From the Winter 92/93 issue of Thing published by the late Robert T Ford
Boyfriend, it took Madonna to make the first boring, mass produced pop-sex porno book. I mean, queers have done and photographed more “kinky” sex than Ms Detroit could dream of, and cool queers reading this ‘zine probably did the majority of what Ms. M. decides to picture, shortly after they first came out. Madonna isn’t interested in the usual porno movies, she says, because everyone is “ugly and faking it”. Sex will be different, she promises. And it is. Everyone in Sex is beautiful and faking it. Oy.
Yes, her body is loverly and worth some slobbering (especially that ass). But it takes more than that to hold Fire Chick’s interest over so many pages. O, look at her simulate sex with scary punk lesbians. O, look at her simulate sex with a dog. O, look at her simulate sex with a leather boy. O, look at her simulate sex with “exotic” white people of indeterminable gender. O, look at her simulate sex with beautiful black models in a swimming pool. O, look at her simulate sex with expensive clothes on. O look at her stand naked in a pizza parlor, see her stand naked on the streed, see her lay naked in the park, watch her swim naked in a pool, see her stand naked in a window. O, wake me up in the morning hon.
Go back to bed you self-absorbed naughty girl. Sex looks like a typical fashion-photo shoot. Steven Meisel knows beautiful lines, beautiful faces and camera angles but he doesn’t know a hot fuck, and he doesn’t capture souls. The sex her is just another prop in his arsenal – fake as the glued-on sesame seeds for the bun in a McDonald’s ad.
But most of all, what disappointed Fire Chick was the lack of pussy. There is no sex in Sex. O, Madonna talks a good talk – some of the only stimulation you can get is found in the text – but she shows nary a pussy. What a little cunt tease. For someone who pretends to have no hang-ups, that’s pretty lame. Some pubic hair, but no pink. We get one fag dick, not even an excited fag dick; it just hangs there in stasis. And lots of Madonna’s tits. Good tits, but boring over so many pages. It’s like “I paid good money for these, don’t you like them?”
Reminiscent of Edie Sedgewick bouncing her tits around in “Ciao Manhattan”. And it isn’t like she didn’t already show us her faboo knockers in her self-styled movie about her self on tour singing her songs fighting her boyfriends throwing her tantrums projecting her latest persona promoting her album.
Sex is like fucking a Barbie doll (which was one of Fire Chick’s favorite sex toys when she was younger) – pretty plastic. Madonna seems to have these half-baked ideas in her head – hey, punky lesbians looking dangerous with knives will sell – and once she gets down with the chicks she seems to be at a loss for what they should all do. No one gets cut – not even the chicks into cutting. And Madonna claims to have been shocked by a dyke’s labia ring? Give it a rest boyfriend. It’s not like we don’t all know you’ve been around. Was that reaction calculated to distance you from beeing too much “that way” so that Ms. Suburban Hausfrau can identify (and buy)? (And she doesn’t let us see the damned ring, either.)
What does Sex have then my dear babies? There are poses; not pussies; not passion. Each page is a pose, and when you turn the page, another pose pops up at the same emotional level but dressed indifferent clothes. Sometimes Meisel gets creative. He puts multiple exposures on the same page. Ooo. We all get to see the way someone’s head tilts or smile changes; or, he cuts the photos into odd shapes. Wow – Fire Chick was SO excited that she couldn’t finish her Ho Hos.
After a few dozen pages, Fire Chick was actually and truly bored. No, she is not saying this to be cool. Fire Chick actually liked that short and sexy “Justify My Love” video that was banned from MTV. The book is like the new album – it feels overproduced and strains desperately to be shocking. Once in awhile she hits it; there are some decent poses, but – like they say to a virgin – Madonna, relax, we’d both enjoy it more.
There is text. Some of it is in girlish curlie-cue handwriting. How ‘revealing’. And, unfortunately, homophobic. Dita is her ‘character’ who states that she will “teach you how to fuck.” Madonna is sure to warn us that none of what we read or see is true, she made it all up. Whew. That must be of comfort to Mr. and Mrs. Breeder. Dita writes to her boyfriend in a series of ‘letters’ about pussy juice, and licking her girlfriend-lover Ingrid (only because she misses her boyfriend’s dick – must reassure those het boys). She acts all turned on by thoughts of group sex fantasies with her boyfriend (two girls, one boy, three girls, one boy, you get the picture) and tells him how hot she felt when she saw him with his hand down another girl’s pants at a party.
Then the final ‘letter’ finds her boyfriend getting sucked off by another boy when Dita sneaks into his house uninvited. Dita is so shocked she runs out. (Any respectable bi-chick would have joined in the fun, or at least been turned on by the scene and stopped to watch.) Dita says to him in her last letter that they should spend some time apart because she has discovered his secret and she says, “Is that what you did on those fishing trips? I didn’t know Ben was holding your rod for you. Did you catch anything? [AIDS phobia too Ms. M? That’s right, reassure your public that they only need worry about AIDS when it comes to male-to-male sex – right?] . . As for me I think I’m gonna be sick. Next time you want some pussy, just look in the mirror.”
That last jab of homophobia lets her hetero boy and girl fans know that Madonna may suck pussy to turn on her boys – typical breederboy fantasy – but when it comes to true homogirl feelings or boy homosex, well, that is truly disgusting. The line Madonna draws in her “no-holds-barred” fantasy world is typical hetero crap, dressed up in leather and posed with a few queers to make it look ‘radical’. But be sure that her vast pop audience will all know in the end, that for her, real homosex and certainly real homolove make her sick. Madonna’s real feelings? Or Dita’s calculation for mass appeal? Such disclaimers make Sex safe for the suburban middle-america crowd. They can pick up this book and have all their fears and fantasies confirmed, not challenged, while feeling o-so-liberal, open-minded and outrageous at the same time.
Fire Chick might cream over thoughts of Madonna’s tongue lapping at her shaved cunt, fucking Madonna in her tender ass with her 10″ strap-on, and pissing into Madonna’s open and lovely lips, but, of course, none of this is true – I made it all up.