A few suggestions for porn directors

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 OK, let's face it, if you are reading this, you like the sexy side of Blogger and you most likely watch porn.

A lot

Maybe not, but most people here are not looking for literary gold, deep stories, or the next War and Peace.

You are here to be entertained, to get off, to think about how you really want your sex life to be.

You come here to fantasize, and that's what porn is.

No one things that porn is a documentary, though, to be honest, most porn has a weaker storyline than an industrial training film, and it is very documentary focused, it films something happening with little commentary or context, and that's the problem.

Take THIS clip for example. It's a perfectly acceptable clip.  The women are beautiful, they put a little effort into the setting and scenario, and orgasms are enjoyed by all, several times, if they are being honest, but that's not the problem. They don't talk at all.

I understand there is a time limit, apparently most men in America cum in 11 minutes, that's about the average clip length.  Maybe that's how we have at lunch, maybe that's how long our kids are entertained in the other room, or maybe our wives get suspicious when the door is closed for over 12 minutes at a time. I don't know, but I'm sure there is more research behind the length of a free clip than there was research behind 6-foot distancing and make-believe paper masks.

But, I digress, my complaint isn't about clip length, I can cum in 2, 11, 20 or 30 minutes, that's not it.

I want dialogue.

I want to hear them. Porn directors need to realize that they can take their work from good (everyone cums) to great, just be having the actors talk to each other.

It is insanely sexy to hear them talk about the sex they are having, about what they want, about what feels good.

The audio is more important as the video.  Not the screaming "Fuck me! Fuck me!" part, that's over the top and cliche, but it's the expressed desires that make it real. Let me feel like I'm invited into an erotic moment, not watching circus performers.

I want you to kiss me

Suck on my nipples

Put a finger inside me

Will you make me cum?

Can I cum for you?

Get on top of me.

Can I put your cock in my mouth?

I love the way you kiss me

I like how you play with my nipples.

Find me clit, latch on, and don't stop until I cum. 

I like the way you feel inside me.

Can you add another finger?

Use your tongue on the tip, swirl it around.

Can I cum in your mouth?

Can we change positions?  I don't want to cum too fast. 

 Maybe this is asking for too much, I don't expect great acting, but, what if the director sat down with the actors and said, "We want to hear your voice.  If something feels good, say it.  If you want something, ask for it, if you need your partner to do something, tell them. And if something isn't working, stay in the moment, redirect, and find something that works."

Consent is also incredibly sexy, and it doesn't have to be formalized and boring.

 Anti-consent people portray consent as to people in business attire shaking hands and saying things like, "I would like to put my penis in your vagina and thrust for 90 seconds until orgasm, do you agree?"

That's not what I'm talking about.

I want to hear the give and take, the back and forth, the occasional negotiation. It's not complicated, it's just missing so often.  And I don't expect porn to act as a role model for teenagers, but kids learn from porn, and it is mostly bad habits. Consent can get asked for and given in the heat of the moment.

I really want to suck your cock, I'd like that

Can I go deeper? Yes, it feels good

Will you bite my nipples, I like it a little rough, Tell me if it's too much

I want to fuck you while your partner watches. She's up for that, that's why we called you.

Come up on the bed with me, I want to see you naked.  I've wanted this for a long time.

Put your finger in my ass, I like it. Can I lick it too?  

I want you to fuck me. Really?  YES, Where? Everywhere.

Where do you want me to cum?  Inside, deep, hard.

Is this asking too much? What do you think?

I like story 

This clip is a perfect example of a lost opportunity.  First, what's up with the handshake at 2:45, is that the way women really shake hands?  But, that's not the point.

This starts off great, we have a story, a conflict where the blonde (Anna) is jealous of her girlfriend (Vanna) spending too much time with a new "friend", Alexis. So far, so good.  We establish an ongoing poly relationship between Anna and Vanna, there is tension over Alexis, and Vanna still goes off without Anna. Then Vanna brings Alexis home, trying to make peace and spark an apology 3-way.  

