À bout de soufflé

(Had to check the spelling on this title!)

 

Some of you already know how I like to focus on singular moments, especially those times when a solitary synapse can trigger a world turned downside up!

This isn’t one of those. The world has changed thanks to the Wonderful Weird Wacky and in a lot of cases not for the better. One thing that has is the much lower incidence of capillary dilation that used to affect a significant proportion of the population in the more liberal societies. I wonder what the equivalent in stricter regimes would be? The underlying hormone imperative is still there whether you believe in an unforgiving God or a little red book. I digress, (as always) the thing is, and I’m talking from my experience, I don’t know if this is an issue with the double ‘X’ section of humanity and maybe I ought to be thinking about setting you girls some homework though I am seriously thinking of issuing some dares at the next social gathering I attend where such a subject can be raised! So what am I drivelling on about?

Porn, plain and simple, the paper type, albeit of the glossy variety for practical reasons. That moment as an adolescent, I think I was 15 or 16 when, as a walking gland I ventured into an establishment that purveyed such anatomically unambiguous material up on the high shelf. I will point out that I did pass four or five such traders that at that time seemed to be far too close to home and handing over money for naked ladies instead of a choc ice or the Galaxy’s Greatest Comic was probably part of my reasoning. Of course that first time I prevaricated to the extent of a number of days if not weeks electing to buy something else of a more innocent variety.

But I do remember an almost palpable ache in my arm as the libido centres in my hind-brain tried to raise it while the socially conditioned areas of the frontal lobes tried to keep it in place. Civilisation, while possibly being defined by the printed word and picture never stood a chance! If the muscular conflict in my biceps was great it was nothing compared to the exercise those tiny versions were getting around my ocular cavities. While trying to choose a brand of filth with my head bent to the lower shelves of motoring and sporting magazines for the benefit of the male shop assistant (I wouldn’t contemplate a female (even if that was what I wanted to do when I returned to my pit)) I was also watching for the arrival of other customers/waiting for patrons to leave.

Maybe you question how long an old child/young adult can stand in front of a magazine rack whereas I, all these years later, wonder how many seconds it was before the shop assistant knew what I really wanted to buy. So there stands a boy/man in a state of flux before he even knew the word, on the fulcrum, that who knows, could define his sexual preferences for the rest of his naturals. Not that his hormone addled brain is thinking about the future, it’s firmly embedded in the bedrock of the present, a significant proportion of which is torn between Melanie’s massive mammary memories, Debbie getting down and dirty and whether the swollen appendage in my jeans is obvious to anyone else when it appears to me that the entire universe is spinning about it!

Even at that age the misuse of alliteration entertained me greatly and with the only just concealed ‘fun-bits’ on the Adult magazine covers it was a win/win scenario. Now if I could only get my arm to work. Of course over the years my frontal lobes have battled unceasingly with my hind-brain and there has never been a decisive knock-out blow launched by either side though generally the upper hand has always been centred beneath my waist but in these mature days I’d say I fully realise what a hound I am and in the struggle for victory maybe my shame and guilt had to be sacrificed to hold the line. I’m sure they took a few vices with them… probably not.

reaching for nirvanaI tend to hide my lecherous nature in plain sight and only a very few ever realise it’s not an act. So now I would happily walk into any retail establishment and buy ‘Filth’ though I guess I’d only buy Munters’ Monthly for a dare and I’m quite sure I wouldn’t even break the cellophane wrapping that seems to be the vogue now. No shame here, at least in front of strangers… a cousin once shared a secret with me and although we’re very good friends I still asked him why he told me. “You don’t give a shit!” he replied. Now I’m not sure that would be a great motto to have beneath my coat of arms but in the respect that I’m not judgemental (well not too much) it’s not a bad philosophy.

Of course my frontal lobes still have their say. ‘Objectification and Exploitation’ they whisper during those bright glorious spring mornings of the Gallbladder. (Well everybody talks of the dark night of the soul so I’d thought I’d be different) With my usual brand of Porn as published here it resides within my head and as I don’t listen to the voices is relatively harmless although I have taken vicarious pleasure in finding out that it has had its desired effect and some secretions have been spilled because of it. Still I do post pictures and there is a chance that those within them didn’t necessarily do it by choice and for that it is one of the few things I feel guilt about.

Guilt? Back in the day it was within my mind, indoctrination into religions will do that although I figure I obviously didn’t have the worst of brain-washing childhoods. Or I was genetically predisposed to be immune but by the age of eleven I could see the cracks in the dogma and was on the way to becoming a devout atheist. Oddly, I also stopped wearing a watch. I was sick of dashing about because I was late for this or for that. Didn’t stop the fact I was always late just meant I was happy in my ignorance till I arrived. But even four or five years later standing in front of ‘Ladies of Easy Pleasure’ that auld guilt was niggling away, more like a flea hopping about my scalp than some Powell and Pressburger Angel upon my shoulder.

So how long did I stand there for? No time at all or maybe the rest of my life.

Who knows? Not me!

FtF

P.s.           I was serious about that homework girls, go out and buy some porn from a granny in a newsagents!!!

~ by ftfagos on June 9, 2013.

2 Responses to “À bout de soufflé”

  1. Very amusing/thoughtful blog. I shall do my homework, only I think I will start to look at what I have already for starters.

  2. Boy, this takes me back…
    I have to say, I don’t miss the days of sneaking into a corner store to acquire a tome filled with glossy pics of naked females engaged in various sexual acts considered illegal in many states.
    But those were good times, weren’t they?

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