Nothing to see here, however...
WARNING:
Contains thought provoking images.
Comparative phrasing.
Stilted views. Objects, both direct and indirect. Scenes that
will make you ashamed of yourself. Similes and metaphors. Scenes that will cause your wife to thrash you witless. Acronyms. Denigration of women who make loads of
cash. Likewise men.
Don’t tell me you’re not intrigued.
Don’t try to hide those quivering legs when a slim, dark haired beauty
crosses your path. Well, you ‘re
not alone.
Japanese porn fans are just like
you. Maybe not as much guilt, but they have their own problems. Being traditional,
they’re slaves to repetition. Japanese porn makers oblige, but it takes a lot of imagination. Stock scenarios are as regular as the steeds on a merry-go-round. There's the molested housewife, the molested girl on the bus, the
molested detective, infidelity in the hot tub, and many others. Hey, I know what I’m talking
about. In the interest of
sociological knowledge, I’ve done exhaustive research.
Scenario
I – The Detective: I Am With the Gun to Find You
"I Am With the Gun to Find
You," has all the earmarks of a classic bare-ass detective movie. Just like a James Bond flick, the
action starts with intense drama and a chase, followed by another chase.
A pretty woman, in slacks and stiletto
heels, prowls a dark warehouse, carrying a howitzer-sized pistol. First she stops and speaks into her
talking watch. Then, she darts
around, climbing up stairs, climbing back down, darting and darting, her heels
beating out a machine gun's staccato.
You’re already glued to your seat, chewing your nails and screaming to
your wife to bring more popcorn.
Just when you begin to wonder why you’re the only one who can
hear the detective’s hoof-like heels, she enters a large, dark room. In the corner are several shady
characters, pooled in light, sitting around a table. She runs to them, swinging her gun like she’s at a tryout
for the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders.
She stops and takes a deep breath.
Talk about profound suspense!
Choosing her words carefully, she yells out, “Bad guys I see that you
are. Hands in the air you will
put!”
Suddenly, other men jump out of the
black shadows, catching the woman completely by surprise. They take her gun and grab her
arms. She looks very, very
shame-faced. “Ah-ha,” they say,
“The woman detective coming to pursue us you are! Stopping we will put to that!” She’s stunned, but still arrogant. She must have slept through karate class. All she can do is give 'em the show
‘em who’s boss glare. This well thought
out ruse doesn’t cut it. They
laugh. They scoff. They rip away her clothes, and flitch
her secret talking watch and stiletto heels. She’s tied to a chair and given an onsite intelligence
test. “Why coming here you
are? Why detective you are? What is the plot of this movie?”
The last question stumps her. She refuses to answer the first
two. This intensely annoys the
shady characters. They stand
around, posture and mumble.
Several of them snarl and throw their cigarettes to the ground. Others
stomp around in disgust.
These honor grads of the famous Over-Acting-Studio have a short
discussion: Her clothes are now just a memory. What do we do next?
What a conundrum in this tightly
wound plot. Soon solved.
The next scene: She’s tied with elaborate tangles of
rope and suspended by her chest and arms, one leg in the air and the other
reaching down on tippy toes to the concrete floor. “Tell us why you have a detective becoming…or….or….we will
make you to do the happy sex climax!”
Suddenly, another woman appears, a
woman the detective had thought was her friend and to whom she had told her
elaborate plan of clicking down the stairs and waving her 9 mm
crowd-pleaser. The detective is
stunned to see her former friend grinning, laughing, and grinning some
more. All arrogance vanishes. The detective squeaks out a plea for
mercy. Fat chance.
“I know the secrets of her,” the
former friend announces. “She a
hussy is and deserves the filthy, filthy, rough-the-body demonstration!” The men find that plan well conceived and
irresistible.
Dildo vibrators twice the size of
Japanese personal equipment, which is to say almost thumb sized, plumb the
depths. Soon the detective is
willing to tell them not only “why a detective she is becoming” but also the
secret to climaxing while dangling from the ceiling and dancing on one tippy
toe. “I go, I go,” she screams the
Japanese version of I come, which is to be expected since their magazine pages
are also backwards.
The men are good sports about it
and take turns making her “do the happy sex climax.” She warms to the situation, as any woman would. Of her own volition she gives
them all oral attention with verve and gusto, then accommodates them one by one
in her well thatched grand canyon of love. The viewer is left with the impression that detecting is no
longer her thing, but that she’d happily audition for tippy toe dancing at
least once a week.
Scenario II –Becoming the Experienced Teacher that of Her Class
The high school teacher, in
mini-skirt and stretched-bodice blouse, much the same as you remember from your
high school days, is new to the teaching game and her students are an unruly
lot. They pass notes. They stamp their feet. They don’t pay attention. Most look to be about 35 years old and
more than mildly resentful at still being in high school, while their former
classmates have become doctors, CEOs, and Hip-Hop millionaires.
No matter, something must be done to control this aroused group and the
teacher, much to her credit, takes the more delicate “look shamefaced and cry”
approach. No use going to the
heavy-handed stuff right off the bat.
The sly ploy works. The students, who by now are
salivating, promise to behave if the teacher will show them her tits. I know, you’re thinking, “Nice counter
proposal.” Of course, the teacher is reluctant because, although she is new on
the job, she knows once you take that first step and relax the rules about the
tits, well, there’s no going back.
Next thing you know, they’ll want to chew gum.
Soon, however, six or eight of the
guys, most of whom have been shaving and holding convenience store jobs for
years, cluster around the hapless woman and much to everyone’s utter surprise,
she agrees to unbutton her blouse, pull up her bra and show these guys the
meaning of life. But, no foolish
negotiator she. They must promise
to really, really behave. They
have a short discussion among themselves and decide to rip off her clothes
instead. The audience is caught
totally by surprise, or at least I was.
