Hello again! It’s time once more to take a trip into the dark recesses of my sexual past and tell a story that may or may not make me want to die of embarrassment, for closure and for lols. This is something I’ve literally never thought to write about until now, but nigh a decade has elapsed since it happened, so I’m starting to think it’s more funny than mortifying. Also, if it were going to pop up on the internet, I’m pretty sure it would have by now. Although I might be tempting fate by writing this post.

Are you eating? Good. Nothing goes with a sex tape story like a nice breakfast sandwich. Perhaps a Coffee Coolatta, too. Do they still make those? The last time I got one, I locked myself out of my car and had to watch it melt into warm coffee water while I waited for AAA to come. Warm coffee water is not good to drink. Do I know from experience? Yes. Am I stalling? Yes.

Let us travel back in time to a long ago year called 2003, and a far away place called Connecticut. I had just started having sexual intercourse and was very excited about the different things that could be done with it. I was having it with someone I’ll call Jim, a ridiculously hot and good hearted loser whose primary functions were to smoke pot with me, shoplift electronics for me, go see bands with me, and take my virginity so I didn’t feel like a freak when I got to college. Okay, so those were his only functions. But he fulfilled them well.

I was 18 when I deflowered myself via Jim (do you see what I did there?), which I know now to be a fairly normal age, but which to me at the time felt terribly old. I was thrilled to finally be checking out this thing called “sex,” and overnight, my vagina became a magical vessel from which all manner of delights could be produced. Sex was awesome! I wanted to try everything there was to be tried, and I was a vain young woman with an interest in pornography. Which, naturally, led me to want to try my own hand at porno-making.

On the big day, I went over to Jim’s house and got all dolled up for the shoot. Actually, it was his parent’s house—he was 23 and still making love in his childhood bedroom—but we don’t have to talk about that. For a cinematographer, we enlisted a friend of his, a small and giggly stoner girl whom everyone called Fuck. This created some confusion when trying to direct the camera. Which I’m pretty sure belonged to his dad.

For a soundtrack, we selected Music To Make Love To Your Old Lady By by Lovage, a short lived Mike Patton side project. (Jim was very into ’90s alt-rock; I’d lost my virginity a couple months earlier to some regrettable cuts from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and he had a Foo Fighters tattoo on his back.) It might not have been the coolest choice, but looking back it was just goofy enough to be appropriate.

We started things off with a nice blowjob, although my technique at the time left something to be desired. Then he went down on me for a while while I made lots of high pitched, too-awful-to-be-fake noises. (I think he studied eating pussy in lieu of going to college.) Then we had sex in a position that was designed to show up on camera, but which was actually fairly awkward; I was sort of turned on my side with one leg in the air, and he was doing me from the side/back. This lasted about…ten minutes, maybe?

I don’t remember how the sex tape ended (regrettably, it’s not in my possession), but I’m guessing everyone came. I might even have come twice! He was good like that. What I do remember, though, is watching the tape afterwards and being kind of disgusted by it.

I didn’t mind looking at myself, because I was 18 and looked objectively good naked, despite having a nasty sunburn covering much of my body. But the close-up shots of genitals—our genitals!—looked like something from another planet. So squishy and moist, and strangely clinical. How could something that had seemed so fucking hot in the moment suddenly resemble a sci-fi movie? Also, I was terrible at blowjobs. Like, “tentatively tasting a dick flavored lollipop” terrible. A few years later, when I saw that scene in Brown Bunny where Chloe Sevigny does a similar type of thing to Vincent Gallo, a shiver of recognition passed down my spine.

As tempting as it is to regard pornography as a base activity requiring no talent, this experience taught me that you really do need to know what you’re doing in order to make an appealing sex tape. The pros make it look easy, but that’s what makes them pros. You might watch Michael Jordan playing basketball and think “hey, I could do that!” even though you know you really couldn’t; so too with porn stars, only people don’t seem to realize the second part.

And yes, I realized almost as soon as I’d done it that it was very stupid of me to allow such a thing to exist in the world at all, let alone in someone else’s possession, but by that point I’d gone away to college and broken up with him, and it didn’t seem worth the emotional hassle. And anyway, he’s not the kind of guy who’d release our sex tape for everyone to see. He’s way too nice a person to do that. But I’m still not going to get famous, just in case.

Photo: LastNightsParty