Lovelace and a movie titled Deep Throat.4 I asked a friend who seemed to know all about that stuff what the fuss was about.

Through the course of a long, inco­her­ent expla­na­tion I final­ly (sort of) got the plot: Lin­da Lovelace’s cli­toris was way, way down in her throat, poor girl, so the plot con­sist­ed of her try­ing to find a man whose bathy­spher­ic bon­er could dive down there and bring home the bacon. Or at least flick the bean.

So why did­n’t she just get a long-han­dled tooth­brush? Or swal­low some live gold­fish? And if her cli­toris was in her throat, what was in her vagi­na — tonsils?

Even though I was hid­ing in a tree­house with a few oth­er guys, snick­er­ing and devour­ing porn mag­a­zines as we breath­less­ly — and wild­ly inac­cu­rate­ly — tried to begin to under­stand human sex­u­al­i­ty, I knew. I knew some­thing was wrong.

Maybe not wrong; just sil­ly. Even for porn, it was sil­ly. Peo­ple just don’t run around fuck­ing their plumbers and piz­za boys. We don’t act like that in real life. Although I did once see some­one try — and fail epically:

I was at a writer friend’s birth­day par­ty, and anoth­er writer friend brought an absinthe foun­tain.5 Things got sloshy and hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry. My friend intro­duced me, a writer, to her friend, an agent, who had thought­ful­ly shown up at the par­ty pre-squiffed before she even had four or five times her fair share of absinthe. We chat­ted for a while about var­i­ous projects and she woozi­ly decid­ed she just had to get me her busi­ness card.

I fol­lowed her down­stairs to the ubiq­ui­tous bed with all the coats and purs­es on it to get her card. She hand­ed it to me and said, “Have you known [our mutu­al friend] a while?” I allowed we’d been acquain­tances a num­ber of years. Her eye­brows wag­gled and she said, “So I guess that means you know who you want in charge in bed.”

Wit­ti­ly, I ripost­ed: “Huh?”

If you’ve known her that long I just know you like a woman to take charge in bed!” I belat­ed­ly real­ized she was between me and the door and was about to try to push me back on the bed.

I’d nev­er exchanged any­thing more pas­sion­ate than a hug with the afore­men­tioned mutu­al friend, so I had no idea what my ham­mered agent friend was on about — but her inner porn script was­n’t hav­ing any rewrites.

So I told the drunk lady with the busi­ness card that yes, I sure did want some­one to take charge in bed, but it was going to take both of them to han­dle me (PORN PLOT ALERT!) so why did­n’t she just scam­per up there and get our mutu­al friend while I got ready?

Her eyes lit up and she scam­pered (well, stag­gered) upstairs. And I did not — repeat not — get undressed or hand­cuff myself to the bed or any­thing else like that. Besides the fact that I val­ued my friend­ship with my writer friend, and that I’m not quite dumb enough to let a drunk per­son I don’t know tie me to a bed, who wants to have sex on a pile of oth­er peo­ple’s coats and purs­es?6

Instead, I wait­ed a minute, then snuck upstairs to find my friend, and told her our drunk acquain­tance appar­ent­ly want­ed a three­some that would be non­con­sen­su­al on my part (I was less offend­ed than I was wor­ried that she might try to dri­ve home).

She gig­gled and said “She’s already tried to rope in four or five oth­er peo­ple, and I think she’s for­got­ten about you already.” (Ah, the slings and arrows of — I mean, whew).

I was­n’t sure whether to be flat­tered, hurt, dis­gust­ed or amused — she was so drunk and aggres­sive I can’t kid myself I did any­thing more arous­ing than breath­ing. She would have gone after the dogs, I think — I left soon after and would­n’t be sur­prised if she did. Before she passed out, that is.

Aren’t you glad real life is noth­ing like porn? Every pool boy, maid and groundskeep­er in the coun­try would be a slave, except when they threw off their shack­les, went down to Lowe’s and got bet­ter ones and kid­napped a rich heiress to take her to a secret island to brain­wash her into kid­nap­ping me and mak­ing me serve her in tight leather bondage, where we would all hap­pi­ly dance around Dana Delaney until Dan Aykroyd and Rose O’Don­nell would show up and spoil the whole thing.

That’s sil­ly, even for porn.

Footnotes

  1. Yes, this reveals my age. Per­haps yours as well. Deal with it.
  2. See No. 1.
  3. Would­n’t you love to be a fly on the wall in HR the next day?
  4. See Nos. 1 and 2.
  5. If you’ve nev­er tried absinthe, be my guest. But bring a spotter.
  6. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.