You, Porn, and the Age of Sad Millennials. (+ how to fix it!)

(NSFW language warning and all that, as usual)

A respected friend of mine voiced a strong opinion that porn is bad. 

It treats people as objects, and she wished people wouldn't watch it. She argued that the Actors, and the Viewers, were both poisoned by the porn.

It turns the act of sex, and its participants, into something of far less value. Reducing the act of lovely miraculous baby making into sweaty, apathetic, lubed up grunts for all to see... for a fee.

I had to argue with her a bit on that.
I've worked with people in the adult film industry, and have subsequently seen the other side, as it were.

Now with anything, there are bad apples and exceptions-- but we're talking about the overall industry, at the professional level.

Porn, officially, isn't a slave trade. The actors are enjoying themselves. They're both tested ahead of time, cleaned up, and respect each other. They're getting paid well to do things they agreed upon ahead of time. Mutually consenting adults having fantasized, exaggerated sex with varying degrees of kinkiness. They both feel great because thousands of people want to see them naked.

Imagine how well that does for your self esteem!

This isn't lovemaking. This is plain sex, amped up for the camera. Real sex and porn sex are very different.
The actors know this. They feel and understand the difference. And, just like you and me, they too want loving fulfilling relationships with true, genuine affection. Many actors, after a few years in the business, quit and lead normal healthy lives.

Imagine that. They weren't even ruined!

Anyhow, I'm not going to debate porn and its goods & bads.

After all, porn itself isn't to blame for its popularity. Porn is simply filling a massive need. It's answering a call. Responding to the searches people constantly send.

If nobody wanted porn, it simply wouldn't be there.

But why is porn so prevalent, especially in Western culture? Why can't we just find fulfilling, loving relationships with actual living breathing people? Why do we need porn at all?

Porn's popularity is just a tiny symptom of something much, much larger.

It's a 5-part puzzle that adds up to Sadness - especially for Millennials.

1. It starts when we're young- disguised as helpful esteem building.

"You get a trophy for showing up."
"You are special."
"You can be anything you want! You can be an astronaut rockstar president of the United States!"
"Because of the above things, you deserve the best and nothing less."

So when you grow up, these little statements are swimming in your mind, as you work away in your realistic job (which is probably middle management at best, not moviestarbillionaire.)

It translates to you deserve a fucking ten. The absolute hottest guy/gal on Earth is waiting for you because You. Are. Amazing.



2. All day you're bombarded with images of happy tens.

So you go out into the world with sexual needs. But satisfying those needs requires much, much more than it should normally. Your standards are set impossibly high.

Literally thousands of times per day you see ridiculously good looking people on every product, ad, billboard, and screen. Everywhere a hot face can be photoshopped and placed, it is.

Every man in those pictures is tall with chiseled abs and a thick head of hair. Every woman has a flat stomach, great tits, and tight glutes. They are tens to begin with, then they're photoshopped into twelves.

Near their smiling faces are headlines like
"LOSE 10 POUNDS IN 10 MINUTES BECAUSE YOU'RE CURRENTLY UGLY."

"100 GREAT SEX TIPS FOR VEGANS. OH YOU'RE NOT VEGAN? YOU FAT FUCK. GET IT TOGETHER."

"WAIT YOU DON'T HAVE SOMEONE TO PRACTICE THESE 100 SEX TIPS ON? LOL WHY"

"CHICKS ONLY DIG GUYS LIKE ME. BE ME, RIGHT NOW, BRO.

"YOUR MAN WON'T NOTICE YOU IF YOU DON'T HAVE THESE FIRM DOUBLE D's."


3. You look at them. Then you look at yourself.

Sadness sets in a little bit. A tiny moment of self-loathing. A little twinge of doubt. But you ignore it for now.

If only someone would love you for you.

You still deserve a ten, though. Because inside, you're a ten yourself!

Sure, you're flabby and kinda pale and you're still not a rockstar racecar driver.... yet. But you deserve a ten. Nothing less.

You go home after another long shitty day, and...

4. There you sit, feeling ugly, and the sexual needs are still there. 

And the longer they remain unfulfilled, the more cloudy your head gets.

Soon, that cloudiness invades other parts of your life. It affects your decision making. It affects your confidence at work and in public.

Suddenly innocuous things really bother you.
Randomly, you just get wickedly depressed. Or angry.

