Behind the Green Door
Welcome to a week-long series of posts with the titles of classic porn films. Readers contributed titles in this post, and I am writing stories that somehow fit the title in an effort to stretch my ability to form creative connections. Could be hit or miss. We’ll see. Thanks for starting 2012 in my little sliver of the web.
I am a door. I am green. See? Here’s what I look like, though I resent that frilly, fake piece of attire. SHE likes to hang stupid stuff on me. I prefer living in the buff. It’s more refined. Approachable. Welcoming.
She decided to paint me a color that screams look-at-me mixed with a little come-on-in. I stand out against the color HE chose, the one that conjures an angry horizon juxtaposed against foamy whitecaps on a stormy day. HE prefers minimalist hues blended with a dash of the forbidding.
That’s the fine art of the tease. Demure refinement requires a mere sliver of ornamented flesh to inflame imaginations and arouse fantasies. A glimpse of cleavage. Perhaps a slit that travels an extra inch of leg. A flash of a toned back. Possibility. In playing my role, I’m nothing short of masterful, the dash of boom-boom that makes people burn to enter me whole. If people think I’m easy……well, that diminishes my powers of seduction.
That’s why I’m so upset that an upstart is prostituting my signature look. They even mentioned me, lauding my studied attire as the inspiration for their own grasp at titillation. Their rendition is a cheap date, one of those I’m trying too hard to look like a tart tarts, teetering in rhinestone-encrusted plastic shoes and a tight mini-skirt. Too much fuel can sear the eyes in a cauldron of the hectic heat. People may gawp and gasp, but they must eventually rest their assaulted orbs by looking elsewhere. Do you have a neighborhood tragedy like this one?
Robert Johnson of The Quotidian Hudson contributed the porn classic Behind the Green Door. Little did he know MTM and I live behind the green door all the time.