I had to see my mistress the other night. I say "had to"; really I felt obligated to. She had wanted to see me the day before, and had called my cell phone, but I was in front of some people involved with my work who I didn't want to know I was cheating. She called when I was supposed to be there, and I was still an hour away. I had to apologize while getting her to not be too pissed at me for rescheduling, and all the while not letting on to the eavesdroppers what I was really saying, as well as giving them the impression I was late to dinner with my wife. It got even more complicated when I called her back from the car once I was done with the work thing, but I won't bore you or myself with that.
The thing about cheating is, if you aren't doing it, don't start.
So, she calls me the other day, and my wife is standing right there. I hold down the volume reduction button as I'm saying hello and imagining the little volume bars shrinking away to a short one the size of an underscore. Fortunately she kept it short and didn't say "I love you." When I hung up my wife immediately asked, "Who was that?" Fuck! Did she hear?
Anyway, I was disappointed that she asked me to do something that evening since for once lately, I was feeling okay about the wife, who was not being particularly bitchy. When I told the wife my lie about where I had to go and what I had to do, she was disappointed and remarked "I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do tonight." It made me sad; I felt bad leaving my nice wife all alone and making her feel lonely. It made me resent my mistress. I didn't want to hurt my wife, and here this other person was "making" me. I wasn't horny at all (I had already taken care of business already that day) and I wasn't feeling like I missed her or would enjoy her company. But there was no way I could have cancelled without maybe fucking things up with the mistress and I need to use her for sex from time to time; and I certainly didn't want to get into any sort of conversation or argument when the wife was standing there. So I was pretty bitter and feeling resentful, like she was the one making my wife feel lonely due to "making me" come out to see her.
When I got there she was distant, and remained that way all through dinner. I thought, "This is my advanced clue that she is going to break up with me." In a way I was relieved, even though I didn't want her to.
But she was just tired, and when she was done eating she wanted to go to a motel.
I had whacked off so much that day and the day prior that I really was not that great at all. I felt pretty bad about it. It was not much fun for me. I added up the $45 for three hours, the $15 in gas to drive out to see her, the $30 for dinner, etc. I felt bad for not spending the money on my wife.
On the way home I noticed I had left my belt on the far side of the bed where I hadn't noticed it before checking out. It was new, and cost me $28.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Work In Progress
Wow. I moved 50 of my CD's onto my hard drive. It was a big undertaking and took a while. To add to the complication, as I copied the files over, some of the CD's were scratched or damaged and wouldn't transfer. So, I was stuck with a partially copied CD and I wasn't sure which files I'd copied, which I hadn't, and which were corrupt and couldn't be copied.
It took literally all night, sixteen hours straight.
The CD's yielded 56,000 files in 732 folders. It was like a trip down memory lane seeing some of these; I had burned them years ago, and since the outsides of the CD's generally remained blank so as not to give away their contents, it had always been a crapshoot trying one CD after another in an attempt to find a certain file. I found some movies I had been worried I'd lost somehow, for example, one that stars the painfully cute Olivia Saint and another starring the wonderfully small-breasted filipina Leannie Lei. There were also a fair amount of duplicates of things I had downloaded again, after burning the CD to get them off my full hard drive. Sometimes the files would be named something slightly different so after moving them into their proper folder, I'd have to check and identify the duplicate files, and delete one. Of course, I'm not done yet. I sorted maybe 2,000 files. 54,000 to go. And I have another 100,000 or so on CD's.
Even that 2,000 was nervewracking: what if I deleted a perfectly-functioning duplicate and the remaining movie got flawed somehow in the file transfer, and won't work?
For years, thinking about this moment of having all my porn in one place, I had figured I'd keep the CD's as backups. God forbid my hard drive fail and I'd lose 10 years' worth of work!
But I realized that was a mistake. Those CD's have always been dragging me down, a dark secret in the back of a drawer, bringing nothing but guilt and worry about someone finding them, and guilt and worry about them getting scratched.
I decided to cut the umbilical cord. I broke each of the CD's one by one. It was scary but liberating. There was no going back. But I decided I had to be a grownup about it and just do it. Ironic, since I feel so immature for permitting myself to act out this way in the first place.
It took literally all night, sixteen hours straight.
The CD's yielded 56,000 files in 732 folders. It was like a trip down memory lane seeing some of these; I had burned them years ago, and since the outsides of the CD's generally remained blank so as not to give away their contents, it had always been a crapshoot trying one CD after another in an attempt to find a certain file. I found some movies I had been worried I'd lost somehow, for example, one that stars the painfully cute Olivia Saint and another starring the wonderfully small-breasted filipina Leannie Lei. There were also a fair amount of duplicates of things I had downloaded again, after burning the CD to get them off my full hard drive. Sometimes the files would be named something slightly different so after moving them into their proper folder, I'd have to check and identify the duplicate files, and delete one. Of course, I'm not done yet. I sorted maybe 2,000 files. 54,000 to go. And I have another 100,000 or so on CD's.
