Friday, September 4, 2009

Porn of the Dead

The title had technically already been used but with only one worthwhile scene in the whole movie he figured that the genre was ripe for a sequel. So with the help of a few technically-minded friends, about $300 worth of video equipment, some vaguely dramatic friends, and some wanna-be porn stars he'd recruited from Craig's list he got started.

Porn of the Dead was going to revolutionize the industry and usher in a new era of undead erotica. He could envision not just movies, but magazines, novels, internet shorts, sex toys, edibles, and a whole world of erotic storytelling in which the decaying body parts of the human form would take on a whole new sensuality. He was one of the faithful who not only believed in the project, but believed in the ideal and carried the purpose of expanding the minds of his fellow peoples.

But all true believers have to encounter some ignorance on the way. To say that the movie did not take off would be an understatement. Even with endless possibilities of random viewers on YouTube the movie'd only gotten 324 hits after a full month online. He couldn't understand why. Sure there was a severe lack of exposure, but he reasoned that if people would willingly watch video tutorials on how to floss a cat's teeth then surely SOMEONE would want to watch Zombie porn. It was porn, afterall. And the internet was an endless world of sexual deviants. So what was the problem?

The problem, he learned from his newly matriculating film student friend, was that he didn't have a trailer. He informed him that no movie, no matter how bad, with a trailer ever failed to be viewed. Especially since there was a good five minutes of intro before the first sex scene, no wonder no one was talking about it. The collective attention span of 99% of web surfers was about two minutes so he was way over par.

He put together a full minute and 23 second trailer including some of the racier bits from the film with some bold fonts and dramatic music and posted it. Within three days the movie had well over 2 million views and was an instant viral classic. It was talked about on every blog from right wing republicans denouncing the depths that human morality had sunk to all the way to underground sexual revolutionists praising the expansion of creativity in erotic storytelling. Within a month Howard Stern was interviewing the porn stars while the viewers of Attack of the Show got to see the man behind the myth.

He was fully under-prepared for this level of exposure but he reasoned that it would die down soon enough. Within the popular media it did. But not until after movies, books, magazines, toys and more than he could have ever imagined emerged. He had successfully sparked a new genre of erotica and felt satisfied in his creation. He slept the sleep of a man who had made a distinguishable impact on the world.

That's when the fan mail started.

He'd gotten a whole host of e-mails from fans before. Especially after he appeared on television. Apparently there were a whole lot of women in the world with somewhat twisted sexual turn-ons that found him devastatingly attractive. But their attentions, too, died down in time. But this was different.

These were long, soul-bearing letters. She not only praised his creative genius and his dream of changing the pornographic landscape. She praised him, as a person. She made great assumptions about the thought, feeling, and sexual exploration that must have taken place in him to come up with such a great cinematic masterpiece. She cursed the others who came after him for making pale imitations of his opus. She empathized with the level of loneliness he must feel to know that he was the only one in the world who could feel that level of attraction for the deceased, but assured him that he was not alone.

He closed every website, blog, e-mail address and fan site he'd ever had.

That's when the pictures started coming by mail. They were tame, at first. Fully clothed, then scantily clothed, then partially clothed, then nude but tastefully posed, then full frontal, then in various sexual positions, and so on. He hadn't thought much of it at first, but when he got the first roll of her in various sexual positions with what was unmistakably a cadaver he changed his address.

It stopped. For about a month.

Then he got the video. She had remade every sex scene of his entire movie with her as the star. And since she wanted it to be authentic, she used real bodies. They didn't shamble or attack like the actors in his movie had. But their decaying parts looked a lot more real.

He gave it to the police, along with every other piece of of correspondence he'd ever gotten from her, and filed a detailed report about how long it'd been going on. They assured him that they would keep on eye on the online community for someone fitting the profile of this sicko and he felt a brief twinge of relief. Then he came home to a box containing a decaying penis with a love note about what she'd like to do with it. To him.

So he gave that to the police, and moved to a new town. He wasn't about to uproot his whole life for one crazy bitch, so he only moved half an hour away. But his new apartment had a programmable key code that he could change as frequently as he wanted to with little difficulty, and a security guard in the lobby. He developed an intricate routine of thoroughly inspecting his mail before bringing it up to the apartment and made the guard open anything from an unfamiliar address. They didn't find anything for a full two months, and he started to relax.

Then one evening, after he'd gotten used to entering his apartment without checking the door for marks of a break-in or checking behind his shoulder for shadows of a passerby, he came home to his dark apartment and put his bags down on the side table. As he turned on the light he felt a sharp prick in his neck and reached up to find a dart which must have been shot from close up. He turned and saw her lying seductively on the couch, relaxing back with the shooter pulling away from her mouth.

He felt a sense of overwhelming anger at himself for letting his guard down as his body slid to the floor, pushing the door closed behind him. He couldn't scream, he couldn't blink, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop her as she came to stand over him with a lazy, seductive smile.

"Don't worry, Curtis. I'm not going to kill you."

Somehow he didn't find that very reassuring.

1 comment:

  1. I'll take whatever love I can get! Beggars can't be choosers--or in this case, "chewers"

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for your comment! I will love it and hug it and pet it and call it George. Or, you know, just read and reply to it. But still- you rock!