For most guys porn has been a part of his life since his first adorable little ejaculation. It’s been a good friend, right there all along, assisting in quickie wanks, long drawn-out Saturday afternoon sessions, and walk-by chubbies at the office (pre-firewall days). It’s helped to raise our standards of what we expect in bed from the women we date (another reason why women are getting sluttier.) Recently, I found myself reminiscing about my first exposure to porn.
It was at my grandparents’ house. I was exploring the basement when I came across a copy of The Joy of Sex in an old beige filing cabinet. What a find! The rush of excitement was instantaneous. The pencil sketch drawings were thin gruel compared to today’s high res video on demand, but I was 14 and just saying the word “boobie” was enough to give me blue balls. I pored over every single picture. Eventually I got around to reading the words.
I don’t know what was skeevier — getting off to porn with my grandparent’s watching Jeopardy in the next room, or finding porn in their home, a place I used to think was holier than a confessional. I’m pretty sure the book smelled like old people. That didn’t stop me.
From then on I was a perverted pirate on a porn treasure hunt, always looking for my next fix. Like women, the chase was almost as much fun as the viewing. With each score I ratcheted up my demands for stronger, purer stuff.
My next big find was my parent’s underwear drawer. Big honking VHS tapes with colorful scenes all over the sleeve. I later learned that most of my friends found their parents’ porn in the underwear drawer as well. I wondered if our parents got together on bridge night to discuss the best places to hide the porn from the kids. In their infinite wisdom they decided under the granny panties. Come on, that’s the first place a kid is gonna look knowing that’s exactly where his dopey parents will think he won’t look. It wasn’t long before I found the vibrators and devices I still can’t identify to this day.
Porn is so ubiquitous now that the thrill of the chase is gone. Kids these days have no idea what it was like back when we had to walk 5 miles through the snow, uphill both ways, dodging suicide bombers, to get to number 2 pencil sketches of vaj. Today it’s log on, rub one out, get back to whatever you were doing. There’s no anticipation. It’s not Christmas morning anymore, it’s a typical Tuesday afternoon.
In the distant past when men had nothing but glimpses of ankle to masturbate to, actual sex must have been an earthshaking experience. It must have been the kind of thing that men died for… and created civilization for.