A post-dinner conversation at Literati Café …
DOC: Have you ever videotaped yourself having sex with your girlfriend?
GENEY BOY: No way, dude! There’s no way I’d ever film myself having sex with another woman.
ME: Me neither. That’s the kind of thing that will always come back to haunt you, especially with the Internet.
DOC: You wouldn’t videotape yourself for even a $1 million?
GENEY BOY: Not even for $10,000,000. I don’t want to risk having my kids watch it.
DOC: How ‘bout if, say, Brooke Burke told you she’d only make love to you if it was videotaped?
GENEY BOY: Answer’s still no.
ME (raising hand): I’d do it.
GENEY BOY: What? No you wouldn’t…
ME: I would. In fact, after we were done, the first thing I’d do is make copies of the tape and send it to everybody. Hell, I’d download that masterpiece as an MPEG and mass-email it to all you bitches. And the title of the movie would be, "Look at Me, Bitches! I’m Fucking Brooke Burke."
DOC: I’d play it at my wedding.
GENEY BOY: But what about your future kids accidentally coming across it?
ME: Accidentally? I’d show it to them too. I’d tell them, "Guess what? Daddy nailed Brooke Burke, son. Ice cream for everybody!" And they’d cheer, "Our dad rules!"
All kidding aside, I’m pretty damn certain I’d never videotape myself having sex with my girlfriend. Not just because of the fear of a Paris Hilton incident, but because I have absolutely no desire to see myself naked and engaged in intercourse.
I’ve seen myself on film fully clothed and cringed. So imagine the horror of seeing my bare ass and other body parts flipping and flopping and flying around like a sweaty flesh catastrophe. Do I really want to see what my scrotum looks like from a three-quarter angle? Can I stomach discovering just how many hairs I have around my butthole? Did God truly intend for mankind to witness our own orgasm faces?
As for the girl, I already know what she looks like during sex. Would I appreciate it even more watching it on a home theater system with surround sound? Maybe, but that would be far outweighed by the spiritual damage caused by minutes of staring at my own gooch.
And you know what? I’d probably get bored anyway. Based on the celebrity home sex movies I’ve seen, the action gets old very quick (Except for this vintage one my old boss showed us involving a famous black actress from the Seventies. That was my first fisting scene.) Unlike porn, you don’t get the benefit of professional editing, first-rate camerawork or – most important of all – poignant dialogue. And porn has the added advantage of no stray butt hairs.
If you can convince me otherwise, I’d like to hear it. Especially if you happen to be Brooke Burke.
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