Its Sexy Time…….

Well I seem to have amassed a few new followers to my little blog in the last few days, something that I am always happy and delighted with. So a big hello and thank you to anyone that has decided to stick around, you are all very welcome here.

You may be wondering if all of the posts I do are as heartfelt and poignant as my last one. In answer to that question, I am now going to write about porn (So that’s a no). It will be a light-hearted look, but may cause offence to some. So if it does, I apologise right now.

Sex is a beautiful thing, a wondrous connection between two human beings that is a combination of attraction, desire, and the simple notion of sharing yourself so intimately that nothing can separate two souls as they join together in one of nature’s most special gifts.

Or if your British, it’s a soul sapping slog that only goes to highlight your many flaws and insecurities, and makes you physically want to flay off your own skin and wear somebody else's so you don’t have to spend another waking moment trapped within the walking carcass that is your own miserable body.  

But on a whole, most people quite like it.

And pornography is an age old offshoot of the notion of getting down and dirty that has been around since the early cavemen first learnt to draw on their cave walls, even if it was only stick women with really big boobies.

I have a confession to make though. Porn and I don’t really get along. Instead of finding it titillating, it only amuses me to dangerous levels. Which I think is just missing the point entirely.

Quite a shock though, I’d imagine? I’m a man. I live on my own. I should have porn spilling out of every nook and cranny of my flat, right?

Nope.

That's not to say I haven’t partaken in porn, who hasn’t? It just hasn’t invaded my life like most blokes that I know.

I saw my first porn film at the tender age of 12. It was a stonewall classic called Deep Inside Vanessa Del Rio that one of my friends had on video and was passed around our little circle of chums with fevered breath and shifty eyes.

Eventually it was my turn to take the video home. I stuck it in the back of my wardrobe and waited for an opportune time to take it out and watch it. When that day came, and I was alone in my house, I put the video in our player and with shaky hands, pressed play. 

My internal monologue played out something like this.

Yeah I’m gonna see some people have sex. I can’t wait. I’m gonna see some boob and some sex. I like this films theme tune. OK, here's the lady. She's sexy. Yes, she's getting naked! Alright! Boobies! Ohhhhhh, so that's what it looks like. She’s hairy. And here's the man. Now he’s naked. I feel weird. And now they are- OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE THEY DOING? THAT’S HORRENDOUS! I HAVE TO DO THAT? I’M NOT DOING THAT! WHYS HE PUTTING IT IN THERE??? NASTY!!!!!!

Lucky for me, someone had part recorded over the tape with an episode of Knight Rider, which put me out of my shocked misery and made me eject the tape pretty quickly. But I now have the psychological problem of immediately getting an erection and a sense of shame whenever I heard the Knight Rider theme tune. Just thank god that pavlovian response doesn’t happen every time I see David Hasslehoff. That would take some explaining.

As my own world views widened, and my 12 year old self was replaced with an older and semi-adult self, my experience with porn began to change as well. When I began to understand all the “Ins and outs” (snigger), porn films began to take on almost depressingly predicable scenarios in the way they played out.

They would basically centre on the star of the film, a woman who’s “Sexploits” (double snigger) would be the plot of the movie, as she generally shagged her way through a procession of men.

The protagonists would always seem to be cut from the same cloth. The men would be perma tanned slabs of meat, so pumped full of steroids it was amazing that their balls didn’t resemble two frankly startled grapes with a huge swinging dick like an out of control fire hose lassoing around them, and they always had the same befuddled expression on their faces, like they were continuously trying to remember if they had left the gas on at home.

The women quite often seemed more like mannequins than real human beings. Everything nipped and tucked, with fake breasts that seem to defy the natural laws of gravity. And vaginas so hairless and smooth, that every time the man went down to administer oral sex, he would recoil in horror on seeing his own face looming back at him from her reflective nether regions.

So once whatever contrived set up had taken place that would get them in a position to start having sex, you could almost start playing porn bingo as it was almost so predictable as to how it was going to pan out.

Right, she’s blowing him. I got that one. Now he’s going down on her. Tick that one. Now she’s riding him. Yep, that's on my card. Any minute now they will change position. Is it doggy? Nope, it’s the praying mantis. Now it’s doggy. And here comes the cum shot. HOUSE!

It’s basically about as erotic as slapping two cuts of raw steak together.

But the thing that sets my, frankly rather odd, sense of humour off, is the “Dirty talk”.

Sex instantly makes us stupid. It’s unavoidable. Now I don’t know if any of you kinky souls have ever recorded yourselves, but if you have, play it back with just the sound and no image. You sound like an idiot.

Sex takes up so much brain power that what little is left is only our most basic functions, so when we start doing the dirty talk, we sound like we have just had a very powerful frontal lobotomy.

And porn films seem to be under the impression that we like this, so they go all out to give us more of what they think we like. Idiots talking gibberish during sex.

Ohhh yeah, fuck me hard.

Pound me with your hot meat.

You like my wet pussy?

One thing that seems to be repeated often is the fact that the couple can’t quite seem to believe that they are having sex.

We’re doing it.

Yeah, we’re really doing it.

We’re doing it hard baby.

We’re really doing it hard and fast.

It’s like some odd form of philosophical debate amongst morons. If two idiots fuck in an office, are they really there? If the woman really wanted to freak the man out, during mid thrust, she could grab him by the ears, look him deep in the eyes and say, “But are we really doing it?” causing the man to suddenly doubt his own existence, which in turn will make him lose his magnificent erection and go in sit in the corner to contemplate who exactly he really is.

One of the most soul destroying pieces of dirty talk I have heard in a porn film was this little beauty.

“Stick your big fat cock in my meathole.”

Now let me break that down for you.

Stick. Your big fat cock. In my meathole.

I don’t think in all of the history of the written literature has there ever been a more awful collection of words placed in one sentence. That one statement has basically reduced something that is beautiful, life affirming, sensual, and just generally amazing, and turned into donkey shit. Plus it has also shown porn up for what it really is: just two rapidly decaying sacks of flesh, pointlessly and joylessly grinding away at each other in a pathetic attempt to stave off the rapidly approaching spectre of death lurking menacingly on the horizon.

Well I’m horny now, how about you?

With the explosion of home internet use within the last 15 years, all the porn you want can be beamed directly into your homes at the click of a mouse button. You want to see someone with no hands trying to fuck a chicken? (and let’s face it, who wouldn’t?), have a little search around and I’m sure you will find it somewhere.

Websites like youporn, spankwire, redtube, all provide a never ending stream of folk doing the wild thing for you to consume at your pleasure.

And yet these sites don’t really appeal to me either. Unlike porn films, these sites cut out the story and just show endless clips of people getting down to it. But whenever I have watched anything on there, being the stickler for narrative that I am, rather than get turned on, I just seem to be asking myself loads of questions.

Whose kitchen are they in?

Is that the baddie?

Why is he dressed like a pirate?

So instead of getting my juices going, all I end up doing is desperately trying to fill in a back story for something I’m not really interested in anyway.  

I’m sticking to my imagination in future. In that I am always amazing, have endless stamina, and I never cry halfway through.

Which is always a bonus.