Oversaturation: or, Bored with Sexy Men?!

There comes a time in every man's life when he must ask himself: Do I need a parental block on my computer? I'm looking at porn way too much. I'm looking at it even when I'm not in the mood for it. It's kind of like my laptop is my perpetually-boned husband who always wants me to touch him and I relent even when I have a headache.

Lately I've been bored by sex. I feel over saturated by it. I get like this every couple of months. I'm kind of bored with pretty men. There are so many of them - at least online. Being stunning in this culture is not a novelty. Thanks to all our advances in health and cosmetics (surgery), if drop dead gorgeousness was a real condition it would be a plague. We'd have pretty people dropping like flies. Gravestones would read: "Too pretty to live."

I'm not saying I don't enjoy seeing pretty men. Just wander around my blog other blog, Daventry Blue, and you'll see how much I've enjoyed them in the past. Even at my most hum-drum they still inspire a slight lift of the eyebrow - that is, if they're not in a flock, i.e. Tumblr. The Tumblr sites fling such beauty at me so quickly that my eyes glaze over, at least until a photo with something new to offer - a strange pose, prop, or perspective - flits before my eyes. A pretty face or a rocking bod striking the same old pose just doesn't get me going anymore.

And then there's the matter of psyche, of what all that objectification does to my own self-confidence. These models, most of them (if there be a god), are air-brushed and prettified to all hell, and we all know this. Yet still, my gut sinks to my balls when I see some astonishingly handsome well-crafted Hercules with an ass that could hide a star system and a chest that could feed a village. I realize I will never look like that. Then I shake my head and remind myself, HE probably doesn't look like that. If he does he's most likely very lonely because everyone around him is too intimidated to approach him. The poor gorgeous brute.

I discovered a while ago, like everyone else, that my mind is the best tool for erotica. The images on the interweb screen, no matter how jaw-dropping or bizarre, will never measure up to my twisted and fascinating little deviant brain. I can take an image or a face and use it as a muse for a story or a fantasy, but the appeal soon flags and I move on to something new. Some newfound blog with a new angle of lovely men. But my fascination there will pass as well until at last I'm left yawning and sexless...well, not sexless. I mean, I will still have my penis. It just will not be interested in the pretty men on my computer screen.


...but that will pass soon enough.