Dirty Pornos

Men Hung Like Grizzly Bears!

Mon, 12 Jun 2006 00:43:36 -0500

After I complete this post, I'm going to have one of the Tofutti Chocolate Fudge Treats that's sitting in my freezer, but although it will be the same delectable snack as always, I won't enjoy gobbling it down as much as normally do, because I will be thinking of Jaguar and Gigantua's ridiculously massive black cocks. (It doesn't help that unlike other pops, the Tofutti treats tend to quickly get soft at room tempature, giving them an oddly flesh-like quality.) I have never seen anything like Black Monster Dicks Fucking White Chicks (Pariah) before, unless you count Das Boot (it's about a submarine. Filled with seamen). How big are these two men's penises? You've heard the phrase, a baby's arm holding an apple? Think Shaq's arm gripping a basketball. Or click here. Or here. Fuck it, check out Goldie Coxx posed with 'em. Or Natalee Long getting probed by one. (Here's Hollie Stevens, right before she slides one of them in the gap between her two front teeth.)

This movie immediately raises two questions: Are the penises real? And why would a guy be interested in porn that's so clearly about dick and not pussy? (Not long after starting this column, I learned not to mention anything specifically male in the headlines--fewer people would click on it online.) I don't know the answer to either of these questions. But I can give the first one a solid "maybe." They certainly look real, leaving aside the fact that they're inexplicably anchored to humans and not Seabiscuit. And the guys do drop trou, although I didn't see any clear shot of their bases. They have to hold them up, but I don't expect 20 inches of dong to stay level no matter how much Viagra's feeding them. But here's the thing that makes me think this monster cock thing is a Bang Bus-style fabrication (which, by the way, I didn't manage to call when I first wrote about the Bus): Sperm. When these guys squirt, it looks like a carton of milk being poured down a drain. It's thin and runny, and there's more of it than comes in a goddamn Big Gulp. It also comes out kinda weird, like somebody's squeezing a pump. (And since when does a big dick mean a big load?) Still, it's quite a show, especially Goldie's scene, where she makes the cutest, wide-eyed-and-horrified faces. The girls chock just trying to get the head in their mouths, and when they're fucked, they squeal like it's a school bus backing into their vag. And as fake as they look, those hedge-fund-manager money-shots are totally fascinating. (I've seen Japanese pornos where women writhe in buckets and buckets of fake jizz that's better textured but not portrayed as real.) Of course, all this reinforces the stereotype of black men as sexual predators--the movie's shot with all white women, and the cover copy uses words like “scary” and “invasion.” Men not only get to identify with this female-endangering dick, they're simultaneously able to distance themselves from the whoever's wielding it. No one said it was White Chicks.

Bestial Lust!

Thu, 01 Jun 2006 03:03:28 -0500

Searching for a photo of Ice La Fox, I came across a shot of her with an animal, probably not a beloved pet (and not a fox either, incidentally)--this creature was doing something far worse than merely relieving itself in her bed. Though there are parallels. Normally I wouldn't mention the irrelevant, potentially embarrassing professional engagements of an actress--I certainly hope the word doesn't get out that I've written for Ranger Rick--but it suddenly became clear to me: Compared to that gag I mean gig, Ms. La Fox's appearance on Frank Wank Volume 6 (JM) must've seemed like a walk in the park. (An uneventful one, I'm saying, far from the dog run.) See, up until I saw that picture, I was wondering how one could face this Wank character, a shady man-with-a-cam type who wears a leopard-print pimp outfit and play bling, then refers to the starlets he fucks and pretends are amateurs as "stupid turds" on the cover of his DVD. It's not just the leopard print she needed to get past--it's that this beastly boy clearly wishes he were a frat boy dressing up as Kid Rock for Halloween.

But as always, my prejudices can't stand up to the sure and simple logic of porn--my prejudices against what women choose to do, that is. The guy's clearly a douchebag. Jasmine Byrne, Lacie Heart, and Jenna Presley basically humor the dude's fake casting couch bullshit for a scene that's probably easier than any they did that week--and that I actually found appealing in it's way. Sometimes the first person camera just clicks: how wonderfully bulbous and tangible an ass can look as it's dropped into a lap in the foreground, the voyeuristic thrill of a view from a tripod, the (dare I say) identification with the guy who's clearly in this to finger his favorite porn star. And then there's the great Dana Vespoli, who despite--or more likely because--of it all has a great time, telling Frank how much she loves to be fingered, in fact moaning on the stool, coffee cup in hand, as he digitally penetrates her. Pure animal lust--it is what it is.

Grossest Porn Ever!

Thu, 25 May 2006 13:38:26 -0500

Gilvert 11 (JM) isn't the first porn I've seen that incorporates raw meat, but it certainly offers the greatest variety--various cuts of beef, whitish chicken drumsticks, something dark and slippery I'm guessing is liver. The first meat movie I saw had men kneading women's feet with uncooked ground chuck, which is a great way to forever put an end to wifey's requests for foot massages. Here the meat gets placed all over the woman's body, wrapped around her face, stuck in her mouth, placed demurely over her crotch. It is the grand finale of a story that finds Ashley Blue inhabiting her latest Gilvert character, a young woman who blackmails $40,000 for college--a chance to turn her life around--from her uncle who once sexually abused her. I hear Lifetime's showing a softcore version.

