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I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said. “It’s all about the cock,” I explained. “The physical appearance – the facial features – of a man makes no difference in a porn film.” I shrugged offhandedly. “It’s a bonus if you can find a guy with a decent physique, but that’s not even really important.”
Connie folded her arms and narrowed her eyes in a challenge. “That sounds like blatant hypocrisy,” she huffed. The color of her eyes had turned glacial.
I felt a bristle of temper. “It’s not,” I said. “It’s about understanding and identifying your audience – and the majority of my audience are men. Those viewers don’t care what the guy looks like. He could be a grotesque, two-headed monster – it wouldn’t matter at all. All the guys are looking at when they watch a porn film is the girl.” We were standing toe-to-toe, me towering over her, but Connie’s body was rigid with tension and defiance. “When I film, I focus on the girls,” I went on. “The guy might get one close up, and that’s usually his facial expression when we shoot the money-shot. Apart from that, every minute of screen time is dedicated to the actresses, their expressions, and the sex. If the guy appears on camera, it’s because he’s part of the scene. But he’s never the focus of the scene.”
“Well that’s sexism, then,” Connie growled persistently.
“Bullshit,” I said. “It’s sex… without the ‘ism’.”
There was a defiant snap behind Connie’s eyes and I could see angry words leap to her lips. I saw her expression flicker and change, and then gradually lose its ferocity.
She let out a long breath, like a boiling kettle lets off steam, restraining herself with a visible effort. She smiled at me but the expression was thin on her lips.
“Do you feel that porn films serve to objectify women?”
I frowned. “Jesus!” I said. “You sound like one of those conservative fucking feminists who scream at the top of their lungs every time women portray themselves in some way that is remotely sexy.”
Connie’s expression darkened. “I am not advocating that opinion, Mr. Cassidy. I’m merely asking the question of you. I want to know your opinion on the matter.”
“My opinion? I’ll tell you my opinion,” I said grimly. “I don’t know whether porn should bare the brunt of feminist criticism for objectifying all women as merely sexual playthings,” I said. “I think if women have been objectified then men are not entirely to blame. For a woman to be portrayed in a sexual way, the woman herself needs to be willing and compliant. You might want to blame men and blame porn for the way some people perceive women, but I don’t think it’s that simple.”
Connie gazed at me evenly. “What about you personally then?”
“Are you asking me whether I objectify women in my films?” I asked, my voice becoming lower and more resentful.
“No,” Connie said carefully. “I’m asking you whether you see women as sexual objects. I think it’s a fair question considering the work you do.”
I nodded, and my demeanor changed in an instant. “I think that’s a fair question too,” I admitted, and then said truthfully, “yes.”
Connie looked shocked. For long seconds her expression was blank, and then it began to fuse into a scowl. “You do? You admit it?”
“Yes,” I said, and then went on quickly. “When I first meet a woman, my initial opinion of her is formed in a sexual way,” I said. “I assess her on the basis of how she would look naked and performing in one of my films.”
Connie’s scowl became a look of outrage. “That’s not an opinion many people would admit to.”
I shrugged. “It’s the truth,” I said. “But,” I stabbed a finger into the air, “I believe I have that opinion because of the work I do.”
Connie looked disbelieving. She gave me a venomous glare. “Making porn films gives you the right to undress every women with your eyes the moment you meet them?”
“Yes,” I said.
“How can you justify that?”
“My objectifying of women is not because I am a man, or because I am sexist,” I explained patiently. “I objectify women because of my profession, in exactly the same way that a real estate agent walks into a house and their first thoughts are for the features of the home and what price it might fetch on the market.” I went on, hammering home my point. “My objectifying of women is exactly the same as a chef going to a restaurant for dinner. His first thoughts are for the quality of the food and the way it is presented. In every case our profession dictates the way we think. My profession is all about women and sex. How else would you expect me to think?”
Connie flapped her hands like sails that had lost their wind. She became suddenly fascinated with her fingernails, until the angry color had drained from her cheeks.
“When I got home last night, I went over my notes from yesterday and it occurred to me that I’m going to need some publicity shots to go with the article,” she said to change the subject and steer it away from the dangerous waters we had been floundering in. “Do you have any photos I could use?”
I nodded. “If you want a set of stills from any of my films, I can have them sent to you,” I said as I crossed the living room and reached into a desk drawer. “But I have these publicity photos if they will help.”
I laid several large color photos of myself out on the desk like playing cards. In one of the images I was standing naked, facing the camera with my arms folded. My penis hung long and heavy as a lead bar between my braced legs. I had shaved my crotch before the shoot – a trick to make everything appear even larger. In the image I was tanned dark brown. The photo had been taken in France twelve months ago. Since then the tan had faded, but the bulges and ripples remained.
“Oh, shit!” Connie gasped. She reeled away, her eyes enormous, her mouth agape. She clutched at her throat with one hand, a warm red flush spreading across her face.
“Don’t you have any publicity shots of yourself clothed?” she asked. Her voice was reedy and breathless.
“Why?”
Connie stared at me, stunned. “Because these are so… so confronting!” she explained. “They’re almost vulgar.”
“Vulgar?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
She nodded her head vehemently.
My lips pressed into a thin bloodless line and anger blazed behind my eyes, so that when I spoke my words were a simmering hiss. “If I was a cop, you would want photos of me in uniform. Same if I was a solider or a pilot. If I were a scientist, you would expect to photograph me at a desk behind a telescope – and if I were an astronaut, you would want to photograph me in my spacesuit. This,” I stabbed an angry finger at the photos, “is me in my uniform. This is my work – my career. I’m not ashamed of what I do, Connie,” I felt my temper simmering, right at the brink of boiling over.
Connie seemed to recoil, maybe shocked. There was a peculiar blankness in her eyes, edged with the residue of her defiance.
“They’re tasteless,” she said softly.
I blinked.
I stared.
Then I snapped.
“You know something,” I said suddenly, “you’re a very rude woman.”
Connie glared at me. She flinched, and a flush of color spread hot across her cheeks.
“How dare you criticize me,” my voice crackled like a bushfire. “I didn’t ask for this interview – your magazine requested it. The last thing I expected was to be judged by some arrogant, narrow-minded woman who has a grudge against the porn industry.”
Connie stood, rooted to the spot. The color in her cheeks blazed and the expression in her eyes became disconcerted.
I lost the last of my control.
“Fuck off,” I said with an impulsive hiss of decision, and the final shreds of Connie’s bravado collapsed in an instant. I snatched up her handbag and hurled it through the open front door. It hit the top step and landed in the garden. “I don’t need to be interviewed by ‘Infinity’ magazine.” She seemed to cringe beneath the lash of my v
oice. I seized Connie by her wrist and marched her out the door.
Slammed it closed behind her.
That felt good.
I closed my eyes, threw my head back and let out a long tense breath – shrugged off the anger like a heavy cloak.
I heard the patter of light footsteps behind me and opened my eyes to see a naked young woman coming down the hallway with a radiant smile on her face. She had long dark hair, and exotic features. Her voice was a sultry purr.
