I’ve finally managed to upload a clip on teh interwebs, so you can see for yourself (quick! before it gets deleted).

Oh, probably NSFW. Unless you work for, say, a penitentiary.

Years ago when I went to NYU for film (sssshhhhhh! Now I just tell everyone that I went to Sarah Lawrence before my FTM operation), I made a short film for an experimental video class. It featured some graphic, albeit simulated, unprotected gay sex. I was anticipating some less-than-enthused reactions from my peers (overwhelmingly straight and surprisingly conservative in some respects), but expecting support from my teacher. She was well-regarded amongst students, partly because she was continuing to direct films (she came out with a very critically lauded little film in 2006) and because she didn’t seem to be on auto-pilot like so many of the NYU professors. It was a known fact that she was good friends with some of those who helped establish New Queer Cinema, like Todd Haynes. She even told me she had worked on gay porn before.

So if I expected anyone to support my little movie, it was her. Read More!

As I neared the end of the workday, I realized I had an open window of time before I was to meet up with friends later that evening. It being frigid outside, what better way to kill an hour than with what the words of my smoldering middle school health teacher, Mr. Veit, called “sexual intercourse”? (Though I don’t necessarily recall him including “with strangers” at the end.)

I checked the list of my good friend Craig, and started to play e-mail tag with a particularly handsome gentleman with an ass so taut, it might as well have been made of two bulbous light bulbs. After visually verifying that he had the same commanding body and facial structure as a young, crisply tanned Armand Assante, my penis and I agreed that “B” was our guy.

Read More!

Two fair-haired girls, one big, one frail. They play in the dirt with their mangled Barbies, a terrier looking on ponderously. The frail one is smoking a cigarette, her hand extended like a monkey’s paw.

“I have an idea,” the thin one says.

“Oh?” The big one is eating the dirt, her face filthy, smeared. This makes the whites of her eyes pop - they’re the size of dinner plates.

“Put your head here,” the little one says, sticking out her palm. The fat one complies. “Now hold still” the little one commands as she draws her cigarette up to the other’s face. A clod of dirt falls from the fat one’s mouth as she responds with garbled sounds. The frail girl takes a noisy inhale from the cigarette before pressing the lit end into the flesh above the fat girl’s lip. The big one moans flatly and her feet flop in the soil.

“There,” the frail one exclaims. “Now you have a beauty mark.” She steps back, licks her lips as she waits for a response from the fat girl.

The fat one’s eyes are watering but after a moment she collects herself, produces a compact from her pleated summer skirt and stares at her new burn mark in the mirror admiringly. “Like Marilyn Monroe!” she cries. “I’m Marilyn Monroe!” She stands and gallops down the hill, clutching her skirt between her thick thighs and still screaming “I’m Marilyn Monroe!”

“Where are you going?” the small one hollers, watching the big girl shrink in the distance. She coughs, spits, lights another cigarette with a book of soggy matches. Clenching the cigarette firmly between her teeth, she picks up the mangled Barbie dolls stuck in the soil. Smooshing their heads together, she makes them kiss. The frail girl leans in close with her cigarette until the heat from the end of it starts to melt the plastic faces of the Barbies, warping them into drippy, elongated knots. “Fatty,” she mutters.