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Shooting in San Francisco
By
Len Bourret
Hitting on a San Francisco porn star doesn't seem inappropriate, especially if one cannot get positive scoring results on Castro Street. Gay hardbodies are here to do a job, including those of the blowing variety. They excitedly consider dynamic, off-camera sex--especially with those offering the benefits of high-yield greenbacks, between modeling assignments. A guy has to do what he has to do. Right?
On the porn social ladder, an extra rung is created for the guy who wears a trojan, and who washes off his dildo. Extra points are given for generous souls slipping big balls in the g-string, and to those who bare special gifts beyond gold and silver-plated cock rings. We all have our own fantasies. Mine is fitting my hard tool in the screwhole of a slim, tight fixture--on his knees and in the praying position, silently groveling, and just begging for me to give him my best. I'm not talking about a candidate for gay marriage. I'm talking about a deliverer of hot sex. Orgasm of the one-night stand. Two nights, if we're both lucky.
Today, I'm on the set of Gay Sex and Infidelity, a video about a gay lover (who looks like a young, George Bush) and his disreputable partner (who looks like a young Saddam Hussein). The gay lover is given the brush by his disinterested lover, who no longer finds George attractive. Saddam is not at all willing to give George any more oil. The video's slow beginning is no more than a dry fuck at first, but does get interesting when I am able to offer my lubricated best.
Before the shooting, I was able to catch a glimpse of the video stars, golden beauties with velvety mouths and slim-waisted asses. If these men were
pregnant women, they would bear many babies. Much fertility, sperm, and potential babies' eggs are spilled all over the set. Many rehearsals were required. After all, we had to make it real, by getting it right. Didn't we?
All I can say is that there are some very happy beauties, on Castro Street, who won't be able to sit down for awhile. But, sometimes a gay fuck film turns out to be a western, with the cowboy riding his horse into a Golden Gate Bridge sunset, and smoldering sexual smoke obscuring the Sausalito Artist Colony's view.
Like motherfucking Jude Law, I ready myself for the final shooting. The only makeup required: buckets of oil, poured liberally on my hard, firm rock. I shower in the set's makeshift bathroom. A porn film operates on a very low budget. The actors have to make do: anytime, anywhere, doing anything required.
With camera rolling, and in a poorly-lighted corner of the soundstage (there, oftentimes, is poor lighting used in a porn film), I embraced Sinara (the film's star). "God, you're beautiful," I said.
"You're hot," Sinara responded. Not saying another word, Sinara gets in the missionary position. Ah, sweet prayer! And, I responded with the exclamatory line: "I just want to fuck you!" I did, and it really was great. But, the film was a wrap, and our affair was over.
The whole problem seemed to focus on the camera lens: the whole experience was about as believable as
Penetrator 2: Grudgefuck Day. Not even a Cinemascope, Cinerama, or 3D lens would have helped to go beyond shooting my
mechanical load. The real world is not a stage.
Copyright ©
2003 Len Bourret
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