They sit together, they flirt, they try to play nice.  Sitting on the bed, Anna admits she might be open to the idea and Alexis playfully touches Anna's thigh.  Vanna suggests that they try something together. The tension is rising, sex is in the mix, they are together and touching.

Anna asks (key point - consent and desire) to watch Vanna and Alexis kiss. "Let me see you guys kiss first."

THIS IS SO SEXY!!! 

Vanna and Alexis kiss sensuously, Anna is watching and enjoys, it, and when the kiss ends, she says, "That wasn't too bad, I actually kind sof liked it."

Then Anna and Alexis kiss.  Alexis then asks Anna to kiss Vanna.  It is soooo sexy, so much tension and potential, and then, they make the cut that "ruins" it. After all this build up, this tension, relationship building, the very next second is Alexis tongue deep in Anna from behind.

ZERO transition, no escalation, no slow build,  

0 to 60 in one cut and BOOM, the tension, the story, the conflict is gone.

Why can't we enjoy the build-up, the touching, the undressing, hearing Vanna encourage and support Anna in getting undressed, Vanna asking permission to go down on Alexis, honoring the primary relationship with sexy consent questions. Stay with the story!!!

Anna, do you want to help me undress Alexis?

Vanna, will you kiss Alexis's nipple while I watch?

Can I take your panties off?

Alexis, will you kiss my girlfriend?  (This is powerful, put Anna in a position of importance, AND ask for sexual favors)

I want to eat you out.

Vanna, will you hold Alexis open for me?

Some of this sounds Dom/Sub-ish, but that's why power relationships are sexy, we ask permission, we gain consent, we say the sexy parts out loud. That same dynamic would make an average video sooooo much better.

That's my hope.

AND!!!  I found a new pet peeve.  With all of our technology, our expensive cameras, and beautiful women, why can't we hear people when they do talk.  I ran through some videos the other day (OK, yesterday, sue me) and even when they did talk, you couldn't hear them!!  They were talking and laughing and doing all the things I like, but you couldn't hear them! Oh the moaning and groaning was at volume 11, but the quiet moments, the little asides, the requests were all just a Bidenesque mumbles.  So frustrating. (Perfect example, you can barely hear Lily in this clip.  Here's another  example - wonderful seduction for 3:30, then straight into strap-on dildo play!  Give me some transition, please. Keep the seduction going.)  Another horrible example of a sound editing failure. The whole video is about them talking, but you can barely hear anything.

AND, I'm not all complaints today.  I LOVE this clip (hate the title).  This is the slow burn wonderful clip that I like. It's tender, and slow, and feels like it might actually happen.  and WOW, is ELLY CLUTCH hot or what?

That's it, that's my rant.  I'm going to cum now.  :-)

Red 2

 She's coming over today, in 25 minutes.  I took three pills, just in case, the max daily dose.

Maybe nothing will happen, maybe something will, who knows?

Am I ready to take that chance again?  A chance to get caught, to fall in love with the wrong person, to blow up a sub-par but stable marriage.  Probably not. but what if?  Right?  Isn't that always the question?

What if she comes over alone, maybe she told Ryan to stay home, that she doesn't need any help painting. Maybe, Chris shows up late, and maybe, just maybe, she's wearing her baggy linen shorts and my favorite tank top.  She's barely an A-cup, slim, tall, wildly perfect red hair, a tight little ass built on miles of running, and a smile that makes me lose a breath.

She gets here, 9:30, on the dot.  We have a lot of painting to do, but she asks for a tour of the house first.  My house isn't that big, there's only a little to tour, but I'm glad that I cleaned the bathroom before she came over.

In the master bedroom she kneels on the bed, resting against the headboard, looking out the back window. 

 Is she sticking her ass out on purpose?  She did, in fact, wear her paint-flecked linen shorts.  I stand next to her, next to the window; my heart is pounding, is this it?  

I put my hand on the bare skin between her tight tank-top and the waistband of her shorts.  She doesn’t move away.

“When we moved in over Christmas, 1998, the whole back yard was a jungle,” I said, my hand drawing circles on her bare skin, “the house had been empty for almost a year.”

