Addicted to Porn

I’m addicted to porn. I wish I could stop it somehow – or at least approach it from a different perspective. I was walking down my office stairs the other day when I went past an electrician. He was kneeling by a door alarm, fixing its wires, when we exchanged glances. There was a sudden expression of pain in his face that reminded me of a man getting piss on his face. Just a random, quick visual superimposition that left me feeling lost to my own innocence. It was an invasion of those times at night when I look at porn – a reminder that I can’t separate sections of my life.

I carry these images in my core from too many hours spent watching porn. It can’t be good for me – or at least not in any sense that can progress my life. It’s a circular plateau with no end. No ups or downs. Just an endless repetition of beautiful boys getting paid for their bodies before ages catches up. Age will catch up with me too one day. And then what? More sexual images to superimpose the mundane ramblings of daily life?

I crave to be the beauty of a man who has sex rather than watches sex. I crave full interaction with the world.

I have my boyfriend and we love each other. But not as often during the week as we should. And that’s probably why I escape to these fantasies… adrift in cliche scenarios.

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