By Mark Simpson
(Originally appeared in Manner magazine)
“Do you have any HUNG mates? I want to be GANGBANGED by several DONKEY DICKS and just TOTALLY USED! Oh, and do you have a videocam to record it all? You see, I want my first time to be really special.”
Maybe I shouldn’t be complaining, and probably I shouldn’t have Photoshopped the pic on my profile, but I seem to be hearing this kind of request more and more these days from young men online. Men who, like most of us penised people, have been watching far too much porn.
And it doesn’t seem to matter much whether the porn they’ve been watching too much is ‘straight’ or ‘gay’. Nor, in fact, does it seem to matter much whether they are straight or gay – tops or bottoms. It’s all the same now. When it comes to porn, all men are nymphomaniac size queens. Gargantuan, mortifying, Death-Star penises devastating tiny, defenceless chocolate starfish — in extreme, key-hole surgery close-up.
(Admit it, I’m turning you on, aren’t I?)
Xtube’s ‘Most Watched’, gay or straight, is just reams and reams of unfeasibly large pee-pees ramming relentlessly, pitilessly, where the sun don’t shine and where God definitely didn’t intend.
Even if men do occasionally find themselves having to settle for something slightly less apocalyptic on the rare occasions when they actually have sex instead of the real thing – i.e. watching porn – this is what is playing in their heads when they come. It certainly is in mine.
It was Edward Albee who famously said that when we are young we use porn to substitute for sex, but when we are adults we use sex as a substitute for porn.
Of course, this maxim is laughably out of date. Thanks to the internet, which has uploaded all men’s filthy, fetishistic thoughts, multiplied them by the power of IT, then downloaded them, no Vaseline, back into our sore, over-stretched little heads – and then uploaded them back onto Xtube, usually without password protection. In an Xtubed world there’s no substitution, or in fact distinction between sex and representations of sex any more. There is only pornsex.
In Woody Allen’s 1973 classic Sleeper he postulated a future in which we would all have a machine called the Orgasmatron, that within seconds of using would electronically induce an orgasm. Well, we’re in the future already, and Allen turned out to be exactly right: the internet is after all the Orgasmatron, but with Windows Messenger.
Though Allen was exactly wrong to think that it would take a few seconds. While the speed of the technology and bit-rates get faster and faster, we’re getting slower and slower, spending more and more time not less in the Orgasmatron. Pretty soon, we’ll all have a chip in our skulls that will mean we’re permanently logged on with a lob on. But when that happens it will just be a kind of technical elaboration of where men, gay and straight – but especially gay – are at mentally already.
Is it humanly possible, I wonder, to summon up more energy/time/bodily fluids/eye-strain than we are already doing? Can ‘sex’ continue to bear the weight, heft, length and girth of our ever more penetrating gaze? Or will sex just decide to stay in and wash its hair instead, thanks for asking?
It’s almost as if we want to wear sex out. Use it up. Overexpose it. Leave it gaping, slack and flapping in the wind. Perhaps I underestimate the ingenious power of the male psyche – and also the suppleness of the human sphincter. We’ve all seen those Xtube clips of men taking ever-bigger traffic cones up their arses – over and over again. Maybe in ten years time they’ll be sitting on the London Gherkin. Who knows what’s possible with an early start, enough determination and really good poppers?
Or maybe the only way forwards is backwards. Maybe we will decide that when everything is permitted, and where you’ve literally seen everything, there’s no point in actually doing any of it. Maybe in a world of e-jadedness, repression will make a comeback. A clampdown, if you will. As the director John Waters once said, ‘Every day I get down on my knees every day and thank God I’m a Catholic, because it means I have really great sex!’
One of the truly wonderful things about repression is that you don’t need much friction to bring you off. A mobile phone set to ‘silent’ can do the trick, as opposed by the nuclear-powered jack-hammers required by today’s young men.
I suspect though that most blokes probably won’t find the idea of the His Holiness looking over their shoulder while they’re wanking online terribly appealing.
Unless, of course, the Pope has a REALLY BIG COCK – and some DONKEY HUNG Cardinal mates.
I’m afraid I only know Catholicism as a cliche, Caroline. I would have been raised a Catholic, but my Grandfather was excommunicated from the Mother Church and so it all remains a Holy mystery to me. I think I’m probably describing, as usual, a certain (defunct) Northern working class sensibility/modesty.
The thing that has always terrified me about relationships is the prospect of sex on tap, 24/7. I mean, what could be duller than having to shag on demand? And not get paid?
aaargh premature posting!
