Some time ago, I bought myself a 1TB external hard disk drive. At the time, I thought it might be good for me to have a physical backup of some of my stuff — or, not exactly a physical backup, a physical digital backup of some of my stuff. In the time since then, though, I’ve kind of moved away from that model and I don’t use that disk for that purpose. Instead, in recent days, it’s become a home to my compulsive porn accumulation.
I wrote a few weeks ago about my redesigned master porn site — one that presents photo sets and videos in a uniform way that is organized to my liking, presented to my liking. Well, a knock-on effect of my having built that special local personal web page is that I want to fill it with infinite quantities of porn. And when I say infinite, I really do mean infinite. It seems I am something of a completist in this regard. And it brings up a number of thoughts and questions I have about myself, about my mind, about my sexuality.
So, to begin with: while there are eight or ten porn sites that I cycle my preferences through, in the current moment, there are two that have really captured my fancy. And I should say, there are two that, in the past, I had never found particularly compelling. I can’t decide whether I simply was missing something in the past, or whether my current approach somehow transforms what the sites are, or whether something in me has changed. But the two sites are Karups and Nubiles. They each have a virtual infinitude of women on them. Pretty low production values. Aesthetics that don’t particularly align with mine. And a host of other problems, as it relates to me and to alignment with my desires.
In two ways, though, they are perfectly aligned with me.
First, the aforementioned infinitude. There is something about an infinite stream of women — whether of physical women in a fantasy of mine, or of digital women on my screen — that medicates some very deep anxiety of mine in a way that my cock responds to.
And then, second, on each site, the women are, for the most part, presented in casual clothes. The kind of clothes they might wear to commute, or to a casual office job. Which isn’t to say that there aren’t some glamorous sets, or some bikinis, or lingerie. But rather, that this is the bulk of them. The largest proportion of an infinitude. And, of course, because math, a fraction of an infinitude is nonetheless an infinitude.
So for these two reasons — the infinitude and the clothing — I’m delighted with these sites. I can just very quickly, very efficiently stiffen my cock by looking at a page full of images of one model for a fraction of a second, and then move on to the next, and to the next, and to the next.
I suspect that the moving on itself is somehow essential. And I’m thinking about Charlie Sheen, saying he never paid a woman for sex — he paid women to leave after sex. Maybe, for me, somehow switching away is a triumphant moment. A declaration of independence, of vanquishment. It’s me leaving, rather than her leaving. That has the ring of proof to it, as I say it.
So the infinitude and the ease of switching presented by my new web configuration makes these sites exciting to me, in spite of the elements of them I don’t love. The inevitable, constant progression to a long stream of beaver shots — close-ups of labia spread open wide, and glaring, unmistakably pornographic gate shots — none of that does anything for me. And in that, honestly, it makes me want to run in the opposite direction. No matter. Now that I’ve built this display, the first screen, even of ten or twenty shots of these women, because of the way the sites are built and because of the aesthetics, often doesn’t even reach the point where the women are topless, let alone bottomless. And that’s just fine for me.
I’ll pause here. My next batch of words will be about the collection aspect of all of this.
Featured image prompt (gemini): Analog contact sheet of thirty-six thumbnail photographs arranged in a six-by-six grid on a light table, cool fluorescent glow bleeding up through the translucent acetate, the images themselves too small to resolve into faces but clearly women in casual daywear — blouses, jeans, the occasional skirt — an endless repeating rhythm of bodies caught mid-pose, the grid implying accumulation and appetite and the compulsion to scroll rather than to stop, shallow depth of field making the outer rows blur into soft grain, the room around the light table dark and cluttered with a laptop half-open and an external hard drive cable trailing off-frame, the color palette ice-white at the center warming to amber at the edges, cinematic documentary photography, wide-angle lens pulling the grid slightly toward the viewer, no text, no faces readable, the whole image charged with the private hunger of the collector rather than any single object of desire.
Bottom image prompt (gemini): Analog contact sheet of thirty-six thumbnail photographs arranged in a six-by-six grid on a light table, cool fluorescent glow bleeding up through the translucent acetate, the images themselves too small to resolve into faces but clearly women in casual daywear — blouses, jeans, the occasional skirt — an endless repeating rhythm of bodies caught mid-pose, the grid implying accumulation and appetite and the compulsion to scroll rather than to stop, shallow depth of field making the outer rows blur into soft grain, the room around the light table dark and cluttered with a laptop half-open and an external hard drive cable trailing off-frame, the color palette ice-white at the center warming to amber at the edges, cinematic documentary photography, wide-angle lens pulling the grid slightly toward the viewer, no text, no faces readable, the whole image charged with the private hunger of the collector rather than any single object of desire.