davywavy | "Goth girls," he said to me, "are easy."

The scene was the bathroom of my house the year after I graduated. As I was primping and preening myself in front of the mirror for an evening of childish debauchery (“Which do you think? The black or the blue lippy?”), my housemate wandered in and gave me the benefit of his opinions regarding women he’d never meet and never have.
What really sticks in my memory is the tone of bitterness he said it in; the angry dismissal as worthless of something that he undoubtedly wanted but could never have. I think it’s human nature to dismiss as pointless things they want but can’t have. It’s cognitive dissonance: I want it but can’t have it, therefore I don’t want it really. In fact I hate it. So ner.
This memory was brought back to me by a conversation I had last night. I think that most men have fantasies about goth-chicks at some level, and the vast majority will never get to indulge. A friend of mine who works in the city says a lot of his besuited associates certainly do, and I once considered setting up a City/Goth dating agency, introducing Goths of my acquaintance to wealthy city men who’d otherwise never get the chance to meet the object of their fantasies outside of fantasy and lapdance clubs - the odd juxtaposition of my social circles serving to my advantage for once.
This serves only to reinforce my theory: ordinary men fantasise about Goths, and now I’m in the position of being a jet-setting global business magnate, I can see a way to turn this to my advantage and make a tidy bundle of loot at the same time. Yes, I’m talking about Porn.
Richard Desmond has gone from being a smut peddler to a respectable man of media, and it seems to me that there’s really no reason I can’t do likewise. Purveying quality one-handed literature to single gentlemen of discernment.
Of course, first I have to think of a winning title: ’Readers Stoves’? No, perhaps not. ’Roleplaying Ravers’? Definitely Not.
Goth Babes.
It has a ring to it, I think.
“Beautiful creatures of the night shown as nature intended.”
“Morticia, 21, likes the colour black and cats. She says her ambition is to meet a fat, bald fortysomething man with a combover and be his sex slave.”
We* could fill the magazine with pictoral depictions of Goths in the altogether, padded out (the magazine, not the goths) with articles (“The Corset throughout history”, and “Black No.1 – the thinking girl's dye?”), and advertisements for Goth-related sex toys, like vibrating Ankhs, your own inflatable Goth (“Do not exceed 250psi. Not to be used as a life preserver”), and battery powered Cthulhu dolls (“He'll get a grip on more than your soul. Now with extra tentacle action!”).
Bearing in mind the above-mentioned goth fantasies, I can’t see this one failing**. Fame and fortune are assured me.
So. Who wants to volunteer to be my first centrefold? We're off to the big time, baby.

^{* Do you like the way I slipped the word ‘We’ in there? See? Now I’ve involved you in this sordid little fantasy. Don’t you feel faintly soiled?

**To complete the Goth-porn juxtaposition, I shall have to grow a bushy moustache and then put flourescent extensions into it.}