Once in a while I jolt awake in the middle of the night, usually 2am range, remembering that hours earlier I had posted a nearly-pornographic image of myself somewhere out on that Internet thing, intending to delete it immediately but maybe, just maybe, forgetting to do so. Such is what happened a few nights ago, when I found this image of myself in a position even I could not immediately explain, but which worked itself out in my groggy head.
Sometimes I think I would be a pornographer if not for the stigmas associated with the profession. Then I think more deeply on the psychology of the pornographic default and remind myself that the last thing I’d be capable of is professional pornography. It’s a mental lurch of sorts. A lazy, primal urge arises, tamped down by intrapersonal and societal realities.