You feel at any moment you could burst. Or do something rash, or hurtful.

Then the TV comes on. Happy sexy people again. It's a commercial. They're fishing together, or swinging in a hammock.

"Are you sad? Lonely? Limp penis, dusty vagina?... 

5. ...TAKE THIS PILL."

And that, my friends, is how America works. 
They show you the unattainable American dream. They tease you with an impossible reality, so your own seems less than adequate, and you'll buy their products and their pills to try and fill the void.

Forget that.

So instead, you load up a few minutes of porn, have at it, and release some of that mental mess.

Is it ideal? No.

It's nowhere near actual human interaction and affection. But it's better than nothing.

 At least now you won't stutter and drool whenever someone halfway attractive is near you.

Now where's the harm in that? I'd say the porn was helpful to you - in moderation. It kept you outwardly normal for the time being.

So here's what you should do. Take a spoonful of truth with me.


Stop buying into the notion of you being special and deserving a kingdom of admiration for just being alive.

You're not special, and you don't deserve shit. What they told you was a lie.

But it's okay. Most people are not special.

Everything you have, you have to earn yourself! And you might not even get what you want after all that hard work.

Realize this: 99.9% of the time, you aren't a 10. Thus, do not expect to get a 10.

In fact, you're likely between a 4 and a 6. That's what most people are.
You might even be a 2. Or worse.

Heck. You could be a 10 in Omaha, but a 4 in Los Angeles.

The sooner you realize what you actually are, the sooner you'll aim for the correct hotness level, and therefore have more success and a fulfilling sex life. This requires some bravery, but I promise you, it'll save you a ton of grief in the long run.

Even a 1 has other 1s that will date them. The trick is aiming for a similar number you are.

Or aim a little higher, but don't expect to succeed.
If you're a 3 and you bag a 5, holy shit good for you. But if you fail and end up with a 3 like you, that's good too!

Basically, lower your expectations a lot, and you'll be happy.

In fact, the best sex I ever had was with a 6. That 6 was the best damn thing that ever happened to me. She was happy with me for who I was, too.

The 8? Horrible. She was an asshole the whole time and I regret it.

One secret though. Don't tell her or him that you read this blog and took this advice. Nobody wants to be told they're less than amazing.

Now get out there and find true love! Even if they're kinda stinky and not exactly ripped.


Then, maybe, we won't need porn anymore.  :)

Why Men Send D**k Pics. (and it's all your fault)

If you're a happily married adult, or are otherwise in a fulfilling relationship, then you need not worry about this post. Close this window and simply continue living.

--

But if you're a single woman and you're deep into the dating scene - especially online dating like POF/OKCupid/Tinder etc - then it's likely you've encountered a hefty number of 'Dick Pics.'

A dick pic is a picture of a dude's wiener, sent with the main objective of gaining a woman's admiration or attention. Often the photo has been meticulously crafted with brooding shadows and perfect lighting, a masterful piece of vascular crotch meat chosen from a sea of sad attempts. (Similar to the selfies you ladies take)

Usually said dick pic is sent in place of a "Hello, my name is X" as a way to break the ice.

Straight up. Just here's my penis, I hope you like it. That's it.

Since the invention of the smartphone, I've wondered why any self respecting man would do such a thing as sending an introductory dick pic.

First, it's risky. These days once it's on the internet, it's on there forever. You can get slapped with a restraining order, or worse, be labeled a sex offender.

Obviously that's not the smoothest way to approach a lady, right? I mean there are countless other, better ways to get a woman's attention, I thought.

I'm all out of ideas. Here's my penis!

Then I tried online dating. Years went by.

And now I get it.

I totally and completely understand the logic of skipping all the pleasantries and just going straight for the Dick Pic Strategy:
Here's my penis, take it or leave it. If you dig it, let's do this. If not, simply ignore me like you would have anyhow, and save us both the hassle.

Would I send a dick pic? No.
Well, not yet.

Although at this point I'm completely out of alternative ideas.

Now let's get something out of the way first.
Some guys are just sickos.
They're crude, rude, sloppy, gross jerks to the core. They send their dick pics because that's all they're capable of doing as the misogynistic pigs that they are. Truthfully though, these types are exceptionally rare. They are the 1% of the male population that are just absolute scum. I apologize for them. Us Normal Guys don't want these freaks around either.

