I have sex with pornstars

Fucking is about connection, and not just the physical connection of cunt and cock. There are few people [Ed: … hopefully very few!!! …] who fuck someone they don’t actively like. Sure, relationships fail, and the respective partners don’t loose their libidos for a lack of love, but the received wisdom is that sex is often the first casualty when things turn sour.

Over the last year or so, Chatturbate has become one of my porn staples. Typically my right hand will be busy while I watch couples fucking. Vicarious connection. Two other people enjoying that connection. But for no better reason than laziness, my browser favourite remains the default category of sex cammers, typically populated by solo women.

Having read about the catastrophic impact of COVID on the businesses of sex workers. I suspect many of those on screen are escorts trying to put food on the table, so it’s not surprising that the sound tracks to these masturbatory streams are porn-movie style moans and squeals which, frankly, I find distracting. Don’t get me wrong, Dear Reader, playing my part in noisy fuck certainly has its appeal, but I’ve never had sex that suggested these vocalisations are even remotely authentic. They’re distinctly off putting. So I wank with the sound down.

The woman in front of me was probably 30ish, blond, svelt, and unsurprisingly pneumatic. She was predictably naked, her legs were hung over the arms of a gaming chair, her arse was occupied by the ubiquitous Lovense Lush (seemingly ubiquitous, at least, for Chaturbate), and she massaged one massive tit and moaned theatrically as she slid a sizeable dildo in and out of her cunt. Unusually I had the sound up. [Ed: Whilst AM has slept alone for over 3yrs, the sound of porn emanating from his bedroom is highly unlikely to meet with anything better than fatalistic disapproval.] As I neared orgasm, my hand’s reciprocation matched that of the pornster’s. She moaned and whimpered words of smutty encouragement. Oh yeah. Fuck me hard. Oh god. That so big. Cum for me, baby. You know the cliches as well as she did, Dear Reader. And I came. Not for her, but with her.

She kept pounding her pussy with the toy, entreating the rest of her audience, but for a moment I had, on some facile level, had sex with someone else. Despite the inescapable fallacy, between the physical mirroring and her anonymous encouragement, some little part of my brain registered the experience as one of connection. I had had sex with someone else. In the fragment of time I had bought into the delusion, and as my brain dosed itself with dopamine, that connection had felt satisfying. It had felt good.

As the jizz cooled on my fingers and stomach, she wanked on, doubtless focussing on her performance and the amassing crypto-currency. And I felt suddenly alone. A winged figure sat on one of my shoulders, offering sympathy, whilst on the other a demon stoked the fires of self loathing.

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