Last week, I got a call from my friend Lisa at 5 am. The moment I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong, not because her tone broadcast alarm but because she lives in Malang and wouldn't be up that early unless she'd been trown out of her bed by an earthquake.
"I think Doni's gay."
"Whoa, back up. What?" I said.
Lisa paused. "It's too embarrassing to explain."
As I reminded her, I'm pretty much the last person in East Java anyone should worry themselves in front of. "Plus," I said, "You placed the call and lobbed out a pretty big little sentence, so clearly you're ready for a streaming pile of fresh humiliation."
She then went on to stammer that her sexual relationship with her husband had been, " a bit flat lately."
"Define lately," I said.
"Since the last weekend of March 2002," she said, a little too quickly.
Now they have sex maybe once every three weeks because they're both so busy and tired that fucking and passion have been mysteriously replaced by sleeping and flossing.
"So we decided to spice it up," she said.
Immediately, I envisioned Lisa and Doni with an impossibly long-legged ebony hooker easing herself down on white shag carpeting of their mid-century-modern home, Doni poised above her with a pair of his red suspenders --makeshift whip. "Get on all fours so I can bang you like a bitch," he is shouting, while Lisa sits in the black chair, Sharon Stone-style, blowing smoke rings.
"We rented a pornographic video," Lisa said.
And the way she said pornographic instead of porn struck me as painfully innocent and I immediately felt guilty for imagining her watching her husband fuck a whore --excuse me, streetwalker.
"And so we were in bed, you know, doing it. And watching. And then this other guy walked onscreen and got into bed and he sticks his finger up the guy's ass. And all of a sudden Doni starts shouting 'Oh, My God!' and then he comes."
At 5 in the morning I have not yet had my double espresso, and this is far too much pre-caffeine information for me.
"I mean, we'd been watching for like 20 minutes, but as soon as the video turned gay, Doni got so arroused that he came. He's gay, isn't he?"
There was a crescendo of panic in her voice. Time to strap her to the cosmic gurney and administer soothing meds.
"No," I said firmly. "Doni isn't gay because he got excited watching a porn flick. It doesn't work that way. He came because he was fucking you, his wife. And this tends to happen when a man fucks his wife for 20 minutes while watching porn."
After a brief silence, her words came out in a rush. "I feel like an idiot. I think I need to go back to bed. Maybe I'm not even awake yet. I'm sorry I called to say good night. Good night." Click.
This got me thinking. Is porn good for relationship? Can it resuscitate a flatlined sex life? Is it fun? Is it dangerous? Does it lead to couples? hiring ebony hookers?
To answer these questions I spoke to the experts. Two experts, actually. One shrink and one guy who owns a lot of cool CDs.
While my two experts phrased things quite differently, they said the same thing: Porn can add excitement to a relationship, as long as both partners are willing, and as long as both partners feel secure in the relationship to begin with.But this is just common sense. I mean, if a couple never fuck unless they're watching porn, that's a problem.
"If a couple has intimacy issues, porn can be a disservice to the relationship," said the shrink, " it can prevent them from connecting, one-on-one."
As for Lisa's concern that her husband was gay because he blew his load when a man entered the frame: Big deal. Who knows what Doni was looking at? Her tits jiggling, her hair whipping around, his dick ramming her.
Every straight guy gets off once in a while watching some pornbabe get plowed by a stud. Human sexuality is a broad spectrum, not a study in black and white. What might get a person off watching porn may not get them off in real life. Or maybe it would, but that doesn't mean they'll do it.
For the single guy, porn can provide endless and repeated visual fodder of masturbation. But there's that double edge again. "Don't get broadband, dude. It'll be the end of your life," said the CD guy.
True, too much of a good thing is a decidedly ungood thing. Don't turn into pervert who rubs himself raw jerking off all day with video-conference software instead of inviting some woman to dinner.
I started to feel guilty about Lisa again. I'd told her I didn't think her husband was gay because of the porn incident. But I'd neglected to mention that I did think he was gay because only a homo would live with white shag carpeting in a mid-century-modern home.
UPDATE
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On further note, after reading this article I strongly not recommend going to this place as a spice up... who knows what happen next...
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