The Pornographer Diaries

14. Sexploitation

It was some 72 hours later and I was still pissed off about drawing yet another blank. I was angry, frustrated, upset and disconsolate, so it was with rapidly evaporating patience that I found myself standing in a posh night club night, listening to some boring rugby cock announcing to everyone within earshot that, ‘This bloke’s got the best job in the world’.

I hadn’t told him. I wasn’t in the mood. I’d come to the party with Paddy and Matt and word had just got out. I’d been cornered, bombarded with the same old questions and had been unable to escape. I’d only been here an hour and was ready to go home already.

Brian was his name and he just kept on saying, over and over again, ‘Oh, I fucking tell you man, what a laugh! What a fucking laugh!’

He was Australian to boot and therefore naturally given to over-enthusiasm for just about everything, so my job had him creaming in his pants. He’d bent my ear for more than half an hour before I’d been able to give him the slip, only for him to materialise next to me again five minutes later.

‘Oh there you are,’ Brian said. ‘Here, this is my mate, also called Brian, no relation. Here Godfrey, tell Brian what you was just telling me. Listen to this mate, you’re gonna love it.’

Oh fuck a duck!

Fifteen minutes of minimalist recapping later, I had two new best mates both called Brian, who I thought would never leave me again, but luckily some idiot off in the corner started singing Australian rugby songs and that was all it took. They announced to everyone that they had to have some of that, asked me if I wanted to join them (‘only if it’s in a murder/suicide pact,’ I think was my answer), then they bounded off with their tails wagging.

I thought I’d take the opportunity to slip away before they returned so I started filling my pockets with booze, fags, canapés and anything else free I could find when this rather saucy little bird came over and said:

‘Hello.’

‘Hello back.’

‘Are you going?’

‘Erm, I might do,’ I told her, suddenly not so sure. ‘Not really my type of party.’

‘What do you do for Philip Goss?’ she asked, very deliberately. This was a Philip Goss shindig. He had tons of companies all over London, only one of them was porn. Most were respectable pin-stripe businesses – accountants, letting agencies, advertising and marketing firms, etc etc etc. The canapés I was slipping into my pocket were his property management company’s by rights, but me, Paddy and Matt had been able to wangle ourselves a night of free booze by virtue of working under the same umbrella organisation.

‘Why?’ I asked back.

‘I want to know. What do you do?’

I gave her a good look over. She was a petite little brunette with cute freckles and a drunken slur. Lots of make-up around the eyes, short hair and an arse that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of action. I decided she’d do very nicely. Time to turn on the old charm.

‘I work for one of his porno mags,’ I told her.

This might seem like double standards, me volunteering this information to her, but that’s because it is. I’ve never really minded talking about my job to women, because with women it served as a useful device for cutting through all the usual old chit-chat and getting them onto the subject of sex without actually having to get to know them first.

‘And why do you do that?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, beats working for a living, I suppose,’ I said, giving her a cheeky little smile, which I didn’t get back.

‘So you think it’s okay to exploit women in this way, do you?’

Oh dear, not this old chestnut, I thought as the cheeky smile slipped from my face.

‘How are we exploiting women?’ I asked. ‘What do you mean by, “exploiting”?’

‘I mean showing us to be pieces of meat rather than real people with thoughts and feelings. I just wanted to know if you think that’s okay, and if not, how you can do what you do for a living every day?’

‘First off, we’re not exploiting women, we never have done. This is some fucking buzz word that they teach you all at big fat feminist school that you love to throw about without really understanding what you’re talking about. Exploiting women? How are we exploiting them? Okay, men like sex. Men have sex with women. Men enjoy looking at pictures of naked women because it reminds them of sex – and some of us need reminding occasionally. Who have we exploited? Have we exploited you? No, because you weren’t in the mag. Have we exploited the model? No, because she got paid for what she did and enjoyed the work. If anyone’s exploited anything, it’s the model who’s exploited her own body and men’s natural desires. Not us.’

‘You use women.’

‘Use them? What do you mean? Like banks use cashiers or restaurants use chefs. Then yeah, you’re right, we do use women. We have to, most female glamour models happen to be women. It’s a very hard racket for us blokes to break into. By that same token, I wouldn’t rate your chances of getting into the Chippendales.’

‘That’s completely different.’

‘I thought it would be.’

‘The Chippendales are just a dance troupe, an evening’s entertainment. It’s choreography not pornography that draws women to go and see them.’

‘Yes, and I can see how being ejected from the stage screaming, “I touched his willy! I touched his willy!” really helps you appreciate those moves.’

‘I’ve never done anything like that.’

