Sex
When C-listers copulate
The grainy, night-vision sex video circulating the Internet will satisfy people wanting to see Paris Hilton debased. (Is that redundant?) But Pamela and Tommy Lee have nothing to fear.
It’s beginning to get cold outside, and cozy office cubicles this week were warmed by the hotly anticipated release of the Paris Hilton Sex Tape — or at least the three-minute highlight reel that’s circulating on the Web, and will have to satisfy until a director’s cut premieres.
Is it really Paris Hilton, the 22-year-old full-time party girl and heiress to the Hilton Hotel family fortune, on the grainy video? The woman certainly looks like her — at least in close-up. And there seems no doubt a video exists. While Hilton denied as much a few weeks ago, her publicist, Siri Garber, has admitted its existence to the press, including Salon. “It is actually illegal for anyone to posess this tape — it is a felony — and the Hilto [sic] family is taking action against anyone who has the tape,” Garber told Salon in an e-mail, responding to our inquiries last week, “so I suggest you do not pursue this further …”
Too late. As of Monday, bootlegs of the video had popped up around the Internet, claiming to feature Hilton having sex with one Rick Solomon three years ago. Solomon is an independent movie producer and online gambling entrepreneur (who is — alas — not the same Rick Solomon who produced “Free Willy”). He is married to famously bratty former “Beverly Hills 90210″ star Shannen Doherty, and has also dated Devon Aoki, the heir to the Benihana restaurant chain fortune. In other words, when the Paris Hilton Sex Tape is released on DVD (in time for next Christmas?), it should bear the subtitle “When C-Listers Copulate.”
The Hilton family is trying to stop Seattle Internet porn company Marvad from peddling the video on its Sexbrat.com site. So is Solomon, who is also threatening the Hiltons with a possible defamation suit, claiming they say he took advantage of Hilton (Garber told reporters Hilton “can’t even get up” in the video, and “she is the victim here.”) But the bigger question is: Should we care? For those somehow unfamiliar with Hilton and her younger sister Nicky, they became famous in boom-time New York for being blond and rich and dancing on nightclub tables (and for a picture of Paris’ hooch still widely circulated on the Internet). They are a staple of the gossip columns. Paris is also the star of Fox’s upcoming, and long delayed, “The Simple Life” — a reality show that transplants Hilton and another rich friend into a poor Southern family. The appeal of the show and the sex video don’t seem fundamentally different: Watch the rich girl get debased!
And, assuming the clip making its rounds on the Internet is indeed of Hilton and Solomon, it definitely accomplishes that.
The version of the video available in the Salon New York offices was not of the highest quality. Shot in what may have originally been black-and-white, it appeared — perhaps because of the monitor, or because of a poor duplication, or just a cheap camera — to be a reverse negative, causing it to look sleek and atmospheric, as though stills of it might someday hang at the Whitney.
It begins with something we could not figure out, but soon slips into a shot of a woman who seems to be Hilton on her back, being rhythmically rocked back and forth by what soon appears to be Solomon’s slightly larger than average but nothing to write home about penis. A quick cut brings us to him, reclining in bed, stroking himself. Within moments, she has joined him. After staring at the camera, her back arched, her chin tilted as if she were on a red carpet, she turns and straddles him.
Another quick cut brings her back up onto her knees. Dramatically tossing her blond mane, she turns as he enters her from behind for some doggie-style rutting. Then, quickly, she is on top again, facing the camera, swaying her hips from side to side.
It’s in these shots that the she looks her best — the graininess adds texture and contour to her body. Her raccoony eyes go momentarily stark white; she is a pornographic Orphan Annie, with some of Darryl Hannah’s Pris from “Blade Runner.”
But her glamour dissipates in the next and final scene, which has the greenish, serial-killer-chic look of night-vision photography. You half expect to hear a voice explaining that these images are coming to you thanks to the brave reporters embedded at the No-tell Motel. Her face looks confused and drawn. She stares blankly at the camera, as though she has been drugged, and then begins to perform oral sex on Solomon — or on someone; it’s not as if we see his face.
It is in these shots that the woman looks most like the familiarly vapid socialite we recognize. In fact, the rest of the film could be of someone else.
The Paris Hilton Sex Tape will immediately recall the gold standard of pilfered celebrity smut, the Pamela and Tommy Lee tape of 1996, though the Paris Hilton Sex Tape will not be flattered by the comparison. The choppy three-minute clip lacks all of the heart and hilarity of the Lee romp, which featured the “Baywatch” star and her swain in several bootylicious locations, in the days before their kids were born, before she filed domestic violence charges against him and started dating Kid Rock.
That film had an emotional and sexual center. There was something stirring (if frightening) about the way that Pam unzipped her husband’s pants during a road trip and took his enormous and erect penis in hand. “Look how lucky your mommy is,” Anderson intones to her then-unborn children. “This is going to get her through the rest of her life.” There were even belly laughs, like when they were on the boat, and he used his then-flaccid but still impressive member to honk the horn and yell to a swimming Pam, “I fucking love you, baby.”
