80s Porn Review: "Sweat", starring Amber Lynn

Since I recently un-earthed some "vintage" porn ('cause 20 years is, like, a century in porn-years), it seems only fair to share with you, my loyal readers.

So, today's selection is "Sweat", starring Amber Lynn and John Leslie.

This movie is from 1986, the same year the Traci Lords scandal broke. I confess to having seen some of Ms. Lords' work before it was declared contraband. But cute as she was, I was always smitten with Amber Lynn more, for some reason. She just had this sense of ferocity about her when she was doing a scene. She might not have been the best fellatrix, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm and eye-contact.

So, moving on to the movie. The plot is that Amber Lynn's character can't manage to sweat. No matter how hard she tries while having sex, she doesn't break a sweat. And it's driving her nuts. We start with her and Jerry Butler. After a lively romp, she pisses him off by blaming him for her not sweating. This takes us to the next scene, with Jamie Gillis as a gonzo doctor more interested in the racing sheet than medicine. Until, that is, he decides to try his luck with the lovely Amber.

Still not satisfied, our Amber turns to voyerism, watching Nina Hartley and Mike De Marco perform on her TV while she watches and "works her mouse". Were this film made today, no doubt this would have been a web-cam scene, instead. I also have a soft spot (so to speak) for Nina Harley, as she's been a longtime advocate for a lot of sexual liberty issues. When this also fails to bring forth the elusive persperation, Patti Petite suggests the problem lays with men, and tries her luck. It should be no surprise that Amber is as nimble with the clit as with the cock.

Still not sweating, she turns to graduate students Tom Byron and Buffy Davis (who knew she was a professor?), who start off performing for her, but Davis strangly heads to the sideline as Amber steps in to take over servicing Tom. Quickly figuring out that he's in over his head, Tom brings in a second man, and an Amber sandwich ensues. This may be the hottest scene of the film.

After Amber finishes the two men off, and all three leave, Buffy is left with Cock #2's partner (apparently, the two were janitors that Byron was able to find in the hallway), played by another favorite of mine, Angel Kelly (credited here as Sugar Brown). Angel always had a smile and a look of pure enjoyment in her scenes, while the more-filmed black performer Jeannie Pepper always seemed to look angry. Anyway, Angel and Buffy have a nice sapphic scene that is woefully short. Still, they look lovely together.

Finally, Amber hooks up with a recently-released gangster, played by the iconic Jon Leslie. At last, she finds the one to make her sweat. Their scene has some very genuine-appearing tenderness and affection, and is a great note to end on. (There's one last bit, no sex but plenty of humor.)

One thing that struck me while watching this tape, is the difference in standards of beauty. In this movie, there were no (obvious) fake breasts. I think that at least one person (Nina Hartley) had enhancements (this is because I know she has them, and her size looked like it always has to me). Amber doesn't, Buffy didn't, nor did Angel. Also, the pubic areas were natural. None of the Brazilian wax jobs we see in current porn, or the flurry of fully-shaved V's. I don't really prefer one style over the other, but I do like to see variety, and variety is lacking in the current generation of porn.

(But then, I also really love tattoos on a woman, and in this period tattoos were almost unheard of, except for "extreme" performers like Viper.)

All in all, I can see now why I've kept this tape so long. And unlike most of the tapes I've gone through lately, I'll be keeping this one on hand for a while yet to come.

Dausa

Going to Hell, Part 2

I have this co-worker, J. She's petite and extremely cute. Not drop-dead gorgeous, or Penthouse-pet hot, but cute as all hell. When we first started working together, I thought she was flirting with me. Then I found out that she's married (and I should point out that she's a very traditionally-minded Chinese immigrant, so I honestly don't believe that she was flirting after all). But we work side-by-side, and some days are more torturous than others.

Today, she's wearing a miniskirt. When she was scooting her chair closer to my desk to ask for my help on a problem, I got a clear view of white cotton panties. A fairly prolonged view, no less.

I haven't been this turned-on by panties (let alone plain white cotton) in close to 20 years.

Think about it: the overwhelming presence of porn these days make ordinary undies almost a non-issue. We look at supposedly-racy pictures from the 40's and 50's and don't see the attraction. A woman in her bra? I can see that on "Desperate Housewives", and that bra will be from Victoria's Secret.

But for some reason, no doubt related to the total inaccessibility of this woman, that flash of white cotton just won't leave my mind's eye.

I'm so going to hell.

