Not a Pornstar: Weekly Musings of a Girl Working Behind the Scenes in Porn
“Sorry but your Dick is Weird and I Don’t want to Touch it,’ and other Reasons I’m Going to Hell
“Even if you are a really nice dude who has been nothing but understanding and has sent me various quarantine check-up texts asking, ‘How are you holding up? Man life is crazy huh?’ – I’m STILL going to think to myself, ‘Your dick is weird, and I don’t want to touch it.’”
by Stella Smut aka "Not a Pornstar"
Before I get an onslaught of backlash, hear me out: I like all kinds of dicks.
Big dicks, little dicks, micro-dicks, hilarious-joke-telling-dicks, fat-dicks, skinny-dicks, rubber-choose-the-size-you want-dicks, every color of the goddamn rainbow-dicks, “Say hi to your Mother for me” dicks, vegan-dicks, Jack Black-dicks, Antonio Banderas in Desperado when he flings those pistols out of his sleeves screaming “Not Yet!” dicks, and the list goes on and on. So, to be clear: I DO NOT dick-shame per se, but there are certain dick-related issues that will shut me down faster than you can say Sorry But Your Dick is Weird and I Do NOT Want to Touch it. I, my friends, am here to tell you what those are, and how you can avoid them in your personal life so a weird bald girl somewhere in California doesn’t call you out on a dickish rant – see what I did there? You can’t take this girl anywhere! – thereby exposing your atrocities to the world, or at least to this perverse little corner of the internet blogosphere.
I should admit: I’m no good at online dating, nor do I really engage in it in any sort of traditional sense. Call me a crusty old fart if you must but I generally like my romantic interests to result from some sort of real-life connection or human interaction. You know, like how we did it before things like robots and the loss of intimacy. I can probably attribute this to my upbringing in a Polish immigrant home where there was no cable TV, dishwashers, or video games. This left me with a lot of time spent reading, roleplaying and tormenting my peers. In other words, I’ve got an old-school mentality that’s hard to shake in certain areas of my life, and romantic partnerships seems to be one of them. Or maybe it’s just that I spent my youth in the 90s.That distinctly-WB, Dawson’s Creek meet-cute shit is so ingrained in my spirit that I’ve been royally fucked into holding all potential candidates for cohabitation to an unattainable standard of romanticism – clearly a setup for constant misery and disappointment. Once a masochist, always a masochist.
[Note to reader: I am not usually this curmudgeonly (okay, I am), but my period is due in 5 mins and my hormones are making me crustier that usual…]
Ironically, I nevertheless still use the internet to find people to press my vagina against. The following encapsulates my approach to seeking out people to bump uggers with online:
Lure in victim with busty profile on kink-positive hook-up app that explicitly states my sexual desires.
Test match’s banter and wit.
If successful thus far (and in the specific case of this rant’s inspiration), ask to see penis of said potential sexual contestant for unfair analysis of character.
This tends to be a good structure for me as I don’t want to go on Hinge or whatever, engage in small talk, go on a few dates, hear about your family, learn about all your hopes n’ dreams, and start to find you charming and endearing only to THEN find out, down the line, that you are vanilla as hell – i.e. that you DO NOT want to pee on my face, DO NOT want to call me a whore, and DO NOT want to cater to my Catholic priest roleplay, all of which play a key role in helping me heal years of trauma by aiding in the sexualization of all my Freudian daddy issues. Let’s not waste each other's time. In the sure-to-be immortal words of Arianna Grande, thank u, NEXT.
The Dick-Pic for the Purpose of Analyzing One’s Character
So you’ve made it here. You have come to this point. You have arrived.
I’ve asked you for a dick-pic or some sort of jack-off video, that is, if you haven’t already spammed me with one as so many of you do. (Word to the wise: please wait until it’s asked for. I don’t just dm people pictures of my labia. It is nothing but jarring especially out of context. Many thanks.) I’ve asked for this in order to assess your morale. But, is it not penis-size that you’re truly assessing? you might ask. No. No I am not. I will undoubtedly register information such as size but mostly I’m scanning for visual inconsistencies that could be attributed to STDs as well as various environmental and personal hygiene factors.
What I am looking for, my dick-pic-slinging friends, is a curated product that tells me you know who you are; you know your angles and you take care of yourself. Send me a sexy selfie in a bathroom that has perfume on the counter? I’ll gather you have a girlfriend. Send me a jack-off video in a clean, mid-century, modern-inspired room with a variety of interesting paintings and plants in the background? I’m going to know you are a caring, creative person who takes care of their space and self, and that makes me horny AF.
But send me a video of an unruly bush that has ne’er been trimmed and seems to have accumulated various fragments of household debris like some sort of pubic fly-paper as you jerk your skinny, tapering dick off with some off brand, super-white, quick-to-coagulate lotion highlighting pieces of said pubic-fly-paper debris as they become trapped in said budget lotion, joining your wank-hand on a journey from your shaft to your head – and quite noticeably, I might add – not only will I struggle to keep the vomit from shooting out of my mouth like a DF-41 missile, it’s gonna make me never, ever want to touch your dick, EVER.
NEVER, EVER.
Even if you are a really nice dude who has been nothing but understanding and has sent me various quarantine check-up texts asking, “How are you holding up? Man life is crazy huh?” – I’m STILL going to think to myself, “Your dick is weird, and I don’t want to touch it.”
Please, don’t cast me as a monster. Don’t put me in this position. Because even if you are someone I find intelligent and kind who will probably make me dinner, rub my back, and go down on me for hours, I’ve already concluded you sleep on a mattress on the floor, you do not own good (if any) lube, most of your clothes are probably balled up in various piles on your bedroom floor and smell of feet, and your dick tastes like artisan cheese that has been left out in the sun. There’s nothing you can do or say to make me think otherwise. NOTHING. Case-closed. Dick: BAD.
Your message will be deleted. The dick will not be touched. And you will be roasted on a sex blog. Do not do this to yourself.
And when you text me yet again in hopes of bagging me once social-distancing restrictions are lifted, I will feed you some deflecting false gibberish about why I no longer want to meet. You of course will not take the hint, but I can’t tell you the real reason you’ve repulsed me and lost your ranking, can I? Cause that’d just be rude and I am clearly a respectful human.
Don’t you see: You have placed me in this position, where I’ve been forced to lie and instead opt to write a letter to the world about how horribly traumatic your dick video was because publicly shaming you is the only kind and generous course of action available to me.
Yes, I know hell awaits. I accept that. But it doesn’t mean you all shouldn’t be more conscious of what you’re sending to your potential sexual partners. Sort yourselves out. You know who you are. And you’re welcome. (No thanks required.) In short: Clean your dicks. Fold your laundry. Remove the dick fuzz from your shaft. Buy some lube, dammit. Trim your tendrils.
And most importantly, don’t hate me; I'm adorable.
Cheers,