No, the Paris Hilton Sex Tape appears to be free of these moments, though the camerawork is at least steady. But the clip is not funny, it’s not warm — it’s not even hot. It looks instead like a poor-quality home video of two narcissist strivers dying to get noticed by the world. And by those standards, I suppose, the film can be considered a success.
Rebecca Traister writes for Salon. She is the author of "Big Girls Don't Cry: The Election that Changed Everything for American Women" (Free Press). Follow @rtraister on Twitter. More Rebecca Traister.
Massage therapists rubbed wrong by sex talk
A Jennifer Love Hewitt show and the Travolta allegations have masseuses tired of being confused for sex workers
(Credit: iStockphoto/sybanto) Joe, a licensed massage therapist, knows what it’s like having a famous client who expects something extra. He had an Academy Award-winning actor begin gyrating on his massage table before raising his hips in the air to show off his erection. “He was hoping that I would play with him in some shape or form,” he says.
Needless to say, Joe isn’t surprised by allegations by two masseurs that John Travolta got handsy during massages. (Travolta’s attorney has denied all the allegations, and called them “ridiculous.”) “It happens all the time,” he says, and not just with celebrity clients. He frequently encounters men who try to fondle him, usually while he’s working on their glutes or lower back and their hand happens to be level with his crotch. “They think they’re so original, but they’re all so much the same,” Joe says, his voice rising. “They all use the same tactics, the same body movements, the same gyrations and grinding my table, the [heavy] breathing.”
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
A night at the vibrator museum
Early vibrators were hand-cranked, two-person jobs -- and prescribed by doctors. How far we've come since then
(Credit: Antique Vibrator Museum) I can now say that I’ve used a turn-of-the-century vibrator — on my hand, but still.
The silver, hand-cranked contraption is usually kept behind glass at Good Vibrations’ Antique Vibrator Museum in San Francisco — but staff sexologist Carol Queen made a rare exception. “This is very special,” she whispered, unlocking the case and carefully pulling out Dr. Johansen’s Auto Vibrator, a relic from 1904. The “auto” part is not so much: It was a two-person job, with her having to crank the device’s handle to get it thrumming. Pressing my finger tips to its inch-wide circular platform of pleasure, I was pleasantly surprised by its power.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
Maggie Gyllenhaal on sexual liberation
The beloved indie star tells Salon about her "vibrator movie" and why she loves playing transgressive women
Maggie Gyllenhaal (Credit: Reuters/Mark Blinch) When I met Maggie Gyllenhaal about six weeks ago, she was enormously and gloriously pregnant, stretching out on a sofa with her shoes off and feet up in a Manhattan office building. (Since that time, Gyllenhaal and husband Peter Sarsgaard have welcomed their second daughter, Gloria Ray, to the world.) We were there to talk about “Hysteria,” the charming, lightweight feminist farce from director Tanya Wexler that explores a key event in the history of female sexuality: the invention of the vibrator by Mortimer Granville, a Victorian doctor who was seeking to cure the mysterious “female malady” that lends the movie its title.
Continue Reading CloseMother-daughter sexperts
Susie Bright and her daughter, Aretha, make parental talks about sex look easy -- and fun
Most parents loathe talking to their kids about the birds and the bees, let alone pubic hair grooming, faked orgasms and “water sports” — but most parents are not legendary “sexpert” Susie Bright.
Better than talking about these things, she penned an advice column in 2009 with her daughter, Aretha, then 19, for the ladyblog Jezebel. Their answers to questions about everything from porn to Paxil were unflinching but playful, and at times controversial. Now the pair have collected those columns into a new e-book, “Mother/Daughter Sex Advice.” Together, they read as an irreverent version of “Our Bodies, Ourselves” for the Internet age. The mother-daughter team also reflect on what the experience of writing the column was like, and it turns out it wasn’t as weird as many would think: For the most part, it was just a continuation of conversations they had been having throughout Aretha’s life.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
On the rack: A cultural history of breasts
Did breasts evolve for lactation or to enhance sex appeal? A new book explores why they matter
(Credit: iStockphoto/NadyaPhoto) It’s hard to be boobs. Sure, breasts are cherished as givers of milk and the pinnacle of sex appeal, but the modern world hasn’t been good to mammaries.
As Florence Williams writes in “Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History,” they’re the most tumor-prone organ in the human body. They “soak up pollution like a pair of soft sponges,” and transmit environmental toxins to babies through breast milk. “Breasts are bellwethers for the changing health of people,” she says. While we’ve “genetically modified our crops to be able to protect them from the ill effects of pesticides,” Williams writes, “we haven’t yet figured out how to modify our breasts.” Aside from using saline and silicone, of course.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
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