That day I was branded a porn-monger

a coffee shop

A place where porn is mongered.

So there I was, caught viewing a website full of “questionable content” in public,  with two tut-tutting ladies emanating loud and clear disapproval right behind me.
Just another day on Planet Gaffes. But maybe I should start from the beginning.

My idea of ways to keep myself entertained can be weird. Occasionally, I can be a bit of a loner, which means – just in case you didn’t get it – that occasionally, I need to spend some time alone.

However, I also like being alone while enjoying the hustle and bustle of people around me. This can pose the odd problem: firstly, because very few people get the idea of actually wanting to spend some time alone. Most will try to avoid it at all costs, which is fine by me. If only they didn’t insist on stopping me from doing the same thing.

Problem 2 is that on this blessed island the concept of spending an hour or so chilling at a cafe/park/wherever – just reading/listening to music/writing/whatever – is still quite alien. This doesn’t stop me from doing precisely that, but it does earn me some odd looks from the plebs. Sometimes, when I meet someone’s eye (usually in order to give them The Glare for being too noisy) I can actually see the thought waves forming across their forehead.

“What on earth is she doing, sitting there alone?”

Whisper, whisper, much pointing of the fingers.

“Wait, is she… just sitting alone reading? What a weirdo.”

Whisper, whisper, much pointing of the fingers.

They glare. I glare back. Everyone is happy.

But I sense you’re getting restless, wondering where the promised porn fits in this story. So, back to my corner in the coffee shop, where I have spent many a happy hour sipping cappuccino and reading. The reading part nowadays happens on the iPad, which is awesome because it weighs less than a book and I get to connect to the interwebz whenever I like.

Which is what I was doing last Saturday, breezing through a million and one websites on Flipboard. Problem is, I tend to shut out the rest of the world when thus occupied. There I was, with my news fix all taken care of and moving on to my fix of WTF pieces.

One such WTF piece was a salon.com interview with actor James Deen. That’s right. Deen. He’s an actor all right, but his movies are not the sort of thing you’d want to put on while having tea with your mother. Nothing special about this, porn actors are a dime a dozen and this is so not my area. However, Mr Deen happens to be a bit of an internet sensation in that he – as opposed to his leading ladies – is actually the star of the show and he has a gazillion and one women throwing cyber panties in his direction.

To my understanding (such as it is) of the industry, this is a rare occurrence as punters tend to be 100% male. It’s rare enough that it has turned Mr Deen into a pop culture phenomenon, landing him interviews even in mainstream magazines.

The knowledge that men too can be porn stars tickled my curiosity bone  (which is stronger than my funny bone) enough to make me investigate further. Not due to any misplaced feminism. I happen to believe that if adult and consenting women want to lose their clothes and do unhygienic stuff in exchange for tons of money… well then I’m okay with that. And if men want to hold the door open and carry heavy bags for me, well I’m okay with that too. Yeah, I make a terrible feminist.

But even I had to admit that the whole sociological angle was fascinating. Women famously don’t “get” porn. So why was Mr Deen’s female fan club thriving?

I did a bit of research and I sipped my cappuccino. And then I researched some more and sipped some more cappuccino. The guy’s blog is hilarious. Disgusting and disturbing at frequent intervals, but also hilarious. His lifestyle is so removed from our reality (well, from mine… don’t know about yours) that it’s impossible not to be drawn into his story.

So engrossed was I that it took a while to get the “eyes on my back” feeling. When the laser rays threatened to bore a hole through my skull I landed back on planet earth and turned around.

This is when I saw two sweet grannies looming over my shoulders, eyes popping out of their heads, lapping up the results of my research. Did I mention that Mr Deen’s blog is generously interspersed with visuals of buxom ladies?

Old puritan woman

Not a fan of James Deen

Now I’d love to say that I’m über-cool and couldn’t care less when two old ladies denounce me as Satan’s spawn in a coffee shop packed to the gills with breakfasting families.

I’d love to say I gave the two old ladies’ their money’s worth with a well-placed salute and a demonic laugh. But cool is not my thing. My thing, as it happens, involves copious blushing and heartfelt wishes for some deus ex machina salvation. A bolt of lightning would have been a welcome diversion.

No such bolt was forthcoming. And since the glaring and the tsk-tsking were still going on, the blushes were getting diluted with a distinctive feeling of irritation. Particularly since, due to a happy mixture of strategic seating and bad posture, the only way these ladies had actually managed to see the contents of my screen was by dint of much obvious looming and shameless staring over my shoulders. Mindful of the fact that the cafe was likely to include a number of kids and other people who might look askance at Mr Deen’s pontifications, I had made very sure that Joe Public should not be inconvenienced. The fact these two ladies had chosen to go out of their way to be busybodies was hardly my fault.

I replaced “embarrassed red” with “massively furious red” and dished out some of that famous glaring. I could hear the dear ladies telegraphing their thoughts to each other through raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

“She sure doesn’t look the part, does she? I thought depraved, amoral hussies always wore leather and studs?”

The whiff of disappointment almost knocked me out.

Getting tired of the whole silent exchange I raised my cappuccino to my lips. My ink peeked out in full glory. The whiff of disappointment emanating from the ladies instantly changed to vocal, smug satisfaction.

“Ha. Whitewashed tombs.”

I closed James Deen’s blog and hurriedly went back to Twitter.

 

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Comments

  1. Ros says:

    The rarity of male porn stars tends to make them famous outside the porn circles. Look at Rocco Siffredi and his tv ads for crisps, or Ron Jeremy with his Supermario themed photoshoot and appearance in the LMFAO music video!

  2. Davinia says:

    I freaking LOVE James Deen. His blog is equal parts disgusting and awesome. I read that Salon interview and obviously then I had to watch him in action.

    HOLY SHIT RAMONA.

    What a dude.

    For added humour, search for him on Tumblr.

  3. Melisande Aquilina says:

    looooool just lapped this article up! Can’t wait to go home and check out James Deen’s blof myself ;-P Personally I’m almost ashamed to say that I’m one of those women who don’t really ‘get’ porn *feels like a granny* HOWEVER I do see the sociological connotations here, and the subject itself is pretty interesting from a psychological point of view.

  4. Melisande Aquilina says:

    *blog lol

  5. Fantastic post. I so thoroughly enjoyed every word. James Deen, Scheen…who cares! I just loved how your story transported me to that day, one sentence at a time, to the point that I felt I could just see those ladies peering over your shoulder. Shame on them for being such the Peeping Toms!
    I also tend to lean toward being a bit of a loner (although a bit difficult nowadays since having a little one) so I completely and utterly understand your desire to be around others but not with them.

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