We held hands as we approached the crowded movie theater.
Everyone in the city, it seemed, came by to view the spectacle.
Mainly because it was a porno.
Not your average moaning, groaning, sweating web-cam porno.
But not much different.
We men are deemed "pigs", you see, for viewing the web-cam porno,
And having a slight desire for our spouses to be
As comfortable as that woman on the screen.
With the women bending in seemingly uncomfortable positions,
In complete submission,
Solely for the sake of bringing pleasure to her partner,
We wonder what it would be like to have that type of woman,
And sometimes we desire it to such an extent
That we see Sexy Susie or Vigilante Vicky when we look into the eyes of our true love.
We are pigs.
Filthy, filthy pigs,
Who must be unfaithful in thought,
And thus unfaithful in deed.
We are not so different.
Oh yes I am currently enjoying School-Girl Claudia,
But are you not indulging in that Knight in Shining armor,
Who wishes to wisp that oh so lucky girl away,
Risking life and limb for a pixelized princess you have begun to envy?
You wish that princess was you,
And have the audacity to imagine yourself in her place;
You covet that attention,
And try to dress us in plate-mail, sword and shield,
And become disappointed in that the armor does not fit.
"Why can't my guy be like that?", you say.
"Why doesn't my man do that for me?", you implore.
"I deserve to be treated like that girl", you assert.
"He is not treating me like a girl should really be treated", you conclude.
Thus you have engrossed your ideals,
In a gurgling stew of utopia,
And have convinced yourself,
That Prince Charming is not only your journey,
But your right.
You can't work the pole like Seductive Sandra,
But I can't work my words like Leonardo DiCaprio,
Yet you have the arrogance to say
Your lust has more merit than mine?
Your lust is less tainted than mine?
You walk in on me,
Spending time with my favorite Latina,
Conveniently located in my bookmarks toolbar in Firefox.
You hang your head in shame,
And interrogate me,
Asking me questions like
"Do I not please you enough?"
"Is that all you think about?"
"Am I not good enough for you?"
I walk in on you,
And hundreds of women in the theater,
Spending time with your favorite Casanova,
As advertised on TV.
I dare not interrogate you,
For you are merely enjoying some harmless entertainment.
I walk away,
Hanging my head in shame,
Asking myself questions like
"Do I not please her enough?"
"Is that all she thinks about?"
"Am I not good enough for her?"
And the irony escapes you,
As we snuggle off to bed,
And you kiss my steel-plated cheek goodnight.