Eat when hungry

Did you know about the VCR in the bedroom test?
Yeah, well, I didn't.

In working on writing the foreword to the second anthology for No Tell Motel (online) I've been deep in sex/slut/raunch/whore/pretty girl sucky stuff. Loving it, don't get me wrong -- Molly's always been one to drive slow with an eye toward the sticky. But there seem to be a few small pockets of generally well-known naughty vulgarities that are completely lost on me. It's disturbing.

Like discovering I've been eating water on my cereal while the rest of the world is blithely enjoying bowls of creamy slurpy drinky it up yum yum lick it lap it up milky cereal. Why didn't anyone tell me about the milk? And believe me, I've fucking eaten plenty of cereal, people. I've had boxes. I've eaten it dry and wet and sugary and good for me and cause it tasted good and late at night just because I was hungry and in the morning before going to teach because it filled my belly and with marshmallows and with flakes and nuts and point is: I know about it.

So here I am, a veritable expert when it comes to all things sexy and vulgar and in the midst of putting this to paper for the sake of the book, a friend who I'm talking to about porn asks me if I routinely perform the "VCR Test". I get quiet -- hoping she'll fill in her own blank (something I could have gone on about for days).

You know, she says. The VCR in the BEDROOM?
Huh? I still don't get it.
Porn, she says.

I get it. Finally. I had never suspected that all those TV/VCR combo's I've half noticed in friend's bedrooms or (good god) in my own parent's bedroom were not being used to play favorite old tapes of "Yentl" while the room's occupants innocently drifted off to sleep. I'm imagining an old Dexter Shoe box neatly lined with old favorites: Cavernous Cunts, Deep Throating Dildos, Pumping Irene, Four Foxy Ladies -- stuffed under the bed or hidden under the LL Bean sweaters in the bottom drawer, saved for "special" nights. Those tapes - small sparks/damp paper/ wet matches -- are they really sustaining whole fucking relationships? I wouldn't build a Kleenex bridge, stiff with cum, on that foundation. What happened to creativity? Does anyone remember imagination?

So I'm chalking it up to those-- "special" nights. Molly Arden is not the sort to limit herself to just one or two "specials". And, if I had to rely on this setup, my box would never get put away (oh, the fun I could have with that one) and my VCR would have to be on some sort of cart with wheels. I suppose if someone was making me choose between not eating or eating something frozen out of a box, I'd choose the boxed dinner only if I was really, really hungry. But goddamn I'd have to be hungry and something would have to be seriously wrong with the my hands, and the power would have to be shut off and we'd probably have to be out of batteries and any tuberous vegetables.