Porn is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it offers scenarios that one can vicariously live through during figurative dry spells. On the other hand, it creates unrealistic expectations. Consider for a second that porn actors have sex professionally
. It necessarily follows that they get plenty of practice and must be good at it. Why, then, do we viewers watch porn and so confidently predict that we can effortlessly recreate what we see on screen? I have never watched Floyd Mayweather fight and imagined that I could match his level of excellence in the ring, since such delusions would almost inevitably lead to a lengthy stay at my local hospital. Yet despite the logical incoherence of my belief that I can match a porn star's excellence in their respective ring, I have regularly fooled myself into believing that this level of sexual competence is attainable for someone of average experience. One such occasion occurred not so long ago.
My partner in crime on this occasion is a girl I will call 'Nikita'. Our time together had been long overdue and I had played out various scenarios in my head ad nauseam, from the romantic to the downright filthy. I had anticipated pulling off her jeans and underwear with ease and teasing her in just the right spot with my tongue, before transitioning flawlessly into the missionary position, then pulling her on top of me for a brief period, before progressing peerlessly into doggy style, finally followed by a Ron Jeremy-like money shot to an area of her body she had deemed appropriate. It all seemed simple enough.
Things started out smoothly, with some standard kissing and groping, followed by undressing. Here is where things became more complicated, since I had underestimated the value of knowing what your partner likes and dislikes. Sex is not a one-size-fits-all act, but rather needs to be tailored to fit. Nikita proceeded to go down on me, which is something that gives me less pleasure than the average male, perhaps due to decreased sensitivity from circumcision. Either way, I provided some moans for the purposes of positive reinforcement, between reminding her not to scrape me with her teeth. After a while, we switched spots and it was finally my time to shine. My tongue got to work, flicking against her clit. And...nothing. I decided to change motions, which led to some brief moans that were likely more out of pity than pleasure. After various experimental motions and areas explored with my tongue, Nikita clasped my cheeks and lifted my face upwards so that I could see her shaking her head sympathetically, as if to say, 'It ain't happening, sweetie'.
Feeling emasculated, I soldiered on and we proceeded to engage in penetrative sex. This was awkward for various reasons, not least of which was the fact that my arthritis was acting up during this particular period. This meant that the standard missionary position felt like it had been initiated after completing 500 push-ups, which caused me to lean on my elbows instead, for a far less satisfying experience. It was deemed necessary for Nikita to take top position at this point, which provided some welcome relief for my joints. As she rode me like a bat out of hell, the lube we had applied earlier began to squelch loudly and frequently, which initially sounded like Nikita was queefing with abandon. Although we both found this hilarious, it was far too distracting for us to be able to continue.
My lady friend hopped off and began to give me a baby oil-aided handjob, which was thoroughly enjoyable. 'Where do you want to cum?' she asked eagerly. 'On your tits', I panted romantically in reply. Now, anyone who has experienced a handjob assisted with baby oil should be familiar with the extreme sensitivity that follows orgasm. My companion was, needless to say, not familiar with this. It should also be noted that I fully intended to sit up, get on my knees and unleash a load onto Nikita's chest. Feeling far too comfortable to move, however, I decided to just lay there like a corpse as I came. With the white lava flowing out of my member and down Nikita's hand, the post-coital hypersensitivity kicked in. Looking confused by my laziness, yet eager to respect my wishes, Nikita began to enthusiastically smear the evicted 'potential human beings' all over her breasts in a manner that would have had the pro-life lobby up in arms. As she did this with her left hand, her right hand continued to stroke my now excruciatingly sensitive cock. Perhaps because she was so focused on getting every last drop of my cum on her chest, Nikita failed to notice me convulsing and squirming from what was now a torturous handjob, equivalent to waterboarding. I squealed, 'STOP! Let go!' To the uninitiated observer, it would have looked like my cock was being used as a joystick to control my movements. Nikita ceased blanketing her chest in semen and mercifully released my penis from her clutches, as I breathed a sigh of relief.
What have we learned from this? Sex requires communication if you are unfamiliar with each other's likes and dislikes. More importantly, porn stars are really good at sex. Either that or they are very cleverly edited.