Even that 2,000 was nervewracking: what if I deleted a perfectly-functioning duplicate and the remaining movie got flawed somehow in the file transfer, and won't work?
For years, thinking about this moment of having all my porn in one place, I had figured I'd keep the CD's as backups. God forbid my hard drive fail and I'd lose 10 years' worth of work!
But I realized that was a mistake. Those CD's have always been dragging me down, a dark secret in the back of a drawer, bringing nothing but guilt and worry about someone finding them, and guilt and worry about them getting scratched.
I decided to cut the umbilical cord. I broke each of the CD's one by one. It was scary but liberating. There was no going back. But I decided I had to be a grownup about it and just do it. Ironic, since I feel so immature for permitting myself to act out this way in the first place.
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Happy Christmas to Me
I finally bought myself a 400 gig hard drive. I have been dragging my heels for years, while the prices came down, and drive size and my income went up.
A few hundred dollars is really not a big deal, but I have a lot of guilt associated with money. Like, I go to the cheap hooker motels where I get 3 hours for $35, instead of the nice ones where it's $69 a night.
Anyway, I have been dreaming of this day for... 9-1/2 years! Good god.
I started collecting porn on my first PC in 1995. When I filled it up, I bought some floppies and put pics and small movies onto those. When I had like literally 100+ floppies, I bought an Imation Superdisk drive and some disks. When those filled up, I got a bigger and better PC, none too soon, either. And so on. I went from a small hard drive, to a 2.1 gig, to a 2.2. When I was able to burn CD's, I'd buy packs of 10 and burn those full of porn. When it became inexpensive to buy 50 CD's, I'd buy those. I graduated to a 30 gig hard drive, to an 80 gig, to a 150 gig, to my new 400.
These past 9.5 years I've been dreaming of the day I could copy the content of all those CD's and hard drives onto one hard drive. File all the stuff away in the appropriate folders, eliminating the duplicates in the process.
No more digging out the CD stacks from their out-of-the-way stash, when I want to see something in particular. No more worries about CD's getting scratched, or somebody finding one of the ones that I forgot to set up with its files hidden. No more wondering, "Do I have this already?" while I download.
Really a sense a satisfaction will come from having a singular collection, rather than a scattering of files. Oh I know that itch that collectors feel. I see it even in porn; there are newsgroups for people who collect series (serieses?) of porn shoots, and they want all 20 or 30 pics in that series. Generally as I cull porn from the internet I save only the shots that appeal to me; pretty much the last several of the shoot, sometimes one from the mid-beginning. Most porn shoots are very formulaic: Guy encounters girl, guy undresses girl, girl goes down on guy, guy penetrates girl vaginally in a number of positions, guy penetrates girl anally in a couple positions, guy ejaculates on girl's face/breasts/mouth/tongue.
I really don't need to see the girl in her street clothes and depressing sneakers. Please spare me the shots of them kissing; I know she is not turned on, and probably hates the sleazy guy, and hates herself. And please no Euro porn, where the girls mostly smile through any and every sort of action whatsoever.
I know they hate it; that's why I want to see the action itself, or even a look of discomfort or pain - at least that is genuine.
I feel bad about it. I wish I could save any one of these poor girls. But I know they are so fucked up that they'd rebuff anyone who tried, referring to him as a Captain Saveahoe. Besides, I already have a wife - and some other girls - so it would be a big undertaking to make contact with and woo a porn star. So I feel bad that I can't stop the abuse and suffering these girls are going through.
Anyway the porn is already there. I'm just looking at it, for free. I'm not buying it.
Anyway. Let's begin.
A few hundred dollars is really not a big deal, but I have a lot of guilt associated with money. Like, I go to the cheap hooker motels where I get 3 hours for $35, instead of the nice ones where it's $69 a night.
Anyway, I have been dreaming of this day for... 9-1/2 years! Good god.
I started collecting porn on my first PC in 1995. When I filled it up, I bought some floppies and put pics and small movies onto those. When I had like literally 100+ floppies, I bought an Imation Superdisk drive and some disks. When those filled up, I got a bigger and better PC, none too soon, either. And so on. I went from a small hard drive, to a 2.1 gig, to a 2.2. When I was able to burn CD's, I'd buy packs of 10 and burn those full of porn. When it became inexpensive to buy 50 CD's, I'd buy those. I graduated to a 30 gig hard drive, to an 80 gig, to a 150 gig, to my new 400.
