Loneliness, Porn, and Losing Your Soul Mate

porn lonelinessLoneliness, Porn, and Losing Your Soul Mate

Below I have added an interesting story from an anonymous author on Reddit we decided to share with our readers.  These type of random stories get a lot of attention so we decide to archive it in case it gets deleted.  It deals with being lonely and needing porn.  However, unlike young kids not finding dates because they are addicted to porn sites, it is quite the opposite.  It’s about older gentlemen that uses porn as a way to get through life after his wife has passed.  Loneliness isn’t easy.

I get it.

This actually reminds me of Robert Kraft, the owner of the New England Patriots being arrested for paying for an illegal hand job at a massage parlor.  However, what is usually left out of this story is that his wife has passed and he was 75 years old at the time of the incident.   It doesn’t make it legal or moral, but maybe it explains why a billionaire would risk his reputation to get an illegal hand job at a massage parlor.

Below is the full story: 

Writing this on a throwaway account because I could get fired for what I did.

I work at a store that deals with technology. I won’t be specific, but it’s a pretty big store, and a family store with things for kids to play with and little classes for them. We do sales and repairs, so we’re pretty full-service and often busy and crowded.

The other day, I was approached by a coworker with a question about the parental controls on a device. I’m one of the people who is very familiar with software and interfaces, and parental controls are one of my knowledge points that a lot of the younger workers aren’t familiar with (even though I’m not a parent myself), so this wasn’t unusual. The questions centered around removing them. My coworker asked if I could take over, and I said okay. This was all very normal, right up until he said “It’s this old guy. He wants to watch porn.” That got the requisite “WTF” look from me, and my coworker stifled a laugh. “Thanks for dealing with it,” he said. I kind of shrugged. I mean, I like porn, I’m not shy about browsing it, and that people have “needs”. I had no problem handling it, though I bet other coworkers might say I should just send him to a manager to get “politely declined service for that subject.”

He takes me over, and introduces me to this very old man. He looked like he might have had Parkinson’s, with the tremor in his hand. His iPad was also very old, as was the software on it. I could tell at a glance that his system had a version from before 2013 (because I’m a nerd who can tell these things at a glance). His iPad would not even be compatible with newer systems.

The old man didn’t say anything about porn, but he said that his grandkids had been over, and he thought they did something to his iPad, because it wasn’t working like normal. He said he thought that they’d set some parental controls “to block stuff so kids can’t see it”.

I smiled, and sighed, and began to tell him the usual speech about how parental controls work, and how we’d need the passcode if one was set up, and if he didn’t have it, it would require deleting the device and beginning without a backup to get things working again. His iPad didn’t appear to have much on it. But when I got to the settings, I was surprised to find there were no parental controls turned on.

I stopped, and I let him know that it appeared there were no controls or limits set. I turned them on and off just in case. I had to ask him. “So what wasn’t working?” I was starting to worry it might be a software incompatibility due to new web standards, and that his old iPad might not be able to be updated to match them. Internally, I did not want to have that conversation. People his age were often on fixed incomes, and could not afford to get a new device.

He began trembling again. “I’m 93,” he said. “My wife died. I have nothing left. And the…the videos I’d watch, they aren’t working anymore.” He took the iPad and started to go to a webpage. “I go to xnxx, and the images are there, but when I…”

I stopped him. “Sir, uh, our WiFi blocks that,” I said. I remembered using that site myself. It was one of the regular sites I’d used to go to for many years.

He nodded and closed his eyes. “Please, I don’t have anyone. I just…need something.”

I was struck. It stopped being funny. He was so fucking lonely, and the videos he watched online were important to him. I could see in his eyes, it was something he needed, to just keep existing. And I could see just how ashamed he was to come in, with such a subject and a need, but his loneliness was too much for his shame. He was practically in tears.

I acted like what I did next was a big decision, because I thought I had to put up the act, even though it was a quick decision for me. I pulled out my phone, and I turned on the hotspot, and I put his iPad onto my phone’s WiFi. This would bypass the content restrictions our WiFi had. He thankfully had a cover on the iPad. I held it at a low angle, and positioned it so we could see but hopefully there’d be as little a chance for anyone else to see. I typed in xnxx.

The porn site came up, and I kept furtively looking over my shoulder. He said “This is how it comes up, but when you tap, it doesn’t play anything…”. So I tapped. While the page changed, I remembered to turn down the volume, and I did.

The video came up and started playing. A-okay, no problem.

He began to say it wouldn’t do that at home, but still started thanking me. Still, I wasn’t satisfied. If there’s a bug, and it works sometimes but not others, it’s not fixed, it’s just a clue to find it. I tried other videos and they all worked.

