As Sex Week approaches, it’s important to remember that sex is important not only in the medium of human interaction, but also in the realm of artistic expression. Of course, there are sincere depictions of human sexuality (the Venus de Milo, Agamemmnon, the film “Truth or Dare” etc.), and then there are works that can only be described as filthy debasements of eros. This week, we look at the latter sort of work. Welcome to a world of smutty pastiche where the hitchhikers are always nymphomaniacs, the secretary always works late, and the delivery boy always drops the tip.
Club: Club is a publication that, with its glossy hetero and lesbian layouts, is obviously aimed at the sort of men who never quite outgrew Maxim. In spite of its smutty nature, though, Club contains some jarringly highbrow surprises. One of the male photographic subject’s nom de rapports is, freakishly enough, Jean Val Jean. One can only surmise that Max Bialy Stock and Danny Zu Ko didn’t make the cut (circumcision joke definitely intended). The magazine is also capable of some shockingly metaphysical moments. One of the photo-illustrated stories describes a particularly wild romp as “like a porno movie.” Porn-within-a-porn, indeed — the Prince of Denmark would be proud.
While most of the photo shoots in Club involve threesomes, the magazine isn’t exactly doing its part to make them look erotic. Apparently every time two girls and a guy decide to play orifice tag, two of them end up lustfully entwined with the third sitting a few feet to the side, pouting. Apparently porn stars are those people who never learned to share in kindergarten.
But the photos don’t even take up half the magazine; the rest consists of ads for sex hot lines with improbable and hilariously elaborate names like “Decadently Sapphic Geisha Cravings” or “Lonely Steamy Kinky 18 Year-Old Co-ed Desires.” It’s all worth it, though, for one phone service’s ad, subtly titled “Lip Service.”
Trailer Trash: If there was ever any doubt that an entire publication could rest on the conceit of rural, proletarian harlots turning tricks in exchange for trinkets, Trailer Trash is the final proof. Featured in the most recent issue is Sabrina, who can now add “Cover Slut” to her curriculum vitae.
Of course, she’s not in as bad shape career-wise as the people behind the publication of this catastrophic little periodical. True to form as journalists at the end of their ropes, Trailer Trash’s staff has developed an attitude of bitter resignation. Their film critic breaks down in the middle of reviewing Fluff and Fold, a laundromat-themed erotic film, grousing thusly: “Can loving young couples find emotional fulfillment? … Who gives a f–k? If you’re the kind of dork who watches porn … there’s nothing we can do to help.”
Honcho: If the thought of nubile, impoverished nymphets from the former Confederacy doesn’t tickle your fancy, there’s always the strapping young studs of Honcho magazine. The fratlings over at Kappa Alpha Bi would surely be overjoyed to read this month’s featured story, a soon-to-be-classic gem entitled “Fraternity Butt Bullies.”
For whatever reason, Honcho contains about a tenth of the ads of Club, although those that exist tend to advertise products like “The Leatherman’s Handbook.” The ad claims that this tome is “the standard by which all leather/SM writing will be judged.” Of course! There are plenty of comp lit majors out there comparing the evolution of dungeon-fetish works from different eras throughout the course of human history. In other news: This scene reporter finally understands why Boy George preferred a nice cup of tea to sex.