The last movie sex scene I brought you was that time the kid from A Christmas Story jacked off a sentient dirtbike. But that was more a condemnation of The Dirt Bike Kid’s flagrant violation of child protection and robotics laws. It has been said that I’m just not a very erotic writer, and I cannot let that stand. So today I bring you a very normal and good sex scene that every single one of you should have no problem masturbating to. Have you already guessed it? It’s…
Eroticism is mostly foreplay, so let’s set the scene. We open on a plain bedroom, which grows slightly less plain when Denise Richards enters it. Denise Richards was 1994s Sexiest Girl Still Alive according to a poll of fifty-two-year-old men who still worked at the mall. She comes in wearing a fringe jacket like a saucy little warlock, and coos to a nearby camera: “You want the usual?”
A voice on an intercom answers in the affirmative, which sets the stage for this to be a kind of psychosexual voyeur thing. But James Spader is not yet in this scene, so that can’t be the case. There’s a twist coming: Denise Richards pours a generous drink, and then we pan down as she empties it over an exposed human brain.
The voice on the intercom sighs. It’s the brain, and the brain enjoys this treatment. Man, James Spader really should have been in this. This is a violation of his entire contract with the year 1994. Denise Richards asks the camera if it wants a little more action, then leaves and returns having actually put on more clothes.
It’s a little hard to see, but that is a special, extra-sexy robe made out of white feathers, presumably just for this occasion. She sheds it immediately, because that is the sexiest thing you can do while wearing an ostrich. Underneath, she is dressed in sensible white clothing — the height of ‘90s sexuality. She begins a clumsy strip tease while the brain aggressively yells things like “show it to me baby!” and “take it off!” — both of which she is already doing. We all had dial-up back then. I guess there were lag issues. Denise Richards does what I think is the Macarena with a little sit-down break in the middle:
And despite her only taking off six dead swans and one stocking, the brain cries out in pleasure, then explodes with a shower of sparks:
The brain sighs, sexually spent.
And that’s the story of that time Denise Richards made a brain cum. That brain, as you may have guessed, was Paul Walker.
May he donut forever in that great big Safeway parking lot in the sky.
I’m being unfair, of course. No, not about Paul Walker — he would genuinely love that.
I mean there’s a context for this scene in which it makes perfect sense. A set of details which, according to screenplay law, means that this scene simply had to happen for the story to be complete. In the film Tammy and the T-Rex, which I’m not making up no matter how sure I am that I’m actually lying about that…
Denise and Paul’s characters are crazy about one another, but as is so often the case with young love, Paul is killed and has his brain put in the body of a robot T-Rex. The T-Rex is ultimately destroyed but the brain is saved, so Denise’s character keeps it in her room and gets it off on occasion until she can steal a corpse to implant it in, because Denise Richards can definitely handle that operation. The scene where Denise Richards jerks off an animatronic T-Rex to completion was sadly left on the cutting room floor.
The director, Stewart Raffill, explains his vision:
“A guy came to me who owned theatres in South America and he said, ‘I have a T-Rex.’ It was animatronic and was going to a park in Texas. The eyes worked. The arms moved. The head moved. He had it for two weeks before it was going to be shipped to Texas and he came to me and said, ‘We can make a movie with it!’ I said, ‘What’s the story?’ and he said, ‘I don’t have a story, but we have to start filming within the month!’ and so I wrote the story in a week.”
So anyway, take note aspiring screenwriters: If you’ve just graduated from a prestigious two-year MFA program and lucked into a fellowship that will allow you to start your long crawl from intern to writer’s room, you can go fuck yourself until you die from it. This is how movies get made.
