Vancouver
2 min

September of my porn

In December I borrowed a friend’s DVD recorder and went through a box of videotapes I’ve had for years. The tapes were mostly a time capsule of the 1990s — episodes of The X-Files, Friends and a Chihuahua saying, “Yo quiero Taco Bell!”

There was also a ton of porn.

Porn has generally lost its allure for me since I know how it’s going to end, but this wasn’t just any porn. This was classic porn. September of my years porn.

One is set at the End Up’s underwear contest and has scenes in a San Francisco bathhouse before they were shut down. There was Powertool with Jeff Stryker, the first porn I ever saw. And my favourite, All American Boy, starring the endowed bottom Kyle Carrington.

I spent weeks starting and stopping the tapes, transferring only what I deemed archival. Friends would call and ask what I was doing. “Watching porn,” I’d say.

“Still?”

Between pause and play I noticed trends not only in gay fashion but how men have sex with each other.

Seventies porn had the pretense of a story, interesting camera angles, and music by Aaron Copland. They didn’t just kiss, but would stop fucking to kiss.

The bottom was revered like a Thanksgiving turkey; the top would rim him endlessly before fucking him, then cum in his face. And the cumshot was always in slow motion, like they were ejaculating through water.

Eighties porn looks like a Wham video with lots of neon, bad eyeliner and Denny Tario hair. Everyone has glow in the dark skin and trimmed pubes. The bottoms do all the work, having to rim the top before getting fucked by an oversized cock that looks like it hurts going in. That’s Reaganomics for you.

In the ’90s testicles and shirtsleeves disappear, replaced by goatees and condoms. The models are chiselled and manicured like a golf course and most are versatile, taking their druthers and giving them too. Which reminds me; have you ever noticed there are no ingénues in porn?

When I watch porn now it’s out of the corner of my eye when a trick has it on for ambiance. Gone are the plumbers and pizza delivery guys. Gone too are the condoms.

Bottoms don’t just take it up the ass, they shoot it back out. The camera is not only in the picture, the models practically fuck it. I can’t tell if it’s porn or a colonoscopy.

My vintage porn collection is camp by today’s handheld standards. When I screen it for guys, they are as aroused as they are amused by the bad dialogue and acting.

That’s what porn means to me. Otherwise, it’s just Cloverfield starring a hungry ass.