So I've heard quite a bit recently about the general dislike of my porn destruct videos.
"What the fuck r u doin that for?"
"u some sort of feminist?"
"i wud fuck u all the way up if i cud find u"
These are some of the comments people might send to me if they thought I was worth even talking to, probably.
Soooo.... yeahhhhh.... that thing.... that I doooo...
No, I don't know how to explain why I feel compelled to do it. But through the power of story telling maybe I can at least try to detail why I believe I came to feel this way about it. Let's start with Episode 1.
Hobby.
noun, plural hobbies.
1. an activity or interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation and not as a main occupation
A few years ago I was busying myself with this dictionary definition of the word hobby. I felt it was missing something. It lacks the concept that the activity or interest must be legal and is required to be socially acceptable. 'They' won't permit one to call a hobby something that is not legal. One cannot have a hobby of mugging people or drawing cocks on people's windows. These don't get called a hobby, they get another names, like 'crime' or 'nuisance'. This I found intriguing as I did have hobbies such as video games, astronomy and beekeeping. Over the years hobbies come and go but the one thing they have in common is that they get called a hobby. Yet none of these activities have occupied my thoughts, attention to detail and devotion as much as I have sunk into "The acquisition, discovery and appreciation of pornographic magazines on all subjects throughout the ages". Certainly nothing else on this earth including housing has come even close to the colossal amount of money I have spent on the subject.
My earliest memories include the discovery of paper porn, from a time before I could even read properly. At that time and for years beyond I had no idea what these magazines were, but I did know I absolutely loved them. Testimony from my mother was that I started humping pillows at the age of two and this was quite the conversation stopper. Regardless of what the nanny state portrays about our early development, I was itching for action from the moment my hand could reach my dick and I have yet to regret or feel in any way bad about my disposition, everything is working how Darwin intended it.
My father built train engines, at work he built deltics and at home he built steam engines. The attic was a workshop, a total mess, filled with strewn tools, metal and blueprints. The place was lethal, everything was sharp, gnarled and had no safe place to be stored. Yet I was encouraged to 'help' build things and to spend all my time up there 'practising'. Father worked upwards of 12 hours each day at the train yard and I spent countless days alone up there, I cannot have been any older than four, but my era was better than your era, so that's that cleared up.
Beneath the main workbench was a particular mess of exceptionally heavy things and I couldn't move them. On one particular day I noticed a large box way back there. I couldn't clear a path to it, but I could clamber over everything and reach it. The box was odd, large and made of plate metal upholstered in some fabric, most peculiar. It was oily and difficult to open but it was not locked. Inside I was surprised to find not metal or tools, but magazines. These magazines were nothing to do with metal or trains, they were about women, women that had no clothes for some reason.
Emma from along the road was about my age and I had spent a lot of time with her. I was aware she and I were different down there but I didn't know why and saw no reason to care. I knew my mother was different but again the differences seemed largely irrelevant. The women in these magazines were also different to me, but in this case, the difference made perfect sense. Instinct was right there, they were like Emma only grown up and of some actual purpose. They were grown up like my mother but clearly in a manner that was available, unlike my mother.
This is the point that social justice warriors and health care workers would likely refer to as the moment at which I became a damaged person. But I disagree, this was the moment that suddenly everything I liked doing to myself made a lot more sense. I wanted to be with these pictures of women for some reason, I didn't know the reason but I was absolutely drawn to them. I pulled some magazines out from the dark underbench and made a pile of them in the middle of the floor. I positioned myself over the pile and humped it while reading more magazines. This was the most incredible feeling I had so far ever had and it made so much sense, I had found something worth doing in my life.
It was clear from the position of the box and the fact that I had seen nothing like this before that whatever was going on here was unusual and somehow secretive and so I treated it as such. For years that box became my favourite toy. As I grew I moved on from humping pillows and piles of porn mags to humping chairs covered in porn mags. It felt much better for me to hump furniture than use my hands. So over the chair I would place a magazine or two so that I had my dick as close to some girl pictures as possible while I looked at others. I can't even guess how many times I dragged that box out but since Father vanished near a decade later and took his box with him, yeah, hundreds, maybe thousands. Dry humping porn mags is absolutely where I started.
Over these years I started noticing these sorts of magazines in shops far out of my reach but I knew what would be inside them. I would often find myself caught fast just staring at the shelf wishing I could see the girl on the cover with her legs wide open. Yet still I had absolutely no idea why I was so lured. I was sure that Emma could not be of any use in this department because, clearly, she was not a magazine. Nobody was a magazine, I was on my own. So clueless I was I actually thought the very point to it all was that they were pictures of women and that none of the girls and women I would see around were even the same sorts of creature as the ones that were in the magazines. The ones in the pictures were the elite, the select few, the best of the best, chosen to represent that which cannot be expressed in words, they had to be in pictures.
Episode 2: will follow soon(tm)
Episode 2 :
Growing in years, as I ventured out further from the home each day and stayed out longer, I became more feral. I started finding these magical magazines pretty much everywhere and quickly started habitually scavenging for them. In bins, forests, all over the train yard but most reliably in portacabins, which in that different time were rarely locked. I learned that each new year would mean factory skips overflowing with last years calendars which for some reason all had naked women on them. I started learning to spot patterns in the appearance of newspapers and magazines in bins, particularly out the back of shops and businesses. This inadvertently introduced me to the monthly periodical and this lead to a blossoming of discovered magazines as each new issue emerged. Understanding their episodic nature, I was now able to invest time in collecting volumes of magazines. eskort was the first magazine which had me decide that I would collect every one, somehow travelling back in time to get previous issues if necessary!