Shock porn's rarely this realistic--or absurd. On the same day I watched Gilvert 11, I also saw Cam'ron's straight-to-DVD gangsploitation feature Killa Season. Over two hours of porn-caliber dialogue and acting shot on video, this movie probably had a smaller budget than Gilvert, on account of them not having to pay sex workers (although Cam does lick the side of his uncredited wifey's face and hump her softcore style). But Cam'ron--who wrote, directed, and produced the movie--didn't skimp on the ultraviolence and gore, including entrails yanked out of a man's stomach by hand. What's more shocking? That Cam would reduce his nuanced rap narratives to the most obvious play-acting (which I still enjoyed), or that Ashley Blue and her director would center the Girlvert's entire backstory around sexual abuse, that industry bugaboo? Apples and oranges--or liver and entrails--yes, but both these flicks skate onto thin ice and fall right through, redefining the pageant that is pseudo-cinema. Like Tarnation, only watchable.

Ashley Blue is porn's most savage critic--and it's most spirited actress. Where other starlets have ego--their motivation is starletdom--Blue simply has id. She abhors hypocrisy; when she pushes porn to its limits, she's not proving its resiliency, she's exposing how it's already broken. Girlvert is born to lose. In all the movies I've seen in the series, she suffers humiliation or worse, and exacts mindless but dogged revenge, generally by cajoling a man in exploiting another woman. Here's how this one goes: Girlvert gets to school and befriends the succulent sorority girl Kaci Starr, who promptly sics two frat boys on her. They pour something in Girlvert's drink and makes her blow them until she throws up--then makes her wipe it up and keep going. Afterwards, they tie her, naked, to a tree and pelt eggs at her. Next Girlvert finds the warm embrace of two campus Christians, a guy and a girl (Roxxxy Rush); bored with their songs and rhetoric, she raises holy hell, telling the guy his friend's a lesbian, and to fuck the homosexuality out of her (he does, and slaps her face with his dick, yelling, "Demons be gone!"). Finally, she returns to the sorority, and instructs the "retarded" maintenance man to, in essence, rape Kaci Starr's character, shouting like mad all the while. Amber Wild gets the meat treatment (plus the oversized dildo treatment) for preaching vegetarianism. At the end, the Girlvert tosses her books in the trash, no lessons learned.

Art School Sluts!

Sat, 20 May 2006 17:08:49 -0500

Because my brother just finished his first year of art school, and because I may be dragged to the theater to see Art School Confidential, it now seems appropriate to review Eon McKai's Art School Sluts (VCA). (Who says this column isn't timely or relevant? That's right, keep walking.) Art School Confidential concerns bored crit-addled students pursued by a serial strangler; Art School Sluts concerns bored crit-addled students pursued by a professor who likely strangles his cock to thoughts of paint-splattered co-eds. (Despite him being nauseatingly unattractive, I strongly identify with the man.) Actually, the prof appears in just one scene, with Katja Kassin (from now on, click on names for pics), who pulls off the whole art school slut thing despite being dressed for a rave, and probably, generally speaking, better off in the role of an Eastern European spy. The cock strangler fucks Katja in front of the whole "class"--a group of civilian hipsters who cast an awkward, watching-porn pall over the proceedings. I kept wondering if they're thinking it's "cool" to appear as an extra in a porn. The environment most certainly is not--the prof sweats so heavily he drips all over Katja. Definitely not cool.

But the movie has worse problems. McKai leaves in the bits where actors struggle with their lines (and I mean struggling; you'd think they were real art students judging by their inability to read off of a sheet of paper), which I found so goddamn cute I was reaching for my small-gauge rifle. There's a crap scene where Sin Serious (I believe) meets a mohawked Beavis who laboriously ties her up, thinking he's a real prize, then simply undoes the ropes, squandering the little tension they'd built, and has some other guy come in and fuck her missionary style, apparently because his STD test "hasn't come back yet." I hesitate to even call this pro-am. Keiko, who I loved as a cock-gobbling sub in Throat Gaggers #6, and stars here, is convincing as a college slut because there's more curiosity to her than raw sexuality, and she dresses like she's headed to the cafeteria rather than a porn shoot. Her and Felix Vicious have an improptu threesome with a fellow student--after dancing to drum'n'bass, implausibly (and hilariously) enough. (The whole soundtrack is passe glitchy dance music, in fact. Practically gave me arrhythmia.) She also dreams of crashing a car with the absolutely precious Lili Anne, then bumping donuts on the wreckage. That's the first scene, and a taste of things to come.

Best . . . Breasts . . . Ever!

