Freud had a point when he proposed the concept of the libido. No, he didn't mean "sex-drive." He meant "sexual energy," "sexual" meaning "pleasure," and not just plain intercourse. Thus, he said, when a baby likes to put things in his mouth, it's because an infant's pleasure center is his mouth. He called this stage the "oral stage." He had another stage which he called the "anal stage." Damnit, do your own research.

In any case, as a person moves from stage-to-stage, the pleasure zone ("erogenous zone") transfers from one area to the other (where, oh, where is the erogenous zone for the "anal stage?"). In theorizing, Freud followed a law of physics called the "conservation of energy," which states that energy is neither created nor destroyed (more info on http://www.grc.nasa.gov/WWW/K-12/airplane/thermo1f.html). So, libidinal energy ("sexual energy" if you may) just goes around, until when you grow up when the energy finally settles in the genitals (therefore "sexual" becomes what it means to most of us earthlings).

Although his theories have been mightily refuted by many other theorists, his application of the conservation of energy concept to how people work makes one (me) think of how I work, like how I get aroused, how I get tired, how come I liked this before and now I like another thing. Stuff like that.

On to chapter one.

"Stress" for a twenty-something-year-old takes on a new meaning when one is paid about a hundredth of the value of one's work. By value I mean money. As in cash. And by a hundredth I mean I'm charged as if I'm a lot older and more experienced. All this especially when you've seen the huge amounts of money your company charges others as "honoraria" for your services.

The perils of consulting.

"Sex" also shifts meaning. It transforms from being an item in fill-out sheets to intercourse to love, then back to being an item in fill-out sheets, to whatever.

Then you get stressed out. "Sex" suddenly shifts to "recharge."

Funny thing, actually. To recharge something-your phone, for example-you plug in. In recharging, something heats up. In recharging, something is restored to its optimal state. Not charging will leave your phone cold and dead. And of course, over-recharging can wear out of your battery, that after a while, you can't recharge it anymore.

During this time sex becomes a necessity. As in "I have to have sex" instead of the usual "I want sex" or "I need sex." Makes you sound like a drooling maniac.

But the thing is, as with most have-to's, you don't necessarily want to do them. I have to have sex, but do I really have to?

So after an immensely hard day when hours turn to days and pages just don't seem to fill up, you think you have to have sex. You're dead tired, but you have to have sex. Your batt's out, you have to recharge.

Good thing for someone who has someone, recharge-sex becomes affectionate love, and love-that-is-given-despite-of-being-tired. A generous, thoughtful thing that elevates the typically masculine provider's ego.

When you're a loner, however, it becomes dirty. Recharge-sex is still recharge-sex. No matter what happens, you have to plug in. This, no matter where the plug is (no, they don't allow you to plug in at Starbucks).

The thing that separates man (as in males) from the machine is that one can plug in even there isn't any electrical outlet around. Call it Wi-Fi, I'll call it a gift from god. Of course, that's because I'm a loner.

Plus, I have options. Do I want pictures? Video? Just words? How about words, interactive and in real time? How about video, interactive and in real time?

Well, going virtual is plain weird for me. I understand the boost audiences are supposed to provide performers, but It's just not my thing. Scrap that.

Pictures are nice. And it's available everywhere. In Google, search "adult" in Directories, and you'll get a link to "mature content," then "image galleries," then "free." Indexed there are gazillions of free porn. Try to enjoy as wide a variety as you can. I'm hooked to Hsu Chi (this one you can search in the "normal" Google page).

You'll get sick of it, believe me.

What is dear to my heart nowadays is god's gift to the impoverished horny guy: disposable porn.

If you like them, you can keep them. If you don't you can give them away. It's even ok if you have double copies. You can give them out as gifts or something.

They cost around 20 to 35 a piece, and you can get them anywhere. If you know where to look. And if you have the guts to even look.

Ever seen a crowd of guys standing around a tabloid stand? They think they're not obvious, but don't they think they are because they're all guys standing around the tabloids? Do you think they mind that they're obvious?

Ever seen a crowd of guys standing around a bunch of VCDs on a mat on the ground? Ever seen any of them buy even one? Ever seen a lone guy squatting over a mound of porn, picking out about five, asking for discounts and package prices (six for a hundred?) from the VCD guy (or girl), while the whole lot of rush hour going-homers pass behind him?

Did his grandmother ever pass by behind him unknowingly? Does he even mind that chicks can think he's a total loser-maniac when they see him seemingly drooling over a pool of smut?

And it feels good, too, when a friend asks you to buy one for him, just because he doesn't have the guts to. Did I just say "you?"

I bet you forgot the Freud thing already.

Chapter two.

So I get porn easily. I did a lot of work mustering up guts to actually buy street porn when the streets are busy. I spent a lot of time going through the net looking for free porn because I didn't have enough money to buy commercial ones. I gave up a lot of face initially trying to be open to having people know I like porn.

Liking and looking for porn takes a lot of effort, you see. I call it an investment.

And for what?

It's all about energy. I think already I have it down-flat scientific. If I was paid to write a manual, I'd write it.

Our good freund Freud said that if the sexual energy didn't go around properly, one would go neurotic.

And so, the story goes. My work pisses me off because I make in a month what I'm supposed to get paid in five days (according to honoraria terms in our contract with another company) for consulting work. I hate the fact that I love my job because I can't find another company that has the same sort of work I'm doing, so I'm kinda stuck.

The stress is killing me. I can feel the pressure trying to get out, pushing from behind my eyes.

Thing is, it can't go out my eyes. If it could, I wouldn't derive pleasure from it. It has to go out somewhere else.

Freud tells me I'm in the "genital stage."

If you have been paying attention to your General Psychology (or Ms. Reyes' Christian Living lecture back in high school), the genital stage is when one's erogenous zone is the genital area.

Context, please. Context. Read Part One if you haven't. Read it aloud and embarrass yourself (haha).

Context: it means you want to screw. No matter how you try to get it out somewhere else, you will want to screw.

Some people say art. Some people say music. Some people say work. Some people say community.

This loner says porn.

Porn's legal and safe for the horny. It's legal because it is what one wants-sex. It's safe because it doesn't merit your conscience to kick in and tell you that you're screwing up other people's lives. Nevermind if your mother or your sister are women too.

You know what they say about conscience. It's trainable.

Once you get it down, it's easy. Assume you're tired. You're under a lot of pressure from work that you feel it at home. Your head hurts and the back of your neck is starting to numb.

Feel that pressure. It's in your head.

But you're in the genital stage. The best way to get energy out is through outlets that gives you the most perks. Why let it out where it's not going to give you pleasure? At this point in your twenty-something year old life, the outlet is down there. You have to move the sexual energy to where it's going to benefit you as of the moment.

Fuck sublimation. I say manage it.

Time for an epilogue.

Nah.

Article written by: Iñigo Mortel
Iñigo's stuff are also posted in
http://nyigs.blogspot.com. Wherever's
his stuff's posted first, he doesn't care.

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