Tag: sex

Truth in Dark Places (nsfw, safe for thought)

by Connor M, posted in Philosophical woo, Uncategorized

I had a comedy bit but I don’t have the stage presence to deliver it, so I’ll write it instead.

I noticed that when I used to watch porn, I wasn’t consuming it in the way they warn you about. I wasn’t watching increasingly sadistic, unrealistic fantasy stuff. There were no tentacles, orgies, no buffering anime tits. The reports of men going soft with their Wendy’s cook girlfriend because they’re using VR porn to bang 3 hookers in a hot tub in Cancun. That’s not me.

I found myself deep in the libraries of Pornhub scraping for scenarios that had just enough credibility to be real in my life. In some horrible alternate timeline, I could find myself in this exact POV (point-of-view) situation, living out this depravity for an inkling of sexual gratification.

I wanted post nut clarity like Joseph Smith discovering a shameful new religion. I wanted a life reckoning, the smells and sights and regret boners truly felt and earned.

One video stands out as a lighthouse in the dark. I found it some pages along the Pornhub shuffle. It’s grainy from the start. It opens with a neon PowerPoint message scrolling down the page, like Star Wars for the less fortunate.

“I went to help my mom’s friend …

wearing grey sweat pants…

she couldn’t resist”

Cut to:

Someone holding a phone aimed at a pale skinny stomach, recording down towards a tumbleweed. Looking up at the viewer is a woman of some 60 years.

You can see Fox News in the back, a dog wandering around. The cigarette smell has surely settled onto the clothes haphazardly falling out of the numerous dressers. Her papyrus skin glints in the camera light.

I watch this ready for my form of escapism, I want it to feel so grossly real that my body reacts.

————-

So, I create a scene in my head: I was working at a restaurant late with my older coworker. She has a fun personality and we flirt casually.

Her Corolla has been acting up recently, could I give her a ride home?

I hesitate but say sure why not. We make awkward talk on the way, when we arrive at her house she asks, “Want to stop in for a beer? I owe you one.”

And we have the set up my friends.

————-

We have the front lobe calculations that put me in sweatpants on that poorly fitted bed sheet.

I have to be able to see myself in the scenario, but more importantly, I have to be able to see the part of myself that is dark enough to go there. Porn as escapism must acknowledge our humanity, not rise above it into an unrecognizable fantasy realm. It’s the dirty “what-ifs” that simmer underneath and ache to be tapped.

In the near future, when nobody can get it up, there will still be those in the trenches seeking gritty realism.  

There will always be the frontiersmen finding sideways videos from hotel rooms, backs of cars, or rent controlled houses. The sex was so real and urgent and kinda gross that it had to happen. People living on the precipice of demise, rushing to act before their brain catches up with them. That’s how we got here.

Maybe we’ll pay more for that in the future, to get back to reality. AI is conditioning us to live in this false reality and seek things that we’ll never actually see; create images of ourselves and storylines that barely scratch the real. Are you really a sex god satisfying these single women in your area, or are you a pirate radio freak fucking before your body falls apart and your judgment kicks in? The ugliness, the futility, and living on the edge of ruin that’s required to feel fully alive sometimes. Slugging down the Oregon trail, haunting scratched home VHS that have gathered dust; masturbating regally, while the violinist plays and the ship sinks.

No stupid questions

by Connor M, posted in People, Uncategorized

We get a day of full, complete, unrestricted questions. There are no faux pas on _____. No hate speech, no prying questions, no manners that are too uncouth.

Two men walk into the coffee shop. Their perfect beard lines, slightly upturned chin, light prance. Excuse me sir, I have to ask..

“Why do I always see a gay couple and try to suss out who is the bottom? Is there always a bottom? Is it a perfect representation of power balance in the world when two men can fluctuate between receiving and giving cock? The purest form of sex. Completely devoid of reproductive purposes, and solely for pleasure, is butt sex between two men, right? Hear me out.

No woman can know the feeling of penetrating an orifice, only of being penetrated. Meanwhile, both men know in the deepest sense what their partner is experiencing, and vice versa. Nuts a flying in gods face, for nary one baby born.

Is this the purest form of connection in our corporeal lives?

Is there some planet deep in the vast cosmos that is all gay men, with one queen bee for reproductive purposes? A society that flourishes free from the binaries of sex.

Less confusion, less unmatched furniture sets or dirty sidewalks. No more jihads carried out in the name of the unknowable beauty of women.

The circus act men go through to attract the opposite sex. The grinding, the sacrifices of health and better judgment. We cannot help but give our energy to their beauty and poise. But guys like yourselves can live a pure existence, intertwined and aligned in pursuit of pleasure and ascension?”

“Sir, here is your 20oz Americano.”

The two men paused, looked at each other, then me, winked with a wry smile and walked on. They had an answer, but they deferred this time.

Then I saw a woman with the most beautiful butt, bright eyes, and long shiny hair walk in with a somewhat hunched, dehydrated looking man with clean shoes and a nice watch. He bought them both coffees and avocado toast (gluten free bread you idiot), and they sat by the window.

She browsed her phone in silence while he looked out on the street. Soon she picked up a call, laughing and chatting while delicately putting bread morsels in her mouth with her chicken talon nails.

She carried on for 10 minutes while our morose friend sipped his Americano, watching the cars fly by. His face remained unchanged, but I felt all of his emotions play out behind his eyes.

It could have been a first date or 10 years into a marriage, you can tell when a dynamic is written and fulfilled immediately. She is hot enough that you can provide, sit silently, and be a doting partner because her immaculate prize swings in front of you at Kroger.

Maybe behind closed doors there is real depth and nurturing? These are two evolved and highly in sync people and I’m just projecting? But I do know opposites attract. The farther apart that two humans look physically, the more that money and a perfect body can call out and find each other in the dark. The bank account fills the wine glass for the round, bouncy butt and warm eye contact in the Italian restaurant. What could be better than her smiling at you genuinely? I could just be completely jealous and making this shit up. But I do know how a woman can steal your brain function quickly.

Is there a power balance here? Is it the perfect provider, providee balance, flower and bee that we need to keep the wheels turning? Would we be consumers, builders, warriors, or just hole up in our basements masturbating if women weren’t charming us.

But instead, you just watch her talk on the phone, hear her nails click on the keyboard. Pay for it all, because you can’t stand the thought of not being near this mundane magnetism. It doesn’t make any sense rationally.

Power dynamics, sex, God, coffee shops. It’s all a wash in the end when we’re old and grey and reminiscing. The delicate dance is gone.

 I’ve never had sex with a man. I’ve never walked behind a woman I’ve called my own who was blessed with ancestral perfection too pristine to not be doted on.

But you’ll never know if you don’t ask why? I’ve had a few too many Americanos. I’ve had a few too many thoughts that floated confidently into the ether without being challenged. I’ve projected my own shortcomings and insecurities on happy couples because of a jealous simmering. Is it even real? Now’s the day to ask. I walked up to the window where they sat.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”