Too much furious wanking over the net is not the most satisfying, either physically, psychologically or, IMO spiritually.
Repression in my book, means that sex can’t be openly discussed or is taboo, which is not the case, but I guess there is a semantic case to be made that Catholics might be repressed about gay sex or masturbation.
Its ironic that the current climate could well lead to sex becoming taboo again. I see this happening amongst anti-porn feminists who wish to see all porn eliminated on the basis it degrades women. Some of it does, but then some women like to be degraded!
I can’t see a reversion to Victorian attitudes, more realistically, I think censorship will make a comeback. I’m torn on whether or not that’s advisable, but forbidden fruit always adds an extra frisson and the explicit stuff deadens one.
It’s not only politics that is the art of the possible, sexual arousal is intertwined with the power of suggestion. The mobile phone buzz heralding a host of possibilities, but eventually, the recipient will tire and need something stronger, although the buzz may provoke a Pavlovian response.
I agree that an excess of explicit no holds barred porn deadens and dulls the senses. Your description of e-jadedness is apt.
I won’t elaborate here, but I’m not sure the clichéd description of Catholic sexual repression is correct. I and many Catholic friends would not consider ourselves repressed in any way, far from it.
John Waters has a good point. In exercising moderation in terms of sex, i.e. Only within marriage & only if you are happy to accept that a baby might result, meaning that couples wishing to avoid pregnancy have to abstain for x days a month, it means that by not having sex on tap 24/7, things are always kept fresh. Frustrating though it is to have to go without for up to a week, it heightens the experience and ups the sexual tension during the dry spell, plus on a relationship level means you have to find other ways of achieving intimacy.
I think that’s really what you mean. Too much furious wanking
As I told William Blake: “the road of xxx-cess leads to the phallus of wisdom”
What would he make of Old Compton Street now? “I wander through each chartered street, near where the chartered Thames does flow” And then I pop into G.A.Y for a few hours of tinny music and drugs. Don’t be censorious: Let the youngsters burn themselves out practising their sexual circus skills,if it help fill the numbing existential void.
As for His Holiness supervising you whilst bashing the bishop? Well, who are you casting? Cardinal De Niro would be good. Cardinal Clooney better. But Pope’s tend to be decrepit and ugly. Even if they wear Gucci like the current camp prat Ratzinger does. I suppose Rupert Everett looks depraved enough nowadays. James Cromwell in L.A Confidential would be an turn-on sinister lead role in Bukkake Bishops.
But,Mark, you can’t dip in and out of ‘repression’ or it won’t deliver the goods. You need a full on conversion experience at Brompton Oratory if you want in on chic Hot Catholic Guilt-based Sex. Convert, then try cracking off a few Poles in Krakov. They’re still repressed enough to have a fit of the vapours about a Madonna gig, so sounds a promising destination for some old-stlye cottaging.
Will the whole guilt/shame matrix collapse now that the Vatican have ‘redeemed’ Oscar?
Bizarrely, before reading this post, I sent you an email on hard-core KKK Catholic guilt teenage-priest-queen issues last night. Probably caught in your spam filter. Your loss.
In truth, like Porn, Guilt, Shame and Repression are seriously over-rated.
Anyone who says ‘Do you have a webcam as I want my first time to be special’ is a. not a virgin and b. will never meet anyone as all they want is an online wank-fest.
They’re just greedy.
What is it with the young today that a gaping orifice seems to be the accessory du jour? Whether bananas being deep throated or traffic cones being engulfed by an all too-dilated sphincter, you paint a vivid picture of the youth of today, Mark!
This topic seems to have reved you up to a supersonic rap. perhaps that is an effect of the jack hammers: but on the brain. Not all that disinteresting fortunately!
Back to somewhere around about the traffic cones and London Gherkin: it’s old fashioned admittedly but were fists(blush) just a provincial and too personable option(too Victorian?) Granted the prospect of plastic gloves leaves something to be desired; but you don’t really need a penis flapping or otherwise. Maybe too old fashioned ; Or just a ‘San Fransisco treat’.; Just to keep you grounded –traffic cones could be pretty distracting by themselves; tres modern; bullhorns might be more politically apt..
Remember as a lad, when a Zucchini seemed formidable? Again, an old fashioned point, but does it matter what’s attached to said device. I liked the athletes.( uff, there it is!)
“nuclear powered jack-hammers”! Superb!