She closed her eyes as I touched her gently, “That’s the year after we moved here,” she said sleepily, “I was 6.”

“Seriously?” I said, hoping the laughter in my voice was genuine, “are you trying to make me feel old?” 

I playfully swatted her on the back of her head, but then let my hand rest on the back of her neck, playing with her hair for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” she said, contrite, “It’s just, that was a big year for our family. I didn’t mean to make you feel old.”

“It’s OK, I am old.  Older” I said, trying to emphasize the -er.

My hand leaves her hair and slides down along her back, but I don’t stop this time.  Crossing over the waistband of her shorts, I lose contact, until I find her soft skin again.

My fingertips find the back of her left thigh and I drift my fingers up and down her pale skin. She sighs, just a bit, and puts her head down on her folded arms.  Her body shifts in unmistakable need.

"Please" she whispers.

"Please what?" I reply softly, trying to calm my voice over the beating of my heart.

"Touch me."

My hand is shaking.  Up and down the soft skin.  Down to the back of her knee, up to the edge of her shorts. Any higher and it’s not flirting any more. Any higher and everything changes, it’s not teasing, it’s seduction, it’s sex. It’s real.

She sighs quietly as my fingertips move across her skin.  Can she feel my heart pounding?  Can she see how nervous I am?

My thumb crosses the line first, up under the fabric, She takes in a sharp breath.  I stop.

“It’s OK”, she whispers.

I can feel the soft linen lift as my thumb pushes higher, exposing the back of her upper thigh, my fingers feeling the curve of her ass from on tops of the fabric.

“MMMMmmmmm” she encourages me, but I can barely breath.

My hand curves around her bottom, my fingertips dangerously close to the center line, I can feel her body in my hand, and she pushes back, every so slightly against my palm, and I squeeze. She giggles.

My hand moves higher, pulling the fabric of her shorts deep between her cheeks.  Her skin is exposed, but I want to see more.  I slide my hand back down her thighs, letting her shorts fall back into place.

She whimpers, but only for a moment, as I use both hands now to pull upward on her shorts, pulling the fabric deep between her cheeks, exposing her pale white skin. She giggles again until I pull harder, tightening the fabric against her crotch, a linen wedgie, lifting her hips, bringing her knees off my wife’s favorite comforter before releasing and letting her drop again.

Her laughter is intoxicating and encouraging. I pull upward again, bouncing her once on my bed, she grabs the headboard for balance.  But the next time is not for giggles, I pull the fabric tight, lift, and suspend her in the air, her body pressing hard against the fabric between her legs.

She is suspended, just off the bed, she could easily extend her legs and take the weight in her feet, but she does not.  She hangs in my hand, the fabric pressing deep into her middle, the fabric compressing her lips, her clit, and she slowly spread her legs for me, allowing the fabric to do its job.

I slowly let her down.  She is out of breath.  I stroke her hair and the back of her neck.

“Good Girl,” I whisper.  “Did you like that?”

She nods her head up in down in affirmation. 

“Say it.”

“Yes,” she takes a breath, “I liked it.”

“Head down,” I say and she complies, resting her forehead on her arms again.

I reach over her back with my right hand and, using both hands at the same time, pull her baggy linen shorts off her hips and to the bed, where they pool around her knees.

She quivers as I trail my finger up the back of her right thigh, across her hips, and back down again.

Her panties are buried between her soft pink lips.  Her pale skin frames them perfectly and I whisper that she is beautiful. 

“Thank you, Sir.” She responds.

I correct her.

“I’m am not Sir,” my hand caresses the bare curves of her ass as I inch closer and closer to the center. “Today I am Peter, Your friend.” Titles will come later, I tell myself.  She is ready.

My fingertips reach between her thighs and trace her exposed labia from front to back.

She gasps.

I have touched her. There is no going back.

I do it again, gently reaching between her thighs, I seek, not for her clit, but for the wet fabric of her panties and the soft folds of flesh that covers the silk.  This time I use three fingers, stroking her lips, tracing the damp silk, touching her with purpose and permission.

