"What's your favorite type of porn? Wait - I think I can guess."
She gives me a look - analyzes my current facial construction for anything that might give away my preferred kink. Maybe she's read somewhere that a raised eyebrow is indicative of a foot fetish, or that my drunken half-smile means I like those lactating clips. Whatever her deduction method may be, I'm eager to learn her guess.
She switches things up a bit, though: "You know what kind of porn I like?"
"What kind?"
"I like the gay stuff. I do. I like seeing guys wrestle each other, then get down to business. That's not your thing, is it?"
"It's not."
She gives me the look again. "Okay okay, let me guess. So you like the straight stuff, then. But what kind? Hmm, okay - you . . . like . . ."
Bruce is sitting next to us. He overhears and decides to add his two cents.
"Does torture porn count? I don't really watch much porn, but I like the torture porn stuff."
"You like torture?", she asks, successfully sidetracked.
"No - torture porn. Like those horror movies. Have you seen any of those 'Saw' films?"
"I think I saw the first one. But that's not porn."
"No, but it's called torture porn. No sex - they just show the torture part really graphically. That's what I enjoy watching."
"Oh, okay. Yeah, that's really not my thing."
The bartender asks if she wants another Belvedere. She agrees as a friend of hers comes up to the bar to say hello, sidetracking things further. Bruce doesn't say much else - goes back to his whiskey and thoughts of torture. I'm still standing there, hoping to get back to the topic at hand, but being fairly realistic about the odds of that actually happening. It is too late in the evening, and we've had way too much to drink, to expect any conversation to remain on a linear path.
She gives me a look - analyzes my current facial construction for anything that might give away my preferred kink. Maybe she's read somewhere that a raised eyebrow is indicative of a foot fetish, or that my drunken half-smile means I like those lactating clips. Whatever her deduction method may be, I'm eager to learn her guess.
She switches things up a bit, though: "You know what kind of porn I like?"
"What kind?"
"I like the gay stuff. I do. I like seeing guys wrestle each other, then get down to business. That's not your thing, is it?"
"It's not."
She gives me the look again. "Okay okay, let me guess. So you like the straight stuff, then. But what kind? Hmm, okay - you . . . like . . ."
Bruce is sitting next to us. He overhears and decides to add his two cents.
"Does torture porn count? I don't really watch much porn, but I like the torture porn stuff."
"You like torture?", she asks, successfully sidetracked.
"No - torture porn. Like those horror movies. Have you seen any of those 'Saw' films?"
"I think I saw the first one. But that's not porn."
"No, but it's called torture porn. No sex - they just show the torture part really graphically. That's what I enjoy watching."
"Oh, okay. Yeah, that's really not my thing."
The bartender asks if she wants another Belvedere. She agrees as a friend of hers comes up to the bar to say hello, sidetracking things further. Bruce doesn't say much else - goes back to his whiskey and thoughts of torture. I'm still standing there, hoping to get back to the topic at hand, but being fairly realistic about the odds of that actually happening. It is too late in the evening, and we've had way too much to drink, to expect any conversation to remain on a linear path.
