Static Sexuality: My Early Journey With Pornography
Life as I knew it was a giant game and I was slowly learning the rules as they applied in tiny tawdry doses. I'd been going to Catholic School, which as we know, is the mecca for all things sexual. And although my upbringing was conservative in design and structure, I'd learned all things taboo were at my immediate disposal if I really wanted to know.
I started my proverbial dance around the maypole with sex on the screen around the time of my thirteenth birthday. It was the middle of summer and my days were spent lounging around the pool like a Lolitaesque savant. I’d spend the evenings at sleepovers getting the typical play-by-play on sex and all issues dealing with it from friend’s my age. Life as I knew it was a giant game and I was slowly learning the rules as they applied in tiny tawdry doses. I’d been going to Catholic School, which as we know, is the mecca for all things sexual. And although my upbringing was conservative in design and structure I’d learned all things taboo were at my immediate disposal if I really wanted to know.
At school, sexual education was taught by a catatonic nun that my peers referred to as “Hitler”. If anything, her half-ass lessons bored me to tears and I knew there had to be more to sex than love, marriage, copulation & babies. It seemed, my friends had the same speculations as myself and sex was oftentimes the topic that consumed our conversations. While freed from the fascist grasp of Catholicism by the long days of summer we’d stay up late talking like we’d discovered sex. Our information was, of course limited, and the very idea that sex was practiced merely for purposes of procreation sounded like bullshit. Someone had raided their parent’s pornography collection and brought back certain misinterpreted “knowledge” sex. It was, we believe the secrets which everyone had been working to keep from us. We’d been conditioned to understand that the act of sex on television, sex for any other purpose other than reproduction was morally reprehensible. This wrongness set my thoughts on fire and I had to get a hold of some porno. I needed to know exactly why it was such a travesty. It was around this time I discovered the wavy, static lines of Spice television.
For anyone unfamiliar with Spice TV, it was the pay-per-view channel offered by cable companies. It was also my first introduction to pornography. I liked it immediately. It was wrong. It was dirty. Like a Siren, it called to me, and I jumped overboard to attempt to capture it. The magic of the Spice channel was that it only came in waves, literally. When you were not a subscriber, as my parents were not, you were basically getting a lot of moaning and static. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on in the screen, but that made it infinitely more exciting. Whenever I got a chance at home, I’d switch it over to the Spice channel and watch the veritable Kandinsky on the screen. Through the fuzz and squiggly lines you could occasionally make out a breast, or what could possibly be an ass. More than anything, the moaning, grunting and panting that belonged to faces I couldn’t make out, and bodies that truly tangled to look like actual meshing of skin caused it to be infinitely sexier than you’d think. There was something super exciting about the cultural taboos I was toying with that made it worthwhile. As I’ve grown up, I’ve realized a lot of other people squinted, memorized by fuzzy lines as they tried to catch a glimpse of some tits or ass from a pirated cable pornography channel. And in that way, we are all brothers and sisters in smut. Meow.
I’d opened Pandora’s Box and I liked it so I didn’t bother to shut it. In the end, Pandora slammed the box shut before hope escaped and was lost forever. Unlike her, I didn’t need hope so it could fly away forever. I had curiosity and unbridled hormones. I was the burgeoning Sabrina_C whom we know today, and that is something indeed. As a young nymphet sexpot I knew the mayhem I was capable of, and moreover the trouble my body could cause when I wasn’t even trying. It was the mix of my new physical prowess and voyage into smut that taught me an infinite amount about my body.
It was, of course, a gradual exploration of my body in what seemed the most salacious of ways. A licentious flower just waiting to bloom, I carefully learned the craft of exploiting my body. A touch. A sigh. A roll of the eyes. The roll of my fingers. Every unfamiliar exploit was more delicious, more delicate than the one before. While, every gasp of breath I took lured me deeper in the depths of my own sexuality. My own very own hands casting a spell on my body. Urging me to reach deeper within myself for answers I hadn’t quite learned the questions to.
And like dominoes, I plummeted into the veritable pool of my sexuality. I started with slight glances of pornography. Quit cut images, periodically flashing on a screen. And quickly soared into the lip biting action of masturbation. And I am still wading there, in this watering hole. Waiting, of course, for you to join me.