My attempt at writing erotica

In this film I will play myself and do all of my own “stunts”
Some digital editing will be required to flatten my abs and add two inches to my penis to bring it to a full eleven; industry standard.

We open on me, buff and bearded, oozing raw masculinity like a young Chuck Norris on leave from Delta Force. I wait impatiently sitting behind the wheel of my black Ford F-350 Supercab 4x4 with the 6” suspension lift and oversized off road tires. Pacing back and forth in the back seat is my beloved black lab Satch, named after famous negro-leaguer Satchel Paige.

A convertible pulls in the drive and out steps a 24 year old Catherine Zeta Jones. She has just come from the gym and is running late. She climbs in the cab and with a kiss she apologizes as there was no time to change out of her bike shorts and sports bra. “That’s gonna cost you.” I say with a playful smile as I press the accelerator and spray gravel across the yard.

As we barrel down the highway surrounded on all sides by gorgeous mountain scenery ’93 Catherine Zeta is apologizing profusely to my penis for her tardiness. The driver of a passing eighteen wheeler witnesses this spectacle and expresses his boisterous approval with a tug on his air horn. Jonsie is not distracted.
Production note: The musical selection for this scene is “Eastbound and Down” by Jerry Reed from Smokey and the Bandit.

Catherine, Satch, and I arrive at a quaint log cabin nestled among the tall pines. The interior of the cabin is completely decorated in a tasteful Realtree camo pattern; furniture, window dressings, bedding, etc…We are both travel weary and agree that a candle lit bubble bath is just what the doctor ordered. This is a family blog so I will just say that this scene involves lots of suds, lots of splashing water, a snorkel, and ends with CJ and I tangled up in a camouflage shower curtain.

I wake early the next morning and leave Catherine naked and sleeping as I slip out of the cabin. At first light I spot a massive 10 point trophy buck from my deer stand and drop him where he stands at fifty yards with a single broadhead just behind the shoulder blade. I emerge from the tree line with the buck draped across my shoulders. I toss the deer on the ground and remove my shirt. My large muscles glisten with sweat. As I take axe in hand and proceed to chop down a massive pine tree with three swift swings Zeta Jones watches through a kitchen window (She is fixing me a sandwich; Turkey and Muentser with chipotle mayo). She is consumed by my raw animal sex appeal and gives in to her desire. She slowly opens her robe and slides her hand between her taught thighs….

Just as I finish my turkey sandwich there is a knock at the door. Cathy opens it to find her old college roommate Carmen Elektra! She is thrilled to see her friend, as am I.

The girls decide to catch up on old times by taking the quads for a ride in a muddy field.
Production note: a montage of the girls riding atvs spraying mud everywhere is set to Gretchen Wilson’s hit single “Here for the Party”.

The scene culminates in a playful impromptu wrestling match that ends in a draw. As luck would have it the cabin is equipped with an outdoor shower. As the girls rinse mud from their perfect bodies they are compelled to relive their first lesbian experience from their freshman year at USC.

Later that evening the cabin is filled with laughter as the three of us trade tequila shots. Carmen has talked us into a game of strip Pai gow; Everybody wins! It isn’t long before the game devolves into a spirited manage a’ trios. We are a heaving panting mass of flesh with arms and legs sticking out in all directions. Following an earth shattering triple simultaneous orgasm the three of us collapse, exhausted, in a heap of cards, poker chips, and bodily fluids.
Production note: We will shoot this scene a second time, including Satch, for the unrated version.

I come to the next morning, Catherine and Carmen in my arms. We decide to leave the cabin in its state of disarray as it is a rental and the deposit has long since been lost. As we depart the cabin, returning to our mundane lives, we are already making plans to return for another wild weekend at Moose Knuckle Lodge.

Fade to credits…

Like no film I have ever seen

I finally feel like I have something to write about. There is a short list of movies that have kicked up the dust in the room and activated my tear ducts without my permission. Glory, Rudy, Field of Dreams, and you can now add United 93. This latest addition, however, is the only one to cause me physical injury. As I type this I am astounded to report that I emerged from the theatre with a strained right hamstring which was perfectly fine when I entered. This movie was so intense that I honestly held a muscle contraction for the duration.

I did not know anyone who lost their life on September 11th, 2001 nor do I know anyone who lost a loved one in the attacks. Still, this movie was a visceral experience. I decided to go see it for precisely that reason. I heard that it was raw and powerful and I was intrigued by the possibility of a movie going experience that went beyond simple entertainment. I was not prepared.

Many people are of the opinion that not enough time has passed since this tragedy. They say it’s too soon to be releasing a film about 9/11; that we need time to heal. I believe that there is a need for films that go beyond mere entertainment; a need for films that make us feel, that make us think. This movie needed to be viewed while the memories are still fresh. Not because the viewing audience needs to remember what they felt that day, I know I will never forget where I was or how I felt when I watched the towers fall. But because the actors needed to have those emotions near the surface. JFK was filmed 28 years after the assassination of President Kennedy. Twenty-eight years from now no one playing any of the young men and women whos’ heroics were depicted in this film would know what we all felt that day. Every one of us that saw the live coverage of the second plane hitting the towers and watched the news reports come in about the actions of the passengers of United Flight 93 thought the same thing, “What must have been going through their minds?”

One reason the picture is so forceful is the strength of the acting. For me, the suspension of disbelief was almost absolute. I lamented the inclusion of recognizable actors Rebecca Schull and David Rasche not because of their performances (they were fantastic) but because it momentarily disrupted my total immersion in the film when I thought “What the hell is Sledge Hammer doing here!?” With that one exception I didn’t feel like I was watching a performance. I felt like I was watching real people. As I sat watching these people come to grips with their fate and making gut wrenching final calls to their loved ones I succumbed to the emotions and the tears trickled down my cheeks. I wondered if others in the theatre were doing the same but I couldn’t look away from the screen.

The film also derives much of its intensity from the fact that all of the scenes are shot from the point of view of a participant. Everything is shot relatively close and from angles that insert you into the action. When the terrorists pass through a security checkpoint it’s as if you are standing behind them in line. You feel like you are in the huddle as military officers struggle to get a handle on the situation. When the heroes rush and overtake their captor you are just off the lead man waiting for your opportunity to pummel that son of a bitch. Finally, the movie ends with a view through the cockpit as the plane spirals toward that Pennsylvania field.

Another reason this movie is so unbelievably potent is that this actually happened and you already know the outcome. The inevitable tragic end is the lens through which you view all of the characters’ actions. It lends profound meaning to every moment. When the air traffic controller’s supervisor fails to grasp the situation you get irritated. When a passenger hustles aboard at the last second, happy he didn’t miss his flight, your heart sinks. When a stewardess mentions in passing that she’s going to cut back on flights to spend time with her babies, it breaks.

As the closing credits rolled I held my head in my hands, wiped my eyes, and tried to collect myself. Nobody in the theatre made a sound as we shuffled out into the lobby. Though I was still somewhere inside myself and in no mood to talk the young man next to me offered his assessment, “Kinda makes you want to kick some Al Queda Ass doesn’t it?”

I responded with a grunt appearing to agree, but as I walked to my car I attempted to asses my own feelings. I didn’t feel anger. I felt a tremendous respect for those people that, in the absolute moment of truth, were able to find something in themselves that was stronger than their fear. I also felt a profound sadness for the families of those that died. I only hope that in time a sense of pride will, in some small measure, ease their pain.