D

I'm Totally Going to Hell

I'm watching last night's Al Franken Show on TiVo. One of the guests is Shelby Knox, made infamous for her crusade to get comprehensive sex education taught in her Lubbock, Texas high school. It's a serious subject, and one I feel very strongly about. But all I can think about is how amazingly hot she is, and damn but I wish any of the girls I went to high school with were that hot.

I'm a very bad person.

D

Every Velvet Glove Fits Differently

Over at Overworked & Underf*cked, she asks her male readers (or lesbian readers, if they want to participate), to talk about their feelings on the feelings from within a vagina. How can I turn down such a request?

(She also wants us to focus on the vaginas, not the women attached to them. I'll try my best.)

Be it mental, physical or (most likely) a combination of the two, there are few sensations that stand out in my memories like the feeling the first time I penetrate a new lover. It's like the breathlessness you get from the first kiss, combined with the electricity you feel the first time she takes your erection in her hand, added together then raised to an exponent. From the first grazing of my glans on her outer labia, to the first full, balls-deep thrust, my nerve-endings are sending to my brain a series of memories I'll treasure long after the relationship itself (if there was one at all) has ended. This isn't to say that I remember all of my nearly 90 first-times (though to be fair, I also count oral-only encounters, so not all 90 or so qualify anyway). Truth is, not all of them were that memorable. The majority of the ones with sex workers weren't. But there are some that bear relating. Because the sex of an aroused woman is like a warm, velvet glove that grips with the most exquisite of caresses, and no two gloves are (or were) the same.

ML was my first, ever. And being first, there was nothing before her to use as a basis for comparison, so my memories of that glove are highly romanticised and wholly intertwined with the memories of her. Still, I remember every detail and aspect of that evening like it happened yesterday. From the angle of entry, to the embarrassingly-short time it took me to finish. She was on the pill, and AIDS wasn't a household word yet. I have the (now) rare priviledge of remembering my first time without a condom in the picture.

LL (see the previous entry), I remember very well. I didn't know she was a virgin at the time, but I do remember feeling a wonderfully strong grip. I naturally go slow on the first entry, just to prolong the joy, so luckily I didn't go in too hard or too fast. I like to savor the feeling, from the tip past the head down the shaft to the base, until I'm fully in. That first time, I remember her muscles clamping at the base when I bottomed-out that first time. LL had a stronger grip than I remembered ML having. I was more experienced, so I didn't orgasm in the first 30 seconds, but not for lack of opportunity. The gentle-but-insistent clasping around me could have finished off a lesser man in mere seconds.

JB was the first glove I got to enjoy for a protacted period of time. Our first time was nervous and circumspect, as we were in her mom's house at the time, not entirely sure mom wouldn't get home early. We didn't plan well, and no condom was used. After our second time, I came to my senses enough to ask her if she was on anything, and we started using condoms from then on. JB had a very slender, almost boyish figure and I think that contributed to the feeling of her. With her, the pressure from the glove was pretty much the same from just inside the opening all the way up the cavity. When she gripped me, the feeling was consistent along the full length of my cock, from the head down. Only at the very opening was there a stronger grip.

The next truly notable was PC, the person I ended up with for nearly five years. She was far and away the most experienced lover I've ever had, and it really showed in her muscles. She particularly liked to be on top. She wasn't the first lover I had to be on top, but she really knew how to use it. PC is unusual in that I don't remember the first time so much as the set of really stellar lovemaking sessions. She could literally make being inside her feel like you were getting blowjob.

Once I moved to California, as I've mentioned before, I discovered the joys (and convenience) of commercial sex. Few of those were worth recalling, at least in this context. Some of the women really rocked my world at the time, but didn't plant the kinds of memories I'm thinking of now.

But then EW came along. We ended up fucking the night we met. Not the first time that's happened, but the first time it happened and the relationship actually lasted. What I remember most about being inside her, was that she got wetter than any woman I'd ever been with. (She's since learned how to have a female ejaculation during sex.) All that moisture made the glove feel much softer and silkier. I also remember that my usual effort of going slowly for the initial entry was foiled by her grabbing my hips and pulling me in hard and fast.

So, out of the scores of gloves I've tried on for size, it's no surprise that no two were alike. No doubt that a good part of my addiction is simply addiction to the feeling of having that softness, that silkiness, enveloping me. Some gripped like a hand, some clamped like a vise. Some gently coaxed my orgasm out of me, some ripped it hungrily. The only thing I know for certain is that in order to make a definitive judgement, I must have more research.

(And in case anyone is wondering, I am in the market and mood for a new first encounter...)