Sun, 14 May 2006 23:57:26 -0500

It's the little things. 1 Lucky Fuck #2 (Platinum X) really gets the details right, from the use of the phrase “ball snot” on the back of the DVD box--as in, “These sluts suck multiple dicks then get fucked while their faces get glazed with ball snot”--to the whole concept of the movie, to wit: A few guys get a gal's throat snot running, gag-o-rama style, then when her makeup's completely ruined, she wipes the saliva from her eyes, looks around, and chooses one of these men to put it in her heretofore unopened pussy, at which time the men start unloading their BS on her face. The “one lucky fuck” dick-loogies last. This is really something different. When have you ever seen a gonzo in which the woman gets to choose anything? That she's actually assessing the men--choosing one she likes, or at least prefers over the others--fascinates me. And it's only when director Jake Malone asks them to pick do the ladies actually seem to check the men out. All but two study the men one by one, and then make an informed decision. One already seemed to know who she was into. The other wanted them all to sink it the pink. (According to the box, “A couple of these whores insisted on fucking everyone!” Maybe I missed one.) There's not much to make of the choices--the gray-haired old guy, surprised and pleased to be chosen; one generically attractive type--but that Christmas-morning moment of the women looking up from the floor at their options really has some charge to it.

Of course, I'm biased to care more for the director's choice of women then the women's choice of men. I can't fault Malone there. Layla and Tiger I can't show you because--well, you Google image search “Tiger porn” and see what you come up with. (By the way, in my Googling I stumbled upon this impressive gape. Enjoy!) Amber Rain pic)? Belle-issimo! Crissy Cums (pic)? A little big-knife-between-'er-boobs scary, but hot! Myah Monroe (pic)? Bridge-and-tunnel adorable! It gets better. The remaining women all have simply fantastic large tits. I was, as I suspect of many guys, a tit man before I was anything else. Ass man, long-hair man, bald-pussy man, crooked-teeth man, love-handles-forming-graceful-arcs-above-tight-jeans man--those personaes all came later. This movie reminded me that, deep down, in some essential, ultimately unknowable way, I am and always will be into gazongas. Gianna (pic)--mwah.Sophie Dee (pic)--shluuuuurp. Velicity Von (pic) . . . Velicity's adorable. Her tits are astonishing. Totally natural in the sense that they don't seem to be defying gravity or anything--they're not squint-for-scars 19-year-old perk bombs. You can picture yourself pulling off her bra, and her tits settling just so. Pink, healthy looking nips slipping into view. Her tits are an argument for the nudity that laddie mags so effectively skirt, and most porn so cynically foregrounds. And damn do they look nice with baby oil slathered on 'em. Turns out it's the big things after all.

Illegal Immigrants!

Wed, 10 May 2006 17:12:55 -0500

Everyone knows immigration is a hot button issue right now, but not what kind of hot button: the clit. (It's more often compared to a pencil eraser or referred to as the man in the boat, but as Tristan Taormino recently pointed out, there's not many slang words for the clitoris. So here's some I've made up: fenis; slipple; beef curtain peppercorn; juice dispenser; hood rat; valley ball; hair gulch boulder; Sally slipper; speed bump; broken lock; cave marble; teat two; dropped contact; permapimple; eye of the tigress; Dolores; vagit; dicklamp. You're welcome.) I expected Mexicum (Smash) to trenchantly explore the unexamined issue of what our illegal immigrants (particularly Latinos) offer us sexually, and I don't simply mean as exploitable beings, though of course I also mean that. They've brought to this country many wonderful things that we may someday find tolerable, like reggaeton and the Puerto Rican parade, and many more things that we've fallen in love with and stolen. But no one's telling us what sexual positions they've introduced here, or the fruitful products of their commonly Catholic upbringings, or whether they're into men of European descent who took a little bit of Spanish in high school. Yes, we all know of the young women in hoop earrings who cry, “Ay papi!” but surely there's more to convince middle America of the value of our immigrants.

While it's a step in the right direction, Mexicum will not fundamentally shift the immigration dialogue in this country. (A Spanish-language version of the “Star-Spangled Banner,” on the other hand . . .) First of all, I didn't even know Haley Paige (pic) was Mexicum. (Vocabulary note: A Mexicum is a Mexican who has “cum” to the United States.) And oddly, her scene--which begins the generously proportioned starlet sunning herself in white cotton top and bottom, sporting a conspicuous camel toe--teams her up with a Frenchman, who secretly masturbates to her display, then “charms” her into fucking him. I appreciate that this isn't a monolithic representation of immigrant life, but the cultural static gets a little distracting there. But hey, if America isn't best represented as a melting pot, it's a tossed salad, right? (Carrots out now!) Kat (pic) doesn't indulge any stereotypes either. Playing a student at junior college, still in braces, she engages in some mildly rough sex with her plumber--a white man (albeit blue collar. Me, I'm read all over). Jasmine Byrne (pic), Kathleen Kruz (pic), and Sativa Rose (pic) anchor a couple FFM scenes between them (and maybe a couple others, I lost track), and since they aren't vignettes, we have to guess at the implications. I'm thinking the abundance of gals says something about cheap labor. The best scene of all goes micro, peering into the life of Christina Agave, who watches porn naked only to have her older sister's boyfriend (the plumber, if I'm not mistaken) come upon her and then come upon her. If this is a commentary on the close inter-generational family relationships in Latin America, I don't know what it's saying. But the scene's hot to death--Christina strikes the perfect balance of demure but interested, and the boyfriend slowly but firmly takes it all the way to her ass. It's the American dream.

