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In Fertility
Chapter Seven, Part Two: On Pirates and Porn

[NOTE: This is Part Two of Chapter Seven. If you haven't yet read Part One, please do so first, or you will be missing a great deal of important context. Also, though not vulgar, this piece includes mature content and may not be suitable for some audiences. You have been warned.]

This is just as awkward as I thought, feared, and probably secretly hoped.

Deciding I’ve procrastinated long enough, I sit down and look around. I flip through the magazines: Playboy, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, Hustler, Juggs – the usual college-dorm fare. Not that interesting. I turn to the DVD player. Hmmmmm. Slowly, I extend my finger and hit the play button.

A movie starts automatically. It’s called PIRATES (all caps) and is directed by JOONE (all caps). I’m not a porn aficionado, so I’ve never heard of JOONE, but he/she seems pretty intent on making sure everyone who watches this film knows that it was DIRECTED BY JOONE. I guess that it’s going to be some combination of Pirates of the Caribbean and Showgirls. It occurs to me that JOONE may be Caribbean director Gore Verbinski’s porn alias (Showgirls director Paul Verhoeven’s porn alias is, of course, Paul Verhoeven). I hit the chapter advance button to get past the opening credits.

It appears that it is, in fact, a movie about pirates. Two pirates are talking on a pirate ship. They’re wearing pirate garb and talking in pirate garble. Something about how great it is to be a pirate. It’s hard to hear because I have the volume way down, but I get the gist. They talk for a while. I hit fast-forward. They talk for a while more. Then talk for even still a while more. It appears the sex-to-story ratio in this film is the opposite of what I traditionally expect from porn films. Or Paul Verhoeven films for that matter.

At this point, however, the writer in me gets curious. I stop fast-forwarding and start – I can’t believe I’m going to admit to this – watching the movie. What is a porn film story about? I’ve seen a couple (usually late at night in lonely hotel rooms) but never really got past the first few minutes - um... ahem - certainly not far enough to discern any kind of story. This, however, appears to be a full-on movie. Someone wrote this.

Volume still down, I start paying attention and learn some startling (to me at any rate) things about pirates and porn:
  • There are “actors” in some porn films whose only purpose is to advance the plot. A couple of them aren’t actually half bad. I wonder if they put this on their resume.
  • There are special effects. Not good special effects, but it is a pirate movie so there are battles and ships on the water, with waves and everything. It looks like something you’d see on the SyFy network in the middle of the day, but still, there are special effects.
  • Whoever wrote this seems to have paid some attention to pirate lingo. The pirate slang undoubtedly inaccurate, but it is consistent and generally as reasonable as Disney’s.
  • There are real pirate costumes and scenery. In fact the costuming and scenery in this film are surprisingly good.
  • There were far more female pirates than I realized. The ratio was apparently about one woman to every two men, though all but the main characters are swarthy scallywags who will never see those women naked (see #1).
  • All female pirates had boob-jobs. Apparently I was mistaken that the boob-job was a relatively new procedure.

The story appears to be about some good pirates and some bad pirates who are fighting. The bad pirates overtake a ship and capture a guy they’ve been looking for, though I don’t know why he’s important (I must have missed some crucial piece of dialog). This guy’s beautiful young wife is thrown overboard – without so much as a grope – and floats around for a little while until the good pirates find her. And then something else happens, but I don’t know what because I finally find a sex scene.

I do my thing. Very quietly. There is an office full of doctors and nurses and patients just a doorway away, and I am well aware of it. When I finish I check the results: I could never be a porn star.


Though not the Boom-Boom Room, this room does appear to have one purpose and one purpose only That being the case, I find myself surprised that there are a few amenities that aren’t available. First, there is no lubricant of any kind Maybe it contaminates the sample, I don’t know, but it sure would make things go more smoothly (so to speak) Second, there are no tissues. Cleanup requires the use of standard industrial-grade paper towels. Not the most comfortable.

At any rate, I finish up and open the door a crack to make sure the hall is empty before leaving. All clear. As I quickly make my way to the lab, however, one of the nurses, whom I recognize, turns the corner right in front of me. Instinctively, I hide my specimen cup behind my back. We smile at each other as she politely pretends not to notice that I have a cup of joy-juice in my hand, and we go on our way.

I reach the lab, and place the specimen on the table. I think the tech shoots me a look that says, “That’s it? I’m working late for this?” But I probably just imagine it. He goes to get some gloves and tells me to write my name on the cup. This is a surprisingly difficult task and gives me a new respect for phlebotomists. The tech checks the name and asks my wife’s name. I tell him and he asks, “Different last name?” Is it that uncommon?

I leave the man to his job and head back to the lobby to pay. “That will be $175,” the receptionist says. I nearly choke. Orgasms that expensive are supposed to come with real fake-boobed pirate chicks. I begin to wish that there was a hidden camera in the room – maybe then I could at least make some money back. Though probably not.

All paid up, I head out of the office through the secret side exit and pull out my phone to call my wife and tell her I survived. When I turn it on, I notice that program I had opened to record notes when I first got into the room is still running and now reads 27 minutes. I have been recording the whole thing. After a second’s mental debate, I hit “save.” It’ll be worth a giggle some day.

Up next… Round Three

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