I like pornstars. I couldn’t name my favourite, because that’s the point of them: they’re not people, they are objects. They are barbie-dolls come alive. They are tits and pussies and bums and hair. And mouths. I shouldn’t forget mouths.
Of course, I’m not saying that pornstars are actually inhuman, as though they’re made of polystyrene or rubber or something – only that within the context of the role they fill (appearing in porn) I don’t think of them as human beings. I’m not interested in whether they have happy childhoods or what they think of communism, only in how many cocks they can fit up their arse at the same time. Quite a few pornstars have blogs nowadays, but I always avoid them because I’m not interested into realising that they are real people who I might disagree with (“Dear pornstar, I read with dismay that you’re so vehemently against foxhunting. I will no longer be wanking to your films. Yours, a disgruntled former fan”).
And I’d like to have sex with a pornstar because it would be like stepping into their world. A simpler, brighter world than my own. A world of shaky digital videos, cheaply rented flats with leather sofas and handy swimming pools. A world in which there are no sexual diseases or pregnancies, in which there is only recreational sex, without shame, fear or failure. I would be Dorothy wandering into Oz and blinking as everything magically took on technicolour. There would be very little conversation beyond basic introductions (maybe I’d offer to fix her washing machine) and suddenly we’d be having pornstar sex. The sex would be simple and mechanical as though we were puppets with strings to be pulled by the director offscreen. And after it had finished I would disappear in a puff of smoke and find myself back at home, wondering if it was all a dream.
I suppose another reason to have sex with a pornstar is to get my performances properly evaluated. Everyone likes to think that they are good at sex, but unless we have particularly cruel partners, we’re unlikely to get an honest assessment. And most men probably think that they’ve got what it takes to be a pornstar themselves. I can imagine middle-aged blokes watching porn and idly reminiscing to their youth, thinking “I was good. Very good. I could have turned pro if it wasn’t for my dodgy knee”. What better a way to prove to yourself that you’re good in bed than by having sex with a porn star? To be able to take aside your friends and point to a grubby MPEG of a blonde woman being fucked by five black guys and proudly annouce: “I did her. She said I was the best. My technique was unparalleled.”