The Future of NYC Porn!

Sat, 06 May 2006 16:43:21 -0500

I realize that Joanna's Angels (VCA; cover) has been out for a minute now, but I saw it for the first time last night (big Friday for Maldoro), and this being a blog and all--a porn watcher's diary, if you will--I figure it's fair game. So. Dear Diary: I sat down with a box of tissues (and not just because it's allergy season) but I gotta tell you--I didn't beat it. Watched the whole thing and never even took it out. Instead, I was thinking more about this alt-porn phenomenon, and its larger ramifications. The movie's shot in Williamsburg, and there's plenty of hipster reference points--Lit, lofts, Macs, tats, etc. But the people in the movie, Joanna Angel included, aren't cutting-edge hipster. They're dyed-hair punk when most chicks in Williamsburg these days are emulating Stevie Nicks (which I applaud, by the way). Is it their DIY ethos that has gotten the punky hipsters into porn? Is it, despite the movie's garbage anti-L.A. sub-theme, that all porn somehow relates back to California, where punk and rockabilly are still viable sub-cultures? (Rancid's on the movie's soundtrack.) Or has alt-porn become its own sub-culture, its particular look reaching back to Makeout Club and the goth-punk of the late '90s, when the whole thing emerged? I'm not by any means suggesting that alt-porn and Burning Angel aren't cool (or for that matter, hot), but I wouldn't mind seeing the Stevie Nicks wanna-be's on camera as well.

In fact, forget Williamsburg. This city's full of neighborhood-identified hotties. Think of all the possibilities for the enterprising NYC micro-genre pornographer: Greenpoint Polish; Park Slope MILFs; Uptown socialites; Columbia/NYU/etc. students; outer-borough illegal immigrants (they're hot these days); downtown bankers;
K-town talent; happy ending massage technicians of Chinatown; the chicks who wear sexy costumes and come to the Village on Halloween; bridge-and-tunnellers on the L.E.S.; NYSC/Crunch/etc. gym rats; Manhattan trophy wives--I could go on.

Still, I'm into the women of Joanna's Angels: new to the small-screen Kylee Kross (pic) and Sabrina Sparx (pic), L.A. star Katrina Kraven (pic), and of course, Joanna Angel herself, who gets DP'ed and throws up a little when the handsome James Deen shoves his dick down her throat. These scenes throw off sparks because they're ever so slightly amateurish. Joanna, who directs with an outsider's openess, is also an interesting actress, all alt-ness aside. She antsy and full of animal sounds; there's something particularly dirty about her wild-eyed eagerness. (Beware: pat conclusion ahead.) And that may be the most alternative thing about her.

Tristan Taormino's Reality Porn!

Tue, 02 May 2006 19:10:13 -0500

I'll be honest with you here: I thought Tristan Taormino, my fellow columnist (that is, a person I appeared with in print a few years back. Remember those times, Tristan? The memories! Hey, we should get together over coffee sometime, reminisce about the old days. You've got a column due? No, it's cool . . . I should probably post to the blog anyhow. Just saw a pretty sweet . . . oh, OK--you get to it. I know, print deadlines--killer. Call me?), was actually starring in her new movie House of Ass (Adam & Eve), not directing it. I seriously believed I'd be watching someone I know personally . . . met once . . . IM with . . . emailed repeatedly and never heard back from . . . once spotted in a cab that splashed a puddle on me . . . get down on camera. Wouldn't you be psyched to see the cutie in the cubicle next to you or your sexily forbidding boss mama or the lunch lady have real actual intercourse on your laptop (assuming it's not actually your dick co-worker literally plowing her on top of your laptop, although of course you'll make exceptions)? It would be like a celebrity sex tape, but somehow creepier/hotter.

Tristan has given us her own spin on the celebrity sex tape. (And you thought I couldn't segue out of that morass!) Let's turn to the back of the box, shall we? “Sexual fantasy meets reality when a group of porn stars spend the weekend at a remote house, indulge their sexual appetites, and the cameras never stop rolling.” Before I tell you why this is my kind of movie, let me state for the record that although I thirst for validation from respected sex columnists (and hope to be invited to the next gathering at a remote house that Tristan hosts--don't worry, TR, I'll bring my own supply of Valtrex!), I watched this movie the way I watch 'em all: dick in hand, finger on fast forward. (Sometimes I switch it up so there's a thumb in my ass.) With all the scandals plaguing journalism (I'm not naming any names . . . Park Slope Reader!), the last thing this industry needs is news that Johnny Maldoro's actually watching an entire movie just because a colleague of his directed it.

