A slippery slope, porn. Never did I think I would lend my blog as a space to discuss the ramifications of the adult industry, but never did I realize how unhappy porn makes me.
Granted, to talk negatively about porn suggests words like “Puritan,” or “Party-pooper!” Or being dim enough to state the obvious: junk food is bad for you. Besides, if you eat healthy all the time, can’t you grab a greasy burger and fries without guilt? To reject porn is to reject modern-day. Ubiquitous and convenient, porn is akin to plastic water bottles or cell phones, it would feel like going backwards if it were banned or marginalized. Admitting you watch (or make) porn is tantamount to saying you’re a free thinker, liberated, free from social mores: unaffected.
We’re all voyeurs. Porn is embedded in our daily lives. You can’t open a newspaper without seeing Paris Hilton’s crotch. Or avoid a photo of a 14-year old Kardashian in a bikini giving come hither looks. Like scrubbing the floor or painting a wall, porn has a rote quality to it; in-out, up-down, as if it bores through membranes and lodges in deep recesses of the brain. Three years ago I saw an image of “Chxxe” pleasuring herself by squatting on a “toy.” I still remember, down to her tattoo with the word “Bear.” The thing is I don’t want to. You cannot erase, you cannot delete. Those images persist. I am defiled.
Porn reflects how sex is no longer intimate, sex is sport — made for spectators. Could be running or cycling, only naked and with tawdry props. There are no “I love yous” or romantic gazing, just massage the oil, suit up and get physical. Adrenaline rush signals game over. Parties can go home, click off, hang up.
The problem with porn is it strengthens the wrong muscles. As our connective abilities atrophy, our excitement receptors scream for more. We need more titillation, more thrills, more drama to stimulate the synapses. Cross the three-way boundary, for example, and after awhile it loses its buzz and we want … a four-way? There’s no taboo left: grandpa with his granddaughter? Sex with a goat? How about porn for the entire family? Swapping and swinging with clergy, political leaders even elementary school teachers… Its all out there. Some of it has been dressed up with spiritual overtones (tantra), some is straight out sex for hire disguised as private webcams. Whatever your moral assessment, porn is a keypad stroke away.
What is porn really? Is it fun? Female or male degradation? Harmless amusement?
It used to be that sexual gratification was the prize for intimacy. You could only engage in sexual relations if you were “intimate” with someone. That went the way of knob radios and poodle skirts. You had to date, discover, go through assorted rituals and efforts before you got to first base. Intimacy requires empathy, listening, sharing, forgiving, patience, caring, negotiating, compromising, sacrificing. “Making love” embodies that, and for some reason its considered dull, inadequate. Or is it just laborious?
We can alleviate whatever needs we have, frustration, loneliness; there’s no problem a little lube can’t fix. Who wants to take the time to caress and cuddle, share or entwine, when we can pick up the phone or type in website or switch on hotel cable and watch others with their naughty bits exposed and save the mental exertion required for intimacy. Porn is the ultimate in self-reliance. No need to reveal your self, your innermost fears and flaws; we can stare at penises or vaginas (with a close-up lens!).
To love someone deeply, with all the trust and forgiveness, understanding and patience relationships require, why not cut to the chase and get some satisfaction instead.
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