Sexcetera

Other than injecting heroin directly into my left bollock, the only thing I find explicitly addictive is Sexcetera. It's easily hateable but undeniably intriguing at the same time. Hosted by a plethora of perverts disguised as risque youth presenters, Sexcetera shows us around some of the world's most bizarre, "different" or downright erotic fetishes and facets of the sex world. And I love it.

Yeah, I'm a teenager. If you're an adult, you're picturing me as an acne-ridden, room-centric blob furiously trying to bash one out to a Girls Aloud advert. Well, no. I mean, I am a room-centric blob, but I spend most of my time being hideously repelled from my flies by the shocking antics of the Sexcetera cast. The episodes I managed to catch included a clown orgy; women behaving like dogs (more convincingly than George Galloway imitating a cat in Celebrity Big Brother, so that's saying something); a woman pouring yogurt on her hair and shaking it about, apparently erotically; all-female wrestling followed by some celebratory lesbian humping; water-related stimulation; Amsterdam Fetish Festival; several boats of whores; a few coaches of whores; massage lessons AND, though it seems physically impossible, still more...too much more to recite here.

You can watch it over here on Virgin1 (oh, the irony). Every night, the channel pumps out a double-bill for teenagers, weirdos and channel-hoppers to feast upon. The presenters range from porn stars to general unknowns. Actually, I mean complete unknowns, I don't know any porn stars, of course. Kira Reed is someone I DEFINITELY haven't heard of before. Especially not in Secrets of a Chambermaid. Whatever the fuck that may be. Some sort of female variation on Remains of the Day I imagine.

As for the others, I can only assume that they're perverts who took a brief college course in Journalism. There's Scott Patasnik: A low-budget Ashton Kutcher who stands dribbling over pounding couples like a homeless man staring mournfully into a bedding store window. Hoyt and Frank: Essentially a live-action version of Beavis and Butthead who have landed their perfect job wanking for cheques, beating for pennies, tossing for coins, shuffling for notes, you get the idea. And then some women who are, I suspect, obscure female porn stars because they seem useless at doing anything else and appear confused by clothes.

Sex itself is fine. The trouble, I find, is seeing where fetishes creep in. An obvious part of a relationship is experimentation, but I struggle to envision a scenario where someone suggests dressing as an erotic clown and their partner responds excitedly, having spent several secret years wanking alone over Krusty. Then after exploring their inner sexual jesters, they scan phonebooks, websites and clubs for more people who indulge in similar gratification. It isn't just ONE couple that enjoys this bizarre fantasy, but a whole club. Or would the technical term for such a gathering be circus? To be honest, for a show that takes us deep into the heart of these fetishes, there are still a lot of grey areas.

Another notable example is the aforementioned yogurt fetish. This featured in a segment about an online sex request website created by a particularly amorous couple. The duo invite sexual requests from needy fans and then film themselves carrying out the act for the requestee's inevitable masturbatory pleasure. One asked the wife to pour yogurt on her hair and throw her hair around. They established this as their most "alternative" request. I am wondering just how it came to be.

I can only imagine he thought:

"I like yogurt. I like hair. Women are pretty nice too. If I combine the three, I could find the ultimate multigasmal experience."

Either that, or he's just strange. I guess we'll never know.

Anyway, after exploring the world's oddest fucks, they go back to the studio where they sit around like chuckling teenagers and discuss what they found most odd about the whole trip. Usually there's a long anecdote ending in some banal observation. They don't need to attempt pop-psychology though; I'd happily accept, "What the fuck was that? They were clowns. CLOWNS."