These past 9.5 years I've been dreaming of the day I could copy the content of all those CD's and hard drives onto one hard drive. File all the stuff away in the appropriate folders, eliminating the duplicates in the process.
No more digging out the CD stacks from their out-of-the-way stash, when I want to see something in particular. No more worries about CD's getting scratched, or somebody finding one of the ones that I forgot to set up with its files hidden. No more wondering, "Do I have this already?" while I download.
Really a sense a satisfaction will come from having a singular collection, rather than a scattering of files. Oh I know that itch that collectors feel. I see it even in porn; there are newsgroups for people who collect series (serieses?) of porn shoots, and they want all 20 or 30 pics in that series. Generally as I cull porn from the internet I save only the shots that appeal to me; pretty much the last several of the shoot, sometimes one from the mid-beginning. Most porn shoots are very formulaic: Guy encounters girl, guy undresses girl, girl goes down on guy, guy penetrates girl vaginally in a number of positions, guy penetrates girl anally in a couple positions, guy ejaculates on girl's face/breasts/mouth/tongue.
I really don't need to see the girl in her street clothes and depressing sneakers. Please spare me the shots of them kissing; I know she is not turned on, and probably hates the sleazy guy, and hates herself. And please no Euro porn, where the girls mostly smile through any and every sort of action whatsoever.
I know they hate it; that's why I want to see the action itself, or even a look of discomfort or pain - at least that is genuine.
I feel bad about it. I wish I could save any one of these poor girls. But I know they are so fucked up that they'd rebuff anyone who tried, referring to him as a Captain Saveahoe. Besides, I already have a wife - and some other girls - so it would be a big undertaking to make contact with and woo a porn star. So I feel bad that I can't stop the abuse and suffering these girls are going through.
Anyway the porn is already there. I'm just looking at it, for free. I'm not buying it.
Anyway. Let's begin.
Christmas in Tinseltown
Dirty neon lights, the traffic’s cry
footsteps echo on the street
The cheap but lovely chicks
and a sawbuck for a trick
and she’ll work for a bite to eat
So where is all the glamour?
Where’s that lovely starlet’s kiss?
Out in t.v. land
they dream of tinsel town
but I’ll tell you just what they’ve missed...
Yeah, they only see one side of Hollywood:
Tinseltown.
They see all them bright, shiny commercials for the Hollywood Christmas parade with all them stars "hangin' out on the boulevard"...
They don't see all the pimps, pushers... drug cats, just dead general, dead beat nogoodniks, hangin' out. Making a living off of scammin' off of other cats.
That boulevard takes 'em in and spits 'em out, Jack.
Just hang out there a while, you'll figure it out, baby. Biiig trouble.
footsteps echo on the street
The cheap but lovely chicks
and a sawbuck for a trick
and she’ll work for a bite to eat
So where is all the glamour?
Where’s that lovely starlet’s kiss?
Out in t.v. land
they dream of tinsel town
but I’ll tell you just what they’ve missed...
Yeah, they only see one side of Hollywood:
Tinseltown.
They see all them bright, shiny commercials for the Hollywood Christmas parade with all them stars "hangin' out on the boulevard"...
They don't see all the pimps, pushers... drug cats, just dead general, dead beat nogoodniks, hangin' out. Making a living off of scammin' off of other cats.
That boulevard takes 'em in and spits 'em out, Jack.
Just hang out there a while, you'll figure it out, baby. Biiig trouble.
Friday, December 17, 2004
Incredible
I saw the movie The Incredibles recently. I was so moved by it I wept. Maybe it touched me, maybe I was just on the rag, who knows. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, superheroes must give up the work they love after the government bans costumed crusaders due to too many costly lawsuits. Mr. Incredible toils away in a cubicle at an insurance company. It really paints a great picture to see his massive frame crammed into a buttondown shirt and tie, an analogy for his powers being restrained like they are.
The entire time he's working, he has to bite his tongue and tolerate a shit job, a horrible prick of a supervisor, and so on. Even on his drive home he's stuck in bumper to bumper traffic jams in a tiny piece of shit car. At home in his little workroom closet thing off the garage, he looks at the newspaper clippings and pictures of his former glory, and pines for those days.
My eyes welled up with tears and I could totally relate. I'm not held down by the Man, or the system. I'm held down by my addiction. I wake up and I'm horny, so I head downstairs to rub one out real quick. I start surfing and I see so much great stuff I just have to collect it all. A new "series," a scene from a movie chopped up into segments ranging from 15 seconds to 1 minutes or so; three segments to a page. They're meant to get you to sign up for whatever porn site they are advertising. If you figure out the code, you can find ways to grab all the other movie parts so you have the whole scene. I get off, and then I think of something else, like, say that morning I was interested in seeing the way a voluptuous black girl's tits look when she's getting fucked doggy style. Well, maybe after that suddenly I get the urge to get off just one more time, to the thought and imagery of an oral cumshot. I find myself hunting for something beautiful, something that looks so good it kind of hurts. Even when I find it I want to prolong my orgasm so the pleasure is drawn out a little longer. Finally when I'm done, maybe I've wasted two, three hours or more. I meant to just rub one out and jump right in the shower, now I'm an hour late to work.
