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Friday, October 17th, 2003
1:48a - Process of Elimination: III
Now for the third "TRUE/lie" statement, as listed in my "Liar, Liar..." post:

Item number 3: "Camryn Manheim once played with my nipples in public."

(And the answer is...)

TRUE.

I received quite a few e-mails that thought this was the lie. Well, strangely enough, it isn't, though I did take it out of context for the sheer fun of it.

This happened during a NAAFA Convention several years ago, which had a Million Pound March and rally in Santa Monica. In fact, I wound up being photographed so many times I can be seen in many a back issue tabloid that ran the story with the usual smirking delight such rags possess... but I digress.

Speakers at the rally included both the adorable Ms. Manheim and one pre-WLS Carnie Wilson (boo... hiss...). Afterwards they wandered through the crowd, meeting, greeting, signing autographs and shirts (all the marchers got Million Pound March shirts, sizes up to 8X if I recall aright... in fact, the smallest size they had was 4X. Strangely fitting, in a way).

Carnie signed mine, almost by accident... I was standing fairly close to the stage and was trapped by a gaggle of fans anyway, and the only way I was going to walk out of there alive was to get my shirt signed. Big whoop.

Now, Camryn I was strangely too shy to approach, mostly because she was a lot cuter in person than she is on the tube. Fortunately I has some really GOOD friends who pushed me in her direction and told me not to blow a priceless opportunity.

Now, she was being gregarious and friendly to everyone there, as far as I could tell, but I was totally unprepared for what happened when I finally got the courage to ask for her to sign my shirt. I expected the same quick scribble that everyone else was getting (certainly not much more than the "Regards, Carnie Wilson" I had gotten a few minutes earlier).

First she establishes eye contact and smiles at me, which made me completely lose whatever cool I had (say bye to Yohannon, hello to FAN BOY YO!). Then she leans into me, literally pressing the entire length of her body against mine, producing this weird sense of "Uh, what the heck is happening here?". For the record that woman is BUILT. She had this layer of muscle that made me weak in the knees.

She then started writing something on my chest. At the time I thought it was just a coincidence that she kept brushing against my more sensitive chest bits as she wrote what seemed like a small novel (there was time enough for me to take her pulse... she was pressed that tightly to me), but then she twirled the pen around in a circle and nailed the center... which was my very hard nipple.

After someone applied CPR and I was able to catch my breath, I thanked her and staggered off. It was actually one of the aforementioned forever blessed friends who first read what was written there, and did goggle. I'm doing this from memory, so I may have to edit later to fix it, but this is what was writ:

"Dearest John,

There is no other chest
I would rather write upon
than yours,

With much affection,
(signed) Camryn Manheim

( . )"

Just imagine that last bit is the circle around my nipple.

It wasn't until very recently, whilst watching her being interviewed by Carrie Fisher, that I realized she might have been hitting on me. Of course, if she perchance should read this and recall the incident, she should feel free to either drop me an email either telling me I never stood a chance in hell, or to tell me where and when to meet for hot monkey sex.

Well, there's a lot of middle ground there as well... but considering how unlikely it is she'll read this OR respond, I figured I might as well go for the gusto.

Oh, to make it even more bizarre... I met the man I believe she was dating at the time a few months earlier at an Apple Masters event at Apple Computer -- Some guy named Gregory Hines. Dancer, I think. He certainly danced well then. Always liked him, and wish I knew of his excellent taste in women one of the two times I met him. When he passed recently, I thought of two things... watching him tap at a rate so fast I couldn't see his feet while I crouching was three feet away to take pictures for Guy, and that I was certain that Camryn cried when she got the news.


current mood: horny

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3:43a - Process of Elmination: The BIG Finale
So, we're down to the last two items in my original list of five statements. The first three were true, which leaves items 4 and 5. Item number 4:

"I once had sex in a industrial sized stainless steel sink that I regularly washed pots in while working a cafeteria in college"

Let's cut to the chase. This is the lie. However, it actually happened, and in the sink I washed pots in. I found out thanks to an informal survey The Load published wherein people were asked to send in the weirdest location they ever had sex (mine was a succinct, and in many ways still true "In a tree house. On Long Island. With two women at once". It is a sign that I would now make it clear they were both fat).

No, it never bothered me: Considering the things I've had to clean, sexual essence was an improvement.

