How Do Porn Stars Die?
What a porn star’s death reveals about how we grapple with our memories
He was in dad porn. It was a common fetish among my gay friends who grew up with their dads sweating it out in Arab lands. He was hairy, borderline-bear. Sometimes I found him in the DILF category, sometimes he showed up in Bear selections. It always confused me.
I think it was when I was 19 when I first stumbled on his earlier productions. He hailed from Bulgaria, as was the case with all the other caramel-skinned, fine male specimens of American Pornlandia. There was a brute air about him, palpably primal. It almost seemed like he really wanted it. He wanted the banging and moaning and the wet, slippery mess of it all. He wasn’t performing, he was simply fucking. And I liked it.
When I was 12, I used to watch straight porn. Partially because I never had gay friends then who would randomly message me on Facebook sharing the latest gay porn site they stumbled upon online. Partially because I tried fixing myself, wanking the gay away over the sight of pixelated naked girls. Just like the other day, when my friend and I gushed upon a fast-loading, low-data consumption porn site which we can conveniently stream videos even with an embarrassing 3G connection. I often visit it in between office breaks.
