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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13751
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I like porn. And I often look for it. A state of semi impotence means that pictures in my head tend not to last the time required to achieve orgasm. Some days even those are not enough.
I have some ideals in my head that I try to find matches to. And, during my search, I often find pictures, movie clips that meet a current and immediate need. Often the gentleman concerned becomes a firm (pun intended) favourite. But almost all of them have a limited shelf life. Very few become reliable and faithful friends.
Why is it that a gorgeous young gentleman today may be unappetising tomorrow even though it's the same picture or clip? Why do some become keepers and others are just transient? And why does last month;s keeper suddenly become uninteresting today?
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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... I'm certainly gonna have to give this one a think before replying further.
As Arnold has been wont to say, "I'll be back!"
Warren C. E. Austin
The Gay Deceiver
Toronto, Canada
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13751
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Think hard Warren. Think hard!
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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saben
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On fire! |
Registered: May 2003
Messages: 1537
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Part of the fun of (video) porn is the suspense. You never know when the climax is going to happen. The same could probably be said of photo series.
Once you've seen the same video multiple times the suspense is no longer there.
That, coupled with, at least for me the desire for variety in guys I look at, is enough to make a "collection" feel stale.
Look at this tree. I cannot make it blossom when it suits me nor make it bear fruit before its time [...] No matter what you do, that seed will grow to be a peach tree. You may wish for an apple or an orange, but you will get a peach.
Master Oogway
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... in your exhortation; but, then you do seem to be asking the tough (and albeit contentious) questions lately.
I was only suggesting that to truly do your question justice, a "FIRST GLANCE RESPONSE" just wasn't going to cut it; and, that I in particular would want to do exactly that, as I, apparently like you, are an ardent (and lifelong) fan of pornography.
In fairness though, the one person that should be answering this question, familiar to both of us, is sadly not present, and I heartily suggest you e-Mail and ask of him his thoughts on this subject.
Warren C. E. Austin
The Gay Deceiver
Toronto, Canada
[Updated on: Sun, 27 June 2010 13:22]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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Pornography and I are not strangers; although I can't truthfully say we're good friends within the frame-of-reference of being "Best Buddies" either; but rather, somewhat more than simple acquaintances.
From the very earliest age, both my elder brother and I were, just as I would assume our father himself had been before us in his own father's house, always surrounded by pornography, whether that be the printed word, a static image or moving pictures. The library in my parent's home had one entire floor-to-ceiling bookcase devoted to it, and whilst I wouldn't say we were actively encouraged to sample its' ample wares, there existed a rather tacit understanding that neither of us would be punished for our partaking of whatever we might find situated there either. This very wisely I would in later years came to realize; for you see, there existed no "taboo" about the subject in our home; it could be broadly discussed at the dinner table, or at any other time for that matter; there was nothing furtive, clandestine or secretive about it; it just was. As a youth a favoured thirties or forties or fifties pulp-fiction oeuvre just as easily graced my nightstand as did any other reading materiél that had struck my fancy; the same held true of my brother, just as surely as it did with our father. I am able fifty years later to recall clearly the colophon of the likes of Grove Press, Millwood and latterly BlueBoy just as easily as I do of that Microsoft, IBM, Google, Digital, e-Bay, YouTube and Yahoo! today.
The foregoing provides the sub-text, if you will, that lies beneath my own preferences in the arena of pornography, and the ever shifting parameters that exist today, and have existed in the past, with regard to what turns, and has turned, my 'crank' so to speak; with there only having been only one enduring constant in the interval ... this being 'red-hair'; all others change with my mood, some enduring for months, others days, and others still only hours.
Why does this phenomenon exist? Largely, I suspect, because we are mostly sentient beings; beings affected by the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches that daily surround us; some of which are pleasing, many not; those which pleasure us just as often not changing with the capricious nature of our mind's own fancy as it does with the physical World we inhabit. Those that seem to endure are those that just as often as not are associated with some taboo to one degree or another; we do so love our forbidden pleasures, and treasure them the longest.
