The Porn Files

Yesterday I picked up the recent issue of Marie Claire India Edition. It was the cover story “The X-Files- Porn Films in India” that caught my attention. I was with my friend Ankit at Select Citywalk at the time and when I showed him he merely said “There is no porn in India!” I reminded him of my Palika experiences, walking through the DVD section being offered TV shows, movies and porn where the man and the woman make very nice the hanky panky. But there it was, one of my favorite words on the cover of a magazine.

I jumped into the back of my car and ripped open the magazine wrapping freeing the smooth, milky white cover from its binds. I began to breathe deeper and faster as my fingers gingerly swept across the silver letters sending shivers of anticipation racing through my body. I could wait no longer, I had to go in. I opened the magazine up like a cheap tabloid and to the casual observer, I perhaps looked like it was my first time. But it wasn’t. I had done that before, with countless magazines spanning a wide variety of topics and target audiences, but this was the first one since the Madonna covered Vanity Fair from last month, so you ca imagine the built up tension. Finally I found what I was looking for and let my eyes linger before devouring the article in reckless abandon.

It was like rewinding to the early 70’s. It was focused mostly on a woman named Shakeela, a “vacuous buxom woman” who performed extreme fellatio. What, I asked myself, is extreme fellatio? A blow-job with teeth? A Lorena Bobbit? Reading the rest of the article was a bit bland with all the usual clichés one uses when writing about porn.

Now this may come as a surprise, but I have danced with the idea of doing porn and on several occasions have actually been approached. The first time I was 18. I was desperate to be an actor and so answered an ad in a local LA paper looking for young men. Undaunted I drove up to LA and found myself on the lot of Paramount Pictures. I had hit the big time. The guard could not find my name on the list, but let me onto the lot and pointed me to a place for further directions. It was my first time on a major film studio. Any film studio for that matter, but this was Paramount, home to Indiana Jones and there I was wandering around just knowing that a director was going to pop out and promise to make me a star.

However, my dreams were soon to be smashed on the cold hard reality that is Hollywood. I was at the wrong studio. I need the dodgy looking building down the street. I hung my head my shame and drove off the lot, pausing for just a few minutes so anyone driving by would get a good view of me leaving the lot. I was scared that perhaps my 15 minutes of fame had happened without me. I arrived at the other studio, had a very nice interview with the nicest man who was full of smiles and compliments. Then he asked me to take off my clothes. There I was, virgin me (2 years before that status would change) being asked to shuck the shorts. I was just over the trauma of displaying my belly button on the beach. I turned seventy five shades of red and left.

Fast forward to several years later, a more confident me in my mid 30’s. I had been working out hard at the gym for about 2 years, just had my braces off and there I was in Palm Springs sunning it by the pool. I had decided to let Sparky and the boys out for a little fresh air and some local color. A few minutes later and I was talking to a guy from Falcon. Then there was the man representing Titan and Hot House. They each asked if I would be interested in a screen test and then most likely a movie. A movie. Me! I was already casting the other parts in my mind and videos from porn movies past looped through my head. Pictures and names swirling around. I had no idea where I would start, but I didn’t really care. I was as excited as a boy with a new bike "look ma, no hands!"

I got back home to the Hague and got in touch with another studio that wanted me to go to Berlin. It was too much. I was in demand. Then I decided I was going to do it. I made the arrangements to go to Berlin and also made an appointment back in California with one of the previous studios. I was ready and willing to be objectified. I wasn’t looking for a career, I was interested in the experience. I just wanted to experience it once. I wanted to know what it would be like to do such a thing. Of course I decided that the experience would be at least one chapter in the book I will one-day author.

But soon the attraction wore off. It was enough for me that they were interested. It was confirmation that I was indeed a little hottie they thought could melt some celluloid. And believe me, I would have. However I decided that some fantasies are better left just as they are.