The Theatrical Fallacies Of Dirty Talk

Recently I’ve been snacking on the intersection of dirty talk and sexual performance and just how bombastically cumbersome it can be when it comes to performing at such an intricate level of theatrics, and how we’re all sort of expected to put on a one woman show of unfounded lustful caterwauling whenever we get to fucking. Surely you’ve all noticed how particularly kitschy it all can be, right? At the end of the fucking day, aren’t we all exhausted from life’s different capacities for theatrics? We are all constantly having to perform for the sake of shielding our fragility from friends, family, co-workers, or that big cocked up dude at the tobacco store! Shouldn’t we enjoy sex as it stands as an act of erotic exertion, and call it at that, instead of engaging in some hippodrome fuckfest of maximum uncomfortability?

I used to partake in this heinous sexual guffawing because I guess I just understood that’s something we like, do? And then after some guy jacked himself up inside while calling me his: ‘sweet baby boy” over and over, I realized how absolutely pointless this shit was and that it really accomplished absolutely nothing. What the fuck does this make you hard, sir? What are we doing here on this day, where you are yelling at me like this? I sort of mentally incapacitated myself from that singular instance, and it really wasn’t until COVID-19 turned me back into a sexless virgin guzzling back crispy pornography like a thirsty diabetic, where I realized that this expectation is really getting out of hand.

This particular nuance really smacked me up after I’d turned to pornhub dot com slash gay after a Fiona Apple song had me incredibly disconsolate, and after my four-hour peregrination thumbing through to find the absolute perfect solo jackoff video of a guy who looked like he would have definitely bullied me in middle school, I’d realized the sheer audacious expectation of a vocal performance. These buff himbo lads were twisting their tits and moaning just the stupidest garbage versed up like they were bellowing a Shakespearean sonnet. “Fuck me, Daddy, I’m gonna' cum!” or “Fuck me harder baby, oh yeah yeah”. I had shut that shit off. I was exceptionally embarrassed by their brassiness! What is this show for, really? When all is said and done, after the final load blows like a battle horn on war-torn Gettysburg, aren’t we all apathetically embarrassed over what we’ve just done? All that cumming, yelping, and body smacking seems pretty fucking weird, right?

A simple dig on garbled dirty talk on Google dot com brings up a whole smorgasbord of shit really, and most tend to resound our filthiness to the uninhibited troglodyte brain capacity that has haunted us since the inception of mankind as it unfortunately stands. The two parts of our himbo-istic hypothalamus, the preoptic area, and the suprachiasmatic nucleus are apparently ‘responsible’ for our sexual pleasure, are both rapidly secreting all sorts of shiny brain juice when Justin asks you about his rock-hard cock. According to some other chunky scientists, the act of theatrical garbling also stimulates the amygdala, which focuses itself on getting all up and tickled whenever someone begs for cum I guess? Jesus Christ. Miss Queen Amygdala is like the Little Einstein’s fear center, which sits right next door to Mr. Pleasure and Mrs. Excitement. When all three are being simultaneously fed some juicy tickling, your body and brain start to really love doing all of this moaning and groaning for the cock, the vag, the nipples, the feet, the pee, the poop, whatever the fuck that y’all be doin’ up in there, it’s really not my business. There’s also some psychobabble about submission and confidence and responsible and blah blah blah daddy issues etc. etc.! FINE!

If want you want an unadulterated opinion, all science is fun and cool and pivotal and whatever but to me, this seems like a dirty talk agenda and I’m not fucking here for it. I am no longer going to be screaming for someone to fuck me harder because I am not an infant and we can talk about much cooler things in the bedroom! Instead of saying “Oh daddy, yes yes” or “Oh baby, you’re so tight ohmygawd!” try something like: “I think the Nutri-Grain Bar is a really underrated snack” or “Dick Cheney was unabashed about being a war criminal.” This notion of having to moan and scream and be so pandering like a damn backwoods drag queen is so beyond any sort of academic endeavor and we should all strive to be doing better. There shouldn’t have to be a price of admission while getting up and all cummy, so reclaim yourself as a student of unadulterated brain capacity. And when others try to instigate unnecessary campiness from you and your sex holes, tell them, “Sweetie, we are no longer cavemen, pudding pop! Do yourself a favor and evolve! Let’s talk about Karl Marx! Let’s talk about how underrated PJ Harvey is!”

To me, it’s a backward motion that actually ceases us to evolve from not only our animalistic nature for sexual gluttony but our backward notion of that deep-seated Puritanical backwash. We were fucking openly like animals, then we like, really really were not doing that, then we kind of were, then we kind of have reclaimed some sexual liberation but not in all capacities, so we end up sort of sexually stunted, leading to all of this really pathetic moaning in exchange for ‘pleasure’ because we’re all expected to be performing. It seems absolutely pointless and navigating yourself outside of that performance should seek to claim power in sex. Why not converse openly while being penetrated? Instigate some philosophical musings? Or just converse about the intricate nuances we as humans equip? Do you think “Fuck this tight hole” should really be a preference over, “I think the notion of the American dream died when the nation was founded on Native genocide, the backs of slaves, and white money?” Which seems more productive to you?