Despite my early intrigues in not only BDSM and fetishism, but also borderline vanilla fantasies as I recall early would mean the age of 2 I had little desire to explore the visual world of pornography. It is true that I occasionally had fantasies of creating it, starring in it, distributing it  all of which were realized for a brief year in time but never in the studio feature sense. Every time I would see deemed pornographic in nature, I would first be disgusted by the blatant display of the human body with little thought as to lighting, concept or artistic integrity that is the human form. Then, after my eyes were drawn back to the image like curiosity to a car crash, I would study the image or images before me, waiting for the arousal that never came. Soon I would grow bored, and occasionally sleepy, exhausted by the tease and denial of something many others come to experience when absorbed in the viewing of naked bodies hovering on the edges of cheap wood prop desks or grinding together at the hips on a hotel bed. As my trial and error methods wore on, I noticed how many of the higher budget features employed actresses who were so tan, bleached and plumbed with silicone, they hardly resembled human bodies. Still, there were a couple diamonds in the rough. Last Tango In Paris  more so a steamy rated R classic and Cafe Flesh the first, not the second, which if full of version 1.0 silicone implants from the early 90s where two stables in my scant library of tolerable fantasies. But who can sit through so much conversation and plot when they just need some late night inspiration?