So. Here's why this is my kind of movie: It's essentially a creative gonzo, and only as realistic as serves the masturbating viewer. There's no plot, just a framework that provides for charged sex encounters. And I have to say I liked the reality-show talking-head recaps, where Joanna Angel (pic) , for instance, talks about why exactly Scott Nails turns her on (she always wanted to fuck jocks in high school despite being a feminist punk, big surprise there), and Scott Nails mentions without being didactic about not being turned on by hurting women (this is a light feminist touch, proof that a little responsibility won't make anyone limp). The cast is great, though not noticeably different than that if any mainstream porn, the uniformly decent-looking dudes--Nails, Mr. Marcus, “Talon”--aside. Sarah Blake (pic) and Justine Joli (pic) are smoking, pert-breasted skinny chicks; Saana (pic) is a smoking, pert-breasted, skinny Euro chick with white-blond hair (real, I think); and Keeani Lei (pic) is a smoking, pert-breasted, skinny Asian chick. I won't give away any details because I'm too lazy, but suffice it to say everyone sluts it up royally, all over the house, in many of the conceivable combinations (you do the math). Joanna--dun dun dun--fucks a black guy for the first time, and he's not even a hipster. (And don't think that because Tristan gives lectures on dildos and enjoying sex and stuff that the fucking isn't dirty--it's so dirty one scene has to happen in a bath.) Tristan: Nicely done. Call me?

Nutty Biker Porn!

Sun, 30 Apr 2006 23:25:40 -0500

OK, so I'm watching a rerun of The Simple Life. (Hey! I'm not a loser with nothing else going on--there's also a neighborhood Rottweiler licking the peanut butter off my dick.) Nicole (pic) and Paris (pic) are staying with a “biker” family, and the family's biker friends have just rumbled up for a biker outing to find the girls (I've recently tried to avoid referring to women as girls, but I'll make an exception for these sluts) dressed in biker outfits. Were this genuine entertainment, of course, the bikers would dismount, take the girls back into their little trailer, and biker bang the living daylights out of 'em. That would be hot. But let's be realistic: Wouldn't it be hotter to see Dana Vespoli (pic) and Julie Knight (pic), two deep-throat professionals (or as Cam'ron would call them for short, DTP's), get the living daylights biker banged out of them?

That's exactly what Motorcross DP (1st Strike) promises. Here's the catch: It's inspired by motorcross riders, not real tattoos-and-wings, stomp-out-a-gonzo-journalist's-teeth Hell's Angels. Who gives a fuck about motorcross? Sure, it's white trash and all, but there's nothing badass/sexually menacing about racing dirt bikes, despite their loud engines. Even crotch rockets would be better--don't Asian gangsters ride those? It's pretty obvious the concept only came about because somebody has a homey with a dirt bike repair shop. But at least the setting's realistic. And Dana, although not porn's best actress-qua-actress, does a decent job in her scene as the shop's proprietor. Business is slow; she walks around in zippered mini-top, mini-bottom and mega boots, showing off her seemingly much skinnier body and bizarre new tats (which include five lines of writing that run the entire length of the inside of her upper arm, very Memento). Like the tats fine, can't say I'm especially psyched about the weight loss, but it's her life to live (very Vivre sa Vie). In any case, she's looking less cosmopolitan model and more insane-in-the-membrane sex predator. But I'm losing the rote plot-rehash thread: She sashays and exposes herself, then two guys come in. Immediately she's gushing--apparently they're famous motorcross racers (which is kind of like being a famous coal mine bin, but I digress). She asks for their autographs; “I'll suck your dicks . . . I'll let you fuck me in the ass!” And it's on to the wobbly H. (No Eiffel Tower though, surprising considering that they're jock buddies.) Dana's her usual insatiable self, lunging and grabbing, and 1st Strike's not altogether bad looking studs keep feeding it to her without too much fuss. The scene got my motor running and took me across the finish line, if you catch my drift. I jerked off and came, is what I'm getting at. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm borrowing this bit from the Family Guy sailor character who keeps saying the same thing different ways in that one episode.

Later, either Brandi Lyons (pic) or Nicki Hunter (pic) plays a girlfriend who gets her boyfriend out of paying off a bet in the shop; I did not feel this hewed closely enough to the motorcross theme, and so I denounce it. Julie Knight's scene had an absurd flavor that I appreciated, however. She sits and masturbates intensely; a guy rolls into the shop (on a crotch rocket--continuity alert!) and eyes her with some employee who is not Dana Vespoli. The two men just sort of shrug and fuck her face, and later, other orifices. In a word: Racy!

Meth-Fueled Sex Mayhem!

Wed, 26 Apr 2006 14:18:03 -0500

Like other movies put out by JM, White Trash Whore 34 includes choice promotional copy on the back of their DVD cases, arranged around some of the dirtier shots from the movie (hair being yanked, double-penetration, seven men masturbating in the vicinity of one woman, etc). We're supposedly hearing what the actresses are thinking: “I'm letting a creepy guy fuck my ass. This is a new low in my life”; “I will just die if anyone I know sees this movie”; “Smile pretty for the camera. Remember, this isn't real. It's just acting”; and my favorite, “Why is everybody laughing at me?” (The cover shows Liv Wylder [pic], her sole article of clothing, denim shorts, yanked down to her knees, standing outside smoking a cigarette while four black men point at her and, indeed, laugh.) Most skin houses would stop at the white trash conceit--what more do you need? But JM blurs the line between the actresses and their trashy characters, giving both a dimension they wouldn't otherwise explicitly have--a humiliating dimension for the cynical viewer's benefit, but another dimension nevertheless. (Further complicating this is the series slogan: “I'm not a white trash whore, I just play one on TV.”) The movie's full title is Liv Wylder is a White Trash Whore 34--see, she even has a model number.