Shocked.
Almost immediately, she is lashed
to a table and half a dozen, plug-in, baseball bat sized vibrators make her quiver
like a fat man at a barbeque. She
tries to speak through rattling teeth, but the words don’t come, although she
does several times.
“Say the liking of it!” one of them
demands. More rattling of
teeth. She’d like to tell them,
but you can only do so much while undulating at 60 cycles per second. All the
kids get a big charge out of her inability to speak and agree to teach her a
lesson by making her sex climax until the top of her head flies off, or they
run out of film, or the city goes dark from a lack of electricity.
The teacher signals her assent by
bellowing and thrashing with the renewed energy of a tasered epileptic. Much kissing and touching ensues. Legs are spread wide enough to fill an
IMAX screen and everyone gets a good, gynecological review. The leg bone connected to the thigh
bone, etc. One guy steps forward
to try out this new discovery. "Deep it you like! Wideness, too!"
Shame once again floods the
teacher’s face. “ THAT I don't
know you do!” Not to be left out,
other kids grab her tits and not too gently, I might add. Apparently, this teacher ranks tit
abuse right up there with candy, flowers, and her first kiss. She goes completely insane and her eyes
roll back in her head. Until the
first guy is finished.
Shame returns. You can read her mind. “THAT you all do, I don't know!” Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
The new guy doesn’t think the
teacher screamed loud enough the first time, and he encourages her with a
battering not seen since the storming of the Bastille. Industrial vibrators, always waiting in
the wings, reappear. This
classroom is better equipped than the Los Alamos Nuclear Lab.
Oh, she really likes this constant
attention! “Giving me sexing in
all the places that you admire of me,” she screams. Just what she hoped for when she woke up this morning. These guys did their homework.
Now for something completely
different. These students’ may be
dull blades when it comes to readin’, writin’, and remembering not to pass
notes, but they hold a razor’s edge when it comes to obtuse torments. “Her bare body in clear goo let’s bathe
and the rubbing of seven sets of hot hands all over her let's do. Change her attitude about this whole
thing making her.” Worked like a
four leaf clover on St Paddy’s Day.
I’m going to have to remember some
of this stuff when I next take a course.
My last instructor was a man, but he should work the same way, right?
Back to the action. “Let’s make her wear a see-through one
piece and crawl around in circles.”
Oh, the shame of it. Tears
well up. Does this signal a new
negotiation?
"Sexing of the beautiful lips
on my proud maleness?” one of the post teenage students hopefully
proposes. This is followed by
hearty cheers, high fives, and the tinkle of undone belt buckles. Oddly enough, the teacher thinks this
is more than reasonable, enjoyable in fact. By this time, she’s learned the value of
cooperation. Her students celebrate by taking turns plundering her now willing
body. School days, school days,
happy golden rule days.
Fast forward to the next day, or
several days, or who knows when?
Anyway, the teacher is back in front of the same class. Not only have bygones been forgotten,
but the teacher is now wearing a portable vibrator in her panties. Ah, technology! This is convenience
itself, as the students can now remotely control her in subtle ways, such as
making her bend over and moan whenever they want. And, they want a lot.
This time she decides not to fight
it and takes off her clothes. A
lot of women could learn from this experience.
Scenario III,
Infidelity: My Wife She My Pink
Sausage Does Not Love
“My Wife She My Pink Sausage Does
Not Love,” is a sociological thriller wrapped in the causes of infidelity, and
the personal relationships that develop when plumbers and delivery men enter a
home in search of a girl who can’t say no.
Scene one: The selfish husband, pestered for love
by a demanding wife (Hey, we all know what that’s like), decides to roll over
and go to sleep. She won’t let him
sleep. She puts a lip lock on the
snake and the husband screams with joy for about ten seconds before succumbing
once again to slumber. The
unsatisfied wife squeezes her mams and rubs her dark crater of love until, with
jaws clinched, she moans out her release.
But, once is never enough.
She slinks to the kitchen to play hide the cucumber, then to the den to
hump an arm of the sofa. If only a
fat plumber and his assistant would arrive!
Scene Two: Careful what you wish for. Fat plumber, with table tennis eyeballs, grasps the situation immediately and grabs Mrs. Humper. She resists only enough to let him know
he’s on the right track, if only he’d put his heart and everything else into
it.
“You are wanting the sex machine,”
he chortles. Industrial sized
vibrators suddenly appear like sailors on payday. The plumber and his assistant wink at each other.
“I no want sex machine!” she
manages to squeeze out between earthquake like orgasms. Still she soldiers on. What a trooper. Strangely, her spigot of love is still
wide open and flowing tsunami-like to the sea.
“Ah!” one of the men says, showing
off his fingers, which are dripping like the monkey who fell in the swamp.
To say she is embarrassed is to say
that Campbell is fond of beans.
This woman is the soul of shame and remorse, having already forgotten
she was the one doing the one-handed leg shaker and praying for company when
this whole thing started.
The men take turns letting their
little brown and serve sausages sizzle in her oven, but if anyone is keeping
score, she’s got the game, set, and match when it comes to internal
earthquakes. Little did these
plumbers know their pipes would rust before this job was over.
At last they leave, congratulating
themselves on their courage and stamina. “She will the next time beg for
mercies!” Hahahahahaa. The wife secretly smiles and bounds
into the bedroom, only to find her worthless husband still asleep. This is a bitter pill, especially since
she was just getting started.
Ah, at least the fingers know their
business.
