When is pornography not pornography?
When you are married, expecting your first child and taking pot shots at single friends with huge porno stashes.
Rina and I had our Sunday dinner with Dad, Mom and RJ. 'Twas a fairly run-of-the mill meal at a very nice restaurant (Good Earth, Greenbelt. Love the Duckitos), engaging conversation, discussion of the family business (Note: In this context, the family business of my In-Laws). However, it was when dinner ended that the the helping of lewdness was served.
Bidding good-bye to the three, Rina and I proceeded to meet up with our good friend Manito over at Cafe Breton. Pleasant hellos and cheerful banter commenced.
Not long after, a jolly Pepper joined our little group. More hellos, slightly louder banter.
We hadn't seen each other since the Holidays and were all catching up.
"What are your Holy Week plans?",
"How is the baby coming along?",
"Did you know that one in eight pregnancies is a 'Vanishing Twin' case?",
"I remember when my older brother would sneak his overdue pornos into the stack of laser discs I was returning so he wouldn't have to pay the late fees."
Unbridled laughter explodes from our table. The kind that bounces off every corner of the room and reflects back to the source at the exact time that the next wave escapes the lips. The kind that carries multiple tones of joy, wistful remembrance and embarrassment. The kind that causes people to stare, then smile at the sound as they recall their own episodes of similar pealing. I wish I could bottle this stuff.
Upon reflection, the way we treat pornography may be indicative of the level of sexual maturity a person currently practices. Back in High School, pornography was the cool thing to do -- ergo, the more porno you had the more of a man you were. Of course, this theory was totally blown out of the water when one of the most avid flesh-on-print traders came out of the closet when we were in college. At this point, it was all theory and no practice.
Come college (horrible play on words, I know, I know...), pornography steps out from the closets, hidden briefcases, and mattress crannies into the acknowledged world. I believe that this is the time when most of Manila's fairer sex actually gets to sneak a peek at these corrupting artifacts. This is because most young girls were busy nurturing relationships and building on their emotional maturity during high school; while most young men were trying to break into the porno stash of their fathers/older brothers/neighbors, or mustering the courage to ask the saleslady for the 'X' dee-bee-dee. Now, the first co-ed environment for most, the resourcefulness of the hormonally raging boys meets up with the innocence and curiosity of the girls. A couple of giggle-ridden conversations later, and coupled with the strength of the barkada, a group of people watch a porn flick.
Guys think, "It'll be just like in the movie! We'll all be nekkid by the second sex scene!"
Girls think, "That's kinda gross. Interesting, but gross."
If you had an 'interested' girl in college, lucky you. If not, well, I'm sure you put that porn to good use.
College is way past, and for a married guy like me, brushes with pornography go something like this:
Wife, "Hey what is this 'Tera Patrick - Caribbean' file on your computer?"
Me, "Oh, that's pornography."
"Why is it here?"
"My friend said it was good."
"Hmmm...", an eyebrow is raised.
"I'll delete it."
*Click, Shift-Delete*
My single friends (the ones with the stacks and gigs of porn) rag on me and say that I'm whipped. I see their point. At the end of every day, though, I know that I get to crawl into bed with the most wonderful woman in the world. At the end of my friends' day, more often than not, they flip on a switch, pull up a chair, and grab a box of tissues.
Rina and I had our Sunday dinner with Dad, Mom and RJ. 'Twas a fairly run-of-the mill meal at a very nice restaurant (Good Earth, Greenbelt. Love the Duckitos), engaging conversation, discussion of the family business (Note: In this context, the family business of my In-Laws). However, it was when dinner ended that the the helping of lewdness was served.
Bidding good-bye to the three, Rina and I proceeded to meet up with our good friend Manito over at Cafe Breton. Pleasant hellos and cheerful banter commenced.
Not long after, a jolly Pepper joined our little group. More hellos, slightly louder banter.
We hadn't seen each other since the Holidays and were all catching up.
"What are your Holy Week plans?",
"How is the baby coming along?",
"Did you know that one in eight pregnancies is a 'Vanishing Twin' case?",
"I remember when my older brother would sneak his overdue pornos into the stack of laser discs I was returning so he wouldn't have to pay the late fees."
Unbridled laughter explodes from our table. The kind that bounces off every corner of the room and reflects back to the source at the exact time that the next wave escapes the lips. The kind that carries multiple tones of joy, wistful remembrance and embarrassment. The kind that causes people to stare, then smile at the sound as they recall their own episodes of similar pealing. I wish I could bottle this stuff.
Upon reflection, the way we treat pornography may be indicative of the level of sexual maturity a person currently practices. Back in High School, pornography was the cool thing to do -- ergo, the more porno you had the more of a man you were. Of course, this theory was totally blown out of the water when one of the most avid flesh-on-print traders came out of the closet when we were in college. At this point, it was all theory and no practice.
Come college (horrible play on words, I know, I know...), pornography steps out from the closets, hidden briefcases, and mattress crannies into the acknowledged world. I believe that this is the time when most of Manila's fairer sex actually gets to sneak a peek at these corrupting artifacts. This is because most young girls were busy nurturing relationships and building on their emotional maturity during high school; while most young men were trying to break into the porno stash of their fathers/older brothers/neighbors, or mustering the courage to ask the saleslady for the 'X' dee-bee-dee. Now, the first co-ed environment for most, the resourcefulness of the hormonally raging boys meets up with the innocence and curiosity of the girls. A couple of giggle-ridden conversations later, and coupled with the strength of the barkada, a group of people watch a porn flick.
Guys think, "It'll be just like in the movie! We'll all be nekkid by the second sex scene!"
Girls think, "That's kinda gross. Interesting, but gross."
If you had an 'interested' girl in college, lucky you. If not, well, I'm sure you put that porn to good use.
College is way past, and for a married guy like me, brushes with pornography go something like this:
Wife, "Hey what is this 'Tera Patrick - Caribbean' file on your computer?"
Me, "Oh, that's pornography."
"Why is it here?"
"My friend said it was good."
"Hmmm...", an eyebrow is raised.
"I'll delete it."
*Click, Shift-Delete*
My single friends (the ones with the stacks and gigs of porn) rag on me and say that I'm whipped. I see their point. At the end of every day, though, I know that I get to crawl into bed with the most wonderful woman in the world. At the end of my friends' day, more often than not, they flip on a switch, pull up a chair, and grab a box of tissues.
posted by Man About the House at 3:59 PM
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