CALICO LANE

Last night I went to see Cinekink’s screening of Graphic Sexual Horror, the Insex documentary by Barbara Bell and Anna Lorentzon. If you get the chance to see it, jump! It was well-done. It left me feeling both profoundly conflicted and aroused: a feeling, after several years of shooting with PD, with which I am familiar.

I’ve worked on both his current softer sites, Hardtied and Infernal Restraints. I never worked for Insex. The documentary took its name from the disclaimer on the site’s splash page: WARNING! GRAPHIC SEXUAL HORROR.

I did follow Insex avidly, from discovering it through its close. I had never seen anything like it. It was bizarre and terrifying and revolting and absolutely riveting.

I didn’t masturbate to it. I mean, it didn’t look like sex. I don’t know if I could have honestly told you that it turned me on.

Everyone comes to bondage porn for different reasons, but 912 still has the best story. When I met 912, she was PD’s girlfriend and videographer. I was more than a little scared of her and the screaming fights I seemed to provoke between her and PD. I was certain she’d walk in during one of PD’s “inspirational” moments with me in the barn, fling her HD camera to the ground, and rip off my head with her bare hands.

Over breadsticks at some dim and greasy Pizza Hut, I asked 912 how she got into modeling. In the film, she tells that story. She’d contacted Insex asking for a private session with PD. Naturally, she was confused and shocked when, after her shoot, they cut her a check! I had never heard such an innocent confession of desire. I do not understand your jealousy, I thought, but … that? I understand that.

I wrote Insex, too. How could I not? And I was emailing with Cyd about modeling at the time that their payment processors pulled out and the site shut down.

I wonder sometimes how I would have turned out if I had shot for Insex. I know I would have done a great many things. Maybe if I had done those things, it would have broken me — but now I never will.

Money was the theme running throughout the documentary. Can consent really exist where there is money, and so much of it? Where does responsibility lie? Many of the girls had drug habits to support. PD dated and played with his models and even, according to some, made work contingent on it. If he respected safewords, he has interesting interpretations of boundaries. Money made Insex lavish, careless, unprofessional and greedy; and then when the money was gone, they had to follow.

I usually embrace the money-and-consent problem. I like the feeling of having endured. Coerce me, baby! I want permission! Until I sort out my issues and get New Age-y with my desires, the money is a great excuse to have fun.

Of course, when people ask me why I don’t do vanilla porn, I tell them I don’t just do porn for the money. I want to do porn that interests me. I love sex; but this, this was irresistible. Maybe the people who ask me that question have never wanted something that much.

For better or worse, the old cast and crew of Insex populate the porn world I know. Matt Williams, Cyd, Angelene, Lorelei Lee — all familiar faces. It was fun to see them all interviewed after years of post-Insex gossip. Apparently, Claire Adams has always been possessed of that unearthly composure. And I was perversely cheered to see a young Princess Donna, threatened with a cattle prod, interrupt a live feed to hiss, “That is a hard limit!” Oh, Princess, how times have changed.

One of PD’s employees was there with his girlfriend. When I left I hugged him and said, “I’ll give you guys a call when I grow the balls again.”

I always need it. It’s just a matter of time.

I’ve been fascinated lately by menstruation porn. Everything I can find is bad, faked, or blocked off by payment processors.

I don’t know about you folks, but I do fuck on my period. Is that so obscene? People never, in my experience, refuse period sex.

I’m not into mess, but it can help a mood of particular abandon. Once I remember being bent over the bed, fucking with my jeans and panties pulled down and bloody pad still between my thighs. I was simultaneously mortified and turned on by it. It gratified me that he didn’t care.

And there’s my own conflict: in real life, menstruation fetishes feel intrusive to me. (I am always wary — perhaps to my own detriment, if the benefit of my therapist’s paycheck — of men seeking sexual gratification where I find none.) Oral sex is no more thrilling. Sex is at best slippery and at worst, disastrously sticky. And watching someone do things with my tampons, used or no, seems unsatisfying to say the least. (Although there was this one hot fanfic with Buffy and Spike — and now you all have read the one embarrassingly personal part of this post.)

It’s more of a sensual thing for me. (Oh God! I said “sensual”! Kill me now.) Life moves too fast for an inconvenience like bleeding. I like moments stolen with lovers, lounging in bed with only a towel thrown down. I could see cuddling in a drawn bath, letting the drips of red diffuse into the steam.

I wish we could show that in our porn.