"25-year-old millennial reporting in.
I remember the precise moment when the POZ first gripped me by the short-and-curlies. My parents ponied up for high-speed internet just before Christmas of 2004. I had previously used the dial-up to jerk off to some tasteful Playboy nudes once or twice while the folks were asleep. This was thrilling and transgressive, and most Gen X-ers and even Boomers probably had a similar experience with adult magazines.
But the paradigm shifted with high-speed internet. Instantly, great vistas of gourmet degeneracy were at my nubby little teenage fingertips. It began with vanilla porn: simple boy-girl scenes that seem quaint in retrospect. This held my interest as I indulged a few times monthly at opportune moments. Until about age 17, I subsisted on this diet (even while fooling around with assorted girlfriends). I should have known something was wrong, though, when I immediately came home from getting tugged or blown by a girlfriend to load up some porn and have a session on the computer. Those milestone moments of real sexual discovery, the kinds of exchanges teenage boys of yore fantasized about months after the fact, served only as an appetizer to the main course: internet porn.
I can't overstate how easily a strapping young man's mind gets led down the primrose path of novelty. The discovery of each new niche leads to a deep-dive that lasts for months. First a young man realizes women can be sodomized, then it's a furious rush of anal videos. Then the focus shifts to fetishizing a certain body part: large buttocks, feet, natural breasts, fake breasts, chubby Buddha bellies, toned and sculpted abdomina, shaved genitalia, hirsute genitalia, back and forth in a feverish search for some new obsession.
Two years, three years down the tubes. Now the young man's 20, trying to find the most beautiful older MILFs and GILFs fornicating with much younger men. It starts with teacher/student scenes, with innocent and rote role-plays of power dynamics. It's deeply satisfying. Then he moves on to actual bondage and discipline, with cruel older women berating and punishing the young men. Then sexual apparatuses get involved. All the while the young man slings ropes and ropes of his seed into the air, only to wind up discarded in Kleenex.
The young man becomes insatiable by 21. Now there isn't even a hint of affection in the scenes he watches. Love, healthy emotion, and even pleasure itself are passe. He watches women burning men's chests with cigarettes and cigars. He yearns to hear new, inventive ways for these cruel women to humiliate the young men. On it spirals, the curious young id, into French curls of perversion and decadence. Whips. Chains. Anger. Raw frustration. Rage. Hate. Sex is now hate to him. Sex is just ugly, contemptible, shameful: a grim continent of disgusting Freudian urges. Why fight it? Keep going. Keep looking. Keep clicking. There's salvation, there's absolution out there somewhere.
Until one day the young man, alone in his onanistic filth and fluid, learns the master lesson of human sexuality. If he is wise, his heart and intuition will lead him there. That lesson is as follows: the sexual impulse is perverted if it is aimed at pleasure alone. There is no greater cause of human heartache than chasing pleasure for pleasure's sake. All the sexual impulses must be directed toward some higher purpose: strengthening a marital bond or forming a family. Any other avenue of sexuality hijacks the awesome power of your libido and makes a slave out of you.
I quit porn. I quit any kind of sexual titillation not involving a real, living woman I love and with whom I wish to raise a family.
I only wish I'd been given this prime directive more forcefully as a child.