A Quirky Erotica Series
"NOTES FROM A DIRTY YOUNG WOMAN: Porno Party" by Aimee Herman
Read the entire series hereMy cunt is contemplating suicide. She can be overly dramatic,
at times, and I find myself purchasing her new gifts to keep her quiet, such as
battery operated friends who come in various shapes and sizes.
The other night, I took her out on a date of sorts.
Actually, it was a get-together with some friends from an erotica writing class
I taught. After discussing the exciting and rare talents of Buck Angel, a trans
man in professional porn, we decided to do some research. Investigation.
Basically, an excuse to watch sexual acrobatics together.
We decided against watching porn from one of our homes, and chose instead to have the screening at a ‘seedy’ bar
in Denver.
I got there early, as I always do, and took a seat at the
bar next to two moustaches on either side of me. One was facing blankly toward the
football-projecting-television-screen and the other was hypnotized by his empty
shot glass and half-drunk pint of beer.
I digested my surroundings. It had been awhile since I
graced a location such as this. I used to frequent a dive bar in Boulder often
enough to become their unconventional DJ, using dollars given to me by the bartender to choose the perfect songs from the
computerized jukebox. I was generally
the only woman amidst the clientele of men over forty. We spoke about women and
made boozy declarations on life that, at the time, seemed terribly deep and introspective.
I ordered a Fat Tire on tap and gripped my glass as if it were a thigh, its pores bleeding fermented sweat. I truly believed that if I were to take my top off and start
sucking on my own nipples, no one would have noticed. Happy hour had ended,
the bar was falling into an inebriated slumber.
My friends arrived, and we chose a table away from the bar. I lifted my laptop out of my bag and the video with the man on the cover wearing a construction hat
and a pierced nipple. I studied the plastic container housing our
entertainment for the evening. There appeared to be no women listed in the
line-up. Just three names. I didn't mind the intimacy, I just would have preferred variation. I took a deep quaff of my beer and settled in to the cinematic
experience.
If I were to summarize the film we watched, directed by and starring Buck
Angel, “Even More Bang for Your Buck 2,” it probably
wouldn’t take me very long. Although, how do you successfully summarize a
porno? The lighting really accentuated Buck Angel’s nipple ring. The
choreography was breathtaking and true-to-life and—
When I saw the “2” at the end of the title, I worried that
I’d be lost, since I hadn’t seen the first one. Also, isn’t it true that
sequels are never as good as their original counterparts?
I digress.
Buck Angel is known as “the man with a pussy.” Dare I say,
he is more than just that. He is an Irish Boy (a fact confirmed by the tattoo
staining his upper back) and he is extremely talented at giving head. It seems to me he has a hidden trap door in the back of his throat allowing entrance to at
least three more inches than any other mouth. He makes me want to have a cock, knowing how well he
can receive one.
Buck Angel
As we watched him at work, I couldn’t stop wondering what he
might be like when he wasn’t swallowing erections. I said to my fellow porn
watchers that it could be nice to have little bubbles of odd facts pop up
between orgasms like VH1 used to do with Pop-Up Video. As Buck sucks the
cappuccino-colored cock of Jack Latin, a fact would pop up like: As a boy,
little Jack enjoyed eating crustless peanut butter sandwiches dipped in
margarine.
I excused myself to the bathroom, with was parallel to the
kitchen. Some things you just don’t want to gain visual access to, and that
includes the room where bar food is made. I shut the door and pulled my pants
down, expecting to see a smile on my clit inspired by Buck Angel’s hard working
mouth and vagina. She sighed. My clitoris actually sighed, a symphonic
representation of boredom!
I thought about a quick fuck in the bathroom. We hadn’t done
that in so long and it might have been just the thing to cheer her up. It was a
one-room studio apartment bathroom though. Not as sexy without the potential for unexpected company. I
fantasized about the thrill of a stranger's feet walking into the restroom followed by the force of someone’s
hand against my lips, stifling the sounds. I sucked on two of my fingers, a
lubrication of beer and spit.
She remained flaccid. I needed more to excite her
super-heroic erection. Buck Angel and his infamous vagina was just not enough
this time.
I zipped up, sucked the evidence of attempted sex off of my
fingertips, and walked back to the table. I found Buck gagging on a dick that appears
it would fit better in a trash bag than in a condom. I became mesmerized by his stamina. Maybe
he is a swimmer and can remain underwater without taking a breath for several
minutes. Maybe he really does contain a back door allowing his throat to be a
one-size-fits-all-cocks receptacle. I settled in to my seat as Buck found himself on the
streets of London, picking up some bald chap with tattoos and a boner. I order
my clit another beer, wondering if this film would be enough to inspire her toward
her preferred hardness.
Originally published February 2010