Dausa

Stories of Addiction #2: LL, the Latent Lesbian

When I started my freshman year of college, I had been having sex for less than three months. Like any other teenager, I'd been desperate to lose my virginity. And once I had my first taste, I was all the more obsessed with it. Of course, at the time I would never have thought to associate this compulsive behavior with that of people who start drinking heavily after having their first taste. To make it easier, I was living in the dorms even though I only lived 15 minutes from the school. I wanted to have easier access to the libraries and labs, but it also meant I had space away from the family for easier breaking of commandments.

Into this potential den of iniquity came LL, willingly and eagerly.

There were things about LL that could have easily derailed our potential relationship. First and foremost, we had been friends for 3 years in middle school, then lost touch when we went to different high schools. We ran into each other on campus, but of course the initial impression was to pick up the friendship where it left off. From my point of view, we were just going to be friends.

See, the biggest hurdle was race. Oklahoma isn't the deep south, mind you, but even on a liberal arts campus interracial relationships could get you roughed up. I wasn't thinking about this at first, because I had no idea what she was getting at that night she came to my dorm room. We had talked on the phone a lot for a few weeks (neither of us were making friends as fast as we'd hoped, so a familiar voice became more and more refreshing), and one night she just asked to come over. Something she wanted to talk about, but not on the phone.

She came over, and we talked. I don't remember the words, I just remember thinking that I wasn't hearing what I thought I was hearing: I could swear she was saying, outright, that she was really attracted to me and wanted to have sex with me. Right then. No way I heard that right. Then she kissed me. Again, harder, and not even I was slow enough to miss the message being sent.

With the lovers in my memory, I always remember the first time the clearest. This time, this person, is no exception. I remember how the beds were aligned in that dorm room, I remember turning the light over the bed off. I remember the first feeling of her hand taking hold of my erection through my jeans. Most of all, I remember the first taste of her skin, I remember thinking that there was a difference in the texture from my previous lovers. Looking back, I doubt that was really the case. It was almost certainly my brain playing tricks on me, something that came along for the ride with the fascination of making love to someone who wasn't white and suburban.

To understand, I have to go back roughly ten years or so. I was living with my mother at the time. We were watching a Miss America pageant, in which Jayne Kennedy was doing color commentary. My mother's boyfriend at the time made a comment, either about Kennedy or about a black contestant. Me, in my grand ignorance, asked why he could find this person attractive when she was black and he wasn't. He looked at me, and to this day I believe he was dumbstruck at my naïvety. So he gently explained that beauty is not limited to one color or the other. From that point forward, I was fascinated by all races and colors.

About 7 years later, I met a really attractive black girl through friends of friends and made a clumsy pass, trying for a kiss. The following (high school) football season, I ran into her again, and got mercilessly teased by a group of her (black) friends. So I was more than a little gun-shy when LL came to me that night. But I was also really attracted to her. And, I'm not proud to admit, I was attracted to the novelty of being with a black woman.

So, back to the college scene. We saw each other a few times over the next month or so, which took us to the end of the semester, and winter break. Over the break, I got a Christmas card from her. In it, she said that she wanted to know what the nature of the relationship was. But I was too scared to actually let there be a relationship. My family was too old-fashioned, I could never have brought her home.

Here's where addiction seeps in. And by addiction, I'm pretty sure I can safely point to the both of us.

I didn't hear from her for months. I went by her dorm room once, only to find a small group of her friends who were very terse with the unknown white boy looking for LL. Eventually, I did hear from her. She asked to come over, and we had sex again. A few weeks ago, the same. That time, I could tell she had been drinking. A better person wouldn't have taken advantage of the situation, but I didn't really hesitate.

Well, that's not entirely true. See, I had tried once or twice to call her up and get together. Always, she was unable to come over for some reason or other. But when she was in the mood, I was wise-enough to make time. But because of this, I had learned to let her initiate things. If I got too eager, she would lose her nerve. So always, we made small talk until she built up the nerve to go in for the first kiss of the encounter. (Later, after getting a nice bathrobe as a gift, I took to wearing it when she arrived in order to make for, ehh, easier access.)

Towards the end of my freshman year, I started dating someone. I was with her for just about a year. During that time, I wasn't with LL because of that (I did eventually cheat on that person, but not with LL). That relationship ended towards the end of my sophomore year, which was also when I moved into my first apartment. Shortly after, I started getting calls from LL again.

