I plan on getting back into the game, the game of life, the game of reality.
Look, I’m 44 and have been an avid hardcore porn watcher of magazines and movies since I was 19, and as liberal and free-thinking as I try to believe I am, I still feel dread and discomfort after dealing with porn. Sure, shaking hands with myself while watching porn has been a source of great physical relief over the years. I’ve endured many an orgasmic seizure courtesy of Mary Palm & her 5 sisters. To see the kind of person who matches every physical characteristic you desire on a DVD, right there, right now doing the things you can only dream of doing is certainly a great experience.
Yet, there’s that cutting sense of disgust and pathos that comes with it. Afterwards, I feel like, “Yo, dude…you need to dial 1-800-GETALIFE.” I look at the guys who are in these skin flicks. They’re usually short, butt ugly, barrel-bellied cats with about five teeth in their mouth who are adorned with low-grade tattoos and have breasts nearly the same size as the woman. I’m a reasonably good looking feller who looks good in his clothes, and I’m sitting up here watching these lowlifes doing the “Double Bump” when I should be out there in the real world trying to meet real live women!
I’m just one dandy dude telling my own story. This may not even apply to you kind folks out there reading this, but I’ll tell you what porn has done for my life. First, it has robbed me of vast sums of money. I could buy a new, top-of-the-line Escalade with the money I’ve spent on porn over the years. Now with the advent of downloadable videos, you’re only a mouse click or two away from instant sexploitation. The financial drain has now opened wider. Second, porn has taken my time. I think of the truly positive things I could have been doing instead of watching porn while making soup for one, like helping a friend in need, donating meals/clothes to the homeless or teaching an adult to read.
Porn sends you so many delusions. It makes us menfolk think that this is what women actually want. Yes, there are women out there who are just as dirty and low-down as men when it comes to sexual behavior, who can only work with a Dodger dog, and who just can’t seem to get enough, who are always starvin’ like Marvin. I think they are the exceptions.
I believe a woman still gets turned on mentally first, then the good feelings travel to the heart, and finally, the physical is ready like Freddie. I just can’t believe the women in porn really enjoy what they’re doing on screen. I really believe that most of them come in psychologically damaged from back in the day. I just don’t think they believe reducing themselves to dogs in heat on screen, consuming nameless, faceless wee-wee’s every week, willingly risking meningoencephalitis, hard chancre, gonorrhea, and HIV by taking the high hard one bareback is fun or entertaining. They’re really worrying about the next STD report. They’re really worrying about landing the next gig–particularly if they are a low-end porn actress. They’ve long lost the ability to really feel and love.
And when it is all over, when they are of retirement age, when their breasts start to sag and look like turkey drumsticks, and when they look like a beat-up hag like Madonna or Whitney Houston, what then? What man is going to want a ho–particularly an old ho!–for a wife? What man would be proud to show up for Bingo Night or a P.T.A. meeting with a woman named Lotsa Coxx? Further, most of these women who are in porn have children…good goobilly-woo!
I got so caught up in the pornographic rapture I recently e-mailed a certain BBW porn actress that is on the rise nationally, a personal favorite of mine. I didn’t come with the usual vulgar, unparliamentary language that every dude uses when visiting websites of the “stars.” I didn’t say, “Hey, you’s a fine a** b****! I’d like to bury my **** in your *****!” nor did I upload a picture of my hootie-hoo standing at attention in all of its glory. I wanted to show some dignity and professionalism–even in the sordid community of porn. I even left my cell number. And I’ll be doggone if she didn’t text me on my cell the next day! In my hyped up state, I’m thinking, “Yyyyessss! Booty time!” I’m thinking I’m going to hitch a ride to Fantasy Island where both Ricardo Montalban AND Herve Villechaize will welcome me with open arms. She was looking for more work, she said. The text conversation started leaning towards getting together.
But, the excitement waned, and I started thinking aloud. “What if she’s thinking this is a trick transaction?” “What if she has herpes simplex 10?” “What if she’s got a closet crack habit?” Then, I decided, “HHHELLLLLL, naw!” Luckily, she didn’t call back like she promised in her text.
Folks, I write this missive not for you, but actually for myself. This is basically my retirement-from-porn farewell address. With the understated wit of John F. Kennedy and casual grace of Barack Obama, I make this solemn pledge: as soon as I submit this, I’m getting rid of all the porn collectibles that I’ve amassed on my computer. A man with any semblance of dignity should not have to live life through a computer screen; he shouldn’t have to try and find love and commitment through cheesy dating websites or leering at hackey, 4th rate porn DVDs. There is a life out there dab gummit, and I plan on getting back into the game, the game of life, the game of reality.
Pray for me, y’all…