The Blowfish Blog

OTAKU MAnKO: Self-Made Porn

The first time I got my hands on a video camera, I tore my clothes off and wanked.

Actually, let me revise that a bit—I didn’t actually get my clothes off before I started wanking. The intention was to strip for the camera, all sexy and debonnaire, and perform moderately dirty acts on myself while first-gen deathrock played in the background. I don’t think it quite worked like that.

This was in the old days, when home video cameras were the size of a schnauzer and used those enormous VHS tapes—remember those? The lack of a tripod meant that I’d propped the thing on a chair; when I reviewed the first few seconds, I had some really hot footage of my booted left foot bobbing up and down while I caressed my crotch through a tight pair of black 501s. I relocated the camera to my pillow and tucked my feet against the wall above it—great shot of my left thigh, soooooooo sexies.

I should point out that in these bygone days there were no pivoting LCD screens, so while I frolicked in front of the camera I had no idea what I was shooting. Once I found the sweet spot, sort of, planting the camera on a stack of Gun Digests atop a folding table, I tried to prop a mirror behind the viewfinder—but as you can imagine, that didn’t go well. Finally I just gave up, stripped my jeans off, and jerked off, acutely aware of the camera with my every move, glance and utterance.

Why’d I do it? Just to do it, that’s the obvious answer. I created porn because it was there to create, because I had a camera, because the camera had an on button, because I had a dick. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time, and all told it was one of the more interesting experiences of my sexual life—and I’ve had some exceedingly interesting experiences.

When I reviewed the tape later, I immediately got turned on. I revisited it for several private screenings, each time getting impossibly turned on despite a vague sense of embarrassment—I have never considered myself photogenic; I doubt most people do without a fair amount of effort. For several years I had the tape stashed in various hiding places, thinking “Fuck, somebody is going to find that thing and laugh their asses off at me.” I wasn’t so concerned that what I’d done would be disapproved of on moral grounds—just that it would seem ridiculous.

My concerns about being “discovered” as the star of a self-made porno tape seem, in hindsight, sort of paranoid. VHS tapes are rarely the first thing a burglar steals, and my friends, even in those days, were not people who ridiculed other peoples’ sexual foibles. They were more the types who, if they’d discovered such a tape, would share their own fuck films with me, doubtless asking for pointers.

But no one ever found it, and one time when I moved I decided it was finally time to shred my one and only amateur-porn appearance. I tore the tape into little bits and slashed it with a razor.

It’s something I’ve actually regretted since then, and I’ve often wondered: What would I think of that tape today? Would I find it hot, weird, disgusting? Would I bum out on my pot belly or freak out on my dick size? I haven’t got the foggiest idea.

I haven’t yet made a repeat performance on camera—why, I don’t know. I am hard-pressed to explain what exactly turned me on so much about it the first time. Exhibitionism? I doubt it—I’ve been to enough play parties to know I’m not much of a natural exhibitionist. Voyeurism? I am not particularly aroused by the sight of guys jerking off, Tina Tyler’s Handyman series notwithstanding. Transgression? Maybe . . . it certainly felt edgy and weird to perform on camera, but transgression for the sake of transgression isn’t actually a big sexual button for me personally, though I certainly appreciate it in other people. Purely aesthetic pleasure? No. Just no.

My long-lost one-and-only smoker reel comes to mind lately because I recently acquired a video camera. But the camera sits in its case with a stack of DVD-Rs, its creative potential having produced some footage of me saying “Is it on?” and a few scenes of my cats high on catnip.

Nowadays the web makes self-made porn easy to make and distribute. Why haven’t I planted that camera on a stack of Gun Digests and stroked myself for your viewing pleasure, or at least my own? Lack of exhibitionism would be my first excuse, but the fact is, I write and talk about sex almost constantly and I think my pleading shyness would be questionable. Do I not find myself hot? I didn’t find myself hot twenty years ago, either, but still found the process a turn-on.

The answer is that I have no idea why, at twenty, I found it hot to perform for the camera and now, years later, I don’t—at least not naturally. Some day maybe I’ll get bored and it’ll seem like a great idea to create some self-made porn. I’ll do it just to do it, because it seems like the thing to do at the time—how many awesome sexual experiences have happened to me for that reason? A few terrible ones have as well, but then, quite frankly creating self-made porn is one of the safer things a guy (or anyone) can do with his body.

Hopefully it’ll end up being hot to do and hot to watch, and I’d be shocked if any of you ever get to see it—but then, it’s not for you.

Thomas Roche is the managing editor of Eros Zine, teaches at San Francisco Sex Information, and also blogs on sex, drugs and cryptozoology at thomasroche.com.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, 12 February 2008 at 12:00 pm and is filed under Technology. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.