12:44 a.m., 21.03.04
Madam and Eve: Lesbian Porn is Crap

Lesbian porn is crap.

Nous took me and Sanga along to see "Madam and Eve" for the Melbourne Queer film festival.

Here are my observations, in point form:

- Either lesbians like extremely grisly vaginas, or every one of the featured women had waxed their clackers and had them beaten with splintery wooden sticks immediately prior to filming.

- Lesbian porn scenes are long. Much longer than straight porn of course, because you have to wait for the *woman* to come. And what's more, the whole multiple orgasm thing means that you're never sure when a scene is going to end. Was that the last heaving, grunting climax, or is that nurse going to whip her patient's legs around another way and get going again?

- Straight, porn loving guys like myself are constantly told that if porn was made for women, it would engage the mind with erotic storylines and romantic setups instead of getting straight down to BJ business. Not on your life. The brief flashes of storyline went like this example: "I think this patient needs EST." - "What, Electro-Shock Therapy?" - "No, Emergency Strap-on Treatment." Uuuuuuurrrrrggghhhh.

- I never, EVER again wish to see a person walking around trying to look sexy and dominant with a big blue dildo strapped to each thigh and wobbling luridly in front of her.

- For some reason, the producers decided to get the most amazingly sensitive microphones I've ever heard, and amplify every wet squelching noise in excruciating high fidelity. You were left in no doubt that the hole that bubbly dildo was being slowly extracted from was an extremely moist vacuum.

- Lesbians (and this was a film made BY lesbians FOR lesbians, so there's no patriarchal influence here) will frequently and happily fellate dildos, whether or not they are strapped to another leering nymphet. Does anyone else find something strange about this?

- There is definately such a thing as porn overload. I felt it after about an hour, doubled over with my head in my hands. Let me be the first to tell you, it involves physical pain.

Normally, I'd have walked out. But the cinema was packed full of spiky-haired, square-faced dykes and I felt that to march out of the film would be seen as dismissing and invalidating their entire sexuality. I felt uncomfortable enough waking in there with my girlfriend, theere was bugger-all chance I was going to thumb my nose at them on the way out.

Thank Christ, it wasn't me who cracked. It was one of their own. After WAY too long, someone stood up and buggered off. And a small but significant exodus began. Sanga and I leapt at the chance, and left that chamber of horrors just as the umpteenth lumpy plastic dildo was about to be eased home.

Enough, enough, enough.

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