schweblog

Long story short, since I’m not in the mood to type out all the details (they’d probably bore you to death, anyway): Chris decided that she wanted to be free from the bonds of a long-term relationship, so we decided to break it off after an interesting series of events last weekend. Suddenly, my world is upside down–I’ve spent the last five and a half years with the girl and so much of my life revolves around her. My mind’s still reeling from the events and reality hasn’t quite set in yet, even though I’m already looking for a place of my own. I’m sure the hurt will set in sooner or later, but right now I’m just in shock.

So, I’m alone and “free” and–I guess–a bachelor. I’m still missing the most essential bachelor pad, but I’ll have that arranged soon enough. Yesterday kind of marked the final day, even though a couple days earlier I felt that it was going to end, that it had to end. Strangely enough, my emotions haven’t been hit just yet, but my body has been feeling it–my digestive system is in total chaos and I’m sore all over for no particular reason. I’ll have little bursts of emotion, but nothing significant.

So I’m hurt. Badly. Some people rebound by going out and randomly having sex. Some people rebound by blowing $100 at a strip club. I’m not a fan of mindless, random sex or strip clubs, so I decided to rebound with porn. Yeah, that’s right. During our relationship, Chris was firmly against me watching porn–for understandable reasons. A lot of guys would cry foul and flee from such a situation, but it never bothered me that much.

So, to mark my freedom and in a poor attempt to forget about it all, I delved into the world of porn. It started normally enough on the internet, but when that got boring I went and rented the rather innocently titled “Hot Chocolate #14″ (or #13, I can’t remember.) In the course of a few hours, I saw more boobs and orifices and phalluses than you could shake a stick at. Something was fishy, though.

It just didn’t do much for me. Sure, it was quasi-arousing to one side of me, but on the whole, porn just really doesn’t do it for me. Knowing people are acting is strike one, I think–the obviously fake moans and grunts really don’t appeal to me at all; I guess if the people on the screen aren’t finding it pleasurable, I can’t derive much pleasure from it (much like a real-life sexual situation). Next, I found myself analyzing it–laughing at the scraped knees or tatoos (one girl even had “Anthony” tatooed on her shoulder, in plain view…I doubt her black co-actor was named Anthony). Soon, my rationality started to dominate my animalistic side. There are about 10 positions in the quasi-mainstream porn realm and I think I found them all within a few short hours. By the time I had sorted out a decent classification system, I was bored with the entire thing.

It was after I spent a good portion of yesterday sitting around, trying to find some freedom from all this weight, that I realized that porn just isn’t something I enjoy that much. Is my man-chip broken? I thought we were supposed to like the fake breasts and the semi-flaccid penises, the gyrating and goofy music. Am I more like a woman than I care to admit? It’s not particularly a concern for me, but it certainly is curious. In the end, porn just makes me feel dirty and weird.