(started in 2001; finished and performed in early 2004)
Pr0n, they used to call it. I don't know what the buzzword is anymore, but the content is the same: bottled moans and silicone. I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point, it started to annoy me. A thousand arched backs, twitching thighs and rolling eyes, wrapped in leather, drenched in sweat. Accessories. Extra visitors. Change the channel, will you? Burn that DVD.
Maybe I'm a grouch and a prude, but I can tell you, I've shared some scenes of kinks and quirks. Floors and walls, carpet and tile, bathrooms and halls; bare skin is not as effective as a Swiffer, but hey. But who needs two people bared on a bed that contains more natural ingredients than they do? Boring. Redundant. Only mildly arousing, and that's only when you can stop laughing at their plastered-on pouts and generic groans.
But don't try to make your own, either. Your lighting is not dim enough to fade your flab. If you think other people's porn is bad, just wait until you see what you do when the camera rolls. It's depressing. I'm imagining it now, and trust me, you don't want to. Exhibitionist? Take it to the streets. Otherwise, keep it live and quiet. Or loud, as the case may be. You'll thank me later.