Thanks, WhyNot. Makes perfect sense. I’m just thinking that the male viewer would find a depiction of full penetration to be more arousing to him, and that the producers would logically depict what the average man wants to see. Then again, I’m only able to speak to my own preferences - what types of visual depiction arouses me. So maybe I just don’t fit into the “average porn viewer” category. I can tell you that I don’t like the standard porn star look (immense breasts, big hair, loads of makeup) at all, so I could easily be bitching about something that the “average porn viewer” finds sufficiently appealing.
Nah, I think that legally, insertion is insertion, regardless of depth. The models I see are penetrating - just not very deeply.
In the newstand men’s magazines, they’ve avoided showing penetration not because it was illegal, but because they feared that stores wouldn’t carry their product if they showed it. (This was brought up in another thread a few months ago, when somebody discovered that Penthouse pictorials now depict penetration - Bob Guccione’s last-ditch attempt to save his empire.)
Oh, all right. This was probably seventeen years ago. She was huge. Immense. I was pretty damn drunk. We got to her place, and she proceeded with “foreplay”. This consisted of her playing that song “Black Velvet” on her record player over and over and over while she rolled around on the floor in what I can only guess she thought was an erotic manner. She kept that up for almost two hours, long enough for me to start to sober up. I had made a few futile attempts to initiate the actual sex that I had come for, but each time she chided me for being in “too big a hurry”. At some point, I thought to myself, “What the HELL am I doing?” I finally mentioned that I was getting sleepy (it was almost 4:00 AM by this point - I wasn’t lying!) and that I needed to get home to bed. I excused myself as politely as I could, and made my escape. As I pulled away in my car, I could see her leaning out of her window, yelling, “Come baaaaack! Come baaaaaack!”
The next day I went back to the bar and ordered a beer. I started to tell my story to the bartender (who had seen me leave with this woman the night before), but I only got three and a half words out (“Oh man! Last ni-”) and he put his hands up and said, “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to know!” and then made for the other end of the bar as fast as he could. 