Friday, January 11, 2013

A Pornography Autobiography

The year was 1995, and I had just flashed my first victim. He hadn’t asked me to yank down my shirt, but I could tell he wanted me to by the way he chose to color with the pink crayon instead of the yellow crayon. This could only mean one thing: the rosy color of nipples must be on his mind. He was playing dumb, but he wasn’t fooling me. We all knew lions didn’t have tickle-me-pink fur, but we did know what other pink things were yearning for a tickle.

After revealing my private pancakes, he snickered. He wouldn’t hit puberty for another eleven years or so, making his laughter less of a manly chuckle and more of a girly giggle. His voice reminded me of my own, and after he flashed me back, so did his chest.

I had always been told, “Men love naked women.”  Also:

“They love seeing women pee.”
“They love their own penis.”
“They love breasts.”

What people forgot to tell me was that many of them also love porn, most likely because I was a child and they were protecting my little mind from the industry. However, I do wish I had been warned.

The year was 2011, and I was living with multiple roommates. I came home one day to find myself in a situation I had never found myself in before, causing me to react in shock.



I froze, staring at my boyfriend lying on the bed, pants undone, facing an open laptop screen. It looked as if he was doing some sort of “hands-on” project.


“What. Are. You. Doing."

He looked up frantically, panicked, and then hung his head in predetermined defeat, knowing there was no believable lie, and knowing that you can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

 “…I was about to masturbate.”


“Because I got really horny.”

He looked up at me, ashamed, which made me feel more like his mother instead of his girlfriend - which is a really fucking disturbing feeling.


“I know.”


“I know.”

“And you’re watching porn?!”

“Not yet! I mean, I was going to, but I won’t now!”

“So you couldn’t just wait for me to get here.”

“It’s not that…”

“You prefer computer-women.”



“No, I don’t! I rarely even watch porn!”

“Whatever! You don’t like real women!”

 “I do like real women!”


“I know you’re real!”

“I have a body you can look at AND touch!”

“I know, I’m sorry! I just got the urge!”

“And the urge couldn’t wait?!”

 “No! When the urge comes, it comes!”

“You already came?!”

 “No, that’s not what I mean! I hadn’t even started yet! I JUST pulled down my pants!”

“Oh god I didn’t need to hear that.”

 “I want YOU!”

“No you don’t! Fuck this! I’m going to go look at some other man and start touching myself!”


“Oh, I’m gonna.”

“Natasha. Come here, please.”


Of course, I’ve come to accept that people watch porn. It’s a normal thing that I just have no experience with. Kind of like drinking milk – I hate milk, but a lot of people drink it, which shouldn’t upset me. Now, when I think back to the memory of walking in on a potential masturbating session, I laugh. I’ll even nostalgically bring it up sometimes to my boyfriend, who laughs, also - though I did make sure I had his permission to share this story. 

I’ll admit I’m just naïve when it comes to the subject, for I’ve never watched porn. Believe me, if I had, I’d let you know all about it. I just don’t ever feel the temptation to watch other people have sex. I want to be the one having sex, damnit! I think porn would just piss me off and make me jealous, as well as give me ridiculous expectations for my real-life sex life.

I also prefer to rely on my imagination – except when it comes to the most recent porn discussion I’ve had, which involves a man and a horse.

I think I may just have to watch that one.

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