Many of us can remember where we were when we learned of the Kennedy assassination, the World Trade Center tragedies, seeing Britney Spears’ vagina for the first time.
- Portions of this post first appeared on Peeperz
We can also be transported by those iconic photographs of history in the making, or snapshots that defined the zeitgeist, like the sailor and the nurse in Times Square at the end of World War II, the MTV guy landing on the Moon, the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, and Miss Celie meeting her children at the end of “The Color Purple.”
Here is a story of one photograph and one day that captured the spirit and the heart of a nation.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Today the banks and post offices are closed in America to celebrate our independence from England, yet a porn director from Scotland known as Gazzman is making people work. Hard to believe that a native of that fair country, so long oppressed by the British (according to “Braveheart,” anyway, which is where I get all my information on such matters), would turn around and make Americans suck dick on film.
Well, it’s happening and I’m there to document it.
Gazzman is shooting “Alexis Texas: Nymphomaniac” and the title character is in the room, not looking nymphomaniacal at all, but instead corn-fed and satisfied. She is settled into a comfortable couch, wearing a breezy summer dress and green socks, as she waits for her call to get into slutty makeup and sluttier shoes.
She is texting.
James Deen, one of a handful of male porn performers who works constantly, sits next to her and they strike up a friendly conversation. Though they are paid to fuck each other, one gets the impression they’d do it anyway. This is a nice thing to know. Though he is a very nice man, I wouldn’t fuck James Deen with your dick.
But the two are products of their generation, and soon the temptation overtakes them to stop talking and start photographing themselves for Facebook and Twitter updates.
It is at this point that I, America’s Beloved Porn Journalist, intrudes on their idyll in a rented home overlooking L.A.’s Sepulveda Boulevard.
“Could I take a picture of the two of you taking a picture of the two of you?” I ask.
“Yes,” they say, and Alexis Texas reads my mind by flashing her nipples.
It is at this moment that many worlds converge. As if sensing that this will be the last photograph ever taken (and how else could you explain it?), Flower Tucci’s abundant and glorious ass rests itself pertly on James Deen’s head. This is known as sandbagging.
Deen looks up and pokes his eyeballs against her buttock.
Then, from stage left, Marco Banderas’ penis pokes above Texas’ head, as if he is a metal detector and she is a shiny trinket buried beneath the sand. But Banderas continues eastward, as if drawn gravitationally to the twin fleshy planets of Flower Tucci’s bum.
Banderas comes to a stop above Deen’s right eye.
“This is not how I expected it to go,” Deen says into Flower Tucci.
But despite all the unexpected changes, Alexis Texas keeps her mind and breasts on posterity, even as Marco Banderas’ penis acts as a turgid puppetmaster to her pert nipples.
“Thank you everyone,” I said, wiping away a tear. “I think we made history this morning.”
“Is good,” said Banderas.
“Time to oil myself up,” said Tucci.
“Not sure what just happened,” said Deen.
And Texas returned to texting.
Previously on Porn Valley Observed: Browneye vs. the Board of Masturbation
See also: Harmony Films
That photo just cements the suspicion I’ve long held that male porn stars walk around with constant priapisms.
I believe you’ve documented the Porn Star Singularity. We’ve been waiting for this for years. We’re are now living in a brave new world.