By this time, LL was engaged to someone (someone I never met), also a white man. I assumed that this meant the end of our dalliances, but I was wrong. She would still call every few months, sometimes tipsy. And I never said no. LL was one of the most passionate lovers I've had. I just never had the will to say no to her. I even learned later that our first time together had been her first time, period. I wistfully wonder if the reason she seemed like such a perfect lover to me, was that I was involved in shaping her views on sex.

LL never mentioned having feelings for other women, until the very last time we were together. I was at her apartment (one of the exceedingly rare times that we weren't at my place), and noticed that she had some Penthouse Letters issues. I teased her, and she confessed that they (she and the fiancé) had them for the stories about threesomes with other women. They were thinking about pursuing that. That fueled my fire, and we turned to other subjects. You generally don't know when the time you make love to someone is going to be the last time. I didn't then, and I don't know if she did or not. But it was really intense, either from her knowledge (subconscious or otherwise) or from my novelty of being at her place. Whatever the reason, it was amazing. She was more responsive than I expected. It was hot, early summer in Oklahoma in an apartment with no air-conditioning. We both sweated a lot that time, and as last times go, I'm glad I have it to look back on.

We graduated that year, and within the next year I had moved to Colorado. A few years later (around 1995 or so), the WWW had started getting big enough to look for people and have a fair chance of finding something about them. I tried this with LL, and found she had finished her Ph.D and was teaching at a small midwestern college. We e-mailed some off and on, but she was married at this point (and several thousand miles away), and I made no effort to rekindle old flames. She had a personal web page, and I noticed that she had a rainbow flag on the page, and some links to local-area gay/lesbian resources. But she was still married, so I assumed it was just a diversity thing. We lost touch again, and I moved to California.

A few years ago, I tried searching again in the golden age of Google. I found that she'd moved to the southwest, teaching at a different school. I wrote again. I learned that she had come out some years earlier. A friend set her up with someone, and they had been together ever since. They were happily partnered together, living a nice white-picket-fence suburban life. I don't know if things would have been different, had I really told her how I felt after getting that Christmas card. If we had actually started a relationship, would we have gone on to marry? Would she still have come out and divorced me, as she had the man she married?

Sexual identity is a lot more fluid than most people want to admit. As someone who's floated around the bisexual scene but really prefers the opposite sex most of the time, I know that tastes can change over time. Maybe she is truly lesbian, but I suspect she's bisexual and just truly happy with her current partner. I've known several latent homosexuals who were desperate to prove (to themselves) that they were straight by having lots of straight sex. Maybe that was what she did. But she didn't carry with her the air of desperation that the others I knew were drenched in. I can't judge, and I won't. I just wish her well.

Looking back, I know I was clearly addicted to having sex, and especially to having sex with her. (Any guy would have been.) But I also wonder if there wasn't something there on her side, too. Something that kept her coming back to me every few months. Addiction? Denial? A little of both, maybe, in that I probably knew her errogenous zones better than anyone else at the time? I miss her, still.

Dausa

I'm Just Sayin'

If/when I get laid as direct result of having started this blog, I promise to pay for the full upgraded account (here, at SiteMeter, heck maybe even at Feedburner, too).

Not naming names, just sayin'.

D

Aprés Party

Well, this party sure made up for the rough time I'd had the last of these parties I went to. There were a ton of people there, in a deliciously wide range of shapes, sizes and colors. The snacks were tasty, the jacuzzi was toasty. And there were three floors' worth of debauchery to sample. The rest is behind the cut (in the name of preserving peoples' sensitivities).

Well, as they say, start at the beginning. We got to the area in SF about 10 past 8:00PM, the official starting time. But set-up was running a little behind, so people were clumped outside waiting to get in. My guest for the evening saw someone she knew would be there, but who didn't know she was even into this sort of party, let alone planning to attend. I think his look of surprise (and full-length blush) made her evening-- even if nothing else happened that evening, she would have been happy.

We ended up having to wander around to find a bathroom, because the line to get in could only move so fast (the clothes-check area fast becomes a bottleneck). We managed to get in right about 9:00. We changed; me into a pair of leather briefs, her into a black lace teddy and black stockings. Mrrroww. Along the way, we ran into the person who first brought me into these parties. She was surprised to see me, since I hadn't been in over two years. She was almost literally speechless. Even moreso when she realized my date was someone she'd been talking to in e-mail about the party just the day before. We went to get munchies, and I showed her around the facility.

