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It's ALWAYS a party (in my pants).

Here’s your warning: I will be talking about Porn. Pornography.  The material discussed will be of a frank and explicit nature, but will be presented in the most immature and offensive way possible. If you intend to be offended, just get the fuck out now.
AHEM. I love Porn.
Porn and I have a long history of fondness for one another. I think we started our relationship sometime around my tenth or eleventh birthday (coinciding nicely with my own personal discovery of masturbation). My earliest memories are probably just like most other guys-opening up Dad’s sock drawer to find a hidden, well thumbed through copy of Playboy, being shown a dirty movie found in a friend’s older brother’s VCR, stumbling over a stack of Penthouses, Club Internationals, Over 40s and Juggs magazines in a filthy neighborhood dumpster, or talking to that old homeless guy in the park that used to show his penis if you gave him nickels (and sometimes if you didn’t).
I recall the reverence we all had for porn as pre-teen kids. At that time, it was the first taboo, first grown up thing we had any access to, before drinking, smoking or taking drugs (for some of us, anyway). And if you were the kid with access, you were the KING of the neighborhood…That is, until your Mom found it and threw it out. It was always the Moms, too. I never remember hearing kids complain that their Dad found their nudie mags and pitched them. My mom was no different. She had a very low opinion of pornography and didn’t understand how a twelve year old boy could be naturally drawn to it. “Is this REALLY what you want? This…FILTH?!” She’d yell. Well, yeah. Duh. Filth rocks.
Not that I didn’t give her frequent reason to yell. She found damn near every magazine, video tape, and Victoria’s Secret catalog  I ever had in my possession. Sometimes it would be due to own stupidity, though. I left a videotape in the VCR one day, and she accidentally pressed play when she came home from work. I’m not sure if my mother had eve4r seen a lesbian threesome before, and she certainly didn’t comment before throwing it in the trash and dumping cat litter on it to prevent me from digging it out. Even worse, it wasn’t my tape, I had borrowed it from a friend, who had borrowed it from a friend…It’s loss sent shock waves through the pre-pubescent male community. I think I was about fourteen at the time, and at that point, with all the mags and movies she had found previously, her screaming turned to a shameful disappointment. I seem to remember hearing, “If this is the type of person you want to be, then there isn’t anything further I can do.” Nothing, that is, except pummel me with endless guilt, maternal shame, and force me to go to church every Sunday until I was 19. That didn’t work either. It did give me a special fondness for well dressed milfs, though. And a little for nuns. Just a little.
I am sure all that shame and guilt contributed nicely to my already fragile teenage psyche, and helped further establish an already healthy obsession with porn. I would treat it like a caretaker, a curator even. I’d never let any be thrown out if I could stop it. Over the years I had found and stashed away magazines from as far back as the 1960’s, when all the chicks were like thirty pounds heavier, didn’t shave, had real tits and hairdo’s that looked like they just walked off the set of Star Trek. I once joked that Porn was like energy-it could not be created or destroyed, only transferred. Obviously, that was just a joke. Porn can easily be created. I could unzip my fly right now and take a picture of my dick, and some would call that pornography. I could also smear my dick with mustard and some would call that art. Personally, I could go either way on the subject, I’m pretty flexible about exposing myself.
The obsession grew. By my early twenties, I had stacks of magazines, boxes of old VHS (with the over sized cardboard packages), polaroids I had stolen from a family I baby sat for (mom and dad were swingers, and the son showed me the pics…THAT was a fucked up family), catalogs, newspapers from local titty bars, there was a shit load of it, and I just couldn’t part with any of it.
That is, until Al Gore, God Bless him, invented the internet, and the Lord himself bestowed the gift of Pornography upon it. I heard choirs of angels singing when I was shown my first grainy, choppy amateur video of some chick jamming a squash into her stretched out vagina. I remember crying a single, salty tear of pure joy. It was a whole new day.
Up to then I felt I was pretty worldly when it came to Porn. I had seen a lot, read about it, done…Virtually none of it, but that isn’t the point. I felt I was an expert. But the internet showed me I knew nothing of the vast perversions out there to be shamefully viewed in a darkened bedroom or locked bathroom while creatively manipulating one’s self. Even today, I’ve matured enough that I’d never call myself an expert. But I would call myself a Connoisseur, nay, a PORNnoisseur. And I can rub one out with more skill than any athlete in any Olympic sport.
I’ve looked up just about everything, other than obviously illegal stuff, and gay stuff (just not into it), and scat. What’s scat, you ask? Ever seen “Two girls and a cup”? Go Google it, I dare you. I’m not linking that shit here. But everything else you can think of, I’ve probably viewed at one point or another. Normal stuff, like lesbians, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, anal, fisting, public nudity, to less standard shit, like furries, foodies, fart fetishes, balloon fetishes, massive insertions, S+M, rope play, latex and rubber, fucking machines, double penetration, triple penetration, quadruple penetration-DVDA (that shit is damn near a myth, it really takes a skilled team of individuals to pull it off, and they are frequently German), horseplay, and countless others, I really could go on listing this shit all day. I have gained a very special appreciation for just how specific some people’s sexual desires can be. Even when I checked out stuff I wasn’t into, it was still wild to see it. And then there’s the humor I have found, but we’ll get to that. The only thing that ever really scared me was She-Males. Not the obvious ones with the 5 O’clock shadow and the Adam’s apple. No, the ones that  look really good, either through hormones, surgery, or they were just really feminine to begin with. That shit frightens the hell out of me, because the last prize I want to find if I’m digging to the bottom of some girl’s Cracker Jack box is a hormonally shriveled limp prick. But hey, some people dig it, and it’s out there to be paid for and enjoyed.
Granted, you do have to be careful. Searching for porn on the internet can be the cyber equivalent of dipping your cock in a public toilet. It might seem like a good idea at the time, but God knows who shit in there. Over the years, I’ll admit, I’ve dunked my dick in the wrong toilet a few times and got my computer all fucked up. So, I’ve done my best to find safe-ish places, ones that don’t leave viruses or adware (at least none that my virus software hasn’t caught), and I’ve stuck with them. Think of it like dipping your cock in your neighbor’s toilet. Still not the best idea if you get caught, but you’ve got a better idea where that toilet’s been.
Recently I found one that I really feel the need to share. Honestly, the last 1300 words were really just a build up to talking about this site.

8 responses to “It's ALWAYS a party (in my pants).”

  1. Kail Kail says:

    Hilarious post, Wrecked-Um!

  2. Avatar Erick G. says:

    Hahaha, fantastic stuff, man! Now stop playing with yourself and post part two already!

  3. Avatar disperse says:

    “I could unzip my fly right now and take a picture of my dick, and some would call that pornography. I could also smear my dick with mustard and some would call that art. Personally, I could go either way on the subject, I’m pretty flexible about exposing myself.”
    That’s pure poetry right there, well done!

  4. Avatar The Tailor says:

    Nicely done. 🙂

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