Number Twenty-Seven: How Porn Almost Ruined My Marriage

When I started this project a couple months back, I made two rules for myself:

1. I would write about whatever tickled my fancy, no matter if the material was being read at a high frequency or not. After all, this process is as much for me as it is for you. Picking topics that speak to the masses yet bore me to tears would never work in the long run.
2. No matter the topic, I would be as honest and forthright as possible. In the end, this exercise is pointless if I can’t be open with my readers and build a high level of trust with them.

And so I come to you today with the following confession: porn has in no way affected my sex life. In fact, I’ve never watched a porno movie. I’ve never been to a strip club. Hell, I’ve barely looked at skin mags. This post is a farce.

At a family gathering in the not-too-distant past, I had two people come up to me during the day, one wanting me to write about sex and one wanting me to write about porn. I said I’d work the topics into a future post, and here they are! Sorry for the lack of experience with the porn. It’s never been my thing. As for whoopie, I suppose I can let you know that my sex life is nothing short of fantastic, but I’m not going any further than that. Try my wife if you’d like more details; she’s more talkative than I am.

April Fool’s/Fools’ Day to the peeps who prompted this essay!


[Move along…move along…nothing to see here.]

Until we meet again…

Andy

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