I’m going to talk about porn and dudes masturbating.
That being said, I don’t know that it actually should or will make anyone uncomfortable. But maybe there is still some nice person out there who doesn’t know how big of an ass I am when drinking, or that I always roll with a low filter or moral sense of decency. That person just might not want to read this.
I can’t remember why the topic came up, but it did. NYE. At a party. With people I had only just met (so much for tact). It’s sort of a, “What came first, the boner or the fantasy” question. Was it a basic porn convo turned personal? I don’t think so (again, just meet these people). I’m thinking it was a nostalgic look back at our early, formative years. The years when our social life was watching Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman with the family. And somehow that turned into porn. Because Dr. Quinn was hot. And from 1993-1998, and the following years of reruns where we undoubtedly were still watching and still developing, dudes my age totally got hard over her.
This conversation went two places. First, the hotness of Jane Seymour. You see, I was a bit–okay,very–surprised to hear two guys confess to going solo for the doc. I mean, this lady?
But apparently so. Two out of two guys confirmed it. Naturally, I started arguing that pre-Quinn Jane Seymour was way, way, way hotter. Because she is:
The guys weren’t alive to see Solitaire in realtime, and they weren’t big Bond fans, but I’d like to think that, if they saw 22-year-old Jane and her virgin hotness in Live and Let Die, they’d be all over it. Even now.
Of course we couldn’t let modern day Jane go unmentioned. She’s a success story for women everywhere: Still smokin’ in Wedding Crashers.
This Jane-gasm lead to our second convo off-shoot: The evolution of porn.
Our youth was the end of a gilded age, The Dirty Mag: Penthouse, Playboy, Maxim, and those other up-high, cover-covered-for-decency publications with sexy women. That was porn. Sure, there were videos, too, but not a lot of youngsters like us would have been into the hard stuff yet. The magazine was attainable, hideable, exciting. Hotties on family friendly TV shows (I’m talking to you, DJ Tanner and Monica from Touched by an Angel) provided a sensory stimulant to nighttime wanks that paper just couldn’t do. But then the internet came around. “A/S/L?” in chatrooms lead to role play by people who were too young to really understand it. Sexual pop-ups were a growing concern (hah. double entendre). By the time we were in college, video stores’ porn sections were diminishing due to widespread legs for free all over the interwebs. Now, DIY actor-director-videographers are making their own movies, and chics in long distance relationships everywhere are immortalizing their 20-something bodies by sending videos and images that their manfriends promise to delete after viewing. (Girl, don’t be stupid. If he wanted to see it bad enough when you were in another time zone, he probably also wants it bad enough after it ended and he’s all Jane-Seymour-ed out. Be glad he’ll remember your tits as they were, before you got old.)
The dawn of a new era.