She gasps a bit and giggles, and begins to rise up, but I gently press her back down until she rests her head again.

“I like this part,” I confess, “touching, teasing, exploring.”  My right hand reaches between her exposed thighs and I spread my fingers, instructing her to spread her legs for me.

“I love feeling you get wet.  I love feeling you quiver.”  I say this very matter of factly.  I’m no longer nervous, I am calm and confident and know that I am doing exactly what she wants done.

“I’m going to pull your panties down.” I put my left hand between her shoulder blade and hold her in position.  My right hand goes under the waistband and pulls away from her skin, avoiding any touch as the panties pull out from between her swollen lips. I push the fabric to the bed.

“Lift” I say, and she lifts her right knee.  I pull her panties and shorts down her leg.

I reach between and tap her left knee.

“Lift”

She repeats the motion and her panties and shorts lay in a pile at the end of my bed.

I resist the urge to bring them to my face, my nose, my tongue.

“I’m going to touch you now.” She nods her head.

This time I don’t ask for a verbal, that will be a part of her later training.  Today is about touching, cumming, and bonding, and it is all going according to plan.

My left-hand slides from between her should blades and to her chest.  Her breasts are wonderfully small with nipples that show through the perfect amount. I feel her nipples through the fabric and receive a grunt of pleasure as a reward.  My hand moves upward and wraps around her throat for a moment, and then slides under the ribbed cotton weave of her tank top, and I feel her breast in my hand for the first time.

This almost make me cum.  I have dreamed of this moment for months.  Through hours and hours of rehearsal, edits, re-writes, table reads, and painting. I watched her every day at rehearsal. Tight yoga pants, a barely there tank top, perfect makeup and a smile.

She is a hugger and greeted everyone as if they were long lost friends. I gladly accepted her greeting each time but, I longed for more, I longed to wrap my arms around her slim waist and hold on until she could feel my cock grooming between us.

I wanted to hold on to her until she chose to kneel before me, unzip my pants, and take my hard shaft into her mouth. I thought of her constantly, at work, during church, while I was deep inside my wife, when I had quiet moments in the backyard.

It took a while, but we became friends, more than friends, and the tension between us grew but I took my time. I waited.

I confirmed her feelings subtly, I volunteered to drop things off at her office, her storage unit, so we could meet without the gazing eyes of the rest of the cast and crew. Her hugs got longer, instead of me extending them, she would hold on as long as I would let her.

Several weeks went by, the production came and went and was a great success. She is a rising star, and the local theater scene has noticed. I would not have much longer with her. She would be discovered, made famous, and move on.

My opportunity came when we had to work on a new set, I needed help with painting, she invited some of her friends but they did not arrive. So, I gave her a tour of the house.  And now, here we were, I stood next to her, next to my marital bed, and stroked the soft perfect lips of her pussy. She didn't like it to be called that.  I overheard her talking and she said she hated that word, so I didn't say it out loud.

My hand played with her hard nipples. My right hand slipped between her legs and they cupper her soft lips on purpose. No more teasing, no more playing coy. My fingers stroked up and down and found her clit and circled it roughly and she almost collapsed to the bed. My hand held up her chest and I brought her back up to her knees. Finally, I penetrated, and she came. She came on my fingers, clenching come holding on, unable to let go.

After a few minutes, she caught her breath, gained control of her voice, and stopped mewling like a frightened kitten.  Her head dropped between her arms and I let her settle into the pillows my wife bought to go with the new curtains.

I placed my hands on her hip, holding her down, pressing her into the soft, warm bed, allowing her to breath, think, gather, recover, and collect.

I don’t know how long we stayed there, silent, perhaps a bit stunned as to what had just happened. I waited, quietly, until I felt her shift under my hands.

She rolled on to her back, demurely keeping her knees together, until her face came in to view.

She reached up and took my face in her hands.

“Thank you.” She said, and we shared our first kiss.

“Are you OK?” I asked as I move a lock of red hair off her forehead.

“I’m more thank OK,” she responded.  I felt her body shift again and I felt her legs open wide. “In fact, I’m ready for more.”