Adult Movies – Losing the Plot

***WARNING!!! SOME READERS, THAT MEANS YOU MOTHER AND AUNTY JOAN, MAY FIND THIS POSTING OFFENSIVE***

I had a bit of a debacle recently with Mr. Jules about a posting I had written on the subject of porn.

I, uncharacteristically, bowed under pressure and hit delete.  Shame.  It was one of my better ones.  One that would have no doubt elicited a comment from retired John in Axminster and taken my readership from two to three.

So before you read any further, let me just say the following: MR JULES HAD ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH MY DECISION TO WATCH A PORN FILM IN OUR HOTEL ROOM LAST WEEK. 

But still, my deleted blog posting refused to withdraw, lingering in the wings of my virile mind quivering with anticipation. (If this is too much for you perhaps I can redirect you to www.woollythoughts.com/toilet.html)

Meanwhile for you hardy folk out there, back to the story.  My decision to watch porn in our New York hotel was based on RESEARCH.  Apart from the muddied porn mags in the tunnel separating the dodgy with the genteel side of the town where I grew up, and a glimpse of a porn film circa 1983, by mistake, when I put the wrong video (see videos in those days) in a close relative’s house in Scotland, I was essentially a porn film virgin – unless the Carry On series counts.

I settled down to what I thought would be a nice little introduction, getting to know the characters, beginnings of a plot, scene setting, fresh flowers, waves washing against shores, misty landscapes, some sentimental music, white organza fluttering in the breeze and lashings of vaseline (for the lense, pervert).  What I got was open heart surgery.  I tried another one, more open heart surgery and a mounting credit card bill of US$39.99.

It was at first startling, then boring, then startlingly boring.  The only thing that was impressive was the stamina and the variation on a theme.  I have recently been more, shall we say, romantically moved, watching High School Musical 3.  Then there’s Ryan Gosling in The Notebook; Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, in fact anything with Robert Redford in before the warts got the better of him; and oh John Cusack is sexy in an average way and Kevin Bacon in a joli-laid way, but for a real dashing, bodice ripping hero, let us not forget Colin Firth exiting the lake in Pride and Prejudice. 

I was so disappointed, not a frisson, and just saddened at the banality and debasement of the act of consummation.  There was no kissing, the only orifice avoided, no stroking, touching, murmuring, sighing -  all good bits in my book – and no post coital bliss or shared ciggie from an endorphin rush, it was just another day at the office for these folks.

Even the mind numbingly boring video of David Beckham asleep by Sam Taylor Wood, which I recently viewed at the National Portrait gallery, was more interesting as there was at least the constant suspense of would he? would he not? scratch his balls - he didn’t.  Which proves to me he wasn’t really asleep – all men scratch their balls when asleep – whereas there were no surprises with the porn.

Someone is buying this stuff and watching it (AGAIN NOT EVER MR JULES).  It is bigger, according to my friend Graham, who never watches porn, a tumescence ..oops I must stop doing that…surpassing the regular Hollywood film industry. 

I suppose my question is.  What happened to romance?  When did we come to this?

 Off to repair my marriage.

PHOTOGRAPH BY Graham Harris www.ghinch.com

Message to Martin:  How many eggs?