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And I have to say that finding them made me sad. The disposal of both DVDs in such a desolate spot just seemed like such a furtive act. It seems to reek of shame, of guilt, of self-loathing. I can imagine the walk to the spot, the glance around and the quick flick of both over the fence and to anonymity. There's a determination not to be traced - it didn't go in the trash, to be recycled or any place that might lead back to the owner.
Yet this person, this man, obviously bought the DVDs. How horrifying an act must that have been for him? To have to stand, in line, trannies and bisexuals in hand, money at the ready (you can bet he didn't use a credit card) and wait as the guy on the till rang up his order, slipped it into a brown paper bag, determinedly avoided eye contact.
I wonder whether our furtive buyer surrounded his purchases with other - less specialized - titles? Titty Slickers or Black Booty in a bid to look less 'perverted'. I was once told by a newsagent friend that men who buy porn usually also buy chewing gum. It makes the porn purchase look more casual they think. More of an afterthought. She said taht it just gave her a mental image of them furiously masticating as they were furiously masturbating. All spunk and saliva. But I digress.
I wonder whether he actually watched the movies - or whether he was consumed by a self loathing that had him throw them away before he even got them home.
And I wonder whether the titles were evidence of a genuine kink or a half-way house toward homosexuality? It's a very hispanic area and I think that it might be more acceptable to have a thing for trannies than a desire for dick. But then, what do I know? For all I know the guy has watched and watched and watched. Surrounded by partying trannies and off their tits bisexuals, his mother in the corner making more rum punch and his gay lover, Jorge, laughing as they casually throw in another DVD and throw the other out of the window to a baying crowd.
Still it was an interesting find - and it did make me sad. Just like the showers in the old Virgin business lounge at Heathrow that carried the heavy air of a thousand business men's grubby self pleasure - it had the grubbiness of shame attached.
Maybe Jeopardy will make me less melancholy. I hope so.