These gifts I later recognised as those that are attributed to The Porn Fairy. The mythical Goddess who travels the lands sprinkling porn to those deserving souls who cannot yet reach that shelf upon which the magazines are born. She seeks out the needy, the devout and the just plain lucky and with a wave of her magic dildo she places in our paths our fitting rewards. But careful, she is also a trickster! Sometimes, you can climb a lot of walls only to find that page flicking in the wind was just an Argos catalogue!
I came to value nothing but the discovery of more paper porn. I had friends, I had toys, I was bullied, I bullied, I played games, I rode my bike, but I would absolutely drop everything at no notice at all to recover the tiniest fragment of porn from a tree, or storm drain or to break into any building that I instinctively knew contained the girly magazines. Factory outbuildings, building sites, trains, it was as obvious to me how to locate porn mags as it would be to anybody else as to locate the nearest bus stop. I was good at finding porn, my skill at this was surpassed only by my determination to ignore everything else in pursuit of it. While all my mates were all off doing whatever with Mary Jane Rottencrotch behind the bike sheds I was out fringling(tm) for porn. On reflection I recognise now that I was dead right with my life plan because in reality her name was Claire and she really was crap compared to porn magazines so I didn't bother with her twice, the porn was way better.
Things got much better in adolesence, they say those early years are the best of your life but I wouldn't trade back, not a chance. I was now generously flush with porn mags and quite envied for it. I had far more than anybody else, stashed in places nobody else could hope to locate. I was a dark ninja, a porn sleuth, I could find porn, hide, hide it, and recover it, at will, nobody could match my skills. In latter years I thought I would write a guide book on acquiring and retaining that which one was not permitted to own and make a fortune, but yeah, the internet happened and ruined that idea entirely. Anyway what happened was that along with having an engorged library was that I became increasingly careless with the magazines I was carrying. The idea of losing some wasn't quite as frightening any longer, I had plenty of repeats also and I figured I was bulletproof. Friends at school finally fucked it all up and got me busted with one of them. No male teacher would touch it with a barge pole (#ThankEstherRantzen) so I was tossed to the brutal mercies of one of the female teachers who seemed to have taken it upon herself that she was going to make me feel as bad, low and worthless as possible. (#Feminism)
I'd been ear dragged to some unfamiliar room and she was holding up the magazine and yelling at me and I wasn't really listening, I was concerned at the pages that were being ragdolled around. As the treatment got worse I started making last minute mental notes of the magazine suffering here. Clearly I wasn't getting this magazine back and even if I did it was going to be in a sorely degraded condition. I needed to know what might need replacing. Noticing that I was more interested in the magazine than her tirade, her attention turned as well to the magazine. Her face shifted from disappointed to really quite angry. She forgot herself and started showing me the contents of the magazine almost yelling about how this sort of thing is completely unacceptable or whatever. I was struck, unable to comprehend any of this. Her voice was like it was an echo, or a memory, it didn't matter, there was this lady, I dunno, maybe thirty, slim, I supposed she could have been quite attractive, nothing too pretty as to make her seem unobtainable, jesus just like any of the sights one might see in Fiesta magazine, but she was here and she was showing me the contents of a porn magazine. Sure she was berating me but that didn't matter. I was just so surprised and pleased to have a woman going through a porn magazine with me and pointing at naked cunts asking why I thought this was something to value or own. I had no words for her, I stammered and made awkward sounds and she carried on going through the pages pointing at even more pussy, more tits. She turned another page, there was two girls one sucked hard on the nipples of the other. She quickly turned another page and it just got worse as a finger was seen holding open a pussy. Trying a third time she skipped some pages and now one of the ladies was lapping her tongue so close to that pussy even I could almost taste it.
She lost her composure even more than before and demanded to know what I was thinking having pictures like this. I don't remember what I said. I know what I wanted to say, something about wanting to see her in the picture, but I doubt I said that. Whatever it was that I said though pushed her over an edge. She started clawing at the pages tearing them, I protested in some way and she just tore more and faster. There were more words, probably threats to call my mother or something, but it didn't matter. I was trying to think up ways to replace the magazine, but my mind wouldn't consider it. I got confused, normally nothing displaces acquiring porn from my forethought, but right now it wasn't working.
My mouth was making noises, tits and pussies were dropping to the floor all ripped and scrunched up. Seeing my precious like that was too much. My dick was diamonds. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and I started taking it all in, watching each page in her cruel grasp to see a glimpse of pussy being shredded right across the crack, or bullseye right across a nipple. What the fuck? Why was watching this woman shredding my porn doing this to me? I could not believe that this could possibly do anything but make me cry. But I was far from crying I was desperately trying to hold in my excitment.
I'd only really recently begun actually ejaculating and had yet to embrace this as a positive thing. But right now I was nervous that this impending ejaculation was going to be some sort of new personal best. So I was aware I should be at least in part be considering how to hold that in, sure I wanted to enjoy this moment to its conclusion but I didn't want her to see just how much I was enjoying all of this.
Sadly, this was a million miles and an eternity beyond me. She said something mean about one of the girls in the magazine, nothing seedy, but it was plenty more than enough. Unable to hold on, I came and did my best to hide what had happened. She continued on ranting for what seemed like an hour, but was no more than a minute or two. Maybe she saw my mood and attitude had shifted and figured she had won. Her frenzy subsided and she put the shreds into the waste bin.
She made it clear that if I was caught with anything like that again, the exact same treatment should be expected. I did very well to hide my smile, I knew what was going to happen tomorrow.
非常に良い出品者です。