But that's only 1% of dick pic senders.

The remaining 99% of dick pic senders started off as decent Normal Guys.

Normal Guys who are employed, have hobbies and interests, shower regularly, have something to offer, and genuinely want to love and be loved for their true selves.

So what happened, you may wonder?
I'll show you precisely how it happens.

Sunday I went on a date.

I found this one on POF. She would be just my 2nd date in the last year. Let's call her Dezi.

• She was 26 (I'm 30) and was nearly finished earning her Master's in Psychology.
• She helps families with mentally disabled children, but specializes as a marriage counselor. She boasted that directly telling a man what she wants is the best way to get and keep a man.
• She was once seriously overweight (cultivating a terrific personality), but exercise and determination has since changed her into a beautiful swan. (so now she's also outwardly sexy)
• She's single, never married or divorced, attends church. No children, but wants them.
• She's the oldest of 6 kids, just like me.

That's right. A well-spoken marriage counselor who loves kids and wants her own, but has none. Dezi has an attractive woman's body but with an ugly woman's personality. Men call this The Holy Grail.

As an added bonus, she initially Favorited Me. That never happens. In fact I didn't even know that was possible until her.

I messaged Dezi and she responded with complete sentences. She even carried on the conversation. She spelled words correctly. Her grammar was flawless. Online dating veterans know how special that is.

We exchange numbers. We talk on the phone for hours. We have plenty in common, but also enough differences to keep each other intrigued.

About a week later, after regular chit chat back and forth, we pick Tempe Marketplace on a breezy Sunday afternoon to meet for the first time. Before our date, I notice she has removed her POF profile photos. Perhaps she has high hopes for me? Enough to put her own search for a man on pause.

So we meet at Barnes & Noble at Tempe Marketplace.
Dezi's dressed casually, but conservatively. A light touch of makeup, and long dark hair. Just how I like it.

Conversation comes on smoothly. We each have a beer at Thirsty Lion, her choice. Her body language is attentive, but relaxed, matching my own. Neither of us touch our phones the entire time.

I sense she is someone who needs to be in control. Her standards must be sky high, to be single for 'four years by choice' at her age and stature. She's Mexican, coming from a big family, so there must be pressure to crank out babies by now. But she's held off. Education and career comes first, and I respect that.

Dezi extends the date by suggesting Nectar afterward. We walk to the fruity-aired blender buzzing place. She offers me a taste of her smoothie, I oblige, then she sips mine. Big smiles and giggles from her. Our conversation continues without feeling forced. It bends around topics both light and heavy, silly and insightful. I feel like she's been my friend already.

Eventually we take turns going to the restroom, and at around 140 minutes into the date, she says she has to go. Her Monday paper needs work.

Fine by me, I was running out of extroversion anyhow.

I walk her to her car, she gives me a High School hug, and grins.

I tell her I think she's a sweetheart, and would like to meet her again.

She says 'me too', she smiles again, the breeze teases her hair, and we go our separate ways.

When I get home, around 30 minutes later, I send a short text thanking her for meeting me, and that I enjoyed it.

'Me too :)' Dezi replies.

And that was it.

After that she probably died for all I know, and I wasn't invited to the funeral.

'Ghosting' is the main breakup tactic of Millennials. It makes things worse for everyone.

The next afternoon, I send her a single text asking her if she likes cosmic bowling, perhaps this coming weekend.

I might as well have asked how she likes to be murdered. Zero responses.

Keep in mind, before our date, Dezi was ultra chatty with texts and phone calls. This behavior was the total opposite.

A second day goes by. Still tumbleweeds.

Her POF profile pictures are back in action. She's online now, actually.

I have been ghosted. She ghosted me.

Now for those of you not familiar with the term, 'ghosting' is a way to rid yourself of someone by completely vanishing without any given reason. It's a way of dumping someone without having to explain why. This avoids confrontation, but also fails in helping that person fix whatever caused the breakup in the first place. So they are likely doomed to repeat that same behavior. This not only kills a chance at personal growth or reconciliation, but also may hamper other dates in the future.

Now here's where things get tricky.

Does she owe me an explanation? One could say she doesn't owe me anything.

Even though I paid for the date, and took the time out of my day for her, I don't deserve a single reply text afterward. Somewhere along the way, a thought flicked in her brain that I wasn't the right one.

