Monday, August 07, 2006

International Porn Film Festival

Here at No Milk Please, we are hosting the International Porn Film Festival, which occurs whenever my boyfriend Brian goes out of town for any amount of time.

Whenever Brian tells me that he has a trip planned, a seminar or whatever, I go through a jumble of emotions. On one hand, having your mate go away throws life askew. We have been together long enough that we have fallen into familiar patterns. The household chores have been unofficially divided. I cook, he does dishes; He picks up the mail, I throw out the garbage; He does the laundry, I watch Project Runway.

I can't wait to have kids so I can foist these chores on them. Of course, I would only assign age-appropriate chores. Surely a two year-old would be tall enough to clean the toilet? By three, they could be mowing the lawn.

But inevitably, when Brian is away, some things end up being neglected. I only remember to feed my cats when they start to gnaw on my little toe.

On the other hand is my cock. No, really, my hand is on my cock. Who's going to take care of it when Brian's away? An anonymous hook-up is out of the question; I'm too scared of catching a gay disease, like, Cher-impression-itis, you know, that horsey bray, that whhhhhoooooooahhoh at the end of each sentence. You gays know what I'm talking about. I spent thirty minutes thinking about how to spell that sound. If you can actually transcribe this, let me know.

So porn is my only recourse. I go to Specialty Video on Broadway with a bounce in my step. I am giddy about getting some new porn. I rarely get a chance to get to watch any new ones.

It's like being single all over again. I remember all those Friday nights I spent cruising all the porn. I eye beefy Carl on the shelf before Kurt, with the toothy smile, catches the corner of my eye. Carl looks mean, but promises to be a pussycat in bed. Kurt is just plain adorable. I take both videos along with three others. The International Porn Film Festival is about quantity, not quality. There will be time enough to go through the bad dialogue, the limp scenes.

The next few days were a blur. I don't remember very much except that my dick was starting to get sore. I make a mental note to buy more lube--my VCR was making squeaky noises. I thought about upgrading to a DVD player, but shopping would just cut into my masturbation time.

One night, while I was lying in bed, in a sweet, hazy post-orgasmic stupor, my idle thoughts went to Brian and whether he's having as much fun in Puerto Rico as I am. I missed him. By now he'd be snoring on my shoulder, the lube getting cold on our skin. He'll be back soon enough, I thought.

Fast forward to the day of Brian's arrival. A couple of hours before I have to go to pick him up, I hustle and put the videos back in their cases, taking care to rewind. The bitches at the video store won't hesitate to charge me a rewind fee. I'll drop them off on my way to the airport.

Standing in front of the video store's dropbox, I said a silent goodbye to my new friends Carl and Kurt before slipping their plastic cases through the slot.

At the airport, I was happy to see Brian, but I was also a little sad that my little festival had ended.

Brian groused about the delay and a rude passenger on the flight. I nodded sympathetically.

"Thanks for picking me up," he said.

"That's cool babes, it's no trouble," I replied.

"You're going to have to do this again in a few weeks. I have to go to Vegas for the conference, remember?"

"Oh yeah," I said, my eyes lighting up. I give him another hug as my thoughts went to planning another festival.

Carl and Kurt, we shall meet again.


See Jack do Cher. Think you can transcribe that sound? Put it in the comments!



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carl kurt

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