biohazyrd

What the liitle boy first loved about pornography wasn't the sex part. It wasn't the pictures of beautiful people dorking each other, their heads thrown back, macking the fake orgasm faces. Not at first. He'd found all those pictures on the Internet even before he knew what sex was. They had Internet in every library. They had it at all the schools.
The way you can move from city to city and always find a Catholic church, the same Mass said everywhere, no matter what foster place the kid was sent, he could always find the Internet. The truth was, if Christ had laughed on the cross, or spat on the Romans, if he'd done anything more than just suffer, the kid would've liked the church a lot more.
As it was, his favorite website was pretty much not sexy, at least not to him. You could just go there, and there would be about a dozen photographs of this one dumpy guy dressed as Tarzan with a goofy orangutan trained to poke what looked like roasted chestnuts up the guy's ass.
The guy's leopard-print loincloth is tossed to one side, the elastic waisband sunk into his tubby waist.
The monkey's crouched there, ready with the next chestnut.
There's nothing sexy about it. Still, the counter showed more than a half million people had been to see it.
"Pilgrimage" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.
The monkey and the chestnuts wasn't anything the kid could understand, but he sort of admired the guy. The kid was stupid, but he knew this was something way beyond him. The truth was, most people wouldn't even want a monkey to see them naked. They'd be terrified about how their asshole might look, if it might look too red or baggy. There's no way most people would ever have the nerve to bend over in front of a monkey, much less a monkey and a camera and lights, and even then they'd have to do about a zillion sit-ups first and go to a tanning booth and get their hair cut. After that, they'd spend hours bent over in front of the mirror, trying to determine their best profile.
And then, even with just chestnuts, you'd have to stay somewhat relaxed.
Just the thought of auditioning monkeys was terrifying, the possibility of being rejected by monkey after monkey. Sure, you can pay a person enough money and they'll stick stuff into you or they'll take pictures. But a monkey. A monkey's going to be honest.
Your only hope would be to book this same orangutan, since it obviously didn't look to picky. Either that or it was exceptionally well trained.
The point was, there'd be nothing to this if you were beautiful and sexy.
The point was, in a world where everybody had to look so pretty all the time, this guy wasn't. The monkey wasn't. What they were doing wasn't.
The point was, it's not the sex part of pornography that hooked the stupid little boy. It was the confidence. The courage. The complete lack of shame. The comfort and geniune honesty. The up-front-ness of being able to just stand there and tell the world: Yeah, this is how I chose to spend a free afternoon. Posing here with a monkey putting chestnuts up my ass.
And I really don't care how I look. Or what you think.
So deal with it.
He was assaulting the world by assaulting himself.
And even if the guy wasn't loving every moment, the ability to smile, to fake your way through this, that would be even more admirable.