No need for that. 

I think too much.
I’m not always great at staying on topic.
My mind wanders.
Even when I’m wanking.

This last point was evident the other day as I tossed myself off over some online porn. As I scanned the search engine’s returned images, I happened upon an animated picture of a couple in the kitchen, first dressed, then in a sequence of jerky stills, getting naked and then fucking on the worktop. Which was all very well and good, but I didn’t want to see them with their clothes on. I just wanted to see them fucking. And I was put in mind of both Cabaret Desire, the award winning skin flick from feminist pornographer, Erika Lust, and the classic late 70’s porno set up of the washing machine repair guy boning the board housewife.

What did they have in common?
One thing.
The setup.
(Ok, they also have graphic scenes of blow jobs, hand jobs, fingering and fucking, but it’s all porn, so surely that goes without saying.)

The setup.
Something that is … well, what is it?
And more to the point, what is it there for?

The received wisdom is that, when it comes to sex, women like build up. For the most part they don’t like a dick thrusting straight into them until they have at least enjoyed a little kissing, caressing, fondling, licking, squeezing, fingering, spanking etc etc, (the handcuffs, blindfolds, nipple clamps and riding crop can come later) so they like to see the same in porn. I guess it’s supposed to allow the viewer to mentally put themselves in the scenario they are watching. Maybe a scenario in which they would enjoy participating.
A fantasy.
This is where Erika Lust films are routed, for example, with a 30th birthday party.
Flashbacks to previous years, when the birthday girl’s friends have gifted her with a knobbly clit-stim cock-ring,
Or frilly french knickers.
Or porno DVDs.
Or Jiggle Balls.
Or an up-market vibrator.
But this year they give her an envelope with just a phone number in it and instructions to call it on Friday.
Ooooh … the mystery.
One the cake is cut, the champagne glasses chinked together, and the party over, we spin forward to Friday. We find our subject stood in her kitchen in her underwear. Obviously. She dials the number, and a few minutes later a beau appears outside her apartment on a motorcycle.
He blindfolds her (I told you the blindfolds would come later) and helps her onto the bike’s pillion seat.
Sat astride the throbbing monster (that’s the bike, at this stage at least, because the bike is indeed a Ducati Monster) in the voice over she confesses she was so wet she was almost sliding of the seat and the bike’s vibration wasn’t helping this. (And those that are familiar with motorcycles will know just how easily a Ducati engine could put Hitachi’s finest to shame!)

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After long shots of the couple swooping though the city, the rider drops her off outside an apparently deserted and graffiti covered retail unit.
He instructs her to go in, before he rides off into the proverbial sunset.
Now any normal woman would run like crazy at this point, expecting the worst. But not our heroine. She steps through the open door, allows it to slam behind her, walks into the gloom and takes the freight elevator to the floor above.
Reaching the upper storey, she steps out into the bright, white, clinical light, sheer white drapes hanging from the ceiling, concealing the contents of the room.
Concealing the contents, that is, except for some forklift pallets, and the shadowy silhouette of a figure, neither of which she seems to notice.
She explores the scene.
More forklift pallets, laid out on the floor, adorned with dishevelled bedclothes and a couple of utterly random, large, Victorian style birdcages.
Were it not for the grapes and champagne, you might well wonder if this was going to turn into a slasher movie, not a porno.
She eats a grape.
Explores a little more.
And then he appears.
Matisse.
The guy she’s been lusting after for months.
How did her friends arrange this?
Seemingly it matters not.
He tells her he’s going to make them both sweat.
They kiss, stroke, fondle, strip each other, and thank the gods for that, he licks her tits.
His hand slips between her legs and he fingers and licks her snatch.
AT LAST we’re down to the porn. Yes, Patient Viewer, at last we get to watch them fuck.
Damn, that took a long while to get there. Five, maybe even ten minutes. Ten whole minutes of set-up. And them there’s the other fantasy scenes on the DVD, all with proportionately protracted preamble.
Is it at all necessary?

If we step back to the 1970s, we have the aforementioned washing machine guy. You know the scenario:
The buxom young housewife, dressed in an unfeasible tight white t-shirt, miniskirt and 6″ heels is doing the housework. (All women dress like that when doing the housework, I assume. Unless they’re naked.)
She brings the laundry downstairs, loads it into the washing machine and turns it on.
2 minutes later, the kitchen is flooded and there are soap suds everywhere.
Oh what to do?
She runs for the phone. (How she doesn’t break an ankle running in those shoes I’ll never know.)
The clock spins forward and the repair guy rings her door bell.
Would you believe it? He’s awfully hunky. Especially in dungarees, with one shoulder strap hanging down and a big spanner in his hands.
(Nooooo! I said a spanner. A wrench. A device for loosening nuts. A tool. This isn’t helping, is it?)
She comments on how big and shiny a tool he has, and shows him to the scene of devastation.
Inexplicably, all of a sudden her shirt is wet and transparent, hiding nothing of her voluptuous chest and bullet-like nips. Well, she had set the machine for a cold cycle, and nipples do tend to respond in a certain way to low temperatures.
He makes some corny remark about pipes and plumbing.
She laughs so hard that, on the slippery floor, she looses her balance, toppling forwards into his arms, accidentally pulling down the top of his dungarees.
As he hoists her back to her feet, her skirt gets caught on the washing machine’s door catch, ripping it off. At least she’s wearing a big enough g-string to cover her muff. But with all the leaking water has soaked it and you can clearly see her hairy bush. (Remember, it is still the 1970s and pubic hair isn’t completely outlawed in porn yet.)

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And we all know where the scene ends up after this absurd set-up. He swiftly lifts her onto the malfunctioning appliance, whips out his massive wanger, and services her from behind. Then she sucks him off before he sprays his jizz over her tits and we’ve finally have what we actually wanted. Porn.

You’d think that there was some middle ground, and there may well be. But there are still too many pornos with ridiculous build ups.

I have a DVD called Street Heat. It’s based round the premise that a TV presenter walks the street, casually asking passers by if they’d fuck on film if he offered them cash.

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A few dash off offended, a couple laugh at him, but enough take him up on his offer to justify the film movie’s budget: two women fuck the presenter, a  M/F couple fuck each other, two women fuck him separately, and a lesbian couple tongue fuck each other.
All this punctuated by the presenter propositioning random people in public.
There’s some good porn in it. But the set-up is so implausible, and there is absolutely no explanation of how the film crew get on set before the unashamed members of the cast let themselves into their own homes.
More unnecessary build up.

We watch porn to see naked crotches grinding against naked crotches. Cocks being stroked and sucked. Cunts being licked and fingered. Close-ups of fucking. Tits being massaged and possibly arses buggered. Perhaps we watch porn to see perverts being tied up and being flogged. If we’re kinky we might be watching rubberists or golden showers.
But the common ground is that we want to see is sex.
Not bad acting.
Cheap, wobbly sets.
And plots thinner than a hi-tech condom.
We don’t watch it for the set-up.
There really is no need for any of that.

8 Responses to “No need for that. ”

  1. As a horny woman, I can say that I both agree and disagree with you.
    Once I’m in he sex mindset, all I want, all I need is he sex part. Over and over again. Skip the lengthy bits. Or turn the pages to get to the juicy parts, which are soon easily recognisable by the worn pages.
    But to get into the sexy mindset, I do need a believable set up. Actually, the set up is what makes the wanking better, because I get slowly aroused, taking the base level to some height, that then allows the final arousal and subsequent orgasm to be more satisfying. If it makes any sense to you 🙂

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