Awhile back, I had this little talk on Facebook with this woman about pornography. She was going on to say it was bad, wrong and this that and the other but folks, I didn’t agree with her. Hold on. Slow your roll. Check this out. Some months before that, I read up on a couple of articles that compared romance novels with pornography and it got me to thinking real hard ’cause women folk have a tendency to justify. I have to be fair about this thing ’cause I know good and well there are some fellas who read this here blog who have occasioned watching some naked asses and tits that didn’t belong to the woman they’ve said their I dos to. Be honest. I’m gonna tell you though, depending on the nature of the writing, ain’t no difference between Playboy Magazine and some of these romance novels that’re out here. One has words. The other has pictures or in some cases, videos.
Me, myself, the rare moments I do read romance, I like heavy sex scenes and dammit, I want details! I’m a grown ass woman. Don’t play. I ain’t interested in no candles burning, where I got to imagine how the shit went down. Take them damn clothes off, lay down, hang from the chandelier and let me know how that ass was tapped! You feel me?
Now, I do like a good storyline folks. I ain’t all that shallow and I’m gonna go ahead and hip you to a secret I’ve been keeping. (Leaning over so I can put this bug in your ear) I discovered early on in my romance novel reading days, I liked the notion of reading about the nitty gritty parts. Know when it happened? (Leaning closer) Seventh grade, folks. See, I was all sneaky and shit. Went into the attic of this house we were renting and found this little nasty ass novel called High School Swingers. Hell yeah, I remember the title like it was yesterday. Imagine my giddiness at seeing this little pictorial on the cover with folk doing the nasty. I was like a miner who’d come up on a chunk of gold, y’all!
‘Course, you know I couldn’t keep all that nastiness to myself. Uh, uh. I took the little book to school to show my BFF. At the time I chose to show it, a movie was going on in the classroom. Shit, it was prime time to whip my shit out, right? Soon as I get the damn thing out and go to passing it over to my friend, who couldn’t hear shit on account of the movie going, here comes Ms. Damn Shatley. Caught my little ass like a deer in the damn headlights, folks! All I could think was, “Uh oh,” ’cause I didn’t have the vocabulary to mentally articulate then what I have now, or else I’d've been thinking, “Oooooh, shit! Daaaaamn! I done fucked up bad!”
Well, to cut my little story short, I was all nervous ’cause I knew a call was going to the house for me to wind up with an ass-beating but Ms. Shatley had mercy on me, folks, bless her heart. From then on, I read the book at home but never could finish it off ’cause it was getting real gross for my little mind. I mean, animals started coming into the picture and whatnot. Made me wanna throw the hell up but I suppose that served me right. I now know I was reading some hard core erotica but I’ve read some pretty racy romance in my day too. And my young ass wasn’t even close to doing none of the shit in that book but I was curious as all get out on how folk went about doing the nasty. Matter of fact, I was as scared of boys then as I am of men folk now.
Anyhow…shit, I can’t remember the whole point of even telling y’all this mess. Maybe pornography ain’t good for me, after all.