The Porn

When I knew my wife was asleep, I logged into the cam site and checked the top rooms list. I could feel the rush of forbidden pleasure wash over my brain and tingle down my spine. 

I scrolled through the chat rooms one at a time. I looked for a girl who wasn't wearing too many clothes, but who wasn't completely naked either. After all, what fun is there in watching a woman who is so completely calloused to the potential sensuality of the situation that she puts on a routine dog and pony show for a bunch of equally desensitized masturbators? 

No, I was after the tease - the wait - the thrill of inevitable pleasure held off until the right moment. I wanted it to feel naughty, to feel like I had worked for it. To pretend that I was slowly turning her on. Never mind that it was the ring of the tokens rolling in that truly motivated her state of undress. 

You don't think about the 163 other men in the chat room with you, slowly stroking their stalks and tossing in their gold coins. That would be gross. In fact, if you have about $50 you can get a pretty good private show wherein the girl of your choice will play along with the farce; loudly climaxing on camera for your headphones only. She'll even call out your name. 

Sure, pre-recorded porn is free and more easily accessible. However, there's no personal connection to the scream queens in those pirated or armature videos. 

With cam girls, the action is all happening in real time. The thrill comes from knowing that you are both touching yourselves on the same planet at the same time, both staring deeply into the same digital sea. 

We ride the crests of zeros and ones together to climax. I say thank you and log off for the night, clearing my browser history and throwing away the paper towels. Then, I crawl in bed next to my wife's sleeping form so I can snuggle out the sudden rush of oxytocin as I fall asleep. 

.

.

.

They say there are too many hypocrites in the world. 

Most people who are two-faced think the solution to being less of a liar is to become a better person, to sin less, to try harder; but this inevitably leads to failure and disappointment. You're still a liar, even if you are truly striving for piety while you wear your mask of righteousness. 

No, the real solution for dealing with hypocrisy is to be completely and brutally honest.

Porn is a thing. 

In America, nearly 65% of all men watch pornography at least once a month, and almost 35% of American males think that watching pronography is morally acceptable. 

So why hide your secret sins behind locked doors and laptop screens? Why not be honest about who you are, and admit that you are doing the best you can? 

They say admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery. 

Well, for better or worse, here goes nothing....

I really enjoy watching porn. 

It relieves my stress without having to abuse a toxic substance. It helps me fall asleep when my brain is running a hundred miles an hour and sounding like a giant state fair. Masturbating helps me last longer with my wife, and means that I can go longer between lovemaking sessions, which is good because we both lead very busy lives. 

They say you can't learn how to have better sex from watching porn, but my cunilingus skills prove otherwise. 

And yes, my wife knows about my solo sexual escapades. We don't keep secrets from eachother, not even dirty ones. Furthermore, because of my honesty, she knows she can trust me on the deepest level. She knows my flaws and helps make me a better person. 

I'm not going to bring up sex trafficking, or the negative effects of a really harmful porn addiction, or the objectification of women. That's not what this post is about. 

This is about me being honest with you, dear reader, by pulling back the mask of my propriety and being super real about who I am. This is about battling hypocrisy with the truth. 

I am brave enough to admit my defeats and shortcomings. 

Are you?

End. 

Post Script: If you would like to discuss anything further, please chat me up. I would love to hear your thoughts. 

Yours,

Gabriel

Growing Pains

That was a heavy night. 

I started it by staring into the blank, robin's-egg-blue void of the sky; feeling that familiar sensation of drowning. I knew that if I let myself go I would fall into that blank, blue-grey abyss... flying, flying into nothingness. 

I watched a rabbit eat blades of grass then flee into the woods. 

I drove through the dark to my grandmother's house and told her that her brother-in-law is dying. I gave her a hug and drove back home through the same dark. 

I poured a half-glass of booze and read up on suicide. I made it very clear on my social media soapboxes where I stood. I proceeded to publicly chastise those who disagreed. 

I talked to my mom for an hour about sex and shame, guilt and redemption. Her phone died while we were still saying our goodbyes. 

I talked to my wife about pregnancy, about our daughter's loneliness, about wanting to run away to Chicago and start a new life. 

I took a painful shit and felt my eyes grow weary and dry. Then I finished my drink, pounded this diatribe out on my tablet and went to bed. 

Tomorrow is another day. Maybe stuff won't be so real in the morning. I do tend to go through heavy phases. 

Even when I was a kid I would grow out before growing taller. I hope that's what this is, the weight gain before the growth spurt. 

I hope I get really emotionally tall in the coming weeks.

Remember I love you,

Gabriel

End. 

Playing House, Part 1

This needs qualifying. 

I only want to say three things, and I promise they are not excuses. They have, however, been an important part of me being able to forgive myself, heal, and live a normal life. 

One. I was only a child when these things happened.

Two. I had no understanding of what I was doing. 

Three. We never had sex. 

Due to years of repression, and the shock of the moment, I cannot remember things exactly as they happened. I remember it like a film nior scene. Words will not serve to fully describe the night my father found us. 

He stood filling my doorway, silhouetted against the light outside my bedroom. Only one time since have I ever felt a fear so crippling. 