‘No, you might not have but there are plenty of bir... er... women who have. I’ve never raped anyone, but that doesn’t stop feminist writers like Paula Atkinson accusing all men of being “sleeping rapists” now, does it?’

‘I’ve never even heard of her,’ she told me, although that didn’t surprise me considering I’d just made her up. Still, sounded good, didn’t it?

‘We don’t exploit women any more than calendars about Polar Bears exploits Polar Bears. Actually, we exploit women less because our women readily agree to be photographed. I don’t suppose the old Polar Bears have that much of a say in the matter do they? No, one minute they’re having a shit behind a bush, the next they’re up on the kitchen door of every conservationist in the country. How would you like that, hey? “Ahhh, look at her straining. Isn’t she cute?”’ I told her. ‘And our girls get an £50 extra if we want pictures of them having a shit. What do the Polar Bears get?’ I added just for a joke, although I don’t think she realised it was one.

‘It’s humiliating for women. You humiliate women. You might think they’re agreeing but you’re actually taking advantage of their insecurities and doing their self-identification permanent long-term damage.’

‘Have you ever even met a porn model?’ I asked her.

‘No, but that...’

‘No, no, let me make my point,’ I interrupted before she had a chance to get in her stride. ‘I know plenty of porn models and it seems to me that you’re making some pretty sweeping generalisations about a group of people you know nothing about.’

‘They’re women, and I think I know about women a bit more than you do, being that I am one.’

‘No, they’re not women, they’re people. Personally I think that was a little sexist of you, but that’s just me. I’ve met a lot of porn models and they come in all shapes and sizes; mentally, I’m talking about (most are almost identical physical clones of each other). They all have different reasons for doing what they do so I can’t talk about them all, but I think I can safely say one thing – they’d all be pretty offended by some of the shit you’ve been coming out with if they could hear it.’

‘Oh shit is it? Why is it then that hundreds of women are attacked every day by men who read porn?’

‘Why? Because nearly every fucking bloke in the country reads porn.’

‘I rest my case.’

‘Oh you do, do you? Well think about this; Holland has some of the most liberal laws in the whole of Europe with regards porn and prostitution, yet it also has some of the safest streets for women. Explain that one, Mzzzzzzz Pankhurst.’

‘The Dutch have always been more enlightened and more mature when it comes to sex.’

‘Yes, they think porn and prostitution are fine. I agree with them. You don’t. So who’s being immature?’

‘You think prostitution is the answer to solving hate crimes? You’d legalise the slavery of women, would you?’

‘Legalise it? I’d make it compulsory, like National Service. Two years in a knocking shop for every bird over the age of eighteen. Actually no, scrub that, just the good-looking ones, all the old boilers get three years in the ironing corps.’ I don’t know if she could tell but my patience had finally expired and I was suddenly concentrating my efforts on mainly winding her up. And I was doing a damn fine job of it too.

‘Is your mother proud of you? Does she know what you do?’

‘Are you joking? Of course she does. She was the first person I phoned when I got the job. “Hi Mum, look at me. Look how low I’ve sunk.” It was great.’

‘How would you like it if she was in one of your sleazy magazines? That would be alright, would it?’

‘I don’t think we’d have her, if you know what I mean?’ I said, pulling a face and whistling.

‘You really are pathetic, you know that?’ she said, turning on a heel.

‘No wait, wait, hold it. I’m only joking with you. This is a party after all, it’s not Newsnight. What’s your name?’

‘I’m not telling you that.’

‘Why not?’ I asked.

‘Why? Because you’re a pornographer and I’m not giving my name to a pornographer.’

‘Why? What am I going to do with it? This doesn’t even make sense.’

‘Listen slimeball...’

‘You can call me Godfrey if you like.’

‘Listen slimeball, you’re not getting my name because you don’t need to know it. You’re never going to have call to use it five seconds from now.’

‘Well, if we’re never going to see each other again, another couple of minutes isn’t going to hurt. No more joking, I’ll be serious, I promise.’

The girl with no name dithered for a moment as she tried to make up her mind whether or not to give me a few more minutes of her life. Was it worth it? Was I going to listen to what she had to say or was I just going to use those minutes to make more fun of her?

‘Hey, you approached me. I think the least you can do is hear me out,’ I told her.

‘Hear you out? Hear out what? That I actually enjoy being looked at like a lump of meat?’

‘Hey, maybe you don’t but you’d be surprised how many women do,’ I told her. ‘Actually, I’ll take that back; you wouldn’t be surprised, you’d be amazed at the amount of letters and phone calls we get every day from women who want to be in our mags. A lot of women get a thrill from it.’

‘Oh please. It’s degrading,’ she said scornfully.

