Home Pop Culture Culture for Porn. Part 2.

Culture for Porn. Part 2.

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I am porn.  From the moment I wake up and acknowledge the tension beneath my sheets to the minutes it takes me to surrender,I am porn. From the time I pull my blinds up into themselves in undisputed bondage and leave them bare for outward inspection, I am porn.  And in the every 7 seconds of each of those days when I squeeze my fists, clench my teeth, and flex my PC muscle in frustration, I am porn.  We all are, and I need look no further than myself for the answers to the reason and results of our own fascination and addiction to the porn industry…

If there is one thing that we all have in common, if there is absolutely nothing else, there will always be sex.  One may be an expert on wine, another on architecture, and yet another an expert on taxidermy, but strip them all down, take away all of their knowledge, all of their tools that keep them busy from thinking about life itself and they’ll all have one thing in common, sex. When you get down to it, there are only two things that drive humanity, pleasure and happiness. And one of the quickestperceived routes to the illusion of happiness is through sexual gratification.

Before you attempt to correct me and argue that basic human instinct is the survival of it’s species and so, a third drive to it’s respected humanity, I protest that any conception of life, is always preceded by it’s moment of pleasure,( naturally speaking of course) and therefore, can take nothing less than the back seat of this argument (no pun intended). We are all porn, divided only by the introverted and extroverted.  And its so with little consequence that I now ask myself with great scrutiny, from where did my own affection for pornography begin, how has it evolved, where has it taken me, and where will it lead me next? Perhaps by your reading of the reflection that I present of myself, I may perhaps see you better than I do right now.

At an age considered too early by most and most appropriate by me, my twin brother and I would sneak into our parent’s bedroom under the unobserved eye of our mother and take possession of my father’s Playboy magazines that sat naked under the television stand. In undisturbed silence, two innocent children set forth on destroying the very innocence, which was so glorified upon us.  In fascination and awe we inspected bunny after bunny, unconsciously taking note of the endless rise of heartbeats that aroused an unheralded rush unmatched by any action figure that waited patiently in toy boxes for their respected sires. We judged them on their different breasts, the size of their nipples classifying them with terms such as, raisins and fried eggs. We acknowledged the absence of genitalia similar to ours, the joyful expressions on these women’s faces.  Why are they so happy and why did their joy bring us so much pleasure? We didn’t have the answers to any of this.  It didn’t matter.  We were hooked.

We continued the game until one day those magazines disappeared. We knew better than to ask, why or where they went.  From where did this early acknowledgement of what is taboo come? There was nothing before it, and from it sprang every weed and flower of my sexual existence.  How could we have known that is was not something up for debate if it wasn’t something ingrained before hand? My memory goes back quite far, further than most, but it may be that that is a memory too far to recall. If not, then I can only blame my catholic upbringing and it’s subconscious affect on our minds, for shame and guilt is the cornerstone of that faith and it is shame and guilt that I feared should we have ever been caught.  But I was never caught. I was never caught with the girl across the street when she would lay nude with me underneath my bed, I was never caught when my babysitter stripped before me and gave life to what was once only on paper, I was never caught when my best friend would give me head in his father’s study.

City to city we moved and somehow I was blessed with the common curiosity by at least one, in some cases more than one, to play the games that eccentric children played with one another until one day, it stopped.

I no longer needed babysitters,I found no new friends, and I had no interest in the matter of love. I was a teenager.  And I was only interested in two things, the destruction of the world that I was forced to live within and porn.  Naturally, porn was easier to obtain.

My orthodontist was located in the city, my school in the suburbs, and each time I had to get my braces tightened I would explore the city’s porn shops watching full length videos licking the metal on my teeth with intrigue while sitting in booths that reeked of sweat and the men that I was capable of becoming. I watched straight porn, I watched bi porn, I watched gay porn.  It all did it for me. I was transfixed.  I never dared touch myself in any of those locations for fear of interruption or the impossibility to clean myself up and return to school.  I sat with an unbearable agitation and recorded every moment in my memory so that I may lie alone in bed at night breathing shallow, absorbed in flashback after flashback of adults in adult bodies, doing the things that adults did with no apologies or guilt or shame. Adults that I hoped to be like one day.

I stole magazines! Magazines far more explicit than my father’s playboys ever could have been.  Cheri, Barely Legal, Blueboy, Taboo! All stuffed into a hole beneath my box spring hidden from the prying eyes of a puritanical and hypocritical mother.  Oh I promise you, that I slept far better with such materials stuffed into my mattress than any wool or cotton!  And as quickly as my decent into that world of choreographed sex began, it ended as I realized that I didn’t really have to do anything to get girls or boys.  They were coming to me. And the ones who came were willing guinea pigs to all of the positions, tricks, and games I had witnessed before hand.  But I soon learned that the dichotomy between the world of celluloid sex and reality was vast and things rarely played out the way I had seen them played.

Once I got tired of looking at a certain magazine or video, (FUNNY HOW SUCH THINGS HAPPEN…) I simply threw them down a sewer. And as such treated my partners the same. I had absolutely no emotional attachment towards any of them. It was impossible to keep looking at the same images over and over and get the same rush; people were no different to me and the habit followed me into adulthood.

In my relationships, I can see now that my perception of women and men has had nothing to do with my parents and everything to do with porn. I insist on an aesthetic of long hair, hungry eyes, and long legs.  Women are the ultimate accessories to me and I refuse to even entertain one should she be

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2 COMMENTS

  1. Who is this guy? Should I have my back to the wall next time I am my gym or steam house…but then again he does sound cute…

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