Everyone I know who is a self-made millionaire tells me, "If you spent half as much time focusing on business as you did doing (insert name of one of my many diversions), you'd make way more money than I ever did. You're brilliant. All I did was just not fuck up, I was good at making decisions." If they only knew about how much time I really spend, looking at porn.
I've missed business deals, important phone calls, deadlines, you name it. I make up an excuse, but really, they have no idea I was trapped, wishing I wasn't going to fuck up, but chained to the locomotive, along for the ride.
It sounds arrogant, the part about what people tell me. But I am not saying I am brilliant. I'm always surprised when people tell me I am, or that I'm a genius, or anything like that. I really am not, so I don't know why everyone thinks so. Most of these people are smarter than I am, they just don't know it.
I suspect the reason they think so, is I see certain things. Opportunities, patterns, similarities, etc. It's not that I'm super clever, it's just that most people are lost. They don't have good radar and they don't listen to that tiiiiny inner voice telling them, "Bullshit!" or "See?" I just happen to be very observant about such things. I'm not smart, I'm like the Rainman. With an addiction to porn. Whatever great things I could accomplish, are crippled by it.
It's a real shame. Wasted potential is such a shame. Not only do I feel like I really could be something so much better, but I feel shameful and guilty for having the gifts to achieve more, when harder working, less privileged people would kill for what I have. I feel so bad about it; I wish I could just throw off the shackles.
The entire time he's working, he has to bite his tongue and tolerate a shit job, a horrible prick of a supervisor, and so on. Even on his drive home he's stuck in bumper to bumper traffic jams in a tiny piece of shit car. At home in his little workroom closet thing off the garage, he looks at the newspaper clippings and pictures of his former glory, and pines for those days.
My eyes welled up with tears and I could totally relate. I'm not held down by the Man, or the system. I'm held down by my addiction. I wake up and I'm horny, so I head downstairs to rub one out real quick. I start surfing and I see so much great stuff I just have to collect it all. A new "series," a scene from a movie chopped up into segments ranging from 15 seconds to 1 minutes or so; three segments to a page. They're meant to get you to sign up for whatever porn site they are advertising. If you figure out the code, you can find ways to grab all the other movie parts so you have the whole scene. I get off, and then I think of something else, like, say that morning I was interested in seeing the way a voluptuous black girl's tits look when she's getting fucked doggy style. Well, maybe after that suddenly I get the urge to get off just one more time, to the thought and imagery of an oral cumshot. I find myself hunting for something beautiful, something that looks so good it kind of hurts. Even when I find it I want to prolong my orgasm so the pleasure is drawn out a little longer. Finally when I'm done, maybe I've wasted two, three hours or more. I meant to just rub one out and jump right in the shower, now I'm an hour late to work.
Everyone I know who is a self-made millionaire tells me, "If you spent half as much time focusing on business as you did doing (insert name of one of my many diversions), you'd make way more money than I ever did. You're brilliant. All I did was just not fuck up, I was good at making decisions." If they only knew about how much time I really spend, looking at porn.
I've missed business deals, important phone calls, deadlines, you name it. I make up an excuse, but really, they have no idea I was trapped, wishing I wasn't going to fuck up, but chained to the locomotive, along for the ride.
It sounds arrogant, the part about what people tell me. But I am not saying I am brilliant. I'm always surprised when people tell me I am, or that I'm a genius, or anything like that. I really am not, so I don't know why everyone thinks so. Most of these people are smarter than I am, they just don't know it.
I suspect the reason they think so, is I see certain things. Opportunities, patterns, similarities, etc. It's not that I'm super clever, it's just that most people are lost. They don't have good radar and they don't listen to that tiiiiny inner voice telling them, "Bullshit!" or "See?" I just happen to be very observant about such things. I'm not smart, I'm like the Rainman. With an addiction to porn. Whatever great things I could accomplish, are crippled by it.
It's a real shame. Wasted potential is such a shame. Not only do I feel like I really could be something so much better, but I feel shameful and guilty for having the gifts to achieve more, when harder working, less privileged people would kill for what I have. I feel so bad about it; I wish I could just throw off the shackles.
