SMUT STAND REPORT: Oct. 22, 2014 (New Orleans)
WHEN: 6 hours (7:45pm-1:45am), Oct 22, 2014. WHERE: mural fence next to the Art Market, Frenchmen Street, New Orleans. OUTPUT: 7 custom works, including a softcore morning blow-job on a beachfront deck; some good rough wrestling where he knows he’s in charge, but she wants to win; and a quickie rug-munch in the bathroom at a friend’s party, you know how these things happen.
You cannot fucking judge out there, who is going to pass by and judge you until their judge-y bits explode, and who is going to stop and fall in love with you and the whole process. You just cannot tell. My first client of the evening was not one of the dozen young hipster couples passing by with a slight smirk, but a short, plump, pant-suited woman in a group of three older ladies who just came up and said, loud and slightly drunk, “What’s going on here?” (This, by the way, is the North American equivalent of the British “What’s all this, then?” I have heard both, many times.) She signed up on the spot, and after her older sister and friend stepped away, she proceeded to lay out a beautifully enthusiastic interview for me, in which she reveled in the fact that she gets to date around now, and she loves herself a submissive but strong man, someone who really wants to please her, and yes, some pain is good, on him, girl, of course, biting is good, definitely. She laid it ALL OUT. Later, her sister came by to pick up the piece. “I have to hurry back, the waitress is keeping an eye on her, she and my friend are pretty drunk,” she said, tucking the piece away in her souvenir bag. “It’s MY 60th birthday, and THEY’RE the ones getting stupid.”
Lots of men at a conference or something, buying smut for their absent sweethearts. I love doing those gift pieces, because the men think they’re going to get something all softcore and curtains-blowing-in-the-breeze for the wife, and then I lay out a soft-core something that nonetheless gets down there and grabs you by the balls. Soft-core does not mean timid, just like hardcore doesn’t mean emotionally disconnected. For couples’ pieces, I try to throw in a little something for everyone.
I particularly had a good time last night with this young man, mid-30s, I think he said 34, nice lanky fellow who I would consider a hipster with that burgeoning ZZ Top beard and the tractor hat, but his deep Southern accent told me no, that was legit, non-ironic apparel in his parts. This young man said he has been with his wife for 18 YEARS. They were high school sweethearts, and from what he said in his interview, they were still ON FIRE. He even consulted with her by text before the interview to let her know what he was going to do—”are you in the red light district?” was her response—and then photographed his smut immediately upon receiving it so he could send it to her.
I’ve noticed that my pieces are getting a little longer, running around 3/4 page instead of the 1/2- to 2/3-page that I tell people in my pitch. I am going to try writing a little shorter during my next shift, stop it where it stops, instead of trying to wrap it up nicely. That’s an extra few minutes I’m spending on each piece, and they don’t need it. I’ve also got to be careful about the interviews. I’ve been letting people run on far longer than I need for my information-gathering purposes. Last night there was one client who I must have talked with for 10 minutes, but … I think she needed it. She had just gotten married a few weeks ago, after being with this guy for five years, and … she was not happy. Oh, she was not happy. I managed to get a few things out of her, like her husband was really good at oral, really dedicated to a sensual experience. Okay, I can work with that. But underneath, she was confused and discontented. She did not understand what had happened to their exciting sex life. Oy.