I watched Ron Jeremy finish her off as lucky number 620. It became clear to me, as if a light switch had been turned on, what had happened over the course of my porn addiction. The videos I had been watching recently shared common themes. She is also a staff writer and travel curator at Luna Luna Mag.
She is shown laughing a lot of the time, feigning ecstasy other times, and understandably exhausted toward the end. I watched the fluffers on their knees getting star-struck men ready for their big shining moment. They would probably recall my emotional distance, my lack of eye contact and my inability to orgasm unless I used my hand or vibrator. Without the familiar crutch of porn and fantasy, I began to feel more relaxed, more connected, more present. Many people can watch porn in moderate amounts, just like many people can enjoy a glass of wine without needing the whole bottle. And it’s certainly not my place to vilify porn stars or rescue them from a job they might actually enjoy. Patent and Trademark Office as a trademark of Salon Media Group Inc.
I watched condoms get pulled off just in time for these men to erupt all over Houston’s oversize silicon breasts. I was too angry and sad to enjoy sex, but that’s not all. I was the one who needed rescuing — mostly from myself. Her essays have been published by Salon, Substance, Hello Giggles and The Manifest-Station. Reproduction of material from any Salon pages without written permission is strictly prohibited. Associated Press articles: Copyright © 2016 The Associated Press. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
I feared that somehow they’d figure out my dark secret. With sites like 89, Red Tube, Pornhub, Tube Galore and so many others, I didn't have to depend on anyone else for my fix. Thoughts of the acrobatic arrangements of flesh and dirty talk filled my mind all day long. Later, when I started having sex for real, I didn’t abandon the usual porn-and-masturbation combo. I surprised boyfriends with my enthusiasm when they’d forgotten to clear their history and insisted that we watch together. Heaven was literally at my fingertips, just a click away, and mine for free whenever and however I wanted it. Usually gang bangs were a sure bet to getting off, but not this time. I’d wired the neural networks in my brain so well that it had become impossible for me to feel sexually turned on without feeling horrible about it. I wanted them to be punished for their insatiable lust, their vacant eyes, and their tireless, mechanical movements with men, just as I emotionally punished myself for my similar relationship with porn. I often fantasized about men cheating on me, hurting me, using me, just so I could get off.
If nobody was talking about porn and masturbation, then certainly I was doing something odd. I knew porn stars by name, bookmarked all my favorite sites and switched up all the ways I got off — fingers, vibrators and, of course, the water faucet for old time’s sake. I kept searching, clicking through endless galleries of flesh, waiting to be impressed. One that gave me that body-tingling, heart-racing, sweat-inducing rush of excitement. No longer was there enough shame in simply watching porn. I rarely allowed myself to surrender to the sensations or our connection — that’s not the kind of pleasure I knew. I needed to separate shame from pleasure, and the first step was to get rid of the source material I’d long used to enforce this bond.
I familiarized myself with all the various categories. It was an older clip, late '90s, but it was perfect. The Houston 500 stars the buxom blonde Houston, born Kimberly Halsom, taking on a reportedly 620 men in an uninterrupted frenzy hosted by Ron Jeremy. In order to keep this going, I had to have more sex and more fantasies. I started attending SLAA (Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous) meetings and turned away from porn.
The filming was done in a garage, showing men taking turns mounting and finishing while the ticker goes up and Houston makes history in what was considered the world’s biggest gang bang. I’m sure many of my past lovers can attest to my insatiability, my unrealistic demands and my frustration if I was denied. When I met my husband, I encountered another kind of sexual experience. I now know that pleasure can be born out of emotional intimacy and love — two things I didn't see in my kind of porn, and two things I certainly wasn't getting during all those years I was so frantically self-pleasuring but haunted by self-loathing instead. I don’t want to convert anyone, and I definitely don’t consider masturbation to be wrong.
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I started staying up late, when Mom and Dad were snoring away in oblivion, to watch softcore porn on Cinemax. I didn’t know whether to hate her or love her, but I knew I needed her. My brother was three years older, and I'd wait for him to leave the house and then raid his stash, hidden in his bedside drawer under men's fitness magazines and school notebooks. Later, when classmates at my all-girls Catholic high school were talking about MTV, YM magazine and PMS, I was educating myself on all sorts of other acronyms: DP, POV, ATM and more. Some of the videos had horrible acting bits that made me giggle. I hadn’t a clue what compelled these actresses to pursue this line of work.