I closed the webpage and the iPad. He looked so thankful. I told him I didn’t do anything, so I wasn’t sure it was “fixed.” I considered that maybe his kids, the grandkids parents had put parental blocks up on his own ISP, but they’d block the entire site, not the vids. I told him to try it again at home. I didn’t know why it hadn’t worked, but at least we’d proven that his iPad could play them.

He left, and even as I told him that I wasn’t sure we could help further he kept thanking me. I just stood there for a moment, and then I started tearing up and had to leave the sales floor.

It struck me how lonely he was, how the porn was one of his only ways of just having moments of satisfaction. I felt that hard. I’m serially single. I’m very lonely, and porn is my escape, and I’m just 42. I realized the state he was in, that’s something that is likely coming. For all of us.

I know that a lot of my coworkers would laugh at the guy, the pervert coming in, needing his porn. But I felt sad. Sad for him. Sad for all of us. I know that loneliness. It’s waiting for us all.

I don’t know if there’s a moral here. I just thought I should share. And please, I know porn is something we laugh about and make fun of, and it’s deserving of that. But sometimes…let’s take away the shame of it. You’re lucky if you don’t need it to get those little moments. Don’t take it for granted. And allow whatever moments others have, however they get them, without shame or looking down.

There is a moral here.  It isn’t just about being sad.  It’s about having a soul mate… and maybe having to deal with losing your soul mate.  And what happens if your soul mate passes in this life and you are left alone?  What happens if you do not want to “move on” and find a new relationship, a new person to love, or someone else to fill the void. Male or female, you may still have urges to release or have a physical need that needs to be met, but do not want an emotional connection. What can you do?   Well, you can move to Nevada (or any country) where prostitution is legal, or watch porn.   Whether you call it therapy or a release, porn isn’t always such a terrible thing.   

 

Drinking Alcohol With Your Vagina

Drinking Alcohol With Your Vagina

Have you ever heard of the term, “You don’t believe me?  Snopes it then!”  Well, Snopes claims that women using tampons soaked in vodka to get drunk isn’t true. So you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol with your vagina, at least according to the mythbusters of the internet. There are a few people out there that beg to differ.  One of them being Melanie Berliet, who 6 years ago not only put a vodka soaked tampon in her vagina, but she also spent a night out on the town with a breathalyzer kit monitoring her blood alcohol levels.  

Bacterial Vaginosis is an infection caused by an imbalance of “good” and “bad” bacteria in the vagina, most commonly affecting women ages 15 to 44. The exact cause of the condition isn’t known, but certain activities like smoking and douching can increase your risk of getting it.

First, let me clarify.  Do not try this yourself.  I have never done this, nor would I experiment for this blog, as I do not feel it is safe. Plus, I have experimented enough for the blogging world!  I believe it works, but I also believe it’s dangerous as you can get alcohol poisoning much easier.  Not to mention alcohol would kill all the good things going on inside your vagina, specifically the good bacteria and your pH balance, and lead to a nasty UTI.  Mélanie Berliet has already risked her vagina for blogging sake, so there is no need to walk on the moon twice.

Why Would Anyone Try Drinking Alcohol With Her Vagina?

The same reason people shove alcohol enemas up their anus…

There are various reasons why a person may want to drink alcohol with their vagina.  To name a few, it will get you drunk faster.  This isn’t a new idea, just a bit sexier than the concept of putting alcohol in your colon through your anus

  • Alcohol directly in your vagina or anus will bypass the liver therefore going directly to your bloodstream.  This will cause you to get drunker much quicker, with much less alcohol.  
  • To continue with the last point, less alcohol means less calories.  You can drink less, therefore your body doesn’t intake as much calories.  
  • Bypassing the stomach also means the chances of getting sick and due to an upset stomach is much less likely.   In other words, no vomiting at the end of the night. 
  • For drinkers that may want to hide their breath, whether it be work, a group gathering, or underaged drinkers, unless someone smells your vagina, you will be undetectable.  However, to the underaged drinkers, your parents may not smell your breath but you may end up with alcohol poisoning so when they drive you to the emergency room, it won’t be a secret anymore.  

Below is an interesting article that goes into detail about a woman and her adventures with vodka, tampons, and her vagina.

Stick A Vodka-Soaked Tampon Up Your Vagina, Get Drunk by  Mélanie Berliet

For the first time one recent afternoon, I scour the shelves of my local liquor store considering not which varietal of wine my palate desires, but which brand of vodka my vagina deserves. General distaste for hard alcohol be damned, I’m on a mission to explore slimming, defined by Urban Dictionary as “the vaginal or anal insertion of a liquor (usually vodka) soaked tampon for the purpose of rapid intoxication.”

