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How to shoot a 'live' adult video

By Xanadu Xero

"The most important thing about a porno is its 'whackability,'" intoned our sage teacher Dave, as if channeling a spirit guide. "You know, it's basically for jerking off."


Wow. This divination alone justifies the course fee. What a privilege to be here.

I am in a chic film school lecture hall, the lone gal in a glut of aspiring auteurs here for the class, "How To Shoot Your Own Live Adult Video — For Fun Or Profit!" ('Live' as opposed to…?) My boyfriend, Aap, has squired me to this sanctum of learning, half due to his courtly Afrikaans manners, half due to a macabre curiosity about Teacher Dave that I stoked in case the manners thing didn't work. This bio did the trick:

"Dave Cummings, the 63-year old Adult Performer who has been in over 500 sex scenes (and still counting!) and is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel holder of the Bronze Star from service in Vietnam during the Tet Offensive, is also an acclaimed Producer and Director. Dave is an avid supporter of the First Amendment, and his contention that sex between consenting adults is a natural, normal, and healthy gift from God to mankind."

"Ugh, how sordid," Aap recoiled. "After killing children, shooting up, and screwing chickens in 'Nam, I guess porno's the only high left."

Aap can be very proper, foiling his Goth Pirate attire.

"I see Robert Duvall in the role," I said. "A sequel: Apocalypse Now, The Golden Years."

We were late to class. Luckily, Dave ran on "porno time," which, as we learned, is indistinct. The student body was already in situ. Arrayed before us was a Rainbow Coalition of sleazeballs, all colors and creeds subsumed to the cause. They were 'studying' the handout packet; scant information stapled to glossy porn pages promoting Dave's oeuvre and his new series, Kneepad Nymphos.

One pupil was darting around — a lumpy white guy who kept chirping (parrot voice:) "I'm gay! I'm gonna do gay porno!"

Aap's face turned a mottled grey. His skin changes with moods, like an octopus. This grey tone is always accompanied by Clint Eastwood's eyes when he says, "Go ahead. Make my day."

"Afgryslike mense," (Horrible people) he growled. He took a seat, way off to the side, and willed himself, instantly, to sleep.

I examined my packet to Aap's gentle snores. There must have been a hundred pictures of Dave dorking mostly what I would call Two Baggers (so ugly you need one for her head, one for yours.) Those with implants had wall-eyed cheap ones of the stale muffins-on-a-plate variety. This reaction must have been due to that ol' party-pooper, estrogen. The Rainbow Coalition seemed to like them just fine.

Dave, for the most part, beamed into the camera just, gosh, thrilled to be there with the mild smile of the grandpa he is. I would venture to guess that he had a slow, tender hand with the Vietnam fowl.

"Today's my birthday!" Dave began. "I'm sixty-four!" The class eked out faint applause; the kind that clergy get when they torture the homeless with sermons before they dish out food. Dave's ding-dong was unfettered under his thin, drawstring pants, flapping like a bell clapper. He looks more like Ohio's mattress superstore king than anything else.

"Do you know the term 'fluffers'?" he asked. Fluffers are B-quality girls who suck the guys before scenes for wood. But with this economy — they're just too costly."

Take heart, Dave, hang tough. I hear the economy is on the upswing! Oh. Right. That's without jobs.

"Viagra screws everything up," Dave tsks. "Those guys are on the clock, you know? They get these red faces, their hearts are thumping and they're no good for the cum shot. There's a drug you can inject into the penis, but its like, 'Damn! We need make-up! Blemish on the dick!'"

"Excuse me sir, but how long does it take to come with Viagra?" screeched I'm Gay officiously.

"Depends," Dave clacked back, peeved. He had been on a roll. Continuing:

"So this one shoot, this young guy had blue pill wood. His scene comes up and DING, he loses it. Outta time. Gone. That's it." Dave draws a finger across his neck. "Another pill would take, like, half an hour. So guess what?" he grins, "The sixty-three year old stunt cock stepped in."

Dave's sexagenarian priapics were the de facto core of the class. Yessir, the old Brass Hat is a circus quality freak of nature. His precision Big Bertha can flip off gravity wherever/whenever, stay aloft and pop on cue. He can direct and shoot scenes he 'acts' in while getting a blowjob - mirrors positioned around him for thrifty, all-angle coverage. After each morning run he has to pull the pickle.

You are an American treasure, Lt. Colonel! We salute you! Carry on!

The students save me (and Aap, in the Land of Nod) were mesmerized. They gazed at Dave as if at the Great Oz. I was squirming in my seat… and it wasn't vibrating.

We learned a few things not easily found on the web, like that a Pina Colada can double as joint juice if a gent is spent and you realize that you need to film a "facial" spray. But for me, more questions were raised than answered. Such as:

What's with the "cum "shots? Women hate them. There's something way gay about "straight" men's demand for them 'as proof.' Effing proof? Aren't they supposed to be watching the girls? The girls fake it; why don't they rail about that? Actually, the answer to that one lies in this joke: Q. How can a man tell if a woman has an orgasm? A. Who cares?

I must say, though, that I left this class with some inspirational words. Dave gave us porn biz advice that serves beautifully as a holistic life motto. "Don't lose your shirt," he said. "Have fun. Maybe get laid."

Add forty acres and a mule and I'm down with that.


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