If done right, I thought to myself, although I decided to keep my jokes to myself for the time being.

‘You might find it degrading, but do you suppose every women thinks the same as you? I’ve met a lot of women, not all models either, who get a real kick out of exhibitionism. One girl I knew never wanted to turn the lights off or close the curtains when we had sex, she wanted all the neighbours to watch.’

‘Probably the only way she could get any excitement going with you,’ she spat.

‘Now who’s being offensive? Although you’re probably right. However, you do then acknowledge that there is a certain excitement angle to being watched? To having eyes roaming all over your body,’ I said slowly, running mine up and down her in a way that made her shudder and tell me to stop. ‘Here’s a good example. A few months ago I was called into reception to see a girl who wanted to appear in Bling – that’s the mag I work on. Anyway, she explained that she’d come in before but had been told that at seventeen, she was too young to be photographed. Very sorry, come back next year if you’re still interested. She tells me all this then shows me her birth certificate to prove she’s now eighteen. It’s only her birthday that day. “Can you photograph me now please?” she says. “It can be my birthday present to myself.”’

‘Poor girl,’ my feminist friend said, shaking her head sadly.

‘What? Where did you get that from?’

‘Well, she was obviously deeply unhappy with herself.’

‘Not necessarily. Some girls are just proud of their bodies and love showing them off. She certainly did and she’s doing very nicely out of it these days.’

‘These girls probably like showing off their bodies because they haven’t had a proper education and they’re trying to compensate for this with the only weapon they’ve got. How will this poor girl feel in twenty years time when her looks desert her?’

‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about that, she’ll probably be long dead from all the crack we force-feed her.’

Femmy’s jaw dropped in shock before she realised I was joking again. Too good an opportunity to pass up. She didn’t laugh.

‘Look, you say it’s down to a lack of education. Well let me tell you this; half our British models are university students and a hell of a lot more educated they are than I am. What does that do for your theory, hey?’

‘Are they really? Is that true?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Yes, straight down the line. I don’t have to make this stuff up because it’s all true.’

‘Well then it’s obvious why they do it, they’re doing it to supplement their students loans and pay their way through college...’

‘And we’re taking advantage,’ I said, finishing her sentence for her.

‘Yes, yes, you are. That’s exactly it. And what happens when these girls finish their degrees and go looking for work? Who’s going to take them seriously and look at them in any light other than brainless bimbos and whores after they’ve cheapened themselves in porn?’

‘Well no one if the world thinks like you.’

‘Exactly, so you’ve ruined their lives.’

‘We’re just taking a few pictures of them; you’re the ones waiting in the wings to tar and feather them. Why do you refuse to accept that some women might just genuinely enjoy porn as much as men?’

‘There were a few black slaves in America 200 years ago who thought their lot in life was good. Some of them even pursued and caught other slaves that had run away out of misplaced loyalty to their owners. They whipped their own brothers, and do you know why?’

‘For a laugh?’

‘No, because they didn’t know any better. Men have been oppressing women for centuries and pornography is just another tool of the oppressor,’ she said, I suspect verbatim from some militant man-hating textbook.

‘If you’re going back a couple of hundred years, you know the Victorians used to cover up table legs because they thought they were obscene. This might sound daft to you and me in this day and age but the Victorians took it very seriously. Jesus Christ, it wasn’t that long ago that Lady Chatterley’s Lover was banned but who’s going to crack one out to that these days? A hundred years from now I’m sure people won’t be able to understand what all the fuss was about with our nudey pictures.’

‘A hundred years from now, I hope to God people will be above this sort of thing and ban people like you altogether.’

‘I doubt that. The way things are going the porn’s just going to get harder and harder. It was only twenty years ago that people thought Benny Hill was a bit risqué and look at the shit that’s on the box now.’

‘If it hadn’t been for Benny Hill, perhaps there wouldn’t be any of this crap today.’

‘You could have a point there. Still, he was good, wasn’t he?’

‘He was a pig. And it’s down to him and people like him that women have such a hard life today.’

‘Not a fan then? Okay, but if you want to talk about hard lives, let’s just get back to the old Victorians for a second. See, I seem to remember, from history and stuff, that in Victorian times ladies were required to be respectfully covered up at all times. If a Victorian could see what you’re wearing today he’d probably take his belt to your backside and call you a harlot.’

‘Yes, I’m sure he would.’

‘But then aren’t you contradicting yourself? It’s our fault when you’re all covered up. It’s our fault when you’ve got your tits out. When exactly is it your turn to take responsibility for your own actions?’

‘When we finally have control over them.’

