Penthouse Interactive Photoshoot CD-ROM

The interface of the Penthouse Interactive Photoshoot CD-ROM floats in the centre of the computer screen - a little oasis of Quicktime dreams floating in a dark desktop sea. From each window, a pet beckons. Despite the futuristic glint of Spaceship Guccione, the Pets themselves are comfortingly familiar. Alex Taylor, the bride, confesses that she 'saved herself for you'. Brittany Mays, impersonating a doctor, mutters something about your needing 'serious attention'. Sonia McDaniel, in a pink waitress costume, begs to take your order.

After choosing a Pet, the interface re-configures. Your Pet is centre stage. To her right is a small window showing her in a new costume. She appears again in the opposite window above the command 'strip'. At the bottom of the screen are the control buttons featuring a prominent camera icon. Clicking on it takes a photo of the Pet as she gyrates on the main movie screen. You hear the satisfying purr of a shutter.

To grinding guitar riffs, Alex begins her performance. Hands fluttering over her beaded bodice, she hikes up the hem of her dress to reveal a whole hope chest of Victoria's Secrets. I'm so busy watching I haven't snapped one shot yet. Suddenly, she stops. 'I knew I should have hired a professional photographer', she whines. Alex is a real pro - and I'm getting to know the ropes too. Swaying to the pseudo Van Halen beat - her wedding march - she peels off her dress. She takes her time with her all white lingerie. She turns to reveal her tight ass, sliding her red-nailed fingers under her garters. Trying to anticipate her moves, I click like mad. I want it all - her sexy wink as she coyly unfurls her huge tits, the little wiggle with her ass protruding, her boobs swinging, her mouth puckered. Eager to get the best shots I coax her with photographer's lingo: 'C'mon, baby, give it to me! That's it! Hold it! Beautiful! More, more!'

The photo session progresses by activating digitised movies or, in the more intimate language of the PHI instruction manual, 'your Pet will offer suggestions for poses she can execute'. These 'suggestions' come in the form of captions which hint at the content of each movie - 'Butt Pump' or 'Play Lower', for example. Photos are stored on a 'roll' that can later be viewed in the 'darkroom'. In the 'darkroom', the user can view the photos in a number of formats: as a slide show, where the photos are viewed chronologically; as thumbnails, where the photos are offered ten at a time in a 'contact sheet'; or as individual shots. One can edit by deleting or replacing the photos. A 'replace' command will recall the source and allow the user to review the movie in fast forward, reverse or slow motion. He may then reselect the shot. There is no way to crop, zoom, recolour, or otherwise alter the shot within the programme of the CD-ROM. In the darkroom I review my session with Alex. Calling up my thumbnails, I realise that I may have been too enthusiastic over her enhancements - lots of the shots are repetitive. I delete some shots, replace others, then review them all in slide show format until I get a well-rounded show. I'm about to sign off when a salon-tanned Bob Guccione appears, waving a sheet of slides. 'I guess your shutter finger isn't what it used to be', he smirks.

To enhance the fantasy of having 'one of the most envied jobs in the world', Bob Guccione gives the photographer a 'customised critique' of his work after each session. It's a high-pressure business, the user is counselled, and Mr Guccione prefers a 'comprehensive' shoot. As I click off shots of Pet Britanny Mays, glowering at the camera as she strokes her neatly waxed twat, I wonder, 'what makes a 'comprehensive shoot'? I've got classy portrait shots, titillating semi-nude poses, and raunchy closeups of manicured fingertips framing pouting pussies. Even novelty shots: girls with stethoscopes squeezed between their tits, girls sucking lollipops, girls spraying whipped cream on their boobs. As I sit back to contemplate my efforts, there is a buzz on the screen. Britanny rolls her eyes and demands: 'are you in a coma?'

The Penthouse CD-ROM requires vigilance. If there is a lull in activity lasting more than 30 seconds, a Pet takes over the screen and regales the user with remarks ranging from the mildly annoyed to the hostile. Sonia McDaniel, the waitress, reprimands you with a wagging finger. 'Doctor' Brittany is especially nasty; perhaps masquerading as a professional entitles her to a higher degree of impatience. Despite the possibility that the user's pause may be related to enjoying the CD-ROM, gazing at a printed photo, or even to masturbating, the message is delivered relentlessly: get back to work. Thus, the looming issue in the PHI is not pleasure but labour.

I want to print a few of my shots. The printer spits out a series of sheets with the Penthouse photo small and dark in the centre of the page, and the Pet's name positioned like a letterhead at the top. With no way to enlarge, lighten, or reposition the images, I opt to quit. I can't escape without another upbraiding from Guccione, who barks: 'I can't believe you call this good photography!'

Enticed by eager models, the user of the Penthouse CD-ROM is encouraged to explore the fantasy job of the soft-core porno photographer. Poised in a state of expectation by a 'bait and switch' game as old as burlesque itself, the user is promised a degree of intimacy with the experiences of a 'professional' that is never absolutely denied but likewise, never really permitted. The user is continually subjugated to Mr Guccione's criticisms, which never support him in his fantasy of being a great pornographer, thereby forbidding him to think of himself as a peer of Guccione. Not only is the user never allowed to be Guccione's colleague, he is continually reminded of the fact that the photographer he dreams of being is nothing more than an employee of the Penthouse Empire - an underling. Mr Guccione make this enormously clear when he rises up out of the interface, almost rapping on the screen to shake the idle photographer out of his reverie, bellowing: 'Excuuuse me, time is money here! Let's get back to work!'