The most beautiful romances always start with a declaration of love, or a nice blowjob (it depends what kind of film you’re watching).
I, dear ladies, after a lifetime of Prince Charmings, kisses in the rain, races to the airport and unlikely marriages, chose for once to watch a porn film.
But not just any porn film (what do you take me for?!), it was esoteric porn, radical chic, art-house cinema, at a film festival… so basically, a porno for women.
At the “Fish and Chips Festival”, an erotic film festival, I attended a screening of several shorts by Erika Lust, the biggest director of porn films for women.
The first thing that struck me, besides the enormous member of one of the actors (called “the hammer”), was the audience.
Anyway so, the audience… it was almost all women, the only men in the theater were film critics or journalists sent to document the event.
Obviously because with classic porn, for men, the web is full, porn for women is a complete novelty, a rare and unique phenomenon, like an orgasm you didn’t work for, or a man that can last longer than 5 minutes, foreplay included.
The real novelty was the existence of a plot, an actual storyline.
What I mean is, there’s no plumber that rings the doorbell – already hard -, with the housewife that opens the door but forgets she’s naked and drops the mop (which is how she ends up on all fours with the plumber smacking her ass with the mop as she looks into the camera all taken aback and starts to moan “Oh my God”).
No dear ladies, there’s none of these ridiculous antics from men’s porn found in Erika Lust’s films.
The housewives don’t walk around at home naked with fake boobs up to their tonsils, instead they’re normal women: tall, short, thin, round, imperfect and normal.
They don’t wake up in the morning wearing 25 cm Plexiglas heels, made up like Paris Hilton, with piggy tails and a lollipop for breakfast instead of coffee.
They have normal lives, normal clothes and they don’t fake it if they don’t feel it.
If in men’s porn the man doesn’t have to do anything in exchange for hours of sex, with two, three, whole squads of cheerleaders, with their mothers and grandmothers (who are also dressed as cheerleaders), here they must at least get a girl interested.
For starters, they have to talk to her. No more moaning, no more caveman grunting or asking “Do you like that?” over and over. How in the hell is she supposed to answer anyway with her mouth packed like a can of sardines?
And these poor women are scripted to respond “Oh yes, I like it”, like one of those Chatty Cathy dolls with only one phrase programmed in her microchip.
Finally there are men who can speak in complete sentences, ask her out to dinner and -cue the fanfare-, put her pleasure before his own.
Here, ladies, we are standing before a historic event, an actual revolution in the relationship between the sexes.
We have moved beyond the penis-centric concept of sex, or beyond the dick, to a vision that is egalitarian and attentive to the female experience.
So we will no longer be seeing idiot madmen running around trying to plug any hole they can find, even the electrical outlet (since it is equipped with holes). Instead we have considerate men who wait for the right moment to make their move.
Are you at home, wearing slippers, no make-up, disheveled, looking your worst, but you want to get it on anyway?
Answer the door, Pony Express will send an absolute dream boy to deliver your pizza, and he can’t wait to complete your order.
Just relax, stay in your pajamas and don’t worry – he’ll make you feel like a sex goddess anyway.
