After two years of surviving on nothing but imagination and memory (and usually some creative mixture of the two), I broke down and finally bought some porn as a stimulus to rub one out. I procured a Playboy in exchange for two yellow bags of coffee.
Playboys are some of the highest-quality porn we’re allowed in here, alongside certain ‘freak books’ published by Goliath. Neither depict any sexual act, only naked chicks, but lately both of these outlets have been getting rejected by the fascist mail room at my joint. So a single nude pic from a Goliath usually cost around two soups (.70) to an even dollar. Now, considering a third of this place is occupied by criminal sexual deviants, obviously there’s gonna be more hardcore stuff floating around. These are jus still-shots from a video, showing a dick in the pussy, blowjobs, money shots, etc. Usually there’s a slew of stills from the same video, which, depending on how many pics there are, retail for around $6-7 if you buy the lot, and at least a buck or two for an individual shot.
The downside to the hardcore stuff is that it’s invariably in black-and-white, and the paper’s usually crinkled as shit, from being folded over a million times. I still don’t know how they smuggle these past the mail room.
There’s always guys hawking this shit on the yard, but if freak books have made it outside the unit, theyre probably not great, or else someone would’ve scooped em up immediately. still, porn is one of those things you jus gotta stop and take a look at in prison, the naked female form seeming so foreign, that the dudes selling porn are accustomed to cons flipping thru fifty pages of hard core and not even pretending to possibly buying any.
I learned to ignore the mugs *trying* to sell freak shit, because it was never that good…ugly chicks or pretty girls with a boner-killing feature, like man feet, and a lot of oldschool 90s black-on-black hardcore (I know in today’s ultra-politically-correct world, I’m probably considered a racist because I don’t jerk off to porn with black cocks in it). But the other week, a guy had a handful of playboys he was selling for someone about to go home.
What roped me into buying a playboy, besides that all the girls reached some minimum threshold of attractiveness, were the articles. I know that makes me sound like a henpecked husband reassuring his wife that he only reads Playboy for the articles, but damn if that magazine doesn’t have some high-quality writing. This issue had a fascinating profile/interview of Ryan Leaf, the biggest bust of the NFL draft ever, who was selected ahead of Peyton Manning until fizzling out spectacularly, ending with a prison sentence (in this way, I feel like we’re kindred spirits).
But lets get down to brass tacks: this particular issue’s photos included some tasteful nude portraits of two different models, a blonde Irish lass and a “shy”socal latina, (I forget both their names) but the highlight was the multi-page spread of the group shots of random Playmates “playing” badminton, croquet, etc. in mansion’s yard. The girls in the latter were all naked except for low-cut white socks and a white pair of low-top chucks/keds/vans, a combo that’s my dick’s Achilles’ heel. This all reminded me of my ambivalence regarding the Playboy aesthetic: tan, big fake tits, completely shaved, air-brushed. That’s not to say I’m above jerking off to PB, jus that their Photoshop perfection leaves an unreal aura around every nut.
As I alluded to above, I mostly scoured the ole spank Rolodex of past encounters initially, but that soon became sad, a lament for the past…so I moved to girls I wanted to smash or could’ve but never did, which was a lot more hopeful… before finally being reduced to any girl I had ever had any sort of interaction with, ever, like the smoking hot waitress who served me twice in downtown Plymouth or the tridelt in my modernist lit discussion section who was my reading partner for one class….yeah, it’s gotten to the point where the connections have been so tenuous that Ive had to invent a whole back story or whatever to make the scenario jive in wank-space.
(To many of the females reading this right now who know me personally, sorry, but I’ve likely sullied your character and reputation in my head before, envisioning the two of us doing things so unspeakably dirty that we wouldve set feminism back 70 years.)
anyways, over time I recognized the extent of my formerly casual reliance on porn in the world. not that I jerked off much–in fact, I made efforts to forbear for month-long stints on-and-off during my last few years out there. still, every masturabatory session was preluded by a visit to xvideos or youporn…you don’t realize what an unhealthy habit it is to masturbate to porn stars, when pussy is widely available, which vaguely feels like giving up, versus to someone attainable, which is basically aspirational.
Any dude that’s locked up for a significant part of his sexual prime is gonna find incomparable solace and stress-relief to beating off, by many factors more than he would out on the streets during the same period, unless he’s a complete fucking weirdo or a homo getting his rocks off on the inside. For me, it was engrained into a near-daily part of my routine, as a handy (heh) way of sloughing off all the extra testosterone from working out and relieving all the tension from living in such an unwelcoming environment…it’s as if to regulate my internal PSI, hitting a lick is my best release valve.
because, for about thirty orgasmic seconds, lost in the biochemical ecstasy, I forget who I am, I forget about where I am…I forget about prison entirely, its petty dramas and the fucked up laws that landed me here.
cognizant of how much this echoes pervy occult practices, nevertheless, im adamant that jerking off remains a primary route of transcendance for a man behind bars.