Buying Porn, Anxiety and other fond memories of sex.

You know that time when you start 'feeling old'? Many of us all probably already experienced, and all the others will feel it at one time as well. And there are a lot of you out there that will look at my age, and think I know nothing yet ;)

Of course, I could not put a photo here of a
man reading porn. Sorry women ;) Taken from
hardcoremandy.com

I have always been drawn to erotica and pornography. Not just for lust, but also that I always loved to see the form of a woman draped in such a way that it is the most beautiful, sexy and fascinating sight a man will every see. I had this from a young age, and gladly, I was raised in a part of the world where a guy my young age, before the age of 10, could still get his hands on some lecture from time to time by just being smart. Oh, I worn out those Penthouse magazines with my eyes before I knew well enough how to masturbate. And even than I read those comments next to the photos - still assuming they were real - reading that this eighteen year old woman was into this and that. Wow... eighteen... she was really a mature woman at that time.

Now, although I absolutely still love to see those photos, and I still subscribe to the Penthouse to this very day simply for nostalgic effect, but sometimes I do feel ashamed when I see that printed there - this eighteen year young girl this and that. Fuck. I am becoming an old fart!

I went through hoops to get my 'fix' of erotica when I was a teenager. The only place to get them that were accessible to me was a small kios-like store close to our school. A magazine called 'chick' sold their old magazines bundled in a tripple-pack which was perfectly priced for my wallet. And I was just tall enough to reach that top shelf. I had to work myself mentally up to even walk into that store, and overcome my fears to buy it. Keeping track if no-one was in the store, my heart racing in my throat, and then simply grabbing the pack, walking to the cash register, forking over the dough and stuffing it as soon as possible in my backpack, jump on my bike and race home.
By the time I was 15 I had a collection that could not be hidden in closets or even on my bookshelves anymore. Sorry precious teenage literature, make place for The Girls of Penthouse, Hustler and Chick.

There was something really exciting about it. The Chick, by the way, was pure trash. But at that time Hustler and Penthouse did not show porn yet, so it had to do. Even when I got my first computer halfway through the eighties, in pixelated black and white or 4-color CGA, I was watching, or drawing, porn. Right now it would seem so rediculous, but a computer would allow all kinds of visuals.
That actually even made me think. I developed stuff even at a young age, so, with a screen resolution of 320x200 in black and white (no grey gradients then) there are only 4.1 billion visuals possible. So, if I would just generate all of these possible images, I would actually also have every pornographic visual possible in any scenario. I would have the prefect pose, position with the perfect woman, any hair color (as long as it is black or white ;) ) that will ever exists. Better yet, I would have all the visuals of Game of Thrones season 12 already!

No kidding... and this was even a lot of colors... ah... it is how I learned to play poker.

Of course, I did not go that far. My computer could calculate maybe 1 images every 5 seconds that way. So, 20 billion seconds... 634 years. Game of Thrones would have been cancelled for about 625 years by then.

But that was how I wanted to see porn, and get access to it without all the anxiety. Right now, I miss that anxiety a bit. I want to see porn, I find it. I don't have to pay for it, no one may catch me, and then I have it. I have gazillions of images that I never watch. I watch 80-800 images when I masturbate when I am alone. And I cannot remember one of them. That has nothing to do with old age, but simply, it doesn't mean so much to me anymore. I still remember, in detail, those photos in those Penthouses that I looked over minute after minute. Every glittering of wetness on the lips, the closed eyes.

Maybe there is something to say for those 'good old days'.

Protection? What Protection?

Wrong... but so good!

Yes, I mentioned it in my previous posting; with the Nepali woman, there was no protection. No condom, no discussion about it, and she even had me ejaculating deep inside of her...

Smart? Well... no.

I have my bachelor's degree, make a six-figure income, have tagged an IQ of 141 with an official testing, but in the end, I am also a guy. And guys, when promised sex, don't think. When a woman grabs you, holds your penis, and hovers over you, the voice that is shouting that you should wear a rubber is bound and gagged and completely ignored.
I don't know how it is with women, I don't hold that knowledge, but a man needs to think and plan the usage of condoms in advance.

And I had them with me. Actually, we did not expect to have sex at all. The reason why I visited the woman was because I needed to pick up my sheets for work after the weekend. I actually forgot the sheets. Why did I then have the condoms with me? Well, I hoped something might happen... but that it happened that fast, and so intense, was completely unexpected.

But I have been trained in the past; every time I ended up having sex with a woman without protection (ehm, it has happened about three times... maybe four...) I actually went for a test. Not the default right-that-same-day test, but the long one, which also rules out HIV. Because although being lost in the sexual pleasure, then the responsibility has to be taken afterwards. In the end, I don't want to bring home an STD.

So yes, in all my wisdom, still, the thought of being naked in a woman, holding her tight as you feel yourself releasing in her, is almost primitively magnificent. I don't know if it is the primal idea of impregnating a woman that makes this feeling happen, but one thing is true, there is a feeling that at least I experience when entering a woman au naturel.

Let me mention though, every time when it happened, it was the lady's initiative. I do always mention the condoms, but, yes, the flesh is weak... if she doesn't care, somehow my mind goes into stand-by mode. I should know better, but clearly, I don't.

Sigh.