Something... amazing
Did you ever see the movie 'Adaptation'? The characters sprang from the mind of the screenwriter, Charlie Kaufman. A couple of them remind myself of me. So I tend to think I must have something in common with him. This is reassuring, since it reminds me that human behavior is largely predictable - that's why psychology, or forensic psychology, or profiling work - but it also is a bit depressing to know I'm just a puppet on invisible strings. I'm self-aware, so I can fight to redefine myself, as I have successfully done in the past, but most of the time I lose the fight. I'm weak. Lately. Really most of my life I have been. Occasionally I've had periods where I really had my shit together and I was strong, and was able to change myself. But self-discipline is part habit, and I feel very far from there right now. Those muscles aren't used to being worked out and I'm not used to feeling their pain.
One of the characters in Adaptation that reminds me of myself is LaRoche, the horticulturist. He's eccentric, but special. That sounds arrogant. Then again, he was arrogant: "I'm probably the smartest person I know." Anyway, I can relate to how he goes from extreme to extreme. There are people in the world, weird ones, many of them, who collect stuff. You see them at the swap meet or flea market, and sometimes in magazines or on TV. You know the ones- the girl who has over a thousand vintage lunchboxes or the man whose entire house is filled with rubber Mickey Mice of all eras. LaRoche continues, "Dropped turtles when I fell in love with ice age fossils. Collected the shit out of 'em. Fossils were the only thing that made sense to me in this fucked up world. Ditched fossils for resilvered old mirrors. My mom and I had the largest collection of 19th Century Dutch mirrors on the planet. Perhaps you read about us; Mirror World, October '88? I have a copy here somewhere..." It's funny to watch him but I'm also reminded of how I drag out magazines articles on myself to show people.
Anyway, most people don't understand the desire or really the... unrest one feels when one is driven to build something - a collection, a building, a piece of art - that is extreme. LaRoche's Florida nursery is destroyed by Hurricane Andrew. "I knew it'd break my heart to start another nursery, so... y'know, when the seminoles called, and they wanted a white guy or an expert to get their nursery goin' I took the job. I wasn't going to give 'em a conventional little potted plant place. I was gonna give 'em something... amazing. Ya know?"
I know.
Anyway, I know lack of moderation is immature in some ways. But in other ways it creates some really amazing things. My porn collection is one of those extremes in my life.
I have to think I have a better visual memory and mental database for porn than anybody on the planet. The other day I saw a joke webpage that had like 16 different little boxes you could click on. When you clicked each box, it revealed a different set of tits bouncing around. I recognized like a third of them: Scotti Andrews wearing the light blue shirt in Bring Um Young, and so on.
I can even identify a girl and recognize a particular scene in a particular movie, by seeing just a tiny part of the picture. You could cover up the whole screen except for a 1" x 1" square, and I could still identify the scene by seeing a part of her vagina, her cleavage, the skin on her inner thigh, her butthole, the fabric of a piece of clothing, the splatter pattern of cum on a tongue, some trees in a background...
It really sets me aback when I see a collage somewhere - like, say MSNBC does a feature on porn and has a typical header pic with a blurred mishmash of sex-related images, like a chick winking, juicy lips, a leg, and so on - and I recognize some of the different movies they took a frame from: "There's Belladonna wearing the pink fishnets in Ass Worship #1", etc. I mean, there are tens of thousands of porn movies out there. Jesus.
One of the characters in Adaptation that reminds me of myself is LaRoche, the horticulturist. He's eccentric, but special. That sounds arrogant. Then again, he was arrogant: "I'm probably the smartest person I know." Anyway, I can relate to how he goes from extreme to extreme. There are people in the world, weird ones, many of them, who collect stuff. You see them at the swap meet or flea market, and sometimes in magazines or on TV. You know the ones- the girl who has over a thousand vintage lunchboxes or the man whose entire house is filled with rubber Mickey Mice of all eras. LaRoche continues, "Dropped turtles when I fell in love with ice age fossils. Collected the shit out of 'em. Fossils were the only thing that made sense to me in this fucked up world. Ditched fossils for resilvered old mirrors. My mom and I had the largest collection of 19th Century Dutch mirrors on the planet. Perhaps you read about us; Mirror World, October '88? I have a copy here somewhere..." It's funny to watch him but I'm also reminded of how I drag out magazines articles on myself to show people.
Anyway, most people don't understand the desire or really the... unrest one feels when one is driven to build something - a collection, a building, a piece of art - that is extreme. LaRoche's Florida nursery is destroyed by Hurricane Andrew. "I knew it'd break my heart to start another nursery, so... y'know, when the seminoles called, and they wanted a white guy or an expert to get their nursery goin' I took the job. I wasn't going to give 'em a conventional little potted plant place. I was gonna give 'em something... amazing. Ya know?"
I know.
Anyway, I know lack of moderation is immature in some ways. But in other ways it creates some really amazing things. My porn collection is one of those extremes in my life.
