How does porn influence our ideas about sexuality and the opposite sex? - by Jasmine

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How does porn influence our ideas about sexuality and the opposite sex?
by Jasmin (SO)

Dissolution
Once when you were young, you taught me how to fly a kite. You said I had to run for a while. I had to let the string out, slowly, so that it would not drag behind me. I had to let it rise, higher and higher, until it flecked brown and white against the sky.

That is how I thought of us once. A man, his first relationship growing in love, rising into the sky untouched by the demons of another world. A woman trusting in the endurance of love against the conspiracy of the universe. What made him a man was not his age nor his physical strength, but rather his decided resilience to the very qualities that others thought necessary in a man: emotional detachment, precise control, perfect independence. She looked at him with wonder and admiration, because he defied the conditions that others placed on him. In this defiance, there was immaculate strength. Not only was he a man; he was the best of men.

And when the wind stream caught the fabric of my kite, you said I could stop running, and look back at it. Love is like the wind, you told me. We cannot always see it, but we feel it.

Betrayal is a deep cut. Betrayal of the self is even deeper. You left the strength of a man behind when you turned away from yourself. You betrayed the virtue that set you apart. Still, I know you are a man, but a different kind of man. You were once a man that could protect me. Now you are a man that I must protect myself from. The man you have become is faithless, always deceitful, always judging. He is not mine; he is another’s. He belongs to his addiction. Close the doors of my heart to this man. Love is the most vulnerable choice I can make. Sex is the second-most vulnerable. The gripping claim of his hands on my shoulders evokes a sickness. He has become as much an object to me as I have to him. This is the dissolution of sexuality. This is pornography. (Write it!) And I write:

The kite string had broken as I ran, and when I looked back, all I could see were the last brown flecks, like sad winks from the sky, fading farther and farther into the distance. And the wind whisked it away, as though it had never existed.

There is a kind of energy in emptiness, not quite strength and not quite clarity. Sometimes if I come close enough, the energy surrounds me, diffuses into me, as though the world must rush to fill the void. He did not tell me this, but then I knew. Betrayal creates emptiness, strong emptiness, the kind that draws the humanity from our veins, and leaves us both devoid of sexuality, and of self. Betrayal has left me alone to stand before the infinite cold, watching the last cusps of sunlight sink into the chasm, endlessly struggling to penetrate the darkness within.

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