Josh Muggins's Blah Blah Blah


February 19, 2012

In Praise of Male Porn Stars

Our man Kogai meets his doom

Some four years ago, a bunch of students descended on my apartment for a memorable party highlighted by copious consumption of Japanese shochu and pizza and the impromptu making of a four-minute horror movie in which the remarkably durable protagonist survived repeated attempts to kill him that grew ever more ludicrous as the shochu flowed.*

The students were all seniors who had known each other longer than most of them knew me. Not surprisingly, post-graduate plans were a major theme of the alcohol-fueled conversation and one bulky lad name of Daiki (typecast as “Henchman #2”) let it be known that he dreamed of securing employment in the adult film industry as a heterosexual performer.

For the most part, he made this intention clear during a long tête-à-tête on my sofa with a female classmate named Nagisa. Out of context, this situation might seem a textbook case of sexual harassment, or at best a colossally clumsy seduction ploy, but in fact it was neither. After four years hunkered down together in our small English program, a familial mentality sets in such that these students are rendered nearly unable to sexualize each other.** Indeed, the scene on the sofa reminded one of nothing so much as a loving grandmother indulgently hearing an earnest five-year-old blabber on about how he would one day become a starship captain and single-handedly fend off the Romulans. “This is totally something I could do,” Daiki burbled, adding, “I really like girls!” as if this were as rare a qualification for a twenty-two-year-old male as a PhD in robotics.

Later, when he had waddled into the kitchen in search of more fluids, I tried to instill a sense of reality. “It’s not all that easy,” I said, as if I knew anything. “You may be called on to perform several times in a single day.”

“Not a problem,” he said.

“And you have to hold back, even with the most beautiful and passionate costars, until the director gives you the go-sign.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said.

“And you have to do all this under intensely bright lights—like this!” I said, yanking the cord of the intensely bright fluorescent light that we were then standing mere inches beneath.

Daiki staggered back a step. His pupils were like black stones plummeting into the twin pink lakes that his eyeballs had become. He glared balefully at me like a wounded beast, unable to understand why I wanted to inflict such harm on his retinas and his dreams. “But I still want to try,” he finally bleated, drily.

I don’t know what became of him. Despite his uncommon size, he was not the sort of chap who stood out in a crowd—at least not when sober or not hurling classmates off balconies. And in this regard, he just might have made a crackerjack heterosexual male porn star.

I think we can all agree that certain traits are desirable in our heterosexual male porn stars—leaving aside the obvious factor of stamina. Anonymity, for one. We don’t need to see the lad’s face or indeed any other provinces of him north or south of the groin area.

The penis should be larger than average—at least, large enough to bestow credibility on the squeals and moans of the costars—while not being intimidatingly, off-puttingly immense. (At the risk of sounding racist, the latter is seldom a problem with Japanese performers.) All this is essential for the projection, don’t you see. It allows a mild-mannered English teacher in his mid-fifties to seamlessly insert himself into the scene (and the costars), to imagine against all reason and rationality that he is the desired—even craved—sex partner of ovulating and undulating Japanese chicks. And I think I’m going to stop typing this paragraph now, before I permanently queer the whole deal for myself through overanalysis.

As with children in a bygone area, male porn stars should be seen but not heard. We require just enough grunting and gasping to remind us that a human being is involved, and nothing more.

Perhaps above all, present-day male porn stars should play the aggress-ees, not the aggressors. (The projection angle again. If we porn aficionados were aggressors, we wouldn’t be watching porn in the first place.) In this regard, at least, I would not hesitate to pen a heartfelt letter of reference on Daiki’s behalf to any adult film director, for he was perfectly capable of lying on a floor while beauteous costars disrobed before his eyes and took turns molesting him.

Although this comes much too late, if I could contact Daiki today I would recommend the not-remotely-safe-for-work opus “Kogai’s Gangbang Midnight Party” as a sort of erogenous Cliff Notes.
(Abandon all productivity, ye who enter here:

This is not a perfect scene. It’s grainy, for one thing. Also, not a few viewers will balk at the mosaics dictated by Japanese censors (though, as I have noted elsewhere, I find the mosaics a welcome alternative to Japanese pornographers’ excessively gynecological tendencies). But the pirate who uploaded this free version has re-titled it “Gangbanged by 20 Girls,” and it’s pretty hard to go wrong with a premise like that.