I have to think I have a better visual memory and mental database for porn than anybody on the planet. The other day I saw a joke webpage that had like 16 different little boxes you could click on. When you clicked each box, it revealed a different set of tits bouncing around. I recognized like a third of them: Scotti Andrews wearing the light blue shirt in Bring Um Young, and so on.
I can even identify a girl and recognize a particular scene in a particular movie, by seeing just a tiny part of the picture. You could cover up the whole screen except for a 1" x 1" square, and I could still identify the scene by seeing a part of her vagina, her cleavage, the skin on her inner thigh, her butthole, the fabric of a piece of clothing, the splatter pattern of cum on a tongue, some trees in a background...
It really sets me aback when I see a collage somewhere - like, say MSNBC does a feature on porn and has a typical header pic with a blurred mishmash of sex-related images, like a chick winking, juicy lips, a leg, and so on - and I recognize some of the different movies they took a frame from: "There's Belladonna wearing the pink fishnets in Ass Worship #1", etc. I mean, there are tens of thousands of porn movies out there. Jesus.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
You always call me
And ask me how I make it through the day
I'm always fallin'
I guess it's just God's way of making me pay
But something makes me carry on
It's difficult to understand, why I always wanna fly
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
When I, I wonder why I try
And I, I wonder why I bother
And I, I wonder why I cry
Why I, I go through all this trouble
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
You always call me
And ask me how I make it through the day
I'm always fallin'
I guess it's just God's way of making me pay
But something makes me carry on
It's difficult to understand, why I always wanna fly
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
When I, I wonder why I try
And I, I wonder why I bother
And I, I wonder why I cry
Why I, I go through all this trouble
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Changes
What's interesting is the effect it's had on my sex life. Not just how it ruined it with my wife, but how it opened my horizons - and changed what I saw there. I used to find certain things were unappealing to say the least. Or they just had no erotic value for me whatsoever. I had no interest in a girl sucking on a guy's balls, and a hesitant and morbid curiosity in S&M/BDSM/DS. Now I have refined my likes/dislikes to the point where not only are my tastes broader, but they are also more intricate. Now I have distinct preferences for the way a girl kneels when she blows me, where her hands are, etc. If I'm doing a girl from behind and I am holding her head or hair, only certain ways appeal to me. I don't like missionary, unless I (or the guy in the porn) am standing next to the bed (or whatever furniture she's on). I don't like reverse cowgirl. I don't like piledriver. I love seeing a girl's asshole move as the ridge at the head of a guy's cock slides out. And so on.
Another effect it's had on me is physiologically. I have never had a problem whacking off seven times a day, even just to magazines when I was in my teens, pre-internet. I didn't focus on being turned on or even having a strong erection, just on stimulating myself (this includes mentally, in fact, it is mostly mental) to orgasm. Because I have at least one ejaculation a day (in the shower), and usually a few (before she comes home, when she is upstairs, when she is asleep, etc.), I believe this has worked my reproductive system into a highly developed state. You see, when my wife was having trouble conceiving, we went to the hospital and had my sperm count and motility rate (percentage of active swimmers) checked. I wasn't supposed to ejaculate for 2-3 days prior to the appointment but I wasn't able to make it. I think 24 hours was the best I could muster. When we came back to get our results, the hospital staff were shocked. Normal motility rate is 20-35%. I was at 94%. Normal count is 20-30 million as well. Mine, 510 million.
We started artificial insemination, so I went to the hospital a few times to "collect a specimen," aka whack off in the semi-decorated storage closet. A couple times they reported to my wife what my count and percentage were, and they were always high. I even went once a few hours after whacking off, and my numbers were still phenomenal.
On our last trip to that hospital, I forgot my driver's license. This is a big deal, since they are not allowed to collect your sperm without proof of i.d. Meanwhile my wife had been giving herself one month's worth of painful shots of strong and damaging hormones that really took a toll on her body, and was in another clinic across town, waiting for them to prep my specimen and do their part. All this work for nothing, I was so disappointed and I knew some major shit would hit the fan. I turned to the nurse who was handing me the specimen cup and apologized and said I had wasted everyone's time and money since I forgot my i.d. She smiled and said, "It's ok. We know who you are."
"You do?"
"Oh yes. You're our champion around here."
I was elated. I felt like I was a real man, and was really good at something. I was certainly potent, no-one could argue with that. Virile was a different story, I mean, it's hard to maintain a rock-hard erection after I've been whacking off for what averages out to literally about every 3 hours for the past 20 years.
