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Skinema

Latina Grande

By Chris Nieratko

Pinksalsa.com

Rating: 10

This DVD was shot entirely in Peru, which I believe is in the northern part of Mexico, but I’m not very good at geometry so I can’t be totally certain. You know the old saying “Don’t judge a book by its cover”? That doesn’t apply in this case. The cover girl does such a stellar job of foreshadowing just how ugly all the girls in this DVD are that it would have made Shakespeare jealous. Yet it is still the best porno reviewed in this issue, hands down. The reason? Latina Grande is more of a home movie than a pornographic blockbuster. Everything is shot in crappy, shaky, hand-held, first-person POV, from the restaurant where the “director” ate, to the doorman at the hotel, to the touristy churches and shrines this guy visited on his vacation. Basically, whoever made this DVD went to Peru and filmed himself fucking a bunch of ugly, hairy Peruvian prostitutes and sold his exploits to a porn distributor. (Is it a sin to shave your butthole in Peru or what? Gross out.)

I remember one time, about ten years ago, I was in the Rio de Janeiro part of Mexico on a skateboard tour when I met a group of boisterous, middle-aged American men at a bar who were going on and on about their sexual exploits the night before. From the sounds of their conversation it sounded as if they were the Official Olympic USA Fuck Team. One shlub, who looked like a less attractive, fatter George Costanza, was detailing his evening of ménage a trios with a double order of butt sex and jabbing his fingers into the air in a reenactment when I saw his wedding ring. I scanned the hands of all the men and saw wedding rings on each and every one of them. Suddenly they had my full attention. I was maybe 23 at the time and was very curious how these ugly men were able to maintain such healthy and dirty sex lives with their wives, so I asked. “It sounds like your wives are still down for a good time. What’s the secret?” They all broke into laughter like Gallagher had just smashed a watermelon right there on the bar in front of us.

“Wives? Shit. We aren’t talking about our wives. Most of our wives haven’t touched our pricks since Reagan was in office. I don’t think mine could find it with a road map.” Again they laughed, and another watermelon died. One of the men explained, “No, see, we come down here once a year for a ‘conference meeting.’ [Yes, he did do air quotes with his fingers.] We stay two weeks and do nothing but fuck whores. We’ve been doing it since 1983.” “Breakfast,” one guy added, “and lunchtime are the only times we see each other the whole trip. After this we’ll go to our rooms and suck and fuck ’til the cows come home. And our wives ain’t got a damn clue.” Raise your bottles and cue the watermelon. I remember thinking to myself, just as the pits and the rinds covered our faces, what would really be funny is if one of these guys caught AIDS and took that souvenir home to the missus. Boy, how we’d laugh then.

For more of Chris go to chrisnieratko.com or NJSkateshop.com.
 

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