My current obsession is connecting porn with the frenzied excitement of the Super Bowl. I am not a fan of football but I am a fan of the sheer financial/cultural/adrenaline power of the Super Bowl. It’s a climax to a season of foreplay. It’s an explosion that reminds me of religion, war and corporate greed. I love the sponsorship, the speculation, the endorsements and the way that strangers in a grocery store feel compelled to talk about the big game as if it was a shared sexual experience they are looking forward to.
I feel like if I could connect erotica to it, I would have one awesome story. I’m just missing that story element.
Sex is about the friction between personalties and bodies, that when done right, is of equal benefit to all parties. Sports is the opposite in that you must have a winner and a loser. I think it is the hope of being the winner and the fear of being the loser that fuels all the tension. I could do a big publicized sex event and write it, but without the fear/hope element I don’t think the national excitement would be real. I could make the sex a sport, with some sort of victory situation, but that wouldn’t be sex, it would just be a physical competition of sexual qualities.
I can’t shake the feeling that the anwser is right on the edge of my creative peripheral vision. I can picture a beautiful athletic woman wearing a spandex sex outfit with a vibrator company’s name stenciled across her ass. I can see betting charts with the odds of orgasms listed out. I can see crowds of fans chanting a porn star’s name and then exploded in cheers as the porn star does their signature sexual position. I can see the sweat, the tears, the semen and the lube as this epic event happens. I just can’t see the story and that drives me crazy.
So this weekend I will do chores, take long walks and rack my brains until I do see the story, or some other idea will come out of left feild and I decide I rather do another story about suburban kinky people.