I Knew It Was Going To Be Trouble (Warning: Contains graphic sexual references.)

Mar 1, 2007

Our tastes in porn didn't mesh well. I like amateurs. They seem genuine and honestly affectionate. I find the talent on display in homemade videos to be more engaging than the glossy, porn-industry stuff. Also, there is little acting involved, and even less plot: amateur stuff is real. There is nothing real in the glossy stuff.

I didn't want to like porn at all, but I found it exciting at the same time. I felt a little guilty when I watched it, perhaps because of my lapsed Catholicism, or because I was bothered that someone was being used. The guilt wove itself into the ritual. Then a good acquaintance and I spoke about it, and he brought up a salient point in a crude manner. He said, "If it weren't for porn, how would women learn to give a decent blow job?" Well, they could date a gay man. I know of someone who did just that, but she didn't learn the craft that well. Sex wasn't one of her stronger subjects, and she hates porn. Therefore, my good acquaintance had convinced me. Somewhat. I embraced erotica from that point onward, and guilt exited the ritual. However, I still do not like to see people victimized.

She likes girl on girl. She likes groups. She likes outdoors. She likes wild. She likes big cocks, although she muses over the possibility of having a relationship with someone who doesn't even have a cock—a woman. She likes it rough. She likes gay men doing everyone. She likes bi. She likes seeing people used. She likes gangbangs, and perhaps the triality [sic] of the woman being worshiped, desired and humiliated all at once. I could never quite figure out who she was in those scenes. Was she the victim, or one of the abusive gangbangers? She may have fluxed between both. She shared her fantasy of having a cock, and she often gave the impression that she wanted to be fucked by anyone, and everyone, she ever crushed on at anytime she saw fit to do so. Did she want all of us at once? I wanted to be left out of that deal. Ever since the concept occurred to me, I have worked tirelessly to separate, and set myself apart, from her usual race of vulnerable, dependent pseudo-men.

Once she was watching a clip of "the usual blond" being force-fed a monster vein snake. The dude was ramming it against the back of the blonde's throat, and he had a hand on the back of her head, eliminating any possibility of escape. Cockarama guided the blonde's head repeatedly to the gag reflex, and said cute things that startled me.

My accomplice was rapt. She had just had an orgasm so I don't know how wound up she actually was, but she was definitely in an attentive, blissful, trance-like state. She noticed me noticing her. She offered an explanation, "I like the way they make them [do it]." She sounded dreamily bemused, and her left hand gestured delicately toward the computer screen. It was sort of like a poof—"There you go,"—magician's flourish. Her fingers were close together at first, and then spread apart as they approached the screen. Had she thrown fairy dust before?  It was a subtle, regal, and controlling movement. She wanted to touch. She wanted to join. She wanted to push harder on the back of the bitch's head. Or maybe she wanted to be the recipient as an abusively large cock pummeled passed her uvula. I had a sinking moment and wandered off to find that after-sex cigarette. Realization and resignation scurried from one hemisphere to the other as if a secret had been discovered and wanted to be accepted throughout the palace.

I sensed a menacing trouble in her attitude. I thought there was a possibility that she could actually hurt someone for pleasure. I mean really hurt them against their will. The gray area was darkening and my moral compass was pointing elsewhere.

I thought I had been helping her keep things contained, private, and safe until a solution could be committed to and acted on. That is not to say that I wasn't up for experiencing some of our more exotic exercises. It was interesting. Intriguing. It makes my nostrils flare to recall some of it. Some of it was worth trying. Otherwise, how are you going to know whether or not you like something?

Maybe I was just enabling. I had those dreaded good intentions, but I felt inept and confused at times. As it turned out, in exchange for being willing, caring, supportive and protective, I was emotionally going to get something rammed into the back of my throat.

I think she dug it.