skinema book

Skinema Review

[ by auriane de rudder ]

When I was 17 and a senior in high school, three freshman boys came up to me at lunch and were like, “We saw your pictures! We saw them! With the stuffed animals.” And I’m like, “What?” and shrugged it off, right? What the hell were these weirdo boys talking about? The next day, Steven, one of the boys, and my neighbor, knocked on my door. He had torn pages of porn in his hands, ripped from some awful magazine like Lollipops or Buttman, or something along those lines. And there I was. “See?” he says, as he held them out to me. Seriously. This girl had my face. My exact face. Christ, she even had my 17-year-old tits. My exact tits.

Fast forward five years and I’m working as a waitress in a cocktail bar. My general manager comes in and says, “You have to see this!” He sits me down, opens his laptop and plays rough-and-tumble, double-penetration pornography. There she is, again. This time, like me, she has 22-year-old tits and dyed her hair black. Same face and same tits, all over, again! And you know what? Same voice. Well, same voice if I said things like “Plunder me, big boy,” in between double-pen grunting.

To this day, I’ve always wanted to know her name. I think it’d be a funny trick to send her videos to my grandparents, my dad, any unfortunate ex-boyfriend with a little note that reads, “Look what you’ve helped me become.” Like a greeting card, perhaps those personalized Christmas cards or an e-greeting on Valentine’s Day, even.

If anyone would know her name, it’d be Chris Nieratko. Hell, he spends nearly 300 pages describing women who do say, “Plunder me, big boy,” more than twice a film. I’d fully write him a letter and ask him, but as the intros to Skinema mention over and over and over, again, and each page of the writer’s work confirms: Nieratko is a complete asshole. He probably wouldn’t give me the time of day.

c/o Format

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