I started masturbating to porn when I was ten or eleven, and soon I was looking for chances to do it more and more often. Then, of course, came curiosity. The search for new stimulation: new pictures, new videos, asking friends to pass me whatever they had. Then came the first porn star I “fell in love” with. I started following her, reading about her, watching, until I had seen everything she had ever been in. But eventually that stopped being enough too.
As fate would have it, puberty gave me very ugly, troublesome acne, which pushed me further down into the porn cesspit. My friends went to parties and hooked up with girls, while I could at most think back on it or look for something online.
That went on for a long time, until I was twenty-three. That’s when I met a girl who started taking an interest in me. Apparently I did a good job of acting self-confident. In reality I was a sad wanker. I decided that if things worked out with her, I would leave all of it behind. I got rid of everything I had and wanted to cross it all out. But it didn’t work.
When we were first intimate, it turned out that sex was nothing like what I had watched on a computer for so many long years. I was done in a minute and a half. The next times were just as bad; the more I wanted it, the less it worked. Either I went soft, or I came after three minutes. I knew this was the result of my porn watching and of the fact that I was “finally” getting laid.
Over time, as my partner and I got used to each other, sex lasted longer, and I think I was tender and gentle. But somewhere at the back of my mind I wanted to be cold and rough like a porn star, to fuck without restraint and make my partner scream with pleasure, the kind of screaming that in the videos was, of course, fake.
It soon turned out that the videos gave me “more” than my girlfriend did. New stimulation: brunettes, redheads, groups, anal, facefucking, cumshots and so on. I was watching again, even though I was in a steady relationship. Maybe it’s my girlfriend’s temperament, or maybe I should finally realise that porn isn’t life? As a result I stopped wanting sex with my girlfriend: because she didn’t give blowjobs like in the videos, because we didn’t have anal sex, because she doesn’t know how to play with sex, while over all those years I had developed a warped view and wanted to act out the fantasies I’d seen in videos. Chasing new discoveries, I started watching amateurs who did all kinds of things I couldn’t do with my partner.
We’ve been together for more than four years. And for four years I’ve been cheating on her with my computer and my hand. Sometimes I relieve myself when she isn’t around. And when she wants to make love, I no longer want to. Because I’ve warped my picture of sex, it doesn’t give me pleasure. At least not with this girl. Recently, while she was away, I jerked off three times in two hours to hardcore group sex. I’ve never managed that in bed with a woman. It’s pathetic and stupid; afterwards I want to wash, to cleanse myself somehow. I can go without porn, and I don’t watch it on my phone or at work, but it has happened that I was in the middle of it when a friend called to say he’d drop by in a minute, and I got angry. I didn’t want to see my best friend because he had interrupted my fapping. Whenever I get the chance at home, I take it.
Yesterday I took up the challenge. I had a chance to fap, but I went out. I didn’t want to. I drove over to a friend’s place just so I wouldn’t be sitting at home alone.
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