This latter assertion might adequately explain away my own lifelong fascination with red-heads. My first ever dalliance with another male was with Jimmy, a neighbouring youngster, a year older than myself (at the ripe old age of 9) and his father's FORBIDDEN wood-shed, and his (to my mind's eye) simply glorious carrot-topped mane, and my ever wanting to run my fingers through it, and my constantly craving the touch of his translucent and satiny head-to-toe freckled skin. Yes, Jimmy and his prepubescent hairless circumcised tackle, was my God, and has remained thus for over fifty years; this not-with-standing auburn-haired Gary (and his similarly adorned and round-healed sister Beth) 5-years later, and his uncircumcised tackle of mammoth proportion and stunning and abundant carmine bush; nor Billie-Joe, nor Leo, nor ... I needn't go on.
In truth, my lust for red-hair continues unfulfilled, although for a little over 10-years in my late teens and through to my late-twenties, it was more than sated by none other than Jon, whose close-cropped fire-engine red-hair, emerald-green eyes, freckles and parchment skin had, ironically enough, never been the catalyst that brought and bound us firmly together.
Whilst, age, stature, race and circumcision status may have all ebbed and waned at one time or another with the times and the circumstances; red-hair never has, and continues to fuel many, many, an internet (and otherwise) pornographic quest of mine, be it the written word, a single image, or a moving (and often-times climactic) legacy in fulfillment; but, to make me most 'purr like a kitten', simply give me a well-worn, greasily thumbed and tatter-torn and corner-folded bookmarked paper-back with its' 'Théâtre Marquée Poster' hand-drawn cover, that I can switch back and forth through the pages to the most salacious bits, or jump forward to an already known conclusion because I've read and re-read the story countless numbers of times over the years. Sadly none of my grandfather's and father's and latterly my own collection of physical world pornography seems to have survived for me to pass on to either of my sons; but, both have benefited from their legacy, and that of my elders, in their own healthy regard, and respect for the impact and power that pornography can, and does contribute to, in an environment where it is neither taboo nor unspoken about.
Warren C. E. Austin
The Gay Deceiver
Toronto, Canada
[Updated on: Sun, 27 June 2010 20:34]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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Fascinating, Warren. I think it must have been a great empowerment for you to be able to see pornography and to talk about sex and relationships as you grew up.
My family was completely the other way. My parents were embarrassed by anything to do with sex and never spoke about it. The family had skeletons in the cupboard because my paternal grandfather had several illegitimate children by his wife's sisters (and some by other women, we think)and no-one could bear to talk about it. I think I was sixteen or seventeen before I discovered about it. And I was 55 (and my father was dead) before I got to talk at any length to any of the legitimate children!
But parental reluctance to talk about sex and the absence of religion had the interesting consequence that I was not inhibited from following my instincts and so when I found pictures or stories that excited me (when I wanted to be excited) I just looked or read. To begin with I hadn't the least guilt about having sex with other young men - I couldn't see anything wrong with it so why not? The guests at my 21st birthday party were exactly half of them straight and half homosexual (gay hadn't yet been used for that).
But there wasn't much pornography to be had. Early physique magazines and books by people selling their exercise tequniques and airbrushed pictures in 'Health and efficiency'. After I got to Oxford in 1955 I met people who had first editions of those lovely pictures of french sailors or who would lend me translations of Cavafy.
The internet was a revelation. From about 1993 I was able to download pictures with my Amstrad portable at 56K bps. And some of those early pictures are as good as much of what is available today.
Then broadband brought video clips. But I think that neither pictures nor video are actually as exciting as stories. It is as they used to say of televison when I worked for BBC radio "We have much better pictures!" Maybe it is a consequence of the way my head works, but I find that I can be entertained by pictures from ten years ago but that old video is boring - perhaps it is just that I remember it better and as soon as the clip begins I'm bored.
But I know that I am unusual in having never felt the need or inclination to fantasise when masturbating or having sex. I truly don't know what that would be like. Maybe I'm missing something! I wonder.
Love,
Anthony
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