Mmm . . . Cum-Covered Dog Food!
Spit or swallow? More than just another schoolyard chant directed at your precious daughter, the question suggests a rug rat's attempt to understand sex's intricate negotiations and symbols. If a woman gulps a man's DNA, does that mean she cares more for him than if she doesn't? And if she doesn't gulp, does that mean she's somehow afraid of the man? Or of sex itself? Does either spitting or swallowing make her gross or sophisticated, sexy or strange? Of course, any grown-up guy will tell you thatbody shots asideswallowing rules. Why? Who cares? Let's talk about movies where women perform grody sex acts involving food!
The cover of 1001 Ways to Eat My Jizz (Armageddon) shows a platinum blond woman on all fours, cheeks smeared with dog food, looking up from a royal blue plastic bowl emblazoned with gold, curlicued letters spelling Slut. This is either delightful or disgusting, depending on your tolerance for theatrical fetishes. Watch the video, though, and you'll find more than the simple domination cliché that this photo suggests. Basically a blowjob vid, Eat My Jizz tops off its 11 drool-heavy scenes with chubby, four-eyed auteur August Arkham precision-popping into or onto: dog food (wet, in dish); Vienna sausages (cooked, on plate); chocolate pudding (single serve); pork'n'beans (cold, in can); salad (garden); cupcakes (store-bought, chocolate with green frosting and cream center); whiskey (one shot); peaches (undrained, in can); Spam (in can); tuna (chunk light, in can); and taco (containing refried beans). Then the women eat it!
Besides bringing back bittersweet memories of summer-camp cafeteria pranks, these mostly hot episodes put the BJ, and the filming of BJs, in a unique, revealing light. As nice as it would've been to see more of the cover girl's body, I was captivated by her pretty, probing blue eyes as she took August's medium-sized dick all the way to its base. Close-ups of assholes and pussies getting reamed portray sex as an act; watching a woman's face as she satisfies her appetite lends personality and drama to the proceedings. The food's a gimmick, sure, but it literalizes the appetite for cock, and doubles the suspense of your average impending facial: Will this be gross or turn me on? Both? Why August decides to sample his own seedtwiceis a topic for another column. One that I will never write.
Unless you count food for thought, Something Fo' Yo' Mouth 2 (Video Team) doesn't dish up any polluted snacks. The "something" for these black women's mouths is cock and its side dishes: nut sacks and cum wads. In fact, strike food for thought. The dialogue doesn't get much deeper than "Here's a li'l somethin' for yo' mouth . . . Argh! Argh, argh!" But the dicks get deep-throated, and the gooey, phlegmy drool kicked up by the gag reflex flows like your grandma's. Kenya claims that giving head is her "specialty," and proves it with a gentle performance that puts her full, massaging lips to their best use; the amply endowed, almost Asian-featured Taboo gets much nastier than her quiet elegance at first suggests; and Veronica, the good Lord up above forgive me for saying so, looks like a crack 'ho and pretty much blows as I imagine a crack 'ho would, taking more semen up her nose than in her mouth. Hey, pobody's nerfect.
In a nerfect world, I wouldn't have to sit through For the Love of Feet #2 (Nymph)or, at least, not Fonna "smothering, rubbing, and stomping" five pounds of raw ground beef with her bare feet. Only the kachicks of a camera and giddy whispers of the tattooed director ("Frolic in it!") accompany the mostly unbroken, close-up shots of her chubby, meat-pasted toes; later, the shot slowly widens to take in a woman wearing a two-piece outfit, her long, curly dark hair pulled tightly into a ponytail (apparently she's a fellow Italian, fungule). After thoroughly squishing that night's dinner, Fonna gathers the sticky, brownish-red chunks from the cellophane and plops them on top of her feet and ankles, patting the mess down into a small beef blanket. "It feels like you're being buried," she squeals. Where they unearthed this comp's non-foot-and-food-related filler, I don't know, but the scenes are decent, including Jasmin St. Claire boofing a ponytailed geek on a baby grand.
There's some food play in Cooking With Porn Stars (Eclectic), but it didn't bring back bittersweet memories of cookouts with Aunt Gertie, bless her odd soul. Colin Malone, a fitfully charismatic dork of indeterminate sexual orientation, hosts three episodes apparently aired earlier somewhere in cable-TV land (plus a semi-amusing installment of Colin's Sleazy Friends). He pals around with roommates Raylene (down-to-earth and super-flyone of Vivid's best) and Chandler (sexily forbidding, but totally nice), plus Teri Weigel (the only Playmate to become a porn star) and gangbang queen Houstontossing them filthy, good-natured come-ons and encouraging them to get wasted. Fucking brilliant.
The commanding, beautiful, and funny Houston patriotically prepares red and blue jello shots ("First, boil water!"), her fabulous mams popping out of her apron all the while. After a fumbled shot off of her left breast, she and Colin repair to her boudoir (he calls it her "bourgeois") and conduct a leg-spreading contest. Later, Colin smokes a monster joint with Raylene and Chandler, checks out their cool bongs, drunkenly inspects Chandler's thick, black dildo, and enjoys Raylene's beef tips and asparagus. Eventually, Chandler eats frosting off of Raylene's right cupcake and stomach. Likewise, Teri drips fudge brownie mix all over her privates. Independent, sexually adventurous, professional rather than domestic, and not necessarily beholden to monogamy, these women are among the best feminist role models I can imagine. Why is it that the mainstream media finds this so hard to swallow?
Armageddon, 16140 Leadwell Street,
Van Nuys, CA 91406,
Nymph, 21040 Nordoff Street,
Chatsworth, CA 91311
Video Team, 11151 Vanowen Street,
North Hollywood, CA 91605,
Eclectic, P.O. Box 280, Oaks, PA 19456,
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