Which leaves one last statement:

"I have starred in a full length porn movie, a large part of which was loosely based on my own life."

I think I left this for last because, in a lot of ways, the explanation was a LOT more complex than any of the others. I know, time to be scared.

I met this woman online way back in '89. She had been introduced to "The Big Board", a bbs that specialized in BBW/BHM's three years before the web and during a time when 1200 baud was a decent speed, but if you were cutting edge you got yourself a 2400. 9600's were still too pricey for a lot of us.

She had been turned on to the BBS by a fairly well known BBW porn star by the name of Layla LaShelle, who had also hooked her up with a photographer for her first layout in BUF, a BBW porn rag. She had decided on the nom de plume of Teighlor, and went on to become a hit in a very niche market.

Many years later, after surviving a feeder fuckwad and returning to Los Angeles, she was on SSI. This sharply curtailed her modeling career, since she was so damn recognizable. However, there was ample opportunity in terms of scriptwriting.

When she started to write the script she drew on some actual events, as all good scriptwriters do. So, she borrowed from an experience we shared from her days working a phone sex line, where she described herself as a blonde, "average" mainstream beauty, as I almost gave myself a stroke trying to keep from laughing out loud. Another was based on when I met Linda Underhill at the Ren Faire in Novato over 10 years ago, when I shyly went back stage to meet her.

Of course, both these events were seriously twisted for use in a porn movie. First, the back stage meeting was the inspiration for a title for the movie that would satisfy the marketing freaks: "When The Fat Lady Sings". Next, she needed to find a thinly plausible way to link all the scenes together -- she came up with the idea of a sex clinic interviewing people to find out why some people liked fat women.

When she finished the script (all 19 pages of it) she wanted to make sure at least ONE of the men cast really DID like fat girls. For some reason, she thought of me. It certainly wasn't a case of needing the money -- at the time (mid 1996) things were starting to really heat up in the tech world. However, I knew the person I would be with, a lovely girl known as Eartha Quake. And I admit it -- I thought it would be twisted fun to play a scene based on an actual event from my past, however loosely.

So they flew me down, and I got up at an ungodly hour and took a cab to this place outside of LA proper (at the time it was against the law to make porn movies in the LA city limits... probably still is) to this house they were using for the filming. It was in this really nice neighborhood, real "90210" if you can imagine it. I remember wondering if any of the neighbors had any clue what was going on at this place.

I was surprised to learn that I was one of the first scenes to be shot... since I had no idea how well I would respond to being filmed during sex, I was really nervous. However, the crew and director were great, and I had no trouble at all... at least, not until the dreaded "money shot" -- but I'll get to that in a bit.

I was startled at how easy it was. The fact that I genuinely liked Carla didn't hurt, especially when I had to stop so they could move around for another angle, and start going at it again without losing... well, tumescence.

Remember I said the script was only 19 pages long? Well, interspersed with what little scripted dialogue there was were these little bracketed items that said stuff like {they have sex}, which meant that we ad-libbed. A lot. I figured I would be told what to do, but fairly quickly the director was asking ME what I wanted to do next. I didn't think anything about it at the time, though they kept getting excited about the strangest things... like when I suggested that Eartha get on top, and they went NUTS when she straddled my face.

We also had to do two versions of some shots -- raw hard core showing lots of "pink" and penetration, and shots that were a bit tamer for some European (read: England) markets.

Finally, it came time for coming. After almost an hour of stimulation, I thought that I would burst. Yet my member denied me, apparently a victim of over-stimulation and control.

I tried every thing (as did Carla... that was her real name) to get myself to the edge, but failed. Fortunately, the crew knew what to do. Gather round as I reveal to you the story I later told Lynne Murray, who later managed to find a way to get it into one of her mystery stories (to my eternal delight!):

They took a rubber and poured in some Piña Colada Mix, tying it off to form a small water balloon like object. Taking a pin, they punch a small hole in the end. The idea was that this fits in the palm of the hand, the hole covered with the thumb until the appropriate moment, when some careful squeezing would produce a remarkable simulation of a money shot.

At least that was the plan.

The first time I tried this trick, the rubber slipped from my hand (too much lube... I know, no such thing usually. This time, though...) causing it to bounce along Carla's belly. Cut!

