Sex: Just Like in the Movies
Passionate, pulsating, palpitating. Sex always looks so… well… sexy in the movies. The stars always look great and everything – from the first expert kiss (no noses banging or teeth clashing there) to the last puff of the post-coital cigarette (never a speck of ash on the duvet) – always seems to run smoothly. But can we, as mere mortals, put on such a good show or, indeed, have such a good time?
Despite reports of sex-bomb Sharon Stone saying that fake rumpy-pumpy with action man Sylvester Stallone was like “making love to a wet fish” it certainly doesn’t look that way in their film The Specialist.
The steamy seven-minute shower scene, which took Sly and Shaz a marathon four hours to complete, was proclaimed to be the sauciest in cinema history even before filming had been finished!
Other sex scenes in The Specialist include a mega-romp on the floor and a serious undercover snogathon.
Showers, floors, beds… if they can do it, so can we. But can we do it as stylishly? I wondered. After much moaning and groaning (the complaining not the passionate kind), I managed to persuade my partner to co-star in a few no-cameras sex scenes of our own, with the following results…
Nine and a half weeks
In the film: Mickey Rourke (fully clothed, as always in this film) feeds a blind-folded Kim Basinger with an assortment of delicious and not-so-delicious snacks. After being covered from head to toe in golden (or was it maple?) syrup, lots of snogging ensues…
In real life: After a two-hour jaunt around Sainsbury’s, finding all the right ingredients, we didn’t really feel up to much. But, a la Kim Basinger, I donned a towelling dressing-gown and a pair of men’s socks (they look slightly more foxy on her, I can tell you), sauntered into the kitchen and put on the blindfold. Him Indoors proceeded to feed me – first the eggs (hard-boiled), then an olive (yuk!), a few tinned cherries alternated with cherry tomatoes, a couple of strawberries, a slurp of asti spumante, a spoonful of Benylin (just to help everything go down!), followed by a handful of fusilli pasta, some jelly, a bite of a fresh chilli, a mouthful of milk – after which I had to lean over the kitchen sink, feeling rather nauseous for a good five minutes. As in the film, I was then sprayed with mineral water (I wasn’t happy) and chased around the room, The other Half wielding a tin of golden syrup. I caught sight of myself in the mirror – I looked more like Norah Batty than Kim Basinger. “We’re supposed to kiss now,” he said, red-faced (he was hot in that suit and overcoat!) and sticky-fingered. But I felt too sick, tired and grumpy to even answer…
Conclusion: Maybe if this scene was replayed when we had our sex-heads instead of our shopping-heads on, it might have been more successful. On this particular occasion, however, it failed dismally. And the dressing-gown was ruined… 1/10.
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