Bother to watch the thing and you'll find more intriguing parallels between our titular whores and the women who play them. (If that sounds deadpan, don't blame me.) What I really mean is that they're all shown snorting drugs, and from what I hear, that's not without precedent on set. (For the record: In the behind the scenes footage that finally dissolves the whole trash-actress interplay, we're shown the ample “lines” being snorted up by mouth.) The vignette framing--two paranoid guys hiding from a helicopter, tweaker Liv hallucinating the aforementioned seven black men, Ashley Blue (pic) turned on by her own skinniness as brought on by drug use--somehow makes the gonzo more realistic. We're not just witnessing the typical woman kneeling on a marble floor and blowing a guy, we're telescoping the context, seeing the drugs, the depravity, the humiliation, and not least of all, the fun.

The movie's comprised of just three scenes starring the two (admittedly exceptional) women. (Perhaps JM thought the 11 men would make up for this.) Liv first does it with the two paranoids, outside, on what appears to be a car covered by a dirty tarp. (It creaks throughout.) She then wanders over to a filthy shack in her denim micro-shorts and top that doesn't come down quite far enough to cover her small tits, joining Ashley and two other druggies. Ashley scratches at her face in a small mirror and blathers about how skinny she feels; later, as she's shoving her hands down her throat and sucking the two guys off, she says something about fearing that she'll bite their dicks because of her grinding teeth. Behind-the-scenes reveals she's actually more concerned with queafing, overly uncomfortable positions, and the nasty onion smell emanating from the floor. (Liv deals rather well with being folded like origami in a trash compactor by the chatty posse.) Like in so much work, the worst humiliations are the most petty.

Johnny's Biggest Turn-Ons!

Sat, 15 Apr 2006 18:57:43 -0500

As I've said, vignettes--stories that bridge reality and fantasy--make for the best porn. Done right, they're a big turn-on. Here are some of my other turn-ons:

Women who are taller than me
Big butts
Big tits
Small tits no bra
Small butt no panties
Long luxurious hair
Sass
Freckles (especially on Asian women)
Brazilian-waxed privates
Women in dresses riding bikes with baskets
Manicured nails (especially with glued-on decorations)
Kinda weird faces (pic; pic; pic at bottom of page)
One-piece bathing suits (especially still wet after a dip)
Feminists
Crooked teeth
Super-tight jeans
Scrubbed clean hip hop chicks with perfect makeup, hair pulled tightly back, and bright, color-coordinated outfits
Pierced nipples, for some reason
Faint little mustaches women don't bother to bleach
Drummers

Here are some turn-offs:

Thongs (especially showing above pants)
Very tired joggers
Muscly women
Australian accents (although I love the Australian people, despite the fact that as a country they're radically conservative)
Fake tits
Shoulder pads
Jock boyfriends

Of course, I could still easily be turned on by any of the things in list two. (In fact, reading them again, I'm getting kind of hot.) Bet Your Ass (Evil Angel) should theoretically turn me on, since it's a series of vignettes. And it does star Katja Kassin (pic), one of porn's most confident performers, an Eastern European with almost shocking ass-ets. But mini-narratives are tricky, just as good short stories are tough to write. The ones featured here seem more like a good-natured attempt to put some effort into the moviemaking rather than carefully aimed attempts at teasing out the turn-ons that lurk in everyday life. It's respectable, but respectable doesn't cut it. Katja's setup is by far the most interesting. Clad in some bikini like lingerie, she stands in a kitchen scooping cookie dough onto a sheet. She then puts this in the oven, licks the oven door, shows off her ass, and sticks a whisk deep into her pretty little butthole (handle first). Then, as she's pulling the cookies out of the oven, a guy comes in, they tenderly feed each other, and he gives her a savage reaming. It is a picture of domestic bliss. It is also a little boring (though I appreciated her use of the whisk. If she makes him an omelette afterwards, we don't see it). I imagine this scene's best use would be to convince your home-and-hearth-tending spouse that no-holds-barred ass-slammings are a natural part of family life.

