we received a recent reader request for a rantie on porn. men and porn, in the case you needed context. seems our reader was growing tired of dating boys that have redtube bookmarked, and she wanted to know brasandranties’ thoughts on the matter. well sit back, relax, and grab a tissue.
we were instantly (viscerally) transported to the plush leather office chair of one of our (ever)unnamed xes (ye not-so innocent subjects), hand on mouse, huffing at the blogette’s perpetual state of silence. before we knew it we’d back-paged a bit and, voila: our man’s most recent masturbatory material. we obviously pressed play.
there we were, found in (how you say) first-person view of a silconed blonde, pontificating to the masses with her very enthusiastic oral talents. while we were initially somewhat horrified at this up close state of virtual // reality, it was actually when we heard the guy speak that things got nasty. the moans, the groans, comments of encouragement. even the dirty talk: we’d heard it all before. quite literally. that morning. from the mouth of our momentary man, uncreative little thing.
most women have already come to accept that porn plays a role in the habits of her partner; dismiss it as just the mechanics of a man. biology of the visually stimulated. if it’s not affecting your own enjoyment, not bugging over it is one’s best bet. but what not enough men talk about is just how habitual a proclivity for porn can be. when watching the professionals bang it out is suddenly a prerequisite for playtime (even worse, the real thing) you’ve got a problem in your hands. and what women aren’t talking about is how man’s (men’s) pornographic tendencies affect us: in the bedroom and broader, perhaps even with regard to sexual identity (definition and demonstration). before you call bullshit, check your brazilian at the door. mmmhmmm. muff said (we just can’t stop).
so just how much of our horizontal selves is authentically our carnal animal, and what distant part of it rings familiar of some xes smutty predilections? how much of our own erotic habits reflect an industry of sex that (to be frank) doesn’t have much to do with us at all? worth a confabulation, non?