Well, That Happened: An Unnecessary Rant

Honestly. I love pornography. Right now, after a night of heavy drinking, heavy gigging, and several hours of poker, I am watching Meet The Press on my TV and also have a Girls Gone Wild video playing on my computer. I could just as easily be in my car eating an apple and contemplating Naomi Watt's unnatural attraction to me. Or anything. I guess this makes me a bad person. If I were more Dostoevskyien I would tell you that I am a sick man, a terrible man; but I am not. I just enjoy watching people have sex. Or even the idea of watching people have sex. This is, of course, far too intimate. Maybe it is the gin. Maybe I am simply tired of pretending; God, I am tired. Still, I would like to think that it is the latter. Maybe this is a weakness of mine. Then again, why would one ever need a reason for enjoying such a thing? I hear it all the time. X had sex with Y and mayhem ensued. Sex. Really? I won't pretend that it is merely friction and release, but for God's sake, it is not what we pretend it is. In fact, it is fun. All of it. Well, really, most of it. No kids, no rape, but other than that, it is all open. Two girls and a cup? Hey, knock yourself out. Personally, that makes me think of sadness and decay. But what do I know? I, me, I mean me, will be dead soon, and I don't want to have spent a significant amount of my adult life acting as though I wasn't, in the slightest bit, interested in that young cheerleader's somewhat unwilling but overwhelmingly productive introduction into Sapphic bliss. She is curious. She wants to know. If I hadn't deformed myself so thoroughly, what surprises would I have found in store for me? I don't know. It still feels a little icky; or, at least, as though it is something of an imposition. Why would I do that? Or even want to? And what gives me the right? Nothing. God it is compelling though. I tend to catch a lot of flack for my ideas regarding 'open relationships' but am I genuinely expected to behave as though my love for a person extinguishes my attraction to some, any, other person? Biology begs to differ. I know that we are not merely biology, but we, damn well, are biological creatures. We don't need, or benefit from, the extra weight. Would it matter if I said that I didn't want to grind on every person I ever met? It isn't exactly true, but, hey, it isn't exactly untrue either. No, no, no. It is not my liver or my serotonin level that is talking to you now. I feel the need for a disclaimer, but I will give none. Honestly. Honestly. Fuck. Take a chance. Fuck. Fuck.