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In the days of rapid-right-handed-wrist-wobbling abstinence that I have been reveling in recently, it has become clear that my addiction was not to wanking but rather to pornography. I now believe that the physical ritual of masturbation and the blatant material of pornography combine to create an experience which is easily repeatable and soon becomes firmly established in your head as a source of joy. Like the rolling and then smoking of a spliff, like the pound coin being pushed into the slot and then the pretty colours, like the preparation and then hit of the Brown Lady. All inducive to a state of addiction.

I actually attempted to have a wank last night. One of my customers had heard that I was thinking of returning to a 'proper' job in the city and so, for some reason and showing an alarming intuition into only recently cremated habits, gave me two DVD of porn filth as a leaving present. Purely for reasons of research, I popped one on last night and settled back, thinking to myself that a week and a half of no masturbation and no shagging was unnatural and unhealthy and must, surely, justify a quick beating-off, in the eyes of even the most stringent law. I loosened my Japanese battle gown which doubles as my dressing gown, and reintroduced right hand to Bruce Junior. The meeting was amicable and boded well. However, as the tanned bodies of moaning females writhing in apparent ecstasy came onto the screen, the usual jolt that used to fire down my spine and end up being earthed in Bruce Junior, adding great length and girth to his general demeanour, failed to materialise. Instead, Bruce Junior remained rather flaccid and unimpressed. My brain was analysing the very attractive girls on screen and thinking about what they might be thinking about. Bills to be paid, Christmas shopping, has Desire just blown off or is that the banana? My brain was fundamentally not turned on, which meant that there was very little chance that Bruce J. would be rising to the occasion.

I was shocked, nay, appalled at first but soon I realised that this lack of fruition was the direct result of terminating my unthinking addiction to porn. Porn had enabled me to express myself onto the ceiling for years despite the fact it was vacuous and shallow and empty and obviously relied entirely upon my head to make it work for me. Now that I had made the break from the repetitive cycle it no longer did. It has no EROTICISM. I turned off the porn, lay back, closed my eyes and thought of Katherine and her lower back and her small tattoo just peaking up from her jeans and how the muscles moved as she twisted around to look over her shoulder and smile and flick her long brown hair from her face so that she could look with her green eyes and lick her lips as I.....and I'm done. Marvelous.


good read - porn does gets old after a while. F.TEN

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