The funny thing about pornography is that it creates such ludicrous expectations on how a person’s sex life is going to be. I think we as viewers understand the inherent fantasy that all cinema offers but I think pornography’s is the cruelest example of fantasy versus reality. In the magical world of fucking on camera there always seems to be an abundance of pulsating mammoth cocks, supple flesh and quivering quimms eager for carnal delight. It’s a world torn from the male fantasy where women seem eager to devour the penis like some breakfast sausage and anal sex is a foregone conclusion. It’s an unnatural world where erections last a life time and coitous can be a month long event. Every man likes to think on some level that his prowess as a paramour and the girth and size of his manhood is much greater than the truth would suggest. This magical fantasy construct has no place for premature ejaculate, flaccid wilting penises, or any other sad affliction that plagues a man’s erection. I freely admit that my love making skills are at best stunningly mediocre and that I am frequently guilty of over thinking every action in my life. I never thought that I would be a Don Juan type but I really wish there some book I could have read when I was younger that said sexual congress isn’t just about slipping it in. There are all sorts of warnings on cigarettes so why shouldn’t sex have one. Wouldn’t you like to know that there is a thing called a window, that the mood can be lost by any number of things, that flop sweat is a potential by product, I know I sure would have like to have that warning.
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