Review

Growing up was a fun time for Frou Frou. As a youth, I’d invite a few friends round to watch my dad’s porn. We’d always giggle at Ron Jeremy's pot-belly (which secretly aroused me) and gasp in confused awe at bouncing titties and vaginal walls lovingly explored. After a very short while, the Rohypnol I’d slipped in their drinks kicked in and I had my wicked way with all of them. Halcyon Days.

Bisexual porn is a queer fish (as we say in my native England) and I’m not sure who it’s made for. Maybe the adults who, like me as a child, get straight workmates drunk in order to convert them to the dark side of the force. You know, start with pussy and end with chocolate starfish… Maybe it’s for those truly bisexual people out there, aroused equally by the splendor of the male form and the slender curves of the female. All six of them.

Regardless of whether they exist (a friend of mine who used to say “a hole is a hole is a hole” changed his mind when I said, “in that case fuck my Yorkshire terrier”) or whether they just exist in Hollywood, bi porn caters to them. Which bring us to Mile Bi Club from Chi Chi (my talented bitch cousin) LaRue. And it’s a cracker.

One thing that always makes me cringe about these movies are the pun titles, and this one is no exception. I imagine Chi Chi and her galpals sitting around Krispy Kreme chatting over coffee and a bumper-pack of custard-filled day-olds, “I know, we’ll set it on a plane and call it…”, next week it’ll be, “I know, we’ll set it in a Revival Camp and call it Kum-Bi-Yah”.

In the departure lounge there’s a quick bit of character development, but I’ll skip that and concentrate on the fact that this nightflight to Atlantic City is so empty everyone’s been bumped up to first-class. Two things: Maybe this was made after 9/11 when everyone was still afraid to fly, and secondly, this is porno plot – in real life the bored check-in-chick would have given everyone the finger and said, “you can all fuck off till the morning”. Chi Chi’s budget doesn’t stretch to take-off scenes so we cut to the flight, with everyone asleep. Guess the inflight movie was an Adam Sandler flick. Don’t worry, kids, the Spanish fly is about to kick in.

Holly Halston and real life husband Troy are the first to join the Mile High Club, in the toilet that’s inconveniently big enough for Holly to give a titwank. He eats her out for a while and maybe because I’m so unused to seeing this act I couldn’t work out if his tongue was pierced or it was her clit. Julian Pierce (who is just soooo gay dressed in this it’s not even funny) walks in on them (silly cow didn’t lock the door) and the three retire to coach for a full on session. “Does that ass taste good?” she asks her husband, who obviously thinks so but can’t reply as his tongue is so far up there he’s licking Pierce’s liver.

In the cockpit, a bit of rough air (at first I thought the cameraman had the DTs) causes Jack Ryan to spill coffee on his shirt, so logically removes his trousers. I guess he’s aroused by spilt liquids because his hard-on catches co-pilot Todd Shore’s eye. Air safety is forgotten as the Autopilot is switched on (what about the choppy air?) as Shore is fucked so hard he’s screaming blue murder.

Our lovely lady trolley dollies feature in the bean-flicking lesbo scene. T.J. Hart (a dirty tart!) and Keri Windsor are the clit-hopping Wagon Dragons who shove dangerously sharp fingernails up each other. I made a pot of tea at this point. But Keri has fabulous hair.

Back in first class Alex Foxe, who’s flying to Atlantic City to marry beau Devon Barry, wakes to find Lance Landers in the next aisle having a good old tug in her general direction. Wedding plans are dropped faster than her knickers as she dives in, also attracting the attention of Jon Erik, who’s bitchy wife won’t put out (probably because you keep talking over her dialogue!) who makes do with the mouth of uncut Tino Lopez instead. Ever the go-er, Windsor jumps in and proves she’s the communal bike of the flight: everyone gets a ride!

Everyone wakes up now: Barry joins his fiancee slurping on Landers’ tool. And Tina Tyler, the bitchy wife, wakes to see her spouse entertaining our jolly stewardess. Now she’s all smiles and dives onto a spare tit. Tiger, who looks like a grown-up member of the Children of the Damned, convinces no-one with his “straight acting” and is only truly happy - it would appear - when riding a big old sausage. Harsh words, Tiger? Jeez - if you want people to think you were straight you shouldn’t have followed Gypsy’s “You Gotta Have a Gimmick” so literally when you got those awful, awful tattoos.

Barry seems to have forgotten all about his future wife and is no doubt looking forward to a full time life of cock-sucking. Welcome to the Family, Young Man! It ends with the big all-in, leading to the truly lousy mandatory punchline. The Halstons emerge from Coach to find everyone naked, in a huge pile. Maybe a tornado hit a nudist colony? Queue some lame comment about missing it all, and the credits roll.

It’s a Rocky Horror-style "sex solves all character-faults" fun flick, and comes highly recommended, even if I wouldn’t normally buy a bi-title. Well done Chi Chi.

 -- Froufrou A. Gogo