I recently came across the shocking news that a Scandinavian porno company is touring the length and breadth of the land offering hard cash to induce the flower of Gaelic Irish womanhood to get down and dirty on digicam.
According to my sources (i.e. The lrish Daily Mirror), pornography with an Irish theme is a booming market on t'internet. Known as 'Lepreporn' and featuring amateur artistes, this particular example of polymorphous perversity has been kicking around in cyberspace for the last year and a half. An industry insider quoted in the article said
Irish girls are very popular in the US market - it's their accents....Irish girls look more natural [I love this bit-LG] even if they are carrying a few extra pounds or their teeth ain't perfect.
The Merriam-Webster on-line dictionary defines pornography in the following way:
1 : the depiction of erotic behavior (as in pictures or writing) intended to cause sexual excitement
2 : material (as books or a photograph) that depicts erotic behavior and is intended to cause sexual excitement
The key concept in both definitions seems to be the concept of 'sexual excitement' and I while I appreciate that folks' boats can get floated in many, many different ways when it comes to sexual behaviour, the very concept of a specifically Irish pornography stretches my over-stimulated erotic imagination. In fact it would probably stretch the combined and extensive libidinous imaginations of Freud, Kinsey, Havelock Ellis and the Marquis de Sade.
Despite extensive (and I do mean extensive) on-line research, I have been unable to locate any examples of this sub-genre (or at least any I could download for free) but rest assured I shall continue my tireless search leaving no stone unturned until I emerge stiff and possibly satisfied from my labours on your behalf.
Whatever. In the absence of physical evidence it seems to me that this is just another example of the kind of shamrockery aimed at exploiting gullible Americans of Irish descent who, God love them, no longer feel obliged to pass their tithes to Noraid since peace broke out and are looking for other outlets for their thanatic impulses.
The idea of ethno-erotica aimed at the kind of folks who provide a much needed annual boost to the Irish bawneen and gansey industry (now re-located to Bangla Desh for cost reasons) and who think tweed is the fabric de rigeur amongst natives of this isle (Have you seen that episode of Murder She Wrote?(and before you ask, yes I do work at home during the day)) frankly takes the chocolate Kimberly (but hopefully not after it's been applied to some erogenous zone or other).
Lepreporn can only be a disappointment to them. We are talking here about people whose first questions on arrival tend to be about the state of affairs in Glockamara or the paddling proclivities of a certain mountain range. Their Celtophilic fantasies probably consist of comely, if somewhat cuddly and crooked toothed, cáilíní doing the auld Riverdance down the crossroads before snuggling up for a chaste kiss under the counterpane with a cross between John Wayne and Piers Brosnan. Somehow I can't see signs appearing in Carroll's gift shops warning of 'adult oriented material beyond this point'.
Now in my limited experience, sexual fantasy is always best kept just that. The moment you start turning your fantasies into reality there's only a couple of destinations to end up. Surprise(it wasn't like that in the movie); disappointment (ditto); embarrassment (double ditto) or a painful mixture of the three are probably the least consequences when you endeavour to translate erotic imaginings into sweaty reality.
Unfortunately, in Ireland, that necessary separation isn't the rule. Traditionally, at the level of fantasy, the peak of Irish ecstasy culminates in a expensive wedding followed by years of fraught conjugal relationships, a clutch of ungrateful offspring and some property to pass onto same.
If that were not bad enough, the actuality of sexual behaviour in Ireland (Temple Bar on a Saturday night, notwithstanding, or perhaps very much withstanding) is still rooted in a kind of rigourist Catholic sensibility that would not be out of place in dungeons the darkest practitioners of BDSM. When John Lydon said 'What's so good about two minutes of squelching?', he was revealing less about his anarchist ideology than his Irish Catholic up-bringing.
Shame, guilt, pain, not to mention the loss of your mortal soul still figure highly in the background of contemporary Irish sexual conduct. Translating the price of an impure thought or an occasion of sin into an appropriate imagery and still remaining within the law would have the Marquis de Sade tearing someone else's hair out.
Anyway, to our American guests who flock to these shores clutching their copies of Fucked in Ireland enjoy your Valentine's day, but remember; be careful out there.....