The Gentleman Caller
As I endlessly scroll through the hundreds of writhing bodies it becomes increasingly apparent that the images are visually pleasing to me but there is no connection to sex. I’m able to tell what I think is subjectively good or bad, in a way when you walk round an art gallery you pick the paintings on the wall you like the best.
“I like the colours of the Cezanne and the composition of the balls on her chin.”
The act of sex holds no interest to me, therefore I can’t figure out the point in masturbation. To force myself to become aroused for momentary ecstasy followed by a feeling of emptiness would appear to be a waste of energy. I’m tricking the mind with what the body wants, but the body is never accountable after - it just shrugs.
The images are just a way of killing time, from BBC News to tumblr feed in one click. Part of a routine cycle at home for new data to process. Anything received to my brain is equally meaningless.
“Will China abandon North Korea? Will that girl control her gag reflex?”
I’ve ceased to see why I continue to update. I’m open to change but I’m currently not open to arousal making this tumblr rather contrived. I’m not deluded enough to think anyone cares about the absence of my porn blog but I’m taking a break. I’ll return when in feels right for me, sooner or later.
