You people probably won't believe or won't understand this, but I'm not a fan of porno movies. Really, I'm not. I don't watch porno. I'm not into internet porn or porno magazines either.
The VCR didn't become a household object until after I was married and had a kid (I know - I'm that old). The porno industry wasn't what it is today in the days before home video and DVD. You used to actually have to go to a theatre to see porno, and only old guys in crusty raincoats went to those places. The floors were even stickier than in regular theatres, and these guys sat in the back rows with newspapers over their laps. Porno theatres were usually located in the worst part of town, as well. Or so I'm told. So anyway, I failed to get started on porno at a young age.
We didn't have a home computer until several years after we got the VCR. For those of you too young to remember, VCR's were in regular use a few years ahead of personal computers. The popularity of the internet, and with it internet porn, came even later.
It could also be that I'm just a romantic. The couple of times I have watched porno videos, I've been struck by the clinical and athletic nature of the sex. I'm all for a good, hard rogering, but let's dim the lights and pull back the cameras a little. If I'd wanted those kinds of close ups, I would have become an internist.
One day a young fellow I'm friendly suggested that I might like to borrow a DVD from him, bring it home and share it with the missus. He and his girlfriend had enjoyed watching it together, he volunteered. I took it from him, but before sharing it with EJ I decided I better have a little preview. So I threw it into my laptop, put on some headphones and gave it a look.
The name of the movie was "Anal Academy." The premise was thus: aspiring actors and actresses attended a school where they learned the techniques they would need to make porno films featuring rear entry. Though I found one part was educational (I learned what a "reverse cowgirl" is!), for the most part the information was common sense. The acting was better than I had expected, but the production values were poor. Lighting was harsh, and the scenery looked more like that of a dude ranch than of a community college. In all, I decided that EJ would probably not enjoy a viewing of this opus, nor be willing to put the education gained by watching it to practical use. So I returned it unshared.
I had to admit to my friend that I didn't share the DVD with my wife, and that I didn't particularly enjoy watching it myself. I tried to explain my lack of enthusiasm for porno to him, and I think he actually understood.
"How about a video of just naked girls," he asked. "No sex, no naked men, no close-up anatomical shots. Just chicks taking off their clothes."
Now that idea appealed to me. I do like naked women. I am a big fan of breasts. Having worked in the printing industry for nearly 20 years, though, I can't look at magazines without seeing the dots that comprise the photos. This kind of ruins a Playboy or Penthouse, but a DVD could be different. I agreed, and borrowed another disc.
 The name of this masterpiece was "Girls Gone Wild: College Girls Exposed (Volumes 1 and 2)." First of all, I have to say that my hat is off to the person who came up with this idea. They are making a living by successfully asking young women to expose their breasts. And filming it. And not really paying the girls (more on that later). The filming is done with a hand-held camera, but is generally steadier and of higher quality than the home videos most people take of their kids' birthday parties. There is no pretense of plot, no acting, and only the most minimal script. The action seems to be spontaneous - even more so than most reality television. The filmmakers follow a pretty standard line of requesting, begging, coaxing, cajoling and occasionally browbeating the young ladies into cooperating.
On first viewing, the first couple of young women who exposed themselves were quite attractive. Like I said before, I really do love the breasts. All kinds of breasts. And I was seeing big ones, small ones, sloppy ones, tight ones, firm ones, bouncy ones, those with silver dollar nipples and those with baby rosebuds, and everything in between. It was awesome! For about three quarters of an hour. Then it was just more breasts. And more breasts. By the time I got to Volume 2, I might as well have been looking at pork chops. Now, I like pork chops too, but, you know, they are just meat. And if I'm not going to get to eat some of them...well, you get the picture.
A little while after this point, though, I started seeing the film in a different light. I had kicked into academic mode. I am, after all, a part-time professor of ethnomusicology. I was making observations, tallying responses, treating it the way I would a field trip to a folk festival.
The first volume, which I'll focus on in this review, was filmed during the college spring break season in Panama Beach, Florida. The primary method of attracting potential participants was by approaching them in their cars as they cruised slowly up and down the (presumable) main drag of the town. There were daytime sequences filmed on the beach, and one memorable scene at what looked like an outdoor, daytime version of the tried and true wet t-shirt contest, which quickly degenerated into a topless wet dance contest. Still, the video made it seem that evening car cruising up and down the streets was the main attraction of a spring break in Panama Beach.
The filmmakers would approach a car and strike up a conversation with the occupants, usually opening with some clever line like, "were y'all from?" I'm going to try to approximate the accents. They pronounced the word where as if saying were.
For some reason, a plurality of these damsels was from Georgia. Perhaps it had to do with school schedules, or proximity, or perhaps there is something about girls from Georgia that makes them more likely to expose their lumpy parts than girls from other states (my guess). Obviously, those who were uncooperative were not included in the finished DVD, so we don't really know if, say, a couple of busloads of girls from Minnesota and Nebraska gave the filmmakers a slap and went on their way.
