What is it about porn that drives hoards of pubescent and sometimes nail-biting sweaty-palmed girls into midnight raids into the virtual cupboards of big-titted, cum coated fantasy?
In sixth grade, I was one of those rare products who couldn’t care less about man-parts and lady-parts and what happened under Bollywood bushes and trees.
Yet, know we must, but born in a hushed up culture where a society based on eroticism as a form of attaining spirituality, with the highest population rate is ruthless in its denial of the need for sex-education most of my friends dived into dictionaries and forbidden text books for their knowledge.

And me, who had previously dismissed sex as a matter of no importance beside the famous five’s latest escapades found a stain of blood on her underwear which marked her as a woman. (She didn’t know that, she thought she was dying of some strange disease born out of misplaced wrath of her thousand and one Gods.) Which was all good and merry because when my sister set down to explain that I was not actually dying, she discovered I didn’t know jackshit about sex.

And she told me everything.

Today, after a mere seven year knowledge of sex, I sincerely thank her for giving me the clearest, least pretentious and least fragmented version of what most teenagers  learn in broken prejudices over the years.

As a consequence of learning about sex from an adult, instead of pouring over books in torchlight, I never perceived it as something wrong. This contrasts with the view most people around me hold about the tabooed subject of the basis of human existence. Perhaps the absolute apathetic approach towards wanting sexual pleasure the same way one would want food or sleep is what put me at odds with most of my peers. I don’t say they’re any different or better or worse than me in these matters, but as the girl who demonstrated how to give a blowjob to twelve year old girls using a mineral water bottle, I can attest to the fact that I was always labeled as a precocious child.
I wasn’t.
I just, it was like demonstrating how to tie a knot, or a French plait to me, I didn’t think it was wrong.

I am circling, rambling, yet I must hold on for I have to formulate the thoughts in my head into what I’m trying to express.
Back to pornography. This is going to be a long post, I realise as an afterthought. It’s five in the morning, I’m a fool. But, I’ll soldier on, before I lose interest.

My discovery of porn is more boring than modern Indian history so I’ll zoom back into the present after having given sufficient recollection of my unprejudiced behaviour towards sex in general.

My mind today spiralled into penis-sizes (I know, but hey I’m 18 years old,I’m flooded with unsolicited dickpics everyday, give me a break.)
A number of reasons, do you want me to list them all?
1. A man staring at my crotch with the most blatant look of hunger I’ve ever seen when I was standing at the gate to my house

2. A friend I almost made, whose sole interest in me was perhaps sexual, and I didn’t mind because I felt the same way. It ended badly, needless to say.

3. I’m reading midnight’s children and although the book is brilliant, a lot of the Indian men are impotent.

4. I am also read a hundred years of solitude and everyone is rather too potent in their sexual prowess.

5. I encountered a white supremacist Canadian dickwad on an online site who wanted a white, Virgin, loving, kind girlfriend today.
As a consequence, naturally, at three in the night, I decided to Google the size of Indian penises online. (I love how my brain works)

It told me what I already knew, (and had felt during an unfortunate tryst with a jerk) -Indians possess the second smallest peepees in the world, after Kim Jong’s paradise. Yet, we have the largest population. But that’s irrelevant. (Goes onto say that either we Indians are really fertile, the men really insistent or sexual pleasure for the girl has nothing to do with getting knocked up) That led me to find a very interesting article on how a lot of Indian men had written to this blogger about their desire for becoming porn stars in the US.
The reason, which this blogger had diligently researched and found out was the increasing popularity of porn in Indian mainstream media.
It’s accessible, it’s a basic right- they watch it in autorickshaws and in the parliament. Mostly men. Mostly men who will get sex in their marriage bed, and for the lack of anything better, encash the cheque of patriarchal right( and the non-existence of the concept of marital rape) and produce a multitude of children.
But all that comes later.
For now, it’s just porn on their 2G phones, or 4G computers, and availing the STD riddled alleys of sex-workers so popular in our country.
But I deviate, from what I did next.
I googled Indian porn.
I’ve usually restricted my searched to pornsites, preferring to shuffle through their endless buffets of options(ebony, white, big, small,forced,loved) which in the end I won’t avail, and I’ve avoided Indian porn like the plague.
I googled why Indian porn is gross, and a quora answer had me laughing. It went:
I prefer Indian porn because inspite of the illegal nature of the situations, they are always real. Its raw and unedited and it’s beautiful.
Transcribed, slightly.
I agree, American, Brazilian whatever porn in general is very fake. Everyone will unanimously agree the sounds made are ridiculous at best, and the penises and the boobs are unnecessarily and grotesquely large.
So, what’s beautiful about Indian porn? It’s mostly shot unknown to the women, by their husbands, lovers or even rapists. It’s grainy, shaky, brutal and the girl, even in her pliant hungry willingness for cock shows cracks of resignation. It reminds me of arrange marriage virgins lying under huge burly men doing their wifely duties.
How is that even remotely arousing?

So is sluttishness arousing? The professional pornstars are willing, aware, experienced, disenchanted. Is that arousing?
What turns you on, the fact that the girl doesn’t know she is being sold off for men to rub their dicks to, or that the girl knows and is doing it because that’s her job?

I don’t know, and I don’t care. There won’t be a single moment when I don’t find porn debasing, humiliating, and uninteresting.
Or so I thought.

James Deen popped up on my phone just when I had become tired of seeing hairy paunch bellies of middle-aged men fucking with the same charm as a cow chews cud.

I watched in a mixture of horror and amazement as my phone screen flooded with the picture of a terribly beautiful man, and news upon news of porn stars blaming him for raping them on screen.

Curiosity happened and I found him on pornHub, he is ranked #49 as a pornstar there. The first video showed the red-tanned buttocks of a moderately famous star, and James Deen’s name wafted off the title.
I switched play.
It was jerkily shot, an improv on camera of his friend/colleague( the girl) turning up at his house at a non-scheduled visit for sex.

I enjoyed the first two minutes of the video, because James Deen, bless his soul was fully clothed and talking. not making sleazy ‘ I want to lick you’ lines, but actually having a conversation with the girl.
It was the most hilarious, (probably fake) encounter of sex recorded with mutual consent. Two people who don’t mind being aired having sex, laughed, talked and had sex.

That’s when my mother walked in ofcourse, because even when I watch porn once a year, and perhaps enjoy porn for the first time in my life, someone walks in.

Enough, I think, even though I have so much more I could possibly say which would needless never change a thing in this fucked up world.

I live in an age where they pretend in the most natural act in the world after going to the toilet.  They fake it all, and God knows who that works for, because it most certainly doesn’t for me.
And the virtual prostitution most Indian pornography actually is just makes me sick.
And the only hot pornstar who actually laughed in his video turned out to be an alleged rapist and bully.



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