Daphne, Homegrown Video

Some folks just absolutely ooze with Homegrown Video’s truest spirit, the unbridled sexuality that pumps life into those homemade sex tapes. For example, when the time came to represent, to stand up, to deliver the goods, Daphne would always go the extra mile to make good great. Whenever she and I shot some amateur porn taking turns running the camera, shooting photos, and that sort of thing, if she became turned on by the action then off would come the clothes and Daphne would be wanting to jump into the middle, usually pulling me by the Johnson to join in the fun.
Once, while I was finishing up shooting a live show from our San Diego studio, Daphne disappeared briefly. I was a little miffed that she was leaving me to deal with everything. You can only imagine what the aftermath of several hours of live sex looks like. Sweaty sheets pulled out of place with a tangle of spent condoms slithering around oozing cum like runny noses drip. There is wet underwear and stinky shoes. The swampy sweet fog of greasy lust permeates and clouds the senses. Don’t get me wrong.
I love it. But….
I just don’t like being the one that has to clean it up. So I called for her. No answer. Where the hell did she take off to? Things were put back in order. The sheets changed, the condoms gingerly coaxed into waste buckets. I was sitting on the bed pausing to enjoy a moment of peace and cleanliness when Daphne stepped in. She had changed into a sexy red gown and put her hair up. She crawled up on the bed and lifted the dress to show off her gorgeous ripe pear of an ass. She looked back at me mischievously. “I want you to fuck my ass” she begged.
I turned back on the live feed. The show would definitely go on.

In terms of automobiles, a car is considered vintage if it was originally sold between the 1920’s and 1930’s. However, when it comes to amateur porn, vintage means it was produced in the 1980’s and is considered “classic” if it was produced in the 90s. As a result, there is really only one company that can lay much claim to actually having authentic vintage amateur porn, and of course that is Homegrown Video.
The 80s were not just the time for big hair and lots of neon lycra, Laura Ashley dresses with big stuffed shoulders and frilly embellishments. The eighties were when amateur porn still had the innocence of being something folks did mostly for fun and frolic rather than trying to make the cut for fortune and fame and be the next Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian. You can tell by the way the bedroom is lit, by the candor and enthusiasm of the people making their first homemade sex tape, this is when making amateur porn was mostly done for the ones making the video and not for any anticipated future audience.
Homegrown Video has been digging deep in its vaults to keep up restoration efforts of this material, which is now approaching 30 years. The goal is to make it all available online, even the stuff that formerly “fell on the cutting room floor” when the scene was originally released back in the day. In that way, Homegrown Video adds becoming historical archives to its resume. Researchers may one day study the changes in sexuality by reviewing how amateur porn has evolved over time. When did women start shaving their bush? Why did anal sex become so popular? How did changes in technology effect the production of homemade sex tapes… all pressing sociological questions demanding intensive, rigorous study at the highest levels of academia.
At Homegrown Video, we are proud to house this collection for the enjoyment of future generations!

Of course, with that first admonishment the first seeds of shame were planted in a sandy soil, the true grit of my soul, and though the roots run deep to nourish from a wellspring of muddy guilt, my libido like a resilient scurrying little hungry for sex rodent burrows in. The landscape is a desert for inspiration but somewhere between the barren patches thorny fruits nourish my craving for something sexual, no matter how brittle and lacking in actual sexuality. A Sears catalog full of tons of crap an eight year old could care less about has just a few pages of brassiere ads offering scant but fulfilling enough nectar to feast my eyes on. Books by Freud offer suggesting tidbits but hide the tastiest morsels in Latin. (Years later I would spend a couple years learning Latin so as to be able to translate those passages… unfortunately I could never find the book again in my parent’s shelves.) Tough times, but I survive and learn to forage furtively.

In the scheme of things, arousal doesn’t necessarily inspire the spirit of courage but it can make one courageously curious on a quest for arousal’s inspiration. This became quite clear to me as I set out to more and more dangerous crags and crevices of the house to find whatever possible scrap where it may lay. Though the prospect of getting caught searching through my parent’s bedroom and their closets was severely unpleasant, the risk would ultimately merit the reward, but not without a few very, very, way too close for comfort close calls.

Of course, whoever thinks “what if… I get caught?”