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Video loopy | page 1, 2
"Hmm, sure. Whatever you want." Well, I didn't want that one, but someone had to get the ball rolling. I'd pointed to that one because it was so conventional. I wasn't feeling brazen enough yet to point out what I really wanted -- although the man's bald head and hairy body in contrast to her blondness, her pinkness and her tartiness had some erotic potential. C. often whispered stories into my ear while he touched me. By listening to my breathing and feeling my body's responses to the scenes he described, he intuited secrets and wishes that I could not let myself speak aloud. Nice, normal women weren't supposed to have these thoughts. Or, if they did have them, most wouldn't admit to it. But because he kept telling me stories that provoked and enhanced these thoughts, somehow that made it OK to think them. But I still couldn't bring myself to tell him. Now, confronted with a wall full of tantalizing pornography, I was tentative. What I really wanted was to watch things I wouldn't actually want to do myself or to watch others do things I wanted to do, but didn't have the courage yet to admit I did. I wanted to watch something that repulsed me just a tiny bit; something a little bit kinky, a little aggressive. "Which one are you thinking of?" I asked softly, getting closer to him so that the sides of our arms were barely touching. He shifted slightly away from me. I sensed a hint of annoyance coming from him, as if the sound of my voice were disrupting a fantasy he was just trying to get off the ground. "Let's not tell each other which one we're picking. That way it'll really be a surprise when we get home. OK?" he said. "OK," I said. I knew he wanted to look without being looked at. After five or 10 minutes in that little room, I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. We both scribbled our numbers down on separate pieces of paper and folded them in quarters, as if we were entering a sweepstakes. After we opened the door, we dutifully turned the lock and closed it behind us. Back at my place, C. plopped on the couch in front of the television and began rolling a joint. I poured two glasses of ginger ale in the kitchen. "Which one do you want to watch first?" C. asked, as I handed him a glass. "It doesn't matter. You pick," I said. He struck a match. The joint crackled. I heard him inhale deeply and hold it. "Here," he said, passing it to me. We passed the joint back and forth in silence. I ceremonially lit the half-melted votives on the coffee table. Then he gallantly suggested that we watch the video I picked first. I popped the tape into the VCR, made sure the shades were completely lowered, turned off all the lights and in my T-shirt and panties went over to join C. He had already stripped down to his briefs and was lying on the bed. I pressed the play button on the remote control and we lay there, side by side in the dark, watching as the FBI warning flashed on the screen. We looked straight ahead, not saying anything or even looking at each other, bathed in the screen's bluish light. The title flashed on the screen: "Anal Encounters." Each of us let out a nervous giggle. Then came a montage of men and women, of all shapes, sizes and colors, fucking. Were these the coming attractions? Close-ups of butt cheeks spread wide filled the screen; puckered holes, larger than life, seemed to be saying "Oh." The frenzied motion on the screen reflected onto the walls and I worried that someone in one of the buildings across the street would see the light flashing obscenely through the slats of my bamboo shades. Then I thought of my neighbors below, above and on either side of me. The music, the moaning, the grunting, the panting, the high pitched "ah-aahh-aaahs," the throaty "fuck me babys," the shrieks and squeals, the "I'm comings" seemed louder than they probably were. I lowered the volume anyway. "Don't worry about it. No one can hear," C. reassured me. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "You picked this?" he asked. "Uh-huh," I said as he nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck and pressed himself tightly against me.
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