When she didn't become pregnant even with IUI (intrauterine insemination), it was time for in vitro fertilization, so we went to a really badass fertility specialist. He learned about fertility medicine under the tutelage of the guy who invented test tube babies. He told us that my sperm count and motility rate couldn't possibly be that high, and that it was just lab techs who checked it before, not anyone really skilled. When I went into his "special room," it was a far cry from the storage closet. It was like a cheesy bachelor pad, complete with plastic trees on both sides of the black naugahyde couch. There was a tiny television that seemed like the size of the first Macintosh computers, with a built-in VCR. He had videos out the yin-yang, and it was scary how many of the scenes I recognized. You see, when it comes to internet porn, there are a lot of "samples" out there of clips of mainstream porn movies, ranging from 15 seconds to a minute or two. You can find longer clips but usually you have to find these peer-to-peer, via Kazaa or Filedonkey or bittorrent, etc. Anyway, I got to see Tammi Ann in a terrific anal scene I had wanted to see for 8 years, and a strap-on lesbo scene I had wondered about from Butt Sisters Do Daytona.
At $30,000 a whack (pardon the pun) it was the most expensive porn on the planet.
When the doctor got my results, he told my wife "Don't tell your husband or he'll get a swelled head, but, he has a 95% motility rate and his count was over 500 million!" Niggaplease. I could have told you that.
Another effect it's had on me is physiologically. I have never had a problem whacking off seven times a day, even just to magazines when I was in my teens, pre-internet. I didn't focus on being turned on or even having a strong erection, just on stimulating myself (this includes mentally, in fact, it is mostly mental) to orgasm. Because I have at least one ejaculation a day (in the shower), and usually a few (before she comes home, when she is upstairs, when she is asleep, etc.), I believe this has worked my reproductive system into a highly developed state. You see, when my wife was having trouble conceiving, we went to the hospital and had my sperm count and motility rate (percentage of active swimmers) checked. I wasn't supposed to ejaculate for 2-3 days prior to the appointment but I wasn't able to make it. I think 24 hours was the best I could muster. When we came back to get our results, the hospital staff were shocked. Normal motility rate is 20-35%. I was at 94%. Normal count is 20-30 million as well. Mine, 510 million.
We started artificial insemination, so I went to the hospital a few times to "collect a specimen," aka whack off in the semi-decorated storage closet. A couple times they reported to my wife what my count and percentage were, and they were always high. I even went once a few hours after whacking off, and my numbers were still phenomenal.
On our last trip to that hospital, I forgot my driver's license. This is a big deal, since they are not allowed to collect your sperm without proof of i.d. Meanwhile my wife had been giving herself one month's worth of painful shots of strong and damaging hormones that really took a toll on her body, and was in another clinic across town, waiting for them to prep my specimen and do their part. All this work for nothing, I was so disappointed and I knew some major shit would hit the fan. I turned to the nurse who was handing me the specimen cup and apologized and said I had wasted everyone's time and money since I forgot my i.d. She smiled and said, "It's ok. We know who you are."
"You do?"
"Oh yes. You're our champion around here."
I was elated. I felt like I was a real man, and was really good at something. I was certainly potent, no-one could argue with that. Virile was a different story, I mean, it's hard to maintain a rock-hard erection after I've been whacking off for what averages out to literally about every 3 hours for the past 20 years.
When she didn't become pregnant even with IUI (intrauterine insemination), it was time for in vitro fertilization, so we went to a really badass fertility specialist. He learned about fertility medicine under the tutelage of the guy who invented test tube babies. He told us that my sperm count and motility rate couldn't possibly be that high, and that it was just lab techs who checked it before, not anyone really skilled. When I went into his "special room," it was a far cry from the storage closet. It was like a cheesy bachelor pad, complete with plastic trees on both sides of the black naugahyde couch. There was a tiny television that seemed like the size of the first Macintosh computers, with a built-in VCR. He had videos out the yin-yang, and it was scary how many of the scenes I recognized. You see, when it comes to internet porn, there are a lot of "samples" out there of clips of mainstream porn movies, ranging from 15 seconds to a minute or two. You can find longer clips but usually you have to find these peer-to-peer, via Kazaa or Filedonkey or bittorrent, etc. Anyway, I got to see Tammi Ann in a terrific anal scene I had wanted to see for 8 years, and a strap-on lesbo scene I had wondered about from Butt Sisters Do Daytona.
At $30,000 a whack (pardon the pun) it was the most expensive porn on the planet.
When the doctor got my results, he told my wife "Don't tell your husband or he'll get a swelled head, but, he has a 95% motility rate and his count was over 500 million!" Niggaplease. I could have told you that.
My first known reader
Oh my god I can't believe I got a comment. That sounds like a teenage girl who is amazed that one of the guys in her favorite band looked her way in the midst of a giant concert, so I am sure I will regret that statement someday. But I am really surprised. I didn't think anyone would ever even find this thing.