The second take I secured the tied off "tail" of the rubber between two fingers, holding it in place. Camera rolling, I built up to my "orgasm", squeezed, and...

This impossible gush of "come" shot up Carla's stomach, resulting in both crew and actors, including yours truly, to completely crack up. Somewhere there is a blooper reel with that shot on it, I'm sure.

Third try was the charm. In fact, we didn't even need a refill... there was enough left to produce a shot so realistic, I couldn't tell it wasn't real myself when I finally saw the finished product a couple of years later. To this day I can't see Piña Colada mix or hear that song without giggling uncontrollably.

Of course, that was just the beginning of the day's work. There were all the segues leading in and out of the scenes, a fun "pool" sequence that eventually led to the obligatory orgy that ended the script. While this all sounds like good fun, there was a lot of time I spent being bored to tears waiting for my bits to be filmed. That isn't to say there weren't highlights that stick in my memory.

One was walking into a room to find Sindee Williams being double penetrated, bare back... and off camera. At that point I resolved not to EVER stick myself anywhere near her, much less inside of her. Ick...

The other ladies tended to hang out together, and I hung out with them when they weren't doing their scenes. They mostly gossiped and bitched about the male talent (most common phrase: "...Oh, but not YOU Yohannon."), who basically did the work for drug money and didn't care about what hole they stuck themselves into. I was glad to see that Sindee was the exception, rather than the rule when it came to bare back -- all the other ladies insisted on rubbers.

If you think that comment about drugs was wild speculation, I did spot the boys passing a bowl by the pool later.

By the end of the Orgy sequence, it was almost midnight. I had been working since 6 AM, which meant that I made about 18 bucks an hour. Of course, at that point I was making 25 an hour doing QA work, so in a way I actually made LESS money than I would have back in the valley.

My last experience with the movie was a scene they added at the last minute, and over my objections: They decided to end with the girls having a food fight, complete with smeared frosting and such. When you see me leaving the aftermath of the orgy, I was supposed to be disgusted that the girls weren't satisfied with being soundly fucked. I didn't have to act in that scene, though my motivation was more disgust that Teighlor's script was being fucked with so badly. I was literally getting dressed, getting my check, and was out the front door before they were a minute into that abhorrent display of pseudo sensuality.

I was supposed to have received a copy of that film, but it never arrived. It wasn't until a BBW bash in Tahoe over two years later that I finally got to see my "performance", Piña Colada and all.

They managed to misspell my name not once, but twice: Once on the cover, and once in the credits of the video itself. Ah well, such is fame. At least I got a lot of the sample shots on the cover... I think about five, actually.

The big surprise was how much screen time I got. Considering the attitude of the other male actors I shouldn't have been surprised -- the phone sex scene especially was a pale shadow of it's original inspiration (the "actor" who played the FA in that one seems to have one unique talent, the ability to ejaculate at will and repeatedly... kind of surreal). They did use some nice classical music for the soundtrack on my scene, which I liked a lot.

I really wished I had ponied up the cash and gotten the video when I had the chance... it's currently unavailable. Though I was treated to a surprise recently when a friend forwarded me a link to an online clip she had found that was obviously taken from the movie itself.

Ah well... I had no aspirations to be president anyway.

So, that's the whole sordid story. I did it mostly for the experience (which there was plenty) and for Teighlor. I don't think I would do it again unless it was starring all Fat Admirers and had a less mercenary approach (I suspect that was the LA effect).

BTW, if XJournal is to be believed, this is my 250th LJ post. Far out!


current mood: giggly

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10:18p - Just A Fleeting Thought...
I was just reflecting upon those soul-less assholes who dare to tell you that you can't do something until they tell you how to do it. Sure, that seems so reasonable on the surface, until you reflect on the overwhelming tyranny of it all...

current mood: contemplative

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11:30p - Denouement of a Troll
This is related to a post in which _hellion decided that he was going to educate all of us on the topic of fat, and how only a minuscule percentage of people in kshandra's life actually found her attractive, if that. That in turn was related to this kick ass post in which a fat girl essentially issues a manifesto for her own liberation from the idea that people just like this fool have any power over her any longer. Feeling threatened, perhaps?

