Porno for Paranoids

I remember the first time I saw a porno. I was around 13, my parents were out late, and I was bored, switching channels. I noticed between Ch. 25’s “All In the Family” and Ch. 38’s “The Movie Loft” there was this TV station, that wasn’t quite a station. It was a quick blast of human shapes, followed by wavy lines.

Was it an alien transmission? Intrigued, I stayed on it for a few minutes, to see if I could spot the telltale large, misshapen heads and tiny bodies so I could proudly announce to my class the next day that I was quitting school and working for NASA. Well, my friends, there was a head, attached to something, but it took a few minutes and a few more wavy-lines for me to realize it was an alien indeed – the male penis.

After a few minutes of squinting (and standing so close to the TV screen I began exhibiting symptoms of a possible seizure), I inferred that there was another head, that of a brunette female, and she was working over said penis with her mouth and tongue. Or possibly an umbrella attached to a shovel. Then someone got on top of someone else (or they both got on a tiny seesaw?) and there was so much up-and-down and back-and-forth that trying to watch with so many wavy lines made me rather sea-sick. Then I heard the front door slam, so I jumped up, quickly shut the TV off, ran to my bedroom and started my own deep-space exploration–which continued for many, many years.

It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I actually ordered my very own porno. I’d watched the porno collections of my boyfriends, but I usually only got a few minutes of viewing pleasure before Johnny or Jim or Jonah would get all worked up and need to proffer his own “money shot”, blocking my view. So, this time around I was single and horny and thought this was a far safer option than hitting the local watering hole. By some grand design I was also in-between roommates so I had the rare luxury of having the apartment all to myself.

So, I prepared as any normal twenty-something woman would: I locked all the doors, hung dark sheets over all the windows (I already had blinds drawn, but that was simply not enough coverage) shoved towels under the front door and turned on three large fans so that neighbors wouldn’t think I was watching porn but rather hosting the annual US Fighter Jets Air Show in my living room. I also made sure no one knew I was home so that when the FBI reviewed my cable bill I could explain that some homeless man had broken in and watched “Busty Babes of Biker Bayou”. I settled down and ordered said adult feature, only to find that the Busty Babes had gotten a bit long in the tooth, had not allowed any dudes on set and instead used various appliances and what looked like a prosthetic leg to screw each other.

Ack. Too rich for my blood, and wouldn’t something like this obviously tip off the CIA’s Pervert-At-Large sting operation? I quickly canceled and settled on something more mainstream, “Private Pleasures.” Dude shows up with pizza, she shows him her boobs, they fuck in her Roman-art-deco sauna. I still couldn’t enjoy it though, haunted as I was by the fact that now the Feds had concrete evidence that I had indeed watched porn. And lesbian porn! Doesn’t that go on your driving record? I was so panicked afterwards that I immediately canceled my entire cable subscription the next day, briefly considered donning a burka and moving to Kazekstan.

Now, thanks to the interwebz, I can watch as much porn as I want, anytime, anywhere. Just as long as I clear my cache, delete my browsing history, remove all internet applications and destroy my hard drive afterwards.

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