Synopsis: We find our hero (presumably “Kogai”***) alone in his room at a traditional Japanese inn, lying on a futon spread out on a tatami floor. “Think I’ll get some sleep,” he says, optimistically, tossing aside his newspaper. These are the last intelligible words, other than “Stop…Stop!!”, that he will utter in the film’s forty-seven minutes. Needless to say, his slumber is immediately interrupted by the aforementioned twenty girls.

Are there twenty of them? To be honest, I wasn’t able to sustain an accurate count. I tell you, the Rolling Fella Bomber is a giant leap forward for lonely mankind; but while it keeps your fingers clean, it doesn’t really keep them free.

I can report this: there are busty Japanese girls and less busty Japanese girls. There are hairy Japanese girls and somewhat less hairy Japanese girls. The tanned and the pale, the permed and the straight, the lascivious and the languid are all represented in this pack. There is even a token ugly girl for those who go in for that sort of thing. In short, there is something here for the whole family, assuming that your family consists in its entirety of lecherous, despicable, lonely men in their mid-fifties.

A red-haired vixen steps front and center to act as ringleader. It is she who demonstrates each of the acts that Kogai will be subjected to. Today’s specials include:

* Spitting into Kogai’s open mouth
* Fellating Kogai
* Sitting on Kogai’s face
* Having condomless genital intercourse with Kogai in the cowgirl position

Personally, I don’t know what to make of this nasty spitting business. But given that the entire scene appears to have been done in a single take (with only a few seconds edited out here and there), I suppose Kogai would have felt grateful for the extra supply of saliva about a third of the way through his twenty rounds of cunnilingus.

Speaking of which, and just because we both have so much time on our hands, I’ll provide a transcript of the sitting-on-Kogai’s-face segment, which you will eagerly read.

Red-haired vixen: Everybody, take off your panties!

19 Girls: Yaaaay!

Red-haired vixen: I’m going to get treated first. Look! [To Kogai] Start licking!

Kogai: Mmmmm!!! Ummphh! Umph! Mmmmmmph!

Red-haired vixen: More!

Kogai: Unnnnng! Mmmm! Mmm! Ummmph!!

Red-haired vixen (spreading vagina behind a welcome curtain of mosaic): Get all the way in there, okay?

Kogai: Aaaaaahhhh…. Mmmph! Mmph! Ummmmmmuffffmmmm…

Red-haired vixen: Ah, right there!

Kogai: Ahhhhhh… Hummmphh…

Red-haired vixen: A little more enthusiasm, please.

Kogai: Annnnnggg… Mmmph. Mmmmmmmm….

Girl 2: Hey, it’s my turn! Get off!

Kogai: Ahhhhhh…. Mmmmmph…. Aaammphh…

Girl 2: Now, make me feel good, too.

Kogai: Ehhh??… Ahhh… Ammmmphhh… Ffffmmmmm….

(Okay. You get the general drift.)

My synopsis would not be complete without giving away the ending. (SPOILER ALERT) Kogai ejaculates. And, while he does this a mere third of the way through the twenty serial acts of condomless genital intercourse that he was scheduled for, it should be noted that he’s reached the forty-six-minute mark. So go ahead and cast the first stone, if you dare.

You know, “hero” is a word that we bandy about perhaps too freely in this day and age, but is it really going to far to proclaim a male porn star of Kogai’s caliber a hero? I mean, for heaven’s sake: The fellatio part alone goes on for thirteen minutes. Any one of these girls would have rendered me inert in thirty seconds—yes, even the ugly one. For me, Kogai’s performance here could not have been more epic unless flights of angels had appeared at the end to carry him bodily up to heaven.

There, I should think, he would be relieved to discover (unlike terrorists of yesteryear) that the Koran promises the martyr not “seventy-two virgins” as is so widely misreported, but rather seventy-two raisins. Because getting that taste out of his mouth would have to be a priority for him.

* Specifically, he was bludgeoned with various household appliances, strapped to the kitchen table and serially stabbed by all the other participants a la Murder on the Orient Express, bum-rushed off the balcony, and finally smothered under the “Pillow of Death.” Don’t you miss being in college? I don’t because I’m still there…

** As a relative newcomer, I was immune to this phenomenon, and happily so, since Nagisa was darn cute.

*** A dubious name, but that’s neither here nor there when one contemplates “Harry Reems.”