She can do what she wants, and although she's a MARRIAGE COUNSELOR WHO PROBABLY KNOWS HOW UNBELIEVABLY IMPORTANT COMMUNICATION IS and she specifically stated that CLEAR DIRECT COMMUNICATION OF NEEDS IS CRUCIAL she chose to ghost me. So I have to respect her choice.

But shit, why did I try so hard? I could have showed up chewing on a baby carcass, screaming satanic sonnets, and she would have acted exactly the same way afterward.

Now I've definitely screwed up on dates in the past.
And I've been on a lot of dates (other than lately) so I can sense the immediate moment when a woman flinches or recoils, or uncrosses and recrosses her legs because I said the wrong thing.
I can see when her pupils flare or constrict, or her throat swallows for an uncomfortable second because I did something wrong.

I painstakingly reviewed the date in my mind. Scanned every detail. Every sentence and inflection for possible problems.

I'm accustomed to the tiny cues that highlight my failure.
But none of those happened.

In her eyes, you may make a mistake during a 2 hour date that ruins your chances. 
She won't tell you when it happened though - as if failure was her goal. 

I was 100% Actual Me.
I said some silly things a few times, but she played it right back at me. The flow and mood never died or choked.

I felt like I did as well as I could have. I kept it clean, clear, and consistent. I was the same guy she spoke to on the phone, and remained that guy throughout the date.

So without any failure I could see, my mind begins to eat away at me over meaningless crap.
Did I lean forward too much or not enough? Was that joke too strange? Did that reference offend her? Did I choose the wrong beer? Was I too short or too fat? Did I appear too interested? Is my hair too long? Should I have flirted more or less? Are my shoes too old?

This is what happens when someone gets ghosted. They're left to rot in their own filthy doubts.

Now I wasn't in love with her by any means. Heck, I barely decided if I even wanted her. That's what second dates are for. The first date is nothing more than an interview of sorts.

There was one date, where numerous imperceptible tells were exchanged and ultimately we both left lonelier than before. This is not how dating between intelligent, reasonable adults should be.

Anyway, so back to dick pics.

In the modern dating game so far,  I've tried everything that isn't sending a dick pic:

• Being funny.
• Being serious.
• Being myself.
• Being someone else.
• Giving up and just letting things happen.
• Trying hard because things didn't happen.
• Being busy.
• Being available.
• Being affectionate.
• Being aloof.
• Fancy dinners.
• Casual coffees.
• Working out.
• Not working out.
• Being healthy.
• Fuck it eating pizza.

Only to get ghosted.

So I'm out of ideas. I am completely out of ideas.

All this work, all this time, money, and aggravation and all I'm left with is confusion and self doubt.

I'm at the Crossroads. On the left is Women Simply Telling Men What to Do or Fix on Dates So Things Will Work Out Nicely in Most Cases and on the right is Dick Pics.

We need your help ladies. Just a little bit. We want to be better for you.

So here's what to do.
Here's how to stop the vast majority of dick pics.

If a guy messes up on a date, tell him what it was.
But, and this is key, be HONEST. It has to be the REAL reason it didn't work for you, as harsh as it may sound.

Hell, text it to him if you're afraid of confrontation.

Him: Hey Sally, golly you were swell. Let's meet again.
You: It was great to meet you too, but I don't see it working out. I just can't get over your racist rant at the deli earlier.
Him: But I HATE Samoan dogs!
You: sry

or

Him: Hey babe, I had fun. Movie next Saturday?

You: I appreciate the offer, but I have to pass, I'm sorry. I have a thing for ridiculously long nose hair. It just ruins it for me.

Him: BUT I CAN TRIM THE NOSEHAIR.

You:

Him: HELLO?

You:

Him: NOOOOoooo....

You:


See? It's not that bad.

If he then chooses to freak out and get defensive, THEN you can ghost him. You were going to anyway.

At least you gave the guy a chance to think it over and either work on improving himself, or completely ignore it. The next woman he encounters on a date will appreciate it.

Don't you want better men on dates? Then be proactive about it.

See up until this point, millennial men did their best, failed, got confused and thought:

What's WRONG with me? Ugh all that time and effort what did I do wrong? AAARGH! Forget it! DICK PICS FROM NOW ON I have nothing else to lose anyhow.
/unzips