Walker Zupp

[Disclaimer: As much as I detest genre, this is a piece of creative non-fiction, where the names are not real, but the entities are. Most of them.]

My first exposure to porn was aged 15. I viewed the exploits of a rubber-donged superman called OG Mudbone whose witticisms were matched only by the 14-inch prosthetic he adorned for each naked and mostly hilarious adventure. Soon after, I discovered genuinely large penises and genuinely large breasts.

I have always disliked watching porn where there is no laughter. Given that the majority of porn has little to no laughter, this poses something of a problem, and directs me to several regulars. Jack Napier—out of work since a near-fatal motorbike crash—is always laughing. His affability is infectious, and he comes across as highly professional. Another admirable regular is Gianna Michaels: a Hooter’s waitress-turned-porn-star, whose brassy giggle I find more alluring than her sizeable cleavage and prodigious sex drive. These people are the exceptions.