Some truth in fiction

I’ve decided the main difficulty with being a queer polyamorous pervert has got to be my inability to quite understand the theme of any mainstream romantic movie.

I live surrounded by fellow queer perverts, and can go for days without having mainstream interactions. I’m so far on the inside of my own culture that I have only an outsider’s viewpoint of the other.

So, a trip through the local video store takes on the air of an anthropological field trip. Strolling down the aisles in my pith helmet, I examine the blurbs on the backs of movie boxes.

This one is purportedly about the relationship between four strong women, but concentrates only on their individual searches for the right man, without whom their lives are empty and meaningless.

This one features two best friends, and they both fall for the same woman, and she loves them both and O, the angst. The solution is so obvious that I can’t imagine why the characters miss it. After all, she drives a minivan, right? Plenty of room for all three of them to live happily ever after.

This one has a gay character, but he is sexless and single despite looking for a boyfriend in a big urban centre. Perhaps the producers think he’d be better off utilizing his gayness to teach heterosexual gents how to dress?

Here’s one about a dominant/submissive relationship between a rich employer and his new female employee. Now that’s an original plot line.

Sure, I see movies about the lure of the forbidden, the sexiness of power and control, and the general naughtiness of dressing in latex. But I don’t see what I crave seeing, which is characters who are kinky because they enjoy it, who incorporate it into their lives and relationships.

I can’t stop there, and I turn over box after box, looking. I want sex in the park. I want fistfucking. I want single queers who are not unhappy, sexy lesbians who aren’t murderers, and BDSM players who are not psychotic stalkers.

I want hot sex scenes to happen between people who don’t live monogamously ever after. I want to see kink that’s a true exploration of our darkest sides. I want characters to go out for coffee the next day and laugh about how very, very good it was.

I want married queers, and queers who would never think of marrying. I want kids who have parents who do BDSM, and it ain’t all tragic. I want kinky dykes who are in the plot because they’re travel writers or cool doctors or grumpy donut-makers, not because they’re kinky, or dykes.

I want to see real queers and real leatherfolk. I want some entertainment that reflects my life. I’d like to see some truth in fiction.