---

My name is Yohannon. I guess you could classify me as a long time net user... though there are a few that date back before 1978, I seriously doubt you would be one of them. I don't mention this to secure some sort of implied superiority over you as a person, so much as to confer a bit of my resume in terms of experiencing... shall we say... a slightly more complex picture of the "human race" that you somehow have deemed yourself worthy of becoming a mouthpiece for.

People here have made a small error, at least from my admittedly quick scan of the issue at hand. They are so busy trying to convince you that your view simply CAN'T be the sole view of the world that they're missing your true, only somewhat hidden agenda. Of course, I seriously suspect that this bias might even be concealed even from yourself, so no one should feel impaired in any way.

Now, this is the part where my somewhat bizarre experience with online written communication comes into play. A lot of people, very reasonably, expect people to read entire message threads word for word. Others make an equally reasonable assumption that people will scan through and pick and choose messages.

Me, I sort of do both at the same time. It's kind of hard to explain... it's like being able to read an entire paragraph at once without needing to read each individual word. I can thus get a high altitude view of entire threads and absorb specifics as if I were on the ground simultaneously. Like one of those posters of all the covers of Time Magazine that forms a portrait when viewed from a distance.

Now, the pattern of a troll is painfully obvious. They are incessant in their attack, absolutely certain in their position (if they actually BELIEVE in their expressed viewpoint, all the better!), dogmatic and pedantic in ways that I only thought I was capable of at my most vitriolic. They seem possessed of infinite amounts of time to berate their opponents, inflexible, and generally curt to the point of rudeness... and well beyond.

They also, invariably, are under 30 years of age. In fact, the troll "sweet spot" seems to reside at that tense period of life between 21 and 28, when most people have yet to figure out that they really don't have all the answers, and that life is far more rich and strange than their personal prejudices give it credit for.

Cheryl Haworth ring a bell? She won the US a bronze medal in weight-lifting, a sport she entered for the express purpose of building up strength to play softball... she already had ample speed. She weighs over 300 pounds, and I, as an intelligent male, find her deliciously hot. Just as I find kshandra incredibly sexy, both as a person and physically.

Now, that's an example of a direct contradiction to statements you insist are fact. I'm sure you can find a lot of ways to tell me I'm wrong, but the bottom line is that your infantile mewlings of protest will do absolutely nothing about how I feel about K'Shandra, fat women in general, and Cheryl Haworth in specific (if she ever reads this, I hope she'll email me!).

Yet knowing that, you will respond to my perceived unwillingness to bend to your will. If you don't to spite this statement, you'll continue to attack other people here who dare contend that you don't know the answers even on a topic with this narrow a focus... yet for yourself to say you do would be megalomaniacal at the least. Which leads me to wonder one simple thing:

Why?

Why put so much effort into making yourself thoroughly unlikable when it's pretty darn obvious that no one here is going to support you? Hell, thanks to you you've gone and energized a lot of people to make a stand. If anything you're doing more to support our position by the very contrast supplied by your intransigeance, your morally indignant posturing, as if we were suggesting supplying illicit narcotics to kindergartners by simply thinking differently.

Me, I've seen so many wild ideas of what life is, what it means, and where it's going that I feel comfortable... not delighted, mind you, but comfortable... accepting that people will believe what they will. You seem especially hysterically disinclined that someone can say, to your face, that even if any of your points were completely true... so what? Again, I would still find fat women attractive, I would still encourage them to be healthy through exorcize and eating right, and they would still be... you guessed it... fat.

I'll bet your bestgirl friend is fat. I'll bet you hate yourself each and every time you are aroused by her, and hate yourself even more when you fantasize about her naked. Think I couldn't know about that, that I have no right to presume? Well, you felt you had that right, didn't you?

Know who Fred Phelps is? He's the creep in the cowboy hat holding up the sign "God Hates Fags" at every opportunity. He added a "Matthew Shepard Burns in Hell" specifically for the same's funeral.

Bless him.

It's my contention that men like him... and yourself, to some degree... that drives the human race forward. Not because his cause is the right one, but for exactly the opposite reason -- it takes people like Lester Maddux to provide the outrage harnessed by great leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. to foment great change.

For the time being you're a self righteous bigot. But you've managed to make people realize how psychotically obsessive your position is, and thus made many people stronger. And even if you take my unwillingness to waste my time with an insignificant naif such as yourself as some sort of confirmation of victory, I still wanted to let you know:

Thanks.


current mood: mischievous

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