I'm not sure what the purpose of these other scenes would be. Katrina Kraven (pic) plays a model. The man photographing her winds up shooting more than pictures, of course, and while the sex is decidedly raw--including a face-fuck that brings even this dirtiest of alt-type chicks to the brink of utter, eyes-rolling-back-in-head exhaustion, her face coated with spit and mascara--the spark's just not there. In fact, the vignette extinguishes it--I'd rather just acknowledge that Katrina Kraven's getting wretched with a stunt cock. Porn stars pushing themselves to extremes, nothing more, nothing less, is a turn-on. Sandra Romain (pic) and Dillan Lauren (pic) simply bone (separately) some guy in a nice apartment, one of them after playing cards with him (not even strip poker). I imagined they were yuppie couples spending a quiet night in, which didn't do much for me. Haley Paige (pic), a quiet, impressively breasted talent, gets the worst “plot” of all: After fondling herself in a mirror, she dons a black cocktail dress and strides into a large, marble-floored room where a man waits with an uzi. She immediately kicks her dress off and gives him deliberate head; he pounds her butt like he's at the firing range. Gotta admit, I like the use of foreshadowing.

Alt's Hottest New Starlet!

Tue, 11 Apr 2006 20:04:17 -0500

What makes an "alternative" porn star? In music, it's easy: you just need to have played rock in the '90s. Maybe in 2016, when all sex has to be shot with the women in burkas, per order of Supreme World Ruler Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, we'll look back at this era and say it's simply the black hair and tattoos. Joanna Angel (pic), Supreme World Ruler of both sides of alt porn's camera, shoots in Williamsburg, works with Eon McKai, and uses Rancid songs (see sentence two) in her soundtracks. The blond bimbos of the industry are often invoked in the same breath as the term "alt porn"--as in, "alt porn girls aren't the usual blond bimbos"--but really, while Jenna Jameson may be the current pop-culture porn ideal, that doesn't automatically make her the porn-culture ideal. She is famous because she resonates with the household-namer mainstream--a mainstream assumes that porn stars are fake-titted blonds, when in fact, I can tell you that there are no more blonds in porn, bottled or otherwise, than there are in your local high school. One of the truly neat things about the industry is that, while it favors in the broadest sense conventionally attractive women, it is representative of all types, because men are interested in all types.

Riley Mason (rare pic), who appears in the conventionally good All Teens (Digital Sin), has also appeared in Eon McKai's Neu Wave Hookers, which I suppose counts for alt cred. Now. When I say alt, you say porn--wait, what I meant was, when I say alt, I mean a woman who is more likely to have staked her mall turf over by the Hot Topic than American Eagle Outfitters. Riley Mason has black hair but no tattoos that I noticed, and her tits are real (and fantastic, I might add). I guarantee dozens of men have masturbated to this scene who have know idea what Hot Topic is, or the Screaming Trees for that matter. If a guy splurts to a chick without knowing she's an altie, does it make a sound? Or rather, is she still an altie? Katrina Kraven (pic) is a textbook altie with the career of a bimbo, all due respect. If she bleached her hair, she'd simply be left with as many tattoos as the next starlet, and then what? Would your Pearl Jam loving Williamsburg roommate's dick explode, his porn dissent having been commodified? All Teens features plenty of other talents:

Emma Red; Jeanie Marie Sullivan (pic); Kelsey Michaels (pic); Savannah Stern (unflattering pic; "Breezy." If we took them to Urban Outfitters--as, in fact, someone seems to have done with with Kelsey Michaels, unless that's a pic of someone else--will they too fit in an Eon McKai flick? The answer is probably. But they still wouldn't be as smoking as Riley Mason, who many porn viewers may recognize as a teen they might see at the mall without having the faintest notion she's picked a favorite store.

Beginners Fuck!

Sun, 09 Apr 2006 19:34:07 -0500

Most of us will never hire a prostitute, get a happy-ending massage, or give a reach-around to a spider monkey while reciting the “Pledge of Allegiance.” But many of will enjoy pornography, and some will even masturbate to it. Which is why, on this Sunday afternoon, I'd like to pause and reflect on the underacknowledged role that porno plays in our lives. It is a dirty thing, and in this day and age, incredibly convenient. New Releases # 3 should remind anyone who watch it just how lucky we are to have it. Would a stunner like Ria Lynn (pic) even speak to us in a bar? Does it matter, seeing as how she'll fondle her small, pierced nipples at the command of a man working on our behalf, then lay back, close her eyes, open her mouth, and take an at-the-ready penis down her throat only to smile broadly, mouth thick with dripping saliva? To meet Georgia Peach (pic; Georgia's on the left) would be to have one's stale notion of the cute, untouchable southern belle reinforced; to view her slathered in makeup, pulling apart her ass cheeks, is to have the oneness of humanity suffuse your body and stiffen your cock. All of these women--Aleia Tyler; Kaiya Lynn (pic); Lexi Love (pic); Nikki Hilton; Tiffany Taylor (pic)--tell a story that has no words, but a narrative spelled out in the very blood rushing from our brains to engorge the primal drive embedded in the tangle of filthy little hopes and towering cultural constructs that ineluctably bind us together. They carry us to place we do not truly know, but that somehow feels like home. God bless you, newbies.

The 'Sopranos' of Porn!