I remember he told her to go get dressed. 

I only remember one thing he said to me that night. 

"I want to kill you."

I spent the rest of the day thinking he would. After all, isn't that what I deserved? I knew what I was doing was wrong; but I also knew it was the only way to make me feel normal after my penis got hard. 

The weeks that followed were filled with shame, sleeplessness, and agony. Mostly, at my own hand. 

This shit was way to heavy. I remember one other thing my dad said to me later that day. 

"Do you know why you are in so much trouble? Because what you did was an adult thing, so you are in an adult amount of trouble." These words were spoken with a heartbroken tone, and I remember feeling how hurt he really was. I don't think he was able to fully comprehend the situation much better than I was. 

I'm a dad now, and I can say with certainty that I have no idea how I would respond. 

I plan on sharing this story in parts as I can. I need to talk to the people involved before I share more details. 

The reason I am writing at all is this. If we are ever going to stop hypocrisy, we need to be willing to step up first. Before I can tell others to share their stories, I must first be honest about mine. 

They say the truth will set you free. I have just begun a quest to find out if that is true. 

End.

Enemy

Nothing fills me with fear

Like blank paper staring back

At my blank fearful mind

End.

Another

I know it is wrong to fall in love with a boy. 

I know it is wrong, but my heart aches nonetheless. 

When I think about his curly hair or his bright green eyes, I feel a familiar lump form in my chest. 

When we're together, I try to play it cool. I push it down, I change the subject and try to think about anything else. The growing murmur becomes a rushing train in my ears. Despite every effort to the contrary, I always act like a schoolboy when we hang out; trying to constantly impress but acting like a fool. Later, I chastise myself for being so awkward.

When we are apart, which is most of the time, I replay our exploits in my mind: 

Late night galavanting

Dinner parties

Shouting and nonsense and music

Blurry bars and subway rides

Most fondly, I remember the car ride through the suburbs when I rested my head on his shoulder. I still remember the smell of his body, and the sound of his voice resonating through his chest. 

I can't control my bitter jealousy either. I am intensely resentful of his closer friends. I flush at the thought of all of the people who get to spend more time with him than me. 

Sometimes, I think about the time we kissed at a party. It was only a dare, but I can still feel his stubble on my cheek. 

More than anything, I long for a single sign. A few words or a touch that shows he loves me just as much... even if it's not in the same way. 

End. 

Heart Strings

They were an item. She was his girl, and he knew that their hearts were linked forever. He didn't feel that he owned her, of course it wasn't proprietary, she was as much her own person as he was his. But to any outsiders, the relationship must have seemed ludicrous. They were never apart. She was his new religion his love for her came so close to worship that once he prayed to God that he wouldn't be judged harshly for his idolatry. He loved the smell of her hair, the texture and color and the way it felt on his face. He loved her eyes, they never ceased to amaze him. They would go from blue to gold to green with wonderful flecks of brilliant light. Most nights they would stay out as late as they could get away with, then fall asleep at opposite ends of the phone line. He knew she was the one. When he held her hand, it was like having his lungs deflated by the vacuum of space. His heart beat so loudly it hurt.

They were both virgins.

No one believed them, after all, they were often caught making out in various places around town. If they were that comfortable with each other in public, they must have been pushing it together when they were on their own, right? No. That's not to say that they didn't have moments of weakness late at night, they probably shouldn't have spent so much time alone. But they remained unconsummated until their wedding night. They felt they owed it to each other, that they owed it to God. They didn't even mind so much when people assumed the worst. They knew the truth.

Her mom thought that they wanted to get married so quickly so that they could get it on as much as they wanted, and he knew that she probably wasn't the only one who felt that way. But she was wrong. He wanted to marry her because when they were apart his heart felt like a rope being stretched to the breaking point. His eyes burned with tears and his stomach clenched. All he wanted to do was fall asleep with her in his arms. She was everything to him.

He was shaking when he asked her to marry him,in the backseat of his honda accord under the stars. Later, he would re-propose with a ring after the traditional way. But that first time was when his heart spoke through his lips and asked her to be his forever. He couldn't stop his voice from cracking like a thirteen year old boy. His palms were thick with sweat. He knew she was probably going to say yes, but there was always that small dark corner in the back of his mind where he had doubts. She said yeah, and smiled.

The most beautiful thing he ever saw in his life was her coming down the aisle. She made angels look like homeless people. He wanted to sweep her off of her feet right there. The ceremony was a blur because it took too long. Now, he wishes they could get married again every day.

Seventeen months later, their daughter was born. She was the second most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. Yet, he stayed with his wife in the recovery room to make sure that she was safe. He would die if she left him.

Now, they both work and she goes to school. Their daughter gets juggled from one babysitter to the next. Most days are pretty crazy  Some days, it's not happily ever after.

But when she falls asleep in his arms every night, he is the happiest man alive.

END

Heart Strings
Gabriel White, 06/16/12, 12am

P.S. I don't plan on re-posting things on this blog very often, I kind of feel like it's cheating, like turning in an already completed high school project for a college assignment. However, I really liked this, so even though I already posted it on the inkWell blog, I wanted everyone to get a chance to read it.

~G