Porn on the Forth of July

12/6/05


I have to stop watching pornography. I know what you’re all thinking, “But Ryan, your psychotic, borderline creepy obsession with adult cinema is one of the delightful idiosyncrasies that make all of us love you! What would happen to our world image if we thought you weren’t out there making the world safer for us through close observation of the love between a woman and a horse?”

Yes, yes, my pets, believe me, I wouldn’t want to do anything to tip that enormous pedestal upon which you’ve perched me, but this is a subject I’ve been giving a great deal of thought recently and I just ask you to hear me out.

Now as you all know, I loves me some porn. I enjoy watching two or more people, (sometimes just one, but she has to really put up the effort,) pleasuring each other in strange and possibly illegal ways. But I fear I have to stop watching one of the only pleasures I get out of life on this sad little rock of misery. Oh, it’s not for the reasons most people object to pornography; you know, people being exploited or the assertion that it wrecks relationships or some such malarkey. I mean, if your relationship is breaking up over one of you diddling yourself to too much adult film than maybe the basis for your union was not quite as stable as you would like to believe. Either that, or you’re not going kitty-up often enough. No, my reasons are much more practical. Put simply, I fear that I am in danger of losing touch with reality.

If I may digress from my main point onto a related tangent for a moment, it’s like going to a strip club. For those of you who have never been to a club where women take their clothes off for money, allow me to enlighten you on the devious nature of such places. 1: Women pretend to like you. 2: You somehow convince yourself that they really do like you, despite the fact you just saw then bestow the exact same affection upon the large, hairy man clad in flannel damp with desperation…and he’s missing parts of his face. 3: You give these women money to keep taking off their clothes and paying attention to you. 4: You wake up the next day wondering why your head feels like you drank twelve glasses of something overpriced that may or may not have been turpentine and why your wallet has suddenly become defiantly uncontaminated with cash.

But that’s not where the horror ends; now your left with what I like to call “Strip Club Afterglow.” Strip Club Afterglow is a demonic affliction which follows you around for the next day, how long one is possessed by it being in direct correlation to how attractive the women in the club happened to be, in which your brain attempts to re-acclimate itself to the real world. Feelings of confusion and delirium are common as you slowly come to the realization that woman don’t really want to make out with you in a dark room, and much to your chagrin, want to take their clothes off for you even less. It’s a rude awakening.

This is much like the problem I am currently having with porn. You see, it’s very en vogue in the porn world to do “reality” porn nowadays. This is where several guys pick up a seemingly random woman, the kind you might pass on the street, say, who is hot but not quite hot enough to be completely out of the realm of possibility for you to bag…after she had six or seven bottles of Ripple, perhaps. At any rate, these fellows who seem to be oddly equipped with their own camera crew and grips, come up to this strange, attractive woman, offer up several lines of dialogue which a mentally deficient cockroach would find tedious, and then with little to no segue pick this woman up and take her back to their place where she is not only unconcerned with it being some cheap apartment full of men with semi-erect wood, but actually pleased to sit on a couch next to one of them whom you wouldn’t trust to guard a half eaten bologna sandwich.

How did they know she was horny and desperately looking to get filled out by three black guys with penises that should be registered as concealed weapons? Or how did they know that she was a frustrated housewife looking to get even with her husband for his numerous infidelities? Or that she always had been curious about doing unspeakable things to another woman with devices of varying length and girth? Or that she was just thinking of having a Golden Shower topped off by a nice Cleveland Steam- - uhm… Look the point is this, I know in my brain that these little plays are not spontaneous; they’re all set up in advance with actors and scripts, (or at least some notes scribbled upon a stiff pair of underwear with a Sharpie,) but when I’m watching them, my brain is not really what’s doing the thinking. And so I’m left with this rift between what my brain knows is a rather paltry illusion and my penis’s anger with the fact that I’m not out there picking up hot women of loose moral fiber whenever it’s just so damn easy, I mean look at these fucking jokers; we could do that! Those are his words, not mine.

But the problem is I couldn’t do that. If I get nervous performing for one person the first time we actually get down to making the beast with two backs, how the hell would I manage to keep an erection when worried about disappointing an entire camera crew who just want you to hurry up and pop so they can all go to lunch? And even if I could, that’s not really what I want. I don’t want to just be wandering around having casual sex with wildly attractive women who don’t wish anything from me in return. Okay, part of me wants to do that, but the part controlled by my brain doesn’t; not really. I guess I just like the idea of that kind of attention. Maybe just from one woman who finds me interesting and enjoyable without me having to stick folded dollar bills into her underwear. We don’t even have to videotape it. Or, she doesn’t have to know we’re videotaping it.

If you’ll excuse me, I think there’s a new gallery posting of free videos on the internet. Grant me chastity and moderation, but not yet.