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Candid Camera

20-mar-2003

The other night L and I are in the bar, discussing the great advantages of self–made porn. He doesn’t want me to stop making my public sex zine. I tell him I’m not interested in doing the research, mostly because I’m not into any other types of public sex than the ones I’ve already recorded. When he suggests doing a special edition of his own zine, featuring bathroom blowjobs, I tell him I’d love to help.

He pulls a camera out of his bag and says, “I brought this.”

“You came prepared,” I say.

He shrugs. He’s a man of action.

We decide to snap photographs of him blowing nine different guys. Easy–peasy, I think. L’s adorable, and muscley, with great hair. Who would say no?

I breeze my way through the crowd, asking any friend or friendly stranger I pass, “Hey, can we take a picture of your cock in L’s mouth? Wait, don’t answer. Take a look. That’s him, over there, with the faux-hawk hair.”

There are a surprising number of no’s. Finally, I see U. At first he’s concerned about a telling mole on his member that would negate any anonymity we promise, but in the end, U and L shake hands hello. L’s face trumps U’s apprehension.

“I’ll do it,” U says, staring into L’s eyes.

I grab them by the hand and we walk into the women’s bathroom. I love women’s bathrooms. They’re clean.

We discuss how it should happen, what U’s limits are, and what L envisioned. We agree to three or four shots. U enters a stall and asks for fluff time before starting so that his dick isn’t stubby. L offers to do the fluffing. I think this is all just great until L steps into the stall and they close the door on my face.

Now, I’m a fairly confident drag queen. I know I’m pretty pretty, but it just so happens that I’m not in drag at this moment and I’m not feeling so pretty, either. I’m insulted, and fuming, and hurt. I’m a fey femmey faerie, too skinny for most, too hairy for more, with a chip on his shoulder the exact size of the door in his face that hides two friends who will let me photograph them simulating getting it on but not the actual getting it on that precedes it.

I can take the pictures but I can’t watch. Do they think I won’t be able to see with the camera in front of me? Doesn’t make sense.

When they finally open the door, looking sheepish, I melt, realizing that it wasn’t about me, or how unattractive I am. They were shy, even with each other. It’s a lesson I learn over and again. I can’t take the preferences of other people personally. No one is picture perfect.