For the first hour or so, we just hung out and chilled. Spent some time in the jacuzzi talking to interesting people. Wandered around, watching others play. But after a bit, we decided we'd had enough spectating. One of the levels has a number of simple mattresses scatter at various places. We found an unoccupied one and staked claim. It was a lot like where we're together her at my place, only with people wandering around us. She got to see first-hand the smoothness of the freshly-shaven sac. I think I'm going to keep this practice up-- she went after the twins like I would never have guessed. After a good bit of that, she went to work on my tool itself, but I was in the mood for something a little different. She's really responsive to being worked over with my fingers, if I do it the right way (gauging her mood and arousal at the moment). And she gets loud. Wonderfully, deliciously loud. So I pulled her up so we were face-to-face, and we started just kissing and caressing. I worked my hand down, and she knew what I was after. She had no argument at all, lemme tell ya. When I manage to get the rhythm just right with her level of excitement, she can easily go two or three times in rapid succession.

So, as you may guess, we had drawn a small crowd by this time.

After she had a couple, we slowed down and cuddled for a bit, just enjoying the warmth. She rolled me over on my back and started in with her mouth again. This time, though, a lovely black couple came up and asked if she minded if the woman touched her while she was going down on me? Why, not at all! Go right ahead! So I'm watching as she's being caressed all around her ass and lower back, while she's still working me over. Then the man asked if I minded if he played/sucked on my nipples while all this was going on? Why, go right ahead! Eventually, we transitions so that my date and I were laying back while the woman ate her out, and the man was blowing me. Then I realized something dreadful...

I wasn't anywhere near getting an erection. What's that old saying?

What's the difference between anxiety and panic? Anxiety is the first time you can't do it a second time. Panic is the second time you can't do it a first time.

I don't know what the issue was-- it could have been at least partly due to the fact that I'd had a really bad experience at this party the previous time I'd been. Part of it was probably nerves and self-consciousness with all the people watching. But for the duration of the evening, I never got past half-hard. And there was some seriously-hot action going on.

There was this redhead, wearing these amazing shiny black leather go-go boots. With them, she was eye-to-eye with me (I'm 6'4"). She said that she's naturally 5'11". And she had a great body. She was doing a three-way with her date and another guy. She looks amazingly beautiful when she came. Next to them, a man was on his back as his partner rode him to one orgasm after another. She was a screamer, too, and you had no doubt how much she was enjoying the man underneath her. Another couple nearby consisted of a man and a pre-op transsexual. After she rode him for a while, they spent time with her laying back as he went down on her (yes, a fully-functional pre-op, which I also have a bit of a fetish for). There were some hard-core BDSM players, people who clearing have been handling whips and floggers for as long as I've been handling a keyboard (or anything else, for that matter).

Pretty much sex everywhere you looked. Which was the whole point of the party. My date also got to play with some other people (after all, what's the point of going to a party like this and only playing with the same person you arrived with-- we could have done that without driving 50 miles each way). The party organizers provide condoms, gloves, saran wrap and lube. People are free to go wild for the whole time. Probabaly the hottest thing I got to watch was a man laying on his back, his partner on top of him cowgirl-style. She was also using a vibrator on her clit (one of the big muscle-massager varieties, not the dinky little dildo one). Another man was playing with her breasts, and the same black woman who had eaten out my date earlier in the evening had her face down under the woman, licking her while the man fucked her. Man, that was better than any porn I could ever rent.

So, I had a good time. Not as good as I would have, had my body not turned on me. But I have two months before the next party. My date suggests DHEA, though I think I just need to be not as stressed with the day job as I have been (I'll probably try it though, just to be sure). Plus, next time around I won't be looking back on a bad time, I'll be looking back on a better time. And who knows, maybe the redhead will be back, too...

Dausa

Sex Party Prep

Tonight, I am going to do something I haven't done in ages: I'm going to a sex party.

You would think, addict that I am, that I never miss a chance for these things. But this particular party is held every other month, and I haven't been since February of 2003. The reason is simple: despite being a self-identified sex addict, I'm very introverted. So while I constantly crave and seek sex, I do get overwhelmed in party situations where there are a lot of people crowded around me.

And so, I haven't been to a party like this in a while. But the person I'm currently spending time with has wanted to go to this party. It's invite-only, and for a newbie to get in you have to come with an established person. Despite not having been in so long, I'm still on the invite list. So we're off to San Francisco in a few hours. And in anticipation, I've done a few things I don't normally do, so as to prepare...

