Drilling Me Softly With His Schlong

Roughly, he grabbed her heaving shoulders and as she felt his manly hardness he whispered tenderly in her ear "Drop your drawers quick, doll, the tide's coming in."


Oh God, is nothing sacred?
THEY have started screening "chick porn" regularly on normal box. I found it on my no-extras-five-standard-channels-plus-a-load-of-shite-you-never-asked-for-nor-wanted digital telly's Channel 424, alias Movies 24+ (pauses while reader fumbles for remote control and draws curtains).
It hits the airwaves in the early hours and masquerades as naughtiness under the billing of "erotica". Sadly, it is about as erotic as clipping your toenails. In fact, far from being saucy it is actually downright annoying. You never get to see A or B, you see. The sight of either A or B having things done to them in the open is right out and as for A taking a trip into the depths of B-land, you've got more chance of seeing a laugh-a-minute episode of EastEnders! All that happens is that at the moment it looks as if the camera might just stray down to the business end of the encounter the shot is cut and you get a view of a brass bed knob or a little cat.
No, being chick porn, there are two things which definitely cannot be shown. One is - please forgive the technical jargon - the gentleman's dangly bits (see A above) and the other is the lady's rude part (B, in the Janet and John Learn Rudies description earlier). That's the problem. It's my understanding that both bits are somewhat central to the, let's face it, comical process of fluid exchange. In the world of chick porn, however, it is judged that the appearance of either of these would shatter the romance and tenderness of the moment. It just wouldn't do for jetset playboy and Wimbledon champion Grant Dexter to pull media executive and feisty young woman-in-a-man's-world Dallas-Starshine down onto his black, satin-sheeted bed, just as his hairy bollocks swung into full view of Camera One and he started slapping lard onto her unwelcoming and unprepared nether regions (I think I may have a career writing this stuff!).
No, no shots of Mr Wobbly, not a hairy clam in sight. It's all about soft focus, you see. Everything has to suit the hazy and dreamy atmosphere evoked by soft focus. Heaving bosoms are definitely in, as are clenched and oiled buttocks. The steamier films even feature erect nipples and a very occasional blurred glimpse of bushtop. That's as far as it goes, though. Nipples aside (weren't they a punk rock band?), nothing which is in any way prone to changes in length or liquidity is allowed to feature. Back-arching is, however, de-rigeur, as are panting, sighing, moaning and pouting and, of course, the occasional whimper never goes amiss. Crying is something which also features regularly although I am too heavily into the mechanics of the performance to get my mind around the concept. I mean, plenty of women have cried with me during bedroom body battles but it has always been at the moment I take my pants off or turn the light on for the first time.
The language of love in these films is also very strictly limited. Intermittent cries of "yes!" are allowed and the occasional "please" can be uttered amid the groans but lines such as "fuck me 'til I fart" or "you could suck a golf ball up a vacuum cleaner hose" could lead to the immediate withdrawal of the actors' Equity cards.
Breaking wind at any point is frowned upon, reaching for the Kleenex is positively discouraged and, for those characters with Catholic leanings who are not interested in becoming parents, there cannot at any point be a post-coital row about who is going to sleep on "the wet patch". Also, either none of the participants is allowed to have a phone or they are forbidden from living anywhere near a decent pizza parlour which delivers in the small hours.
There are those who might say I don't have an ounce of romance or passion in my body - not true. I am, by nature, a hopeless romantic with a passion for lots of things - but I am also a realist. Either tell it how it is or don't tell it at all. Leaving things to the imagination is all well and good but if that is what the film makers want then why don't they just get the lad to say to the lass "fancy a round of Harry Hides His Helmet?", she could come back with "Ok, you talked me into it" and then we could cut immediately and return to the story. That would leave us viewers to picture the sweaty scene in our minds. It would also allow the more imaginative and disturbed among us to include a man in a badger suit, the Dagenham Girl Pipers and a performing donkey in the bedroom scene without any extra cost to the producers.
The constant soft porn interruptions literally make us lose the plot, and plot is so important in these films. I mean, will Tex ever find his feminine side? Will Angel-Rose be sated after ruining both the pool boy and the gardner for other women? Will she ever convince the sexist board of directors that she is the right person to take over the running of her daddy's investment bank? Will she ever run out of lingerie? Will Tex resort to wearing the old, comfortable pants he keeps at the back of his cupboard instead of those black, lycra thongs which chaffe his crack, don't soak up the drips and make him look like 50 per cent of Moshe Diane? These are all questions which need to be answered.
Sorry, soft porn can go to Grantham.