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Props To Tyler Knight For Writing The Most Poignant First Hand Account Of What It’s Like To Be Part Of A Buk*kke
The line of mopes wraps around the warehouse. It moves, I take a step. These men are not the chiseled, two-hundred pound studs with eight-inch-plus penises of the A-list. They will never get the call to work with even passable looking women in a scene for a mid-tier studio, and they know it. This is the bukkake line.
Sure, I’m in line just like these mopes are, but I’m different. I’ve done scenes for top-tier studios already. Christ, look at these guys, then look at me. I’m not like them. Even my shirt, the sample I modeled in the Krizia Uomo show in Milan two Springs ago, may be old but it’s a tangible link to what I’ve done. Proof of who I was. More than these mopes will ever accomplish in ten lifetimes.
Conversations include: a group scene where one mope brags about actually getting to fcuk the girl for a solid minute before another mope tapped him on the shoulder to swap out; another man boasts of his one-on-one scene with a used up, twenty-year pron veteran, milf that he managed to not fcuk up, which he proclaims, “We had a connection!”; to the pron parties they lie about being invited to.
The line moves. I take a step.
Directors for other bukkakes and group scenes (most not any better off than the mopes) rove up and down the bukkake line handing out business cards. One director poaches talent for a fifteen-on-one scene with a burly and pregnant woman that’s shooting down the street in an hour. The man front of me is swallowed by the building. I follow.
Inside the processing room we’re tagged and packed like cattle along an assembly line. I fill out the release and show my HIV/STD test to a production assistant that doesn’t even glance at it. Next, I hold my IDs next to my face and another P.A. takes a snapshot with a digital camera.
The line moves. I take a step.
The next P.A. keeps the beef line moving and into the killing floor. He tells me to be quiet as I enter because the filming has started. Through the doors I hear it. Panting. Snortling. Not unlike a kennel of English bulldogs. I enter the room.
Take a step.
The first thing you notice in the main room is: the line has congealed into a clump of man asses. They sag, and drag. Some pinch together, others hang down, flapping against the backs of legs. Hair covers some, puss drips from sores on another. Probably one hundred have packed in before you; you hurry to the side to strip your clothes to make room for the men that pile in behind you. The brightness of the lights is obscene and it’s cold like a meat locker–your breath hangs in the air in front of you, and the hairs on your legs and forearms stand erect. You pick an unoccupied spot on the floor for your clothes, and your bag, then walk to the crowd.
Take a step.
The other men are naked except for their shoes. The mob surrounding the girls (the rumor is there are actually two girls) has to be ten men deep because even though you’re taller than the average mope you can’t see the center. You hear, though. What you hear is squishy, wet, two-inch cocks jerking off in unison, like a thousand teens smacking chewing gum. With the sheer volume of men in the room the sound echoes off the walls. Punctuating this sound is the frequent moaning of your fellow man ass-mates at the front of the line as they dump their loads, followed by gargling.
Take a step.
Naked, you take your place in the pack, and no sooner than you do this does the trickle of new arrivals fill in around you; the group absorbs you into its mass. Inch by inch, the current moves you closer and closer to the front. Still, nothing is visible. Just the occasional cheap phone sex voices:
“Ooooohh yeah baaaaybeee. Gimmie that hot load, you stud!”
Another woman’s voice says, “Yeah, I’m soooo horny!”
More Awesomeness From The StomachPunch Network:
Antonio Silva vs. Daniel Cormier
Yes, there was a Strikeforce event over the weekend and even though their two biggest draws, Alistair Overeem and Fedor are on the outs, there was still good action to be seen. I’m posting 3 main card bouts which are definitely worth your time and they all end in knockouts!
I know this video is a couple years old and many of you might have seen it before but it’s phenomenally awesome and worth a revisit. It’s a Nike commercial and although they are in the business of selling products, their approach in marketing is different in an awesome way. I watched this video over and over again and it just captures me every single time. Take what you will from it but don’t let yourself fool you that this video is only about basketball.
Did it ever happen in your life that you’ve seen such a beautiful movie, such a perfect piece of art, such an unbelievable example of man-made splendor, such a gorgeous masterpiece that it hurt your eyes? Well, I did. And it wasn’t the Schindler’s List or the Lord of the Rings. No, it was the BEST action movie ever made. The BEST interpretation of the Governator. The BEST explosions. The BEST one-liners. The BEST plot. And the BEST tag-line. This movie is like the Art of Japanese gardening. Simple and beautiful. Balanced. Proportioned. There’s just the right amount of everything. And there is just about everything that should go into an action movie: car chases, explosions, drug-lords, sex, an invincible hero, sitting-duck-like enemies, humor, knife duels, fist fights, rocket launchers, blood, death, bullets, glass, pectorals, muscles, some more muscles, explosions and more explosions. You need more? It’s got Arnold. Need more? It’s got Arnold with a sense of humor. Still more? It’s got Arnold with a sense of humor and a rocket launcher. Put these three elements together and try to guess what happens. Destruction. On a mass scale. I won’t give away the plot, because it is too intricate and surprising. Basically it is Arnie on a mission to save his daughter. That’s about it. But what is important is not the fact that Arnie will save his daughter, but HOW will he save his daughter. Oh, are you saying that The Matrix is the best action movie of all time? Does The Matrix have Arnold Schwarzenegger? NO. Does Commando have the Matrix? YES. JOHN MATRIX, in fact. Oh, so you are saying that Neo dodges bullets? John Matrix doesn’t need to. He is bulletproof. He eats bullets for breakfast. Need more proof? I thought so… I gave this Caravaggio painted on celluloid a 10 only because IMDb doesn’t go to 11. This movie is so eye-blindingly beautiful I can’t find the words to properly end my commentary and render justice to this cinematic masterpiece. So I will just use the movie’s tag-line: Somewhere… somehow… someone’s going to pay!