Star of My own Porn Show

My first boyfriend was an avid spectator of pornography. At 15 (me, not him), he showed me my first pro porn video. One he’d stolen from his Dad’s stash, I’m sure. While already sexually active, I was not quite comfortable with sex yet, although I wasn’t shy and very open to experimentation. He thought seeing sex in a staged arena would be a great way for me to learn about the erotic arts. And there were many things he wanted to teach me.

As a linguistic learner, I have to say that those videos didn’t do much for me. Don’t get me wrong, my body enjoyed the indecent acts I was a voyeur of, however, my brain thought the storylines were lacking some important bits, like a plot. The acting was questionable and don’t even get me started on the music. And so, my brain would ultimately encourage my body to question what I was seeing too. But he was correct to assume that I would learn valuable information from porn. I gained more knowledge than my 16 years should have granted me, but I don’t regret it, one single bit.

Learning turned to Yearning

When he turned 18 (legal age in this part of Canada), he started buying Playboy magazines. Great for the models on the cover, and of course the centerfold, but those too weren’t my cup of tea. The women were gorgeous, sexy, and glamorous, but I wouldn’t consider them porn stars by any means. They were just models, with less clothing (although that’s debatable, isn’t it?). Plus, Playboy didn’t offer a lot of anything besides the images pressed inside the pages.

It was around this time I wrote my first short erotic story – a school project that I received an extremely good grade on. My teacher did request I not share it with the class though, the contents being naughty in nature. When my boyfriend read my tale, he suddenly understood what I had been saying from the start. I needed something more. Something that spun a tale inside my mind, weaved a spell over my body, and brought me utter, complete satisfaction. In my opinion, the images in playboy were nothing compared to the visions inside my head. And so, the very next day I was introduced to Hustler.

“Then There’s Hustler…Smut Peddler who Cares” – Larry Flynt

Hustler Magazine offered me a whole new world. Not only were the pages laced with deeds that made my mouth run dry and my thighs become slick, but it also had a section called Hot Letters (it still does). These were true (how would you know if they weren’t?) written stories, submitted by readers, and they were what my brain had been searching for.

We got into a routine, my boyfriend and me. Him reading these true accounts aloud while I would masturbate. Often, he would give me direction on what he wanted to see, and others, he would just let me go with the flow. But this was my introduction to erotica in all its glory, and man, am I glad for it.

• 

• 

“The True Value of a Gift is the Sentiment Behind the Gifting” – Shri Radhe Maa

For my eighteenth birthday he gifted me with a copy of Hustler from the month/year I was born, and another for the current year. These later got confiscated by my foster mom, who obviously was taught the same nonsense as many others; pornography is bad. It depicts women as objects, shows sex as an enjoyable activity instead of the task of procreation it was meant to be. But to me, those approximately 300 pages were my initiation into an erotic world. One of my making, where the thoughts that I had only ever thought to dream of could be made substantial. Real. Concrete. I never did get those editions back, a thought that plagues me to this day.

I haven’t read any Hot Letters since those days many years ago. Whether because the internet became the next best thing, and with it, pornography was available at my fingertips, or because we broke up, doesn’t matter. I was never interested in looking at pictures, moving or still. I always had searched for the words.

Words become a Language

It’s no wonder then, that my preference for writing is also erotic in nature. It takes the salacious thoughts from inside my industrious mind and places them neatly, words all in a row, on a page. There, others can benefit from the pleasantries, and I get a fresh clean slate. A place to create anew. Weaving a spell over other’s bodies, seducing their minds.

Mister K however is a voyeur of the erotic arts. As a visual creature, he gets endless enjoyment from looking at erotic images. Although they are more than simply erotic. They are deeds, sexual escapades, displayed in a single snapshot. Somehow his tumbler feed remains full of highly sensual, indecently decadent images, where mine has become nothing more than typical hearts and flowers. And sometimes an appropriately covered model. How? I don’t know, but I’m glad about it. Many good stories have come from the images I get a glimpse of when looking over Mister K’s shoulder. Sometimes I even make one up to go with pictures as he’s viewing them. While he’s never been much of a reader, Mister K thoroughly enjoys my brand of writing. And often, he’ll ask me to weave him a tale, while he masturbates. The irony of this is not lost on me.

Since starting this blog, I have shared many erotic stories as well as naughty and steamy images, becoming a star in my own erotic show. And so, I don’t often look at porn, but I certainly create it, all thanks to a few Hot Letters.

To see who else is talking about Porn, click on the #4Thoughts badge.

To see more sultry shot so MrsK, see Photography.

For some erotic tales, see Fiction.