Leave it to an aesthetic wizard like Michael Lucas to conjure up beads of ejaculate as perfect in their droplet-ness as on the tears on a Disney princess, and as immune to gravity as basket of a butterfly kisses.
Isn’t this what Khloe Kardashian and Noami Wolf are always going on about? How showing photoshopped droplets of semen in the media will make a generation of bators obsess about our own, imperfect, gooey, gravity-undefied emissions? (I can’t tell you because I always turn down the television when big angry ladies come on.) All I know is that just like the steam on an Olive Garden casserole, this movie magic is making me hungry.