By staff writer Et Nola
August 7, 2006
“It Can’t Be Smut Unless We Use Pictures”
What do music, whips, chains, and your mom all have in common? That’s precisely what I would like to know. After spending some time with a few particularly sexually-assertive rock starlets, I’ve begun to feel that what may have passed as a perfectly healthy libido a decade ago appears increasingly chaste in our modern world. After chatting with a particular someone who mentioned her role as both a director and mistress of pornographic features, I felt bound to share the thoughts that followed our discussion.
Between rounds at the bar and a number of porn testimonials, it became clear that when it comes to the sexual revolution, women had long ago been comfortable strapping on more than just helmets. While my personal experiences confirmed suspicions long ago, I thought I was simply luckier than most. Of course, maybe I’ve just been spending a lot of time with sexual deviants. Oh, if wishing made it so….
“Whip out your stilettos, chains, and furry suits, folks—it’s time to hear what’s on the dirty minds of our otherwise wholesome readership.”
The story begins in early 2005 in Minneapolis, a city renowned for its ability to be misspelled frequently and for being the birthplace of the artist formerly known as “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.” Cold weather and an array of college-targeted entertainment firms were on the agenda, as the city hosted the National Association for Campus Activities (NACA) annual conference. For those unfamiliar with the world of campus programming, NACA is where numerous college programming boards go to blow their budget like the proverbial “kids in a candy store.” Nothing says fiscal responsibility like sending university-funded collegians and their advisors into the lion’s den of entertainment industry reps all gunning to soak up student activity fee monies like a twelve-pack of Charmin on a teardrop (tears co-sponsored by tuition statements).
The greatest part of the conference though is getting to meet the acts that perform on the main stage during the conference. Outside of getting to meet established bands, comedians, and guest speakers, you also get the chance to meet emerging artists making their pilgrimage across the country. Despite the extensive list of such entertainers, a quartet of femme virtuosi who dazzled the main stage also managed to catch my ears.
Raining Jane, a folk-funk fusion of rich harmonies homegrown at UCLA, struck a chord or so on the main stage and sought to strike some cords of a different kind with my university. To this day, I regret not seeing them come to New Orleans, but keeping in touch with the band would prove to be just as worthwhile as seeing them locally. Did I mention they were hot? Well, if I forgot to do so, it’s because their sound is even hotter than their image. Few women remain as pleasing to the ears as they are to the eyes. You guessed it—that line still hasn’t gotten me laid; but I’ll keep you posted when it does.
After months of infrequent contact with Mona, the band’s booking agent and sultry resident percussionist/vocalist, I landed in San Francisco looking to hook up. I caught a break when Mona called me before their Bay Area performance and invited me to the show.
Flash forward to the end of their set and cue Becky, Mona’s accomplice in the rhythm section. After a couple rounds and an introduction to some of the band’s loyal fans, I left Becky at the bar to expedite the dehydration process. Upon returning from the bathroom, I managed to catch the conclusion of a particularly stimulating porno discussion. Little did I know, I was in the presence of an industry professional critiquing her craft.
Within seconds I recognized the feature getting such a disparaging review was Pirates!, a highly successful and large-budgeted Pirates of the Caribbean-like porno. If you were a true fan of porn, pirates, and CGI-skeletal warriors, the title may have already caught your attention. I recognized the feature as it was one of the most successful films shown by campus programming at Tulane.
The critic, an industry director and mistress extraordinaire affectionately named “Princess Donna,” inquired about Tulane displaying the film. After talking a bit about the film, she went on to discuss other titles as I listened intently. Honestly, I was captivated. Let’s face it, when a woman speaks about porn, it’s hard to find a guy who’s not interested. Though I am not their spokesman, I’d imagine even gay men feel the same irresistible urge to hear our Y-chromosome-lacking counterparts talk about it. If the instance of such a phenomenon weren’t enough, I got to hear more from the professional. From what Donna described of her films, it was clear I must have missed the boat when electricity entered the stimulation forefront, but I guess that’s what happens when you no longer get Cinemax.
It was during my chat with Donna that I began to wonder more about where and what constitutes kinky these days. I’m sure the definition depends on the person, couple, or defensive line of the particular cheerleader in question, but I’d like to hear more thoughts on the subject.
Here’s your chance to chime in about something other than the usual praise/hate mail. Whip out your stilettos, chains, and furry suits, folks, it’s time to hear what’s on the dirty minds of our otherwise wholesome readership. Catch you in the comment box. Maybe I’ll even get “Princess Donna” to write some responses if there are any questions out there.