There are few times (that I can remember, at least) where I was counting down every minute of class. I was one of those kids that didn’t mind being at school, I rather enjoyed it. But it must have been grade 5, every day I would count down the seconds until that final bell. I had to leave. I had to. Running home, all I could think about was filling my head with those strange images on the computer.
I always was, still am, and will in all likelihood forever be a person that simply has a difficult time learning from mistakes. I have been caught going visiting porn, despite my best efforts to conceal myself, countless time. Honestly; countless. Running home in grade 5 every day to beat the arrival of my mother (who would show up about 20 minutes after me, usually 3:30–4:00) became routine for most of that year. I was, I suppose, fixated?
I had a friend back then, a neighbour a couple years older, who would brag about his sightings on the net. Ha, no way man, my ‘rents don’t care. Mine did though. My parents were not ones to let slide such behaviour. Mum would play the “this is my house too, and I don’t want such ordure invading my space, let alone my computer” card. Dad would be more along the lines of “just stop it, a’ight?”
One of the first defining moments of porn-is-bad came around the summer of my tenth-year. I was—again—confronted by my mother about viewing it, despite the numerous punishments/groundings I had been put through beforehand. This time was no different, I knew the dialogue that would occur, and the consequences. They followed as anticipated. However, a half-hour later or so, mum yells for me. I leave my room, and head to the dining room table. I remember it clearly. “Benjamin, do you understand what porn is?”
“Uh, I guess so…”
“What is it? Tell me.” I didn’t quite know how to answer. She was my mother, she was the one with the answers. I shrugged and replied, “people doing sex?” I had no idea what sex was. Nor a blowjob or a pussy or any of those other elaborate terms.
On the table were numerous of mum’s art books. They were all open to a page, various paintings and sculptures. She pointed to a page with Bronzino’s An Allegory of Time and Love and asked, “what is this?”
I said what any 10 year old would say: “A naked woman? A painting?” I felt the answer was porn. Going back to her previous question, I did not, in fact, know what porn was. Time and Love could have been porn for all I knew. She then opened up the internet to openmyasshole.com or something another, and pointed to both screen and book. “This is porn Ben. This is art. You’ll understand more when you are older and can understand politics, but even though both of these worlds are pure fantasy, art does not condone violence. Art does may depict violence, it may show it, but art, Ben, is not violence. Porn is. It is disgusting. Do you see the difference?”
I did.
Pornography is not sex. Pornography is an informal meeting—not a coupling—of sexual experimentation. Pornography is exploitation of fantasy gone stale, the manipulation of what we think we want in order to dive down and gut us out. It’s a demonstration of what we are supposed to want, and exhausts it until we feel empty. Satisfied perhaps as we have “seen what we wanted,” in the same manner as eating $20 at McDonald’s will leave you full yet unnourished. It’s junk food is what it is.
It is without doubt the internet is the catalyst that exploded porn to massive proportions. It is an industry in the billions-a-year category; who would have thought prostitution could be prosperous? It is a well known fact that sex sells, I just never would have guess so drastically.
Everything in life works in ups and downs. It rises, falls, and rises again. And of course falls again. It is a cycle, and from this we get “things go round and round.” True story. The dominant sex is an example of this. In recent times, the rise of female and decline of male authority has changed, only this time it is titled feminism. There were times when women were at top the hierarchy, and then men again, and here goes the rising and falling all over again. I’m not saying women have achieved the “superiority” just yet. Unfortunately equality is something we aspire to and say is there to comfort ourselves, but sexism is prominent and roles are difficult to alter. It is a process, however it is changing. It is cycling. At a painfully slow rate, perhaps, but going. In all this though, I find there is something other quite troublesome (for lack of a better word)… pornography is pushing a virtual fantasy that is altering real-life.
With the rise of Gonzo and POV porn, and hardcore becoming more violent and distasteful, we see the porn demographic (men 16–30) slip further into the subconsciousness of this virtuality. The struggle women have faced trudging up towards the goal of equality/superiority is equivalent nowadays to the revolution men are counter-attacking with: jerking it. Man watches porn, asserts his dominance in video or picture or voice (aye, phone sex), woman pleases man, thus man is boss. Man has proven himself supreme by putting himself of higher worth than his sex-slave, higher than the subject he has just witnessed. Women have fought and are fighting in real-life, and men are fighting back. So it seems… to them.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying men are going to be surpassed by women as alpha, nor will women dip back down to being the victim of extreme sexism. I think we’ll more so reach an equilibrium where the cycle will fluctuate minimally, with both genders accepting equality or dominance. Sounds like a war, doesn’t it…
One of my biggest issues with pornography is the violence. I can thank my mother for that showing me that. Pornography is not sex, strictly an aggressive exposition of make-belief. Going back to it being what we are “supposed to want,” porn really is a showcase of what we should be expecting. It seems if I hire a babysitter, she’s going to come over looking like a preteen short-skirted, ponytailed, big tittied slut who will let me gape her asshole instead of me paying her. Maybe I can spit in her mouth and slap her face and then she can fake-cry while blowing me. Mascara running down her cheeks, and then of course I will cum litres upon litres all over her. Yum.
I’m sure there are some people in the world who are sexually attracted to such things. But not me. At all. Just as there are surely a huge number of others that are just like me. Why is then that we find ourselves intrigued? Why will we watch? As my dear friend Bachelor Frog says, “Finished fapping. Porn is gross now.” How is it we can be brainwashed (excuse the term) into enjoying this? The porn “stars” are bored, it shows. In between those fake moans and cries for more… we don’t care though. It is what we want to hear and see.
And I haven’t the slightest clue why.
One last thing: these are people. We are watching people. People. This girl’s name in not Skyy Supreme and he is not Maximus H-Core. This is Allison Fernandez of Cleveland, Ohio and Jamie Christopher Ryerson of London, England. They are people and they are being degraded and prostituted. They are in an, frankly, ghastly and empty relationship acting for 18 minutes. There is no love. There is nothing. Sure I am biased based on my opinion that the sex needs to meaningful and intimate, but even if I did look at this at a one-night-stand point of view, it is still not okay. I don’t support whores on film.
God, I hate porn…
I’d love to hear your thoughts. Tweet me, Facebook me, or reply down below. Thoughts?
Written 6 Jun 10 @ 03:57pm