In a forgotten warehouse tucked in an unwashed crease of a Glasgow housing scheme, at around 4pm, bathed by a five thousand watt lighting rig, I fucked in front of a film crew. I don't mean I fucked up, I literally mean I fucked. In front of high speed camera.
No man likes to admit he is Speedy Gonzales between the sheets, but, my precious reader, I was not, I hasten to add, chosen for any sexual prowess. Nor for a particularly nice arse (though some think it's cute).
I'll tell you! just wait! I'm not rushing the jewel in my professional crown!
I can even tell you the title of the film which is still commercially available - if not widely circulated, where you can see, for less that two seconds, my bobbing, pulsating, animated sex-bum, (well, thighs actually) sharing screen time with a bluebottle.
Yes. A bluebottle and the BBC natural history unit with a thrusting twelve inch close-up lens. Wish I could sport the same credentials but never mind dead reader, this really happened.
All those years of being a worried podgy teenager, developing eating disorders, painful shy days and listening to The Smiths all night, here I was, at last, my Boogie-Nights(c) debut. How I'd teach the arses at school to shutthefuckup, because I am a sex double. See, the actors went home and they called in the professional, the stunt double, the hip-thrusting, bed-springs-bustin', little shag-bunny, the
I can tell you the director. He went on to bigger things.
The bluebottle bit is essential to the plot of this tale.
Bluebottles are fast. And by comparison, people are slow. Anyone who has tried to swat a bluebottle will testify to this.
This poses a problem does it not, if one were to cast both a bluebottle
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