Porn vs. Erotica: What Women Really Want
This story is intended for mature audiences only.
Ever wonder why most women hate porn? Then you’ll want to keep reading.
Michael and Chloe go to dinner. The food is sex on a plate—rubbed and grilled, sauced and drizzled, earthy and sea-scented. The wine is warming, causing her face to glow, his ears to buzz.
Afterwards they hit that new club uptown and listen to some great live music. They dance the salsa, swirling and humping, pelvises pressed together in a slow grind. In the car they snuggle close. Fingers entwine, tongues swirl. Hands play on thighs and breasts. Fabrics strain.
By the time they reach home, he’s tenting his trousers. She’s damp and giddy. He struggles to get the key in the door. She presses her hard nipples into his back and fumbles with his belt buckle. She’s ready to be swept off to the bedroom, entered and ravished. He reads the signals differently, thinking this might be the night to try something new.
While she’s in the toilet, he flips on the TV, slips in a CD (“Horny Teenage Tailgunners”), and cues it up. She hears it before she sees it. “Yeah, yeah, give it to me, give it to me.” He pats the sofa next to him. On screen, under bright lights, a heavy-chested tanned man with a penis the size of a baseball bat plunges into a woman from behind. She’s as blonde as
Michael’s flushed and horny. Chloe’s threatened, wondering why he’d want this woman instead of her, wondering why he couldn’t just ask for anal sex, if that’s what he really wanted.
Hands on her hips, she admits she was pretty turned on by the first two paragraphs of this article, but finds the porn video more repulsive than sexy. She spins on her heel and heads to the bedroom, locking the door behind her and vowing to herself to dye her hair, get a boob job, and lose ten pounds. He’s left alone with a raging erection, wondering why she’s so uncool.
Images versus Writing
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