I remember my 21st birthday, I’d been to the city on the
train to pick up some XXX material. What is it with me and XXX material, I hear
you say? I’m always banging on about it, aren’t I, I can’t stop ranting on
about it, does his rhetoric about it ever let up? The answer is, I haven’t
watched it for over a year, so now consider myself ‘clean and serene’ from its
dastardly fishhooks. So, despite the obvious embarrassment of discussing sexual
affairs online, I’d say that it’s cause for celebration. Porn, after all, is
the major negative pipeline into my life to make me a slave to sin. Without it,
I can work on being a worthwhile Christian.
I remember watching it behind closed curtains. I had these red tatty second-hand
ones which didn’t block out the light. I had to wait years until I could afford
a decent set of blackout drapes. They came with their own curtain helpline
phone number. Someone out there knows exactly how hard it can be to hang them.
I remember the illicit scene, rather regrettably, like a host of other
ugly performances bunched up and knotted in my head. It was some chubby woman
who I didn’t fancy all that much, apart from her thick brunette locks. I wondered
what I was doing there, in that room, at that time, even though it was my
living room, even though I was always there. It was a quaint state of
consciousness. It was cannabis I was on, not the green bushy stuff but the
resin. That’s what I resigned myself to after dropping out of college, a life
of smoking pot and drinking beer on my own, addicted to nudity on the silver
screen. I had no idea of how much of a desperate existence I was letting myself
in for. There was nobody around to grab me by the lapels and shake some sense
into me. I wouldn’t have listened if they had.
I take great heart in the fact that I have not precisely broken under
the pressure of modern life, however…I have been targeted. There’s a HUGE difference. I’ve been a victim of multiple
bad influences during my walk, I’d even say demonic at times, including the
scandalous fiasco of ‘induced’ bonkers illness (mental health).
It was all downhill from that birthday. I felt something inside me
wither and die. I think it was my fearlessness. Up until then I was scared of
nothing, the concept of fear never even entered my consciousness. I would get
drunk and high every weekend during my ‘going out’ phase, climb up something,
fall off, bump and cut my head, trip over, get into bust ups, get myself arrested,
pepper sprayed, all of that madness, and wake up bright n early the next day to
do it all again. I was invincible, on the cusp of 21, a big bulletproof goofy
kid.
On my B Day, sat there on the floor twirling my nob around to a big fat
naked lady playing with a pair of older guys, something left the premises and
died. It exited stage left and flew solo. Fortunately, I understand this to be a
perfectly natural juncture of growing up, and not directly related to what I
was doing. It would have left me anyway, in time, I maybe just wouldn’t have
noticed it so sharply.
Drug-induced chemicals on the brain like endorphins, serotonin and
dopamine, combined with the entrenched memory of a pulsating, electrifying
orgasm, have a habit of ‘marking’ the subject forever. You never forget where
you were or what you were doing when such an event takes place. This is why
swarms of sinners on the wide path embrace this lifestyle and venture deeper
along it, powerlessly, hopelessly, haplessly, and helplessly. Because that
thrill, that life-marker, that unforgettable kick, is arguably the most
satisfying reward in existence, the best fun us as humans can have. A cup of
English tea doesn’t come close. A burger and chips doesn’t cut the mustard.
Only adrenalin-fuelled hobbies can compete, in my opinion.
But I don’t want a go kart, I want hard-action full-on
balls-to-the-wall bareback sex high on drugs with steamy porn stars, and I want
it now.
No quibbles, is that okay?
And not only now, I want it tomorrow, and the next day, the day after
that, and the following day, and so on. For the rest of all time. Because I’m a
red-blooded male with needs.
Except I don’t, not anymore, all of that is over, I find it miraculous
that I got offline, that I walk past DVD shops, that I delete dealer’s numbers,
that I resist that deep-rooted womanly calling. Because growing out of this
salacious empire isn’t just so difficult it takes middle-aged nouse to do it,
it simply ain’t meant to happen at
all i.e it’s darned well impossible to
escape for some.
I feel that way for myself. I feel like I have evaded some evil terrible
menace by the skin of my teeth at the last hurdle. That evil terrible menace happens
to be a woman. It used to be a naked man with a shaft long enough to roast a
piglet on. The both of them had plans revolving around the ownership of my
sacred sexual energy for all of eternity, knowing its potency, once entwined
with The Shepherd of Desire and soaring like an eagle to insatiable pleasures,
knows no bounds.
In the throes of ecstasy I needed no water or nicotine for many hours,
which would be unthinkable in a bored, sober state. During a few kinkier games
I didn’t even require oxygen (wink-wink).
So yep, I’ve jumped ship, away from those leather-clad fire-breathing
harlots, who do not love you back, and into Christ’s loving arms.