Here's what I've done:

• Shaved my balls. This is not a trivial task. One bad swipe of the razor and I'm in no mood to go to a party, sex-oriented or otherwise. I find the best way to do this is outside of the shower, as the water tends to make them pull up into the body (to normalize the temperature). I clamp the thumb and middle-finger of my other hand around the base of the scrotum, like a rubber band. This forces the little guys to stretch out the skin of the sac so that it's nice and smooth. Using a fresh blade in my razor, running it under warm water frequently, I gently shave. I don't recommend using shaving cream or other lotion, because (to me, at least) it obscures the surface of the skin. Your cheek and jawline may be consistenly smooth when you shave, but the skin on your sac may still have ridges and valleys, and you want to be careful dragging the razor across those.
• Trimmed down my pubes. I don't want to try going for complete baldness there. It may look cute on a woman (and in reality, I have no preference either way for women to be shaven or not-- I'm happy-enough to be in the presence of pussy that I don't worry about grooming), but I feel like have the area bare with a protrusion flopping around just looks silly. Of course, that being said there's also some positive benefit to people not having to go on a jungle expedition to find your equipment.
• Took an extra-long shower, cleaning everywhere. I'll still have accumulated some musk between now and the party, but if I expect anyone to be interested in fooling around, I should be willing to go the extra effort in hygiene.
• Checked for overly-long fingernails, or hangnails. Really, guys. Think about this before you try to work a finger (or three) up into the soft-tissue area. And as an aside, think about this the next time you see (supposedly) lesbian porn where both actresses have inch-long nails. Yeesh.
• Last, and most importantly, relaxed and regarded myself in the mirror, and decided that it's OK if I don't end up playing with anyone new. I can have a good time under my own power. Of course, this one takes contant re-assurance. It'll be harder to convince myself once I'm there, with all the eye-candy around me.
  

And so, off I go. If anything delicious happens, I'll be sure to share!

Dausa

Old Porn Never Dies

...it just gets shuffled to the back of the drawer and forgotten.

As I mentioned last post, I recently gave away my waterbed. The bed frame doubled as my dresser (which means I'm currently looking for a cheap dresser), but had far more drawers than I needed for clothes. Naturally, I used the remaining drawers for porn. Some of it I'd been carrying around with me from one address to the next for the better part of 18 years.

That's right: '80s porn.

For those who have grown up with the spectre of AIDS their entire life, the concept of slick-produced, professional (as opposed to the current trend of all amateurs all the time) porn without condoms must be truly a novel one. But there they were: four or more tapes dating to the late '80s. These were after AIDS, of course, but before the porn industry got a sense of responsibility and started requiring condom use.

Oh, the names and the faces. The (mostly) natural breasts. Anyone remember Amber Lynn? What about Kristara Barrington or Angel Kelly? Linda Wong, Sheena Horne, Aja. The list goes on. Most of these haven't been heard from in over a decade (Amber Lynn still shows up on talk shows from time to time, and places like "The Man Show").

The men, some of them are still around. Apparently, as long as there has been porn, there has been Ron Jeremy. But others, like Tom Byron, seem to have moved on to other things. One face I could have done without seeing was Marc Wallice, who I do believe knowingly continued to work in the '90s after testing positive for HIV. I can't even stand to watch him in a scene, with or without condom.

But that all aside, those tapes brought back some memories, for certain. I remember when the first couple were the only video porn I owned. Watching thoses scenes again, after all this time, was like finding a long-believed-lost high school yearbook, only with breasts and money shots. Today's porn actors just don't do it for me the way the old school did. Maybe because you remember your first few so fondly, but I haven't really seen anyone in a film from the last 3-5 years who could match Amber Lynn for sheer voraciousness in appetite, or Kristara Barrington for natural good looks.

Come back, gals, we still love you.

Dausa

[Edit: I don't mean to suggest that those performers who have chosen to leave the industry and move on with their lives should return if they are no longer interested. I was trying to make the point that even though they may be in their late-30's to mid-40's, they're almost certainly still attractive. Not all porn stars have to be in the barely-legal bracket.]

You Know You're Doing Something Right...

...when people notice your absence and send you e-mails to prod you back into activity.

Last few weeks have been murder. Heinous demonstration deadline at the day job and major shuffling of furniture here at home. In an uncharacteristically non-bachelor move, I've gotten rid of my king-sized waterbed and replaced it with a queen-sized air bed. After 12+ years, the waterbed was just too hard to get out of in the morning. I was too comfy with it. In general, a lot of house-cleaning and out-with-the-old going on.

But many thanks to those readers who've written me. It's nice to feel appreciated! I promise some goodness soon. In particular, the cleaning effort has unearthed some porn that dates back to the '80s. That's gotta be worth at least one whole post by itself...

D