‘You have control over them, that’s the point. Women can, and do, whatever they like today. It’s called equality. And if some of the women choose to take their clothes off and pose nude, hell if some of them choose to suck six cocks on camera specifically for the titillation of men, then surely that’s their choice. As long as they’re not hurting anyone else why shouldn’t they be allowed to do these things?’

‘Why? For exactly the reason you just said. They are hurting other people. They’re hurting other women. They’re betraying their sex and making life much harder and much more dangerous for those of us who don’t choose to suck six cocks on camera,’ she told me. It was the first time I’d heard her talk sexy and it turned me on a tad. I wondered if I could get her to say it again.

‘Dangerous? What do you mean dangerous? How is one girl sucking six cocks on camera dangerous for you?’

‘Because men start to see us purely as objects of sex and that puts us all at risk of attack.’

‘Not this one again? I’m telling you, porn doesn’t make men attack women. Repression and censorship are probably more responsible for rape and sexual assault around the globe than anything else.’

‘What utter nonsense.’

‘Come on. Wanting sex is a perfectly natural urge and when you try and suppress it you’re only asking for trouble. We’ve had it in this country for years, all that “No sex please we’re British” bollocks that’s drummed into us from an early age. What’s the upshot of it all? You said it yourself, some of the highest incidence of sex attacks and teenage pregnancies in Europe.’

‘I notice you keep talking about men and what men want. You don’t see women running around raping and killing men now, do you?’

‘No you don’t, because even the saddest, loneliest plain Jane can go out and get nailed from here till next week if she wants to. All she’s got to do is ask enough blokes if they want a shag and she’ll get one. The average equivalent bloke couldn’t do that.’

‘Rubbish. Men pick up women all the time.’

‘Yes, but not all men are good at it. What I’m saying is all women can get a shag very easily without any effort, not all men can do the same. It’s one of the last inequalities between the sexes and about the one card you lot have held throughout history. So look at us today, us men, we’ve chucked in all our cards but you still cling on to yours.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Look, put it this way, if blokes could pick up women as easily as women can pick up men, there would be no need for pornography and certainly no need to enslave you all as prostitutes. We would live in a truly enlightened age where men and women were equals and lived in perfect harmony with one another.’

See where I’m going with this one?

‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. If men find picking up women is so hard how come most women can’t go out for an evening without being hit on all night?’

‘Alright, put it this way; you and me, if you went up to ten blokes at this party tonight and asked them, straight out, “Do you fancy a shag?” how many of them do you think would say yes?’

‘What has this got to do with anything?’

‘Just answer the question. How many blokes would say yes if you asked them that question?’

‘Well, I don’t know, half of them I suppose.’

‘Okay, now if I was to do the same, go up to ten girls and ask them the same question, exactly the same, how many of them would say yes?’

‘With you? None,’ she snorted.

‘Exactly, so what do I do if I fancy sex tonight? Simple, I go home, get out my mag, lay it out on my favourite page and pound myself unconscious. You, if you want it though, well you’re all right, you’ve got fifty per cent of the field to choose from.’

‘That’s got nothing to do with me being a woman and you being a man, that’s just you and the fact that you’re a repulsive git.’

‘What are you talking about? I’m all right! Not a bad looking bloke. I might not be Brad Pitt but I’m not Compo out of Last of The Summer Wine either. You want to take a look at yourself some time, you’re hardly the Queen of fucking Sheeba.’

‘No. But I bet you’d still love to get me into bed, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes I would. Fancy a shag?’

This was the moment I’d been building up to. Now, readers of my magazine, I’m sure, would be expecting us to race off to the bog, lock ourselves in and fuck each other like rabid bunnies as we exorcised all this fiery pent-up passion for one another in an orgy of drunken sex. And indeed, this was what I’d been hoping for, but unfortunately this wasn’t a story in Bling. Femmy looked at me with supreme smug satisfaction and savoured the moment as if it was the best three seconds of her life.

‘Not if you were the last man on Earth,’ she told me, with a big vindictive smile plastered right across her face.

I, at least, hoped the irony wasn’t lost on her.

At this moment, one of the Brians reappeared, all sweaty and sung out. He’d hardly got his gabber hole open before she’d turned to him and asked him, straight out, ‘Hi, do you fancy a shag?’

Brian’s eyes lit up and he said, ‘Strewth yeah,’ or something like that, gave me the thumbs up and swept Femmy off to get her coat. Just as she was about to disappear from my line of sight, she turned back, gave me a little wave and started to laugh.

I won’t even bother to describe to you how this made me feel, but you can probably guess. I grabbed an unopened bottle of Absolut from behind the bar when the staff weren’t looking and headed for home.

I cracked open the vodka, got steaming drunk and thought about sticking a porno on.

I didn’t bother