Tue, 04 Apr 2006 16:46:18 -0500

Two nights ago I skimmed Gumadas (DNA) in search of something wankable. I eventually found it--Cherry Lane (pic) on Corina Taylor (pic); girls kissing can be so refreshing--but nothing in the video moved me in quite the same way as, say, that new Bubba Sparxxx song with the chorus that goes, “Bootybootybootybooty rock it everywhere!” And let's face it, that song kinda sucks. Gumada, as you may know, is Italian (slang?) for a woman on the side--you take her out on Friday and the wife on Saturday (or is it the other way around? I've got to check my Treo). Nice concept. Except that, besides some blatant copyright infringement of the Godfather theme, the movie follows through on the idea not at all. The one lascivious look Ray Liotta shoots Debbie Mazar in the bedroom of his then-gumada's apartment in Goodfellas is hotter than everything in this movie put together. In fact, it's a wonder Liotta's not doing porn these days.

With all due respect to the ladies--Gabriella Banks (pic); Lauren Phoenix (pic); Aimee; Loni (pic)--Gumadas rates with the Sopranos if you've only seen the crappy second episode of this season. Maybe it's supposed to be some gumada's dream sequence, I don't know. In any case, I'm repeating myself (just ate some gabagool). It may be that the feminist sci-fi book I finished last night--Wild Seed, by the great (and late) Octavia E. Butler--spoiled me with its climactic othercourse scene, which happens between two immortals, the only such kind they know of on earth.

She did not know what he did or what she did but it was startlingly good. It was a blending that went on and on, a joining that it seemed to Anyanwu she controlled. Not until she rested, pleasantly weary, did she begin to realize that she was losing herself . . . They joining they had enjoyed was not enough for him. He was absorbing her, consuming her, making her part of his own substance. He was the great light, the fire that had englobed her. Now he was killing her little by little, digesting her little by little.

That's hot! And Wild Seed would be an excellent name for a porno. The focus could be on englobing, rather than the skeet-skeet-skeet, and . . . well, now I'm just fantasizing, and I don't think you wanna go down that road with me. Unless, Ms. Mazar, you're reading this . . .

Porn by Women, for Men!

Sun, 02 Apr 2006 15:27:36 -0500

Correction: As a persnickety reader named STONER points out in this entry's comments, I misidentified an actor in Spunk in the Trunk as our old but apparently not always easily recognizable friend Otto Bauer. My bad. But let me take this opportunity to remind everyone that this is an unedited, unchecked porn review blog. Indeed, I'm not even particularly interested in getting my “facts straight.” Twenty percent of the facts contained herein are probably dead wrong (to say nothing of the opinions). The future of journalism is now.

Who among us does not know of FUBU? For Us, By Us. Clothing made by people like LL Cool J (Malaysian people like LL Cool J, except much poorer), for people like LL Cool J (me). The phrase alone--foo-boo--fills this writer with pride, a sense of belonging that can only come from the promise of oversized goods mass-produced in the '90s draped rakishly over one's gym-sculpted ladies-man body. And then there is what I like to call FUBSE (rhymes with this guy): For Us, By Someone Else. The ladies-man connection I feel to that destitute Malaysian man or woman goes without saying (and with saying, for that matter). But what of Taylor Rain (pic), starlet and female director of Spunk in the Trunk (Defiance), a conventional, non-couples anal cream-pie movie? Yo: Is Rain a man's-man poseur (man's-man-woman-and-you-know-this-man), or a womanizer trapped in a man's-woman body? I call for a vaginal probe, to be administered by me, in order to determine the truth. Also: Someone lick my balls.

There's one truly memorable moment in this video (which is not to call it ineffective. More on that later unless I don't feel like it). Julie Knight (pic) is being thoroughly explored by two men, one of whom is our friend and husband of Audrey Hollander Otto Bauer. She's sucking Otto off, and he does this thing I've never been a big fan of where he balls her hair up in one hand and then smacks that fist with the other hand, driving her down on his dick. This looks unpleasant, despite the fist apparently acting as a sort of shock absorber. But the memorable thing is that when he pulls her head away, looks at her and asks, “D'ya like that? Huh?” she simply says, “Not really.” Naturally he says something along the lines of, Well, I'll keep doing it then! Is Julie, one of the least shy--let's just say most wild--starlets, cleverly lending this WWE-style stunt some verisimilitude via . . . acting? Or is she just being honest, despite herself? The difference between gonzo and the rest of porn is that in gonzo we're meant to identify with the male actor as an actor, whereas in other porno we're meant to identify with the actor as a character. So in gonzo we're watching it go down as it goes down, warts and creepy guys and reticent women and all. But we're still watching semi-professionals who are being paid to fuck one another in certain loosely prescribed ways. Julie saying “not really” is either a break in the patchy semi-professional facade or a seamless manipulation.

Either way it seems not to reflect at all on Taylor Rain as a director--then again, it springs from Julie and Otto's chemistry, and the admittedly obvious but decidedly smart decision to pair them. Rain administers the other women here--Deja Daire (pic), Keeani Lei (pic), Naudia Nice (pic, Sascha, and the wonderfully-breasted Missy Monroe (pic)--as well as any director. Indistinguishably so. What should we expect from lady gonzo directors? The same business and entertainment acumen you'd credit to any guy. Let's get them directing first and expect change second.