Once the geographic origins of the ladies were explored, the conversation quickly turned to clothing. "Ya gonna flash for us now," was the standard suave request. Obviously, those ladies who refused didn't become part of the finished product, so everyone eventually complied.
A large percentage of the women, perhaps 70 to 75, let out a whoop as they raised their shirts. "WHOOO-HOO!" they'd exclaim, throwing their heads back and closing their eyes, as if they didn't want to see what was happening. Some of the rest tried to remain completely aloof, as if it bored them to show off their fun bags, but that it was after all their social responsibility to do so.
For what it's worth, I noted that four and a half of the ladies participating were African-American, and the balance were white.
I mentioned above that the women were not actually paid for appearing on this DVD. There was a reward for those who exposed themselves, however. A set of plastic beads, formed into a long necklace, was given to each of these ladies.
I did a little research. When purchased in quantities of a gross or more, these necklaces can cost as little as $0.055 each. Yes, five and a half cents. Some of the fancier ones can cost as much as three, four, or even five dollars each. It did seem like the makers of this DVD were giving away some pretty nice sets of beads. They were probably in the range of eighty cents to a dollar and a half.
You would have thought, however, from watching the reactions of the recipients that these trinkets were made of 24-karat gold.
As soon as their top was replaced, nearly every young lady immediately demanded, "Gi' mah baeds!" (Give me my beads). Then they snatched the beads from the outstretched hands of the filmmakers as if they might try to get away without presenting this treasure.
"Wur's mah baeds," (where is [sic] my beads) was another refrain, or "Ah woan mah baeds!" (I want my beads).
Quite a few even insisted on inspecting the beads before exposing themselves. They'd paw through the collection, commenting on the quality and rarity of the merchandise as if this might actually have something to do with their decision on whether or not to cooperate. Sadly, no one found the beads lacking or even asked if there was anything better to be offered.
Once a passenger was persuaded to expose their jubblie wubblies, the filmmakers moved on to the driver of the vehicle. "How 'bout the drahver," they would ask. "C'mone, drahver!" It should be noted that the producers of the film had southern accents as well. Or perhaps put them on to make the ladies feel more comfortable. They were also exceedingly polite, complimenting even the flabbiest little hooter and thanking the girls profusely.
And once everyone in the car had either obliged or declined fun bag exposure, the producers moved to pursuit of the lower regions. "Now how 'bout the bush?"
"Hail, no," (hell, no) was the usual initial response, but several of the ladies were eventually convinced. Pants would be lowered to the knees and a discussion of the lady's pubic hairstyling usually ensued.
After a while, some of the same ladies circled back around. One who had earlier been reticent now reluctantly agreed to give it a go. A few who had shown their ninnies earlier on now found that it would be acceptable to expose some cooter. And several ladies agreed to step out of the cars and into an alley, where they were filmed in standing full body shots.
"That's my daughter, Lisa," one woman proudly intoned, as the girl she was indicating hoisted her t-shirt. I began to feel very uncomfortable. The mother wasn't bad looking, and was about my age. At least this one had her mother with her, I thought. What were these girls thinking, going into an alley to flash a bunch of strangers with cameras?
"Not my face," demanded one young lady who went into the alley. She held a hand up to preserve her anonymity. This after being filmed making out with a guy about ten seconds before. Like many others, she looked back over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching before she exposed herself for the thousands who later purchased the DVD.
Here is the weirdest phenomenon I noticed. Nearly every young woman who exposed her breasts for the camera was subsequently asked to drop her pants as well. Nearly all of them refused. I'd estimate that for every 100 women who were willing to show some tit, only about 12 were willing to show what lied below. That's not the weird part. This is: three of the women had tampon strings hanging out of their intimates! One of these two ladies turned around, dropped her panties and bent all the way over, exposing both of her lower orifices and the telltale white mouse-tail. She was badly in need of a Brazilian waxing, too, if I may say so. Even the back door was exceptionally hirsute. Gave me the willies. All three of them seemed to be blissfully unaware (or completely uncaring) that the world would know they were exposing their hey-nanny-nannies during Aunt Flo's monthly visit!
There were a few who denied us a glimpse of the promised land for this reason. One demurely said she was having "female trouble," and another plainly stated, "Nah, Ah cain't do it. Ah'm on the raig. You don't woana see that sheeit." (No, I can't do it. I'm on the rag. You don't want to see that Shakespeare.)
It was interesting how fresh faced and wholesome most of these young ladies looked. Oh, there were a few obvious sluts and a handful of porkers, but they were the minority. I'd say that most were probably genuine college girls.
Still, that wholesomeness contributed more to the weird feeling coming over me. I am old enough to be the father of any of these ladies. What if their actual father was watching the tape? What if he was cranking one out when his own daughter showed up on the screen? I realized then that it's actually thoughts like these that prevent me from enjoying this kind of thing in the way it was intended.
It ended just like it began, except the girls in the closing shots were less attractive than those in the opening shots. Suddenly, it was over and the title (same as in the beginning) was up. No credits, no music, nothing. Quite anti-climactic, although I'm sure more than one viewer did manage a climax of their own.
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