Surveying the options, I want to believe my lady parts are worthy of a pricy Grey Goose or Belvedere. Since I won’t taste the stuff, though, reason dictates going for something cheaper, like Smirnoff. Following a 10-minute long internal battle between sensibility and delusions of vaginal grandeur, I settle upon a 200-mililiter bottle of the midlevel Absolut for $9.99.

On the way home, I think about the time-honored tradition of getting wasted. Stone Age beer jugs dating back to the Neolithic period point to the consumption of alcohol by our prehistoric ancestors, and we know from pictographs that Egyptians were downing wine as early as 4,000 B.C. Cut to present day, by which time man has exploited his ingenuity in developing a vast spectrum of deliciously potent concoctions—from margaritas to fuzzy nipples—as well as various methods of consuming them—from shooting to bombing and funneling.

Although a great article, we will skim over a few paragraphs and get you guys to what you came here for.  Start drinking alcohol with your vagina girl! 

I may already be of legal drinking age, but as a steadfast supporter of the don’t-knock-it-‘til-you’ve-tried-it approach to life, I feel obligated to give slimming a go. As soon as I reach my apartment, I grab a Playtex regular tampon (capacity for absorption: 6 to 9 grams) from the medicine cabinet. I push the rocket-shaped cotton swab out from its plastic applicator and drop it in a shot glass. It’s then that I’m reminded that the device is designed to expand as it gets wet, which will make inserting it post vodka bath a serious challenge. Fortunately, I’m way too proud to bail on an experiment the average rebellious 16-year-old can handle.

In nothing but a bra, straddled above the toilet in case of drippage, I touch the sopping wad to my privates.

“Ahhhhhhh!” I exclaim, totally unprepared for the burning sensation down below. It feels like someone zapped me with a light saber. Don’t be such a pussy, I tell myself, then laugh at my own terrible joke.

This is why Snopes claims that this phenomenon is not real.  The amount of pain involved with shoving a vodka soaked tampon in your vagina, with the amount of vodka a tampon can actually hold, would be equivalent to a small mixer drink.  Would you burn your groin just to get the same buzz of a small mixer drink?  

Several deep breaths later, the thing is lodged inside me.

While dressing, I squint and flex whichever vaginal muscles I can to stave off serious discomfort. Eager for a distraction, I rush out to meet my friends wearing a black pleated dress, patent leather pumps, a grey blazer, and one laughably agonizing vodka-cotton contraption.

“Everything okay?” a friend asks immediately upon seeing me.

“Yup!” I assure, but my contorted expression tells a different story.

Twenty minutes later, when we arrive at a Chelsea gallery for a private opening, I’m feeling better. But is the thing working?

There’s only one way to find out. Inside a bathroom stall, I whip out a breathalyzer kit purchased at Brookstone just for the occasion. The gizmo reads my blood alcohol content (BAC) as a whopping .14% already.

Mingling with friends amongst art, I can’t help but smile. I’m definitely drunker than I would be otherwise, so I can nurse a glass of wine rather than chug it. I pat myself on the back for minimizing the day’s calorie count, and for being such an avant-garde drunkard.

It’s not until two hours or so later that I start to feel an inordinate amount of moisture accumulating in my underwear. If I don’t do something fast, I fear it’ll soon appear as if my water’s broken. Since I don’t have the baby bump to pull that look off, I dash to the ladies’ room yet again. I can only hope I haven’t left a dribble trail behind me and/or raised suspicion about having a coke problem.

Behind stall wall, I assess the situation. Fuck, I think, for neglecting to wear a panty liner. I have to get this thing out. If only being on the sauce didn’t make being nimble so difficult.

A good deal of concentrated pinching, prodding, and yanking later, my vaginal canal is free from alcohol. But the burning sensation remains.

Doctor, we may be in trouble here.  It seems like we have a possible wounded soldier. 

Symptoms?  She seems a bit drunk, but no more than a few shots.  However, her vagina is burning and it seems as if her labia are melting. 

Oh this is serious.  Give me a tampon soaked in monistat stat.   We will try to reverse the effects.

Back at home, incessant stinging motivates me to research the potential risks of what I’ve just put myself through. I’m soon reminded that there’s a reason we douse wounds in rubbing alcohol: As a solvent, alcohol kills bacteria. And while microbe slaying might be wonderful for avoiding infection through scrapes and cuts, it’s likely to upset the delicate balance of good bacteria inside a gal’s vagina.

The frequent slimmer might as well beg for a yeast infection. So moving forward, I plan to stick to ingesting alcoholic beverages orally—at least until someone teaches me how to “eyeball.” 

Thankfully this experience saved me from having to risk my vagina for the cause.  We salute Mélanie Berliet for staying in the trenches while the rest of us normally sipped on daiquiris without having to shove a tequila worm up our vagina holes.