Tighten That Hole

So the friend of a friend of a friend was in P'town. He was bored with the beach, and decided to hit the gym and get in a workout, figuring that it wouldn't be very crowded in the middle of the day. And he was right. In fact, there was only one other guy working out. The other guy was wearing this vintage '70s looking warm-up suit (!). And looked vaguely familiar. At one point, the other guy unzipped his top, all Steve Austin like, and revealed a flawless--save for the fact that it was also hairless--chest and a set of abs you could do laundry on. That's when the friend of a friend of a friend recognized the other guy: it was Jeff Stryker.

When I was told this story by a fellow Ball Breaker at the game a couple of weeks ago, everybody listening gave a little gasp when the identy was revealed. (Except for the younger guys, who were like, "Huh? Who?") "I once met Al Parker on the beach. He was a nice guy," said one of my teammates.

Jeff Stryker is huge. "Huge" as in Iconic.

Jeff is totally not my type, that shaved chest and absence of facial hair and all, and I've never seen any of his movies. And yet, he looms large in my imagination.

Way back when, there I was slaving away in my cubicle at Ernst & Young. I was pals with the two other gay guys in the office, Richard, who was the office IT guy, and Paul, who was in charge of everything, being the Director of Administration. There was this Big New Thing at Ernst & Young back then. Some flash-in-the-pan phenomenon called "e-mail," whereby you could send a message to anybody else in the office over your computer. Richard, Paul, and I, of coourse, used it to tease and torment one another. In fact, inter-office email was kind of my SingleTails back then, where I'd dump all my creative energies untapped by summarizing depositions and putting Bates stamps on discovery documents.

So one day, Richard, who was in charge of assigning e-mail accounts to all of us, happened to mention that it took about ten seconds to set up a new account. And I had an idea.

Shortly thereafter, Paul, the Director of Administration, received the following...

INTER-OFFICE EMAIL

TO: Director of Administration
FROM: Stryker, Jeff
SUBJECT: Tighten that hole

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Jeff Stryker wrote:

You like that big dick, don'cha?

There were lots of guys making porn who had really big dicks. That was pretty much the price of admission. But Jeff Stryker had a whole thing, he was so proud of that big dick of his, and loved showing it off, and loved when his partners loved his big dick. And the whole dialog thing he'd do. And after Jeff Stryker, porn movies started to have something resembling a plot. Before Jeff Stryker, it was pretty much just footage of guys having sex out by the pool. But here was Jeff Stryker in jail. And here's Jeff Stryker as a lonely cowhand. And of course, there was his repartee. Yeah. Tighten that hole. Tighten that hole. You like that big dick, don'cha?

If I was forced at gunpoint to go get my Masters in Semiotics from Brown University, I'd definitely do my thesis on Jeff Stryker.

Ah, Jeff Stryker.

Jeff was in P'town because he's doing a stage show. It's Jeff Stryker, on stage, talking about his life in porn. And it's apparently pretty funny. And engaging.

That's quite the departure for Jeff Stryker. Otherwise, he's something of an enigma. No one has quite been able to pin him down on whether he's straight, gay, or bi. He lives a fairly quiet life in Van Nuys, raising his son alone. Or at least, Chuck Peyton does. That's the man who created Jeff Stryker. And that's what I find so fascinating: Jeff Stryker doesn't exist, he's fantasy. And yet, there's all that power there. And that power comes from us.

Anyway. Let's enjoy the musical stylings of Jeff Stryker. Here he is singing a little number he wrote himself called "Pop You In Your Pooper."