I also didn't expect anyone to give a shit. I have felt like I am all alone on this crazy ship; granted, I have gotten to know the ship really well. Without beating the analogy to death, I know every nut, bolt, and plank, as well as learning more and more about how to navigate. How to hide stuff better and better, how to find really good shit, how to find really rare shit, etc. How to organize my shit, how to take notes so that I don't forget where the good shit was, etc. How to clear out my clipboard buffer, and that I like to hold off on coming for hours so I can shoot a huge load. All sorts of unexpected stuff.
I am not even sure where I'm going. But I am a realist, and I knew long ago that one way or another, sooner or later, I'd be caught. It is inevitable. Even a 1/10th of 1% chance means that 1 time out of 1,000, you're fucked.
I also didn't expect anyone to give a shit. I have felt like I am all alone on this crazy ship; granted, I have gotten to know the ship really well. Without beating the analogy to death, I know every nut, bolt, and plank, as well as learning more and more about how to navigate. How to hide stuff better and better, how to find really good shit, how to find really rare shit, etc. How to organize my shit, how to take notes so that I don't forget where the good shit was, etc. How to clear out my clipboard buffer, and that I like to hold off on coming for hours so I can shoot a huge load. All sorts of unexpected stuff.
I am not even sure where I'm going. But I am a realist, and I knew long ago that one way or another, sooner or later, I'd be caught. It is inevitable. Even a 1/10th of 1% chance means that 1 time out of 1,000, you're fucked.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
I can't believe it's come to this
Midnight and I feel like there's nobody I can talk to about this. And I'm creating a fucking blog, of all things. My relationship with my wife is worse than ever. I avoid her more than ever, which makes her even more pissed at me, which makes me avoid her even more.
I have to think I have the largest collection of porn anyone has amassed anywhere. If I do the math it works out to hours a day of culling what I want off the internet, for almost 10 years. Sometimes it's one picture at a time, sometimes I use one program or another to download a page full of files. Sometimes I find a stolen password online and pillage pay sites for quality shit. "Quality shit;" I sound like a junkie. Which is ironic.
I have refined my technique over the years. Now I save files in folders for easy sorting later, which sometimes I get around to doing. If I find a really good site and plan to go back later and get more - which I almost always seem to get distracted away doing - then I reference the site title, page number, and content, in the folder name. This makes it very easy to see where I left off, and avoids duplicates, which take up hard drive space.
I also make text files with lists of great links I want to explore later. I rarely get around to doing it. It's funny that until this moment I have never really confronted the idea that there are all these loose ends. The idea is always in the back of my head when I make a new list, or start surfing for porn, but there is all this fresh new porn in front of me, so it's hard to stop and browse back to one of my many unfinished to-do lists.
Just how large is my collection? About 170 gigabytes. A little over 200,000 pictures and movies, in around 5,000 folders.
Some of those are temporary folders and files. See, it's useful to save the actual thumbnailed pics
representing the movies a page offers. That way, you can quickly and easily see what the movies in that folder are. But when you save an entire page full of media, you also get the little garbage files that have all the other graphics and so on, from the page. 
I delete those later, when I get around to it. I can probably cull out about 10,000 files and 2,000 folders. It's really not that hard to do, just a lot of work. You find a file named "pixel.gif" or "spacer.gif" or "join.gif", used for page layout or something, and you just search your hard drive for all instances of that, in your porn collection. 538 instances? Delete. And so on.
Anyway, I am probably boring you now, so I am going to go sort some porn.
I have to think I have the largest collection of porn anyone has amassed anywhere. If I do the math it works out to hours a day of culling what I want off the internet, for almost 10 years. Sometimes it's one picture at a time, sometimes I use one program or another to download a page full of files. Sometimes I find a stolen password online and pillage pay sites for quality shit. "Quality shit;" I sound like a junkie. Which is ironic.
I have refined my technique over the years. Now I save files in folders for easy sorting later, which sometimes I get around to doing. If I find a really good site and plan to go back later and get more - which I almost always seem to get distracted away doing - then I reference the site title, page number, and content, in the folder name. This makes it very easy to see where I left off, and avoids duplicates, which take up hard drive space.
I also make text files with lists of great links I want to explore later. I rarely get around to doing it. It's funny that until this moment I have never really confronted the idea that there are all these loose ends. The idea is always in the back of my head when I make a new list, or start surfing for porn, but there is all this fresh new porn in front of me, so it's hard to stop and browse back to one of my many unfinished to-do lists.
Just how large is my collection? About 170 gigabytes. A little over 200,000 pictures and movies, in around 5,000 folders.
Some of those are temporary folders and files. See, it's useful to save the actual thumbnailed pics
Anyway, I am probably boring you now, so I am going to go sort some porn.
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