Off the Clock: It’s human nature, brother!

When it comes to deciding on a topic for this column, some weeks I open up the internet and ask the muses for guidance. Some weeks Gawker posts a one minute clip from a Hulk Hogan sex tape.

Whenever I mention to someone that, at one time, I made my living as an on-camera adult entertainer, no matter who they are, they always come around to the same question: “Where can I find the tapes?”

You see, it’s not about being attracted to me, and it’s not even necessarily a sexual thing. It’s pure curiosity: as humans, one of our greatest fascinations is the behavior of other humans. I’d venture to say our behavior with our collective pants off is one of the most intriguing facets of this. And I’ve lived enough to be the sole supplier of curriculum for a Human Behavior 101 class. To avoid exaggeration, let’s say it’s a one semester class. I mean, I’m no Wilt Chamberlain, or anything.

The fact is, for as much as I’ve “behaved” in my own life, you’d think I would have little interest in what others do in the bedroom. After all, I’ve been there, done that, and not only got the T-shirt, but it’s laid on a lot of bedroom floors. But, even a girl like me, who comes with enough stories to fill a Stephen King-sized novel, is rabidly curious about what happens in other people’s bedrooms.

So much so, in fact, that one of my favorite life adventures, thus far, involved me accompanying a friend who was working as an escort on one of her “dates” and watching her “get to know” a famous NASCAR driver, because that’s what he liked. Being watched getting to know someone, I mean.

Was it weird, seeing my friend’s face smushed against the underpants parts of someone whom I’d only previously seen wearing a flame retardant zip-up jumpsuit? Yes. Was I enthralled, just the same? You bet. Truth is, I was paid a pretty penny (though my penny was not as pretty as hers, obviously), just to observe. The further truth is, I totally would have done it for free.

Another one of my fondest “adult” memories was when I was in the business. I’d arrive early for my shift, because staying after was out of the question as that job was exhausting, and watch the other performers on the monitors that were set up in the control room. Each person was free to create her own show, based on what she was comfortable with, and I was absolutely mesmerized by the things the other girls were and weren’t willing to do when alone in a room with only a bed, a camera, a microphone, and the internet watching.

Again, it’s not an arousal thing. It’s pure, unadulterated nosiness. I like to know what other people do when the lights, and engines, and inhibitions, are off.

So, imagine my thrill, every time there’s rumor of a new celebrity sex tape. It’s like “Stars–They’re Just Like Us!” the bedroom edition. Instead of “They shop for books!”, “They parade with their pooches!”, and “They enjoy snacks!”, it’s like “They make stupid faces when they orgasm!”, “They suck at dirty talk!”, and “They call out their own name while humping someone equally vacant looking!”

The latest, and, judging from the one minute compilation clip posted by Gawker (NSFW), very entertaining entry into the Celeb Sex Tape Scandal Hall of Fame belongs to Hulk Hogan.

According to the website, an anonymous source delivered a DVD of the long-rumored cinematic masterpiece, requesting no credit or payment, just that the film be viewed.

The woman, the only other person shown on camera though a second man’s voice is heard off-screen, is rumored to be Heather Clem, ex-wife of Hogan’s best friend, DJ Bubba the Love Sponge. The other man, who appears in voice only, is not identified.

For obvious reasons, the 30 minute sexcapade couldn’t be posted in its entirety. Instead, Gawker edited the dirty down to a one minute “best of” compilation, which can be viewed on their website.

The thing that struck me most about the clip is how painfully real it is. Hulk Hogan is amiable, he’s a little embarrassed, he’s modest. He genuinely enjoys himself, then he genuinely doesn’t know what to do, afterwards. Stars–They Are, Indeed, Just Like Us!

I don’t know if it’s the awkward small talk he makes with the woman who is polite but obviously not terribly engaged; or the time his phone rings and the ringtone is a pop song by his daughter, Brooke, and he has to look at it to make sure it isn’t his son, Nick, calling because they’re supposed to meet later on that night; or the fact that he states he’s just eaten and feels “like a pig”; but I found this clip endearing and a little sad. Everybody needs physical release and the Hulkster, with his long, thin, peroxide-blonde hair and overly brown skin, is just trying to get his.

But, still, were the whole 30 minutes available, I’d watch it in a heartbeat. Just like Tommy Lee’s boat show or Paris Hilton’s night vision romp, it’s not about genitals, it’s about humanity.

I love it when people let their guards down and their freak flags fly, whether they be famous or ordinary. When the pants come off, you can bet I’ll be watching, listening, and asking questions, the answers to which are absolutely none of my business. Besides, I can’t make all the stories.

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The Checkout Girl

The Checkout Girl is Jennifer Lemons. She’s a storyteller, comedian, and musician. If you don’t see her sitting behind her laptop, check the streets of Richmond for a dark-haired girl with a big smile running very, very slowly.

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