Wednesday, August 8, 2007
House of Perversity
Horatio writes: Magazines were most often a gateway drug. And videos -- Betamax or VHS -- were rarely far behind. This post from LA is classic. We are are eager to hear your tales of classic scenes, thesbian performance, and even, great lines that are burned in your memory.
Submitted by Jeff Holt, Los Angeles:
My prize possession -- my equivalent of the Willy Wonka Golden ticket -- growing up was the one VHS porn video I was able to buy off a class mate. I watched it so many times I can remember it intimately. It pretty well defined everything I knew about women and about sex between the ages of eleven and sixteen. It was called HOUSE OF PERVERSITY and was dubbed into English from another language – for some reason, I always thought the women looked French. The plot line was about a mansion in which the lord and lady would take it in turns to proposition their staff who were always game to put down their brooms or cooking implements for little lip locking action Lady Chatterly style. The movie began with the two ladies of the house – one blonde and one brunette – having breakfast whilst being waited on by their butler, a large black man with a fake looking moustache. Whilst he was pouring their tea, the women idly discussed who they “would have” today. The blonde one suggested “Tom the Gardener.” An idea the brunette nixed because “I had him yesterday.” They then proceeded to exhaust a slew of other ideas – from Henry the gamekeeper to Trevor the driver before the blonde had a eureka moment fir for Archimedes himself. She looked at the man serving them and said with a giddy salacious tone, “What about Clyde the Butler?” Clyde giggles nervously and subserviently, looking down with shame, managing to squeak out “Oh no ladies, I have work to do…” but both ladies stand up, and a tinny funky soundtrack replaces the pastoral harp music which had been strumming discretely in the background to this point. And as it does, Clyde put down his silver tray and unzips his pants pulling out his manhood with the immortal line delivered in the deepest Jamaican Patois… “I hope you ladies like the taste of Chocolate.” The last word was drawn out so it seemed to consist of an endless amount of syllables… “cho-ck-ow-la-ay-te.”