: Porn
Dear Internet Porn,
These last ten years have been quite a trip, have they not? My letter
to
you now, however, is not one of celebration... I don't feel like we are
the same anymore. We just don't have that passion we used to.
When we first met I was a loser, and you were there for me. My parents
told me that you were no good for me, but I didn't listen. You showed
me
that there were plenty of people like myself getting laid. It was
beautiful and passionate. Your softcore erotic videos were a tasteful
introduction to my budding sexuality.
As I got older I started seeing girls on the side. I knew you were
jealous, but you have always held a special place in my heart. You
became naughtier and it affected my relationships. I started wanting
all
the things I had seen you do. I wanted to be just like you. I wanted to
cover my girlfriend's face, put it up her ass, choke her.
But that's when I realized your dark secret, Internet Porn. You aren't
real: you are a fake and shallow individual. No girl wants a load on
her
face! Anal sex hurts and humiliates, and choking only leads to bruises
that friends and loved ones ask about. You lied to me and changed my
sexual expectations. Now no girl can please me.
I know it isn't all bad. You've taught me so much. I can surf the
internet with either hand and I know all the keyboard shortcuts for my
browser. I know positions that aren't even in the Kamasutra. But you
have such a dark side. I've been late for work more than once and I
find
myself wanting to jerkoff at six in the morning. That's what you've
done
to me.
Even now, on the eve of Christ's birth, I sit hunched over my computer,
penis in hand. I had to turn the nativity scene around so that Jesus
wouldn't see your filth. Try as I might, I can never hide you well
enough either. It is harder to find you squirreled away on my hard
drive
than it is to get into my online bank account. Yet there is always
lingering evidence. I've told you time and again to stop leaving your
things at my place. But you ALWAYS forget something: a shortcut here,
an
unclear history there.
There's no acceptance when you are discovered either. It might have
been
ok when we started - just innocent flirting with softcore. But now my
girlfriends discover my asphyxiation collection, or that one goat
video.
I hate that you always invite your shadiest friends over when you come.
So I have one request. I know I can't get rid of you... you are the
psychopathic stalker to my teenage horror film. But if you won't leave
me alone, can you at least do me one favor? If I ever die, can you
please format my hard drive? All of them? If you can't do that, just
burn my place down. My family can never know of my shame.
- Your shamed lover
