As young lads discovering the wonders of our own bodies, my friends and I were briefly obsessed with the Playboy channel on cable TV. Not that any of our parents actually subscribed to it, of course, which always left us scanning scrambled images for any semblance of a woman’s face or – pleaseGodplease – breast. This was the stuff we mentally stored as masturbatory fuel.
These days, a youngster needs only Google, the description of his dream girl and the name of a sexual position he overheard on the school bus to find an endless stream of corresponding photos and videos. To my 14-year-old self, these kids would appear to have more uncanny power than some X-Men.
With all this wondrous filth a click away, I perhaps lost some of my imagination. So I decided to cure myself from porn dependency by purging smut from my diet, the way overeaters endure cleanses to overcome sugar addictions. Thus, my plan to take a 30-day break from porn was born.