|
|
I appreciated his support, and I thought the idea an excellent one. There’s nothing that pierces through a funk more effectively, at least temporarily, than some random act of spontaneity. And, by definition, you can’t plan a spontaneous act, eh? So when the opportunity arose to do something I’d never done before, I, um, grabbed it. You see, my sex drive has gradually returned this week. (Needless to say, I’m pleased.) This, coupled with the difficulty I've had falling asleep at night on account of my sore shoulder, has birthed a new habit of getting up out of bed around midnight (about an hour after I retire) in search of some pornographic diversion. I have a stash of illegally-copied videos, of course, but lately I’ve been tuning into PrideVision because some nights they feature hardcore gay porn, while other nights the naughtiness is for the lesbians. Tuesday was ladies’ night, I discovered. But instead of turning off the digital cable and popping in a man-to-man video, I recognized this for what it was. Never having jerked off to lesbian porn before, this was nothing if not an opportunity for radical spontaneity! PrideVision’s featured “chick flick” that night was Goodbye, Emma Jo. I peeled off my briefs, grabbed some Kleenex and stretched out on the couch. (Giggling like a schoolgirl, I might add…) The story opens with this Etheridgesque blonde babe lying prostrate over a headstone in a cemetery, weeping profusely. I was struck by how authentic her crying sounded, as did the weepy lines of sorrow she spoke to—it soon became apparent—her recently deceased girlfriend. As Etheridgesque—dressed in a white tee and jeans—addressed her dear-departed lover, quick black and white scenes of their torrid sex life flashed across the screen. The raunchy visuals flitted so quickly and briefly that I couldn’t even get my cock in my hand to test out my reaction. Then it was back to the crying lady. She’d said her bit, and wandered back to her car. Her car wouldn’t start. Tears drying on her face, she swore about her rotten luck. And then suddenly a sexy brunette lady appears out of nowhere; she just happens to be the cemetery groundskeeper. “My dad used to be a mechanic,” she says, staring deeply into Etheridgesque’s sad eyes, “Maybe I can help.” They don’t get the car started, and it emerges that Etheridgesque lives in another city thousands of miles away; because it’s a weekend, she is stranded here until a mechanic can be found. The brunette Groundskeeper—wearing a white muscle shirt and khakis—offers to put her up for the night. Reluctantly, Etheridgesque accepts. Now this was a classic porn formula, one I recognized instantly. Watching, I thought about how most gay porn is devoid of any narrative build-up, any sexual tension—it’s all about the release, skipping right to the suck-and-fuck action. Alas, it’s precisely that psychological and sexual foreplay that I most get off on. Fascinated, I realized I was starting to get into the narrative dynamics between these women. Back at Groundskeeper’s place, candles everywhere and a fire going, Etheridgesque relaxs a bit. The energy between the women is definitely erotic. GK asks her if she’d like to take a shower; E says no, but she does accept a beer. GK asks her about what brought her to the cemetery, and the story comes out: E’s lover died of a drug overdose a few months ago. The girlfriend had been off drugs for years, but one night when E was out of town she partied with some old friends and that was that. E couldn’t forgive herself for being away, for not being there to look out for her beloved. And then all of a sudden E announces she would like a shower after all. Ok, here we go, I thought, ready to grab hold at a moment’s notice. But the camera does not cooperate: it barely trains itself on E in the shower. A couple side shots of her breasts as she soaps herself up with a mournful look on her face, but again, the nudity is extremely brief. There’s definitely not enough here for me to work with. Instead, the camera is much more interested in GK. I thought—veteran of gay porn plot twists—she would soon follow E into the shower, but no: she snoops through E’s backpack and reads newspaper clippings about the girlfriend’s overdose, looks at photos of E and the dead girlfriend. E, fully-dressed again, joins GK back in the living room. She asks GK more about herself and I learn that GK moved to this small American city from South Africa. Then GK makes a few stock-therapy comments about how E shouldn’t feel guilty about her girlfriend. This enrages E. Haughtily, she tells GK it’s none of her business. They get sullen, and agree that it’s time to call it a night. GK goes to her bedroom; E settles in on the fold-out couch by the fire. The camera goes haywire again; GK is in her bed, still in the muscle shirt and panties, stretched out and writhing provocatively as she brandishes a blue dildo in one hand. Now, finally, it appears something’s going to happen! But I can’t help but notice that that dildo’s not going anywhere near an orifice; she merely traces teasing lines overtop the fabric of her shirt and undies. Meanwhile, ever-sullen E wanders around the living room. At one point she walks up close to GK’s half-open bedroom door and hesitantly peers in. It’s not clear from the angle that she actually sees what GK’s doing in there. And that’s it. The next scene is morning time; E is sitting out on GK’s sunny patio. GK comes out with a cup of coffee and asks E how she slept. E says she slept fine, and then apologizes for snapping at GK the night before. GK apologizes too; an intense, emotional conversation ensues. Oh my god, I thought, bemused, my limp cock in hand, They’re processing their feelings! And with that, I conceded defeat. I turned off the digital cable box, turned on the VCR, and picked back up where I’d left off the night before. The two black studs were still locked in a standing embrace in the same abandoned alleyway: naked, narrativeless, and hard as rock. The plot soon thickened as they lay down and sixty-nined. I got familiar with my dick, and it thickened too. Within a few minutes of ogling the massive, mutually-fellated phalli, I came. So what can I say? I let my inner dyke out for about 15 minutes but she succumbed to that rare syndrome, SLBD. (Sudden-Lesbian-Bed-Death).
|
