P.K.'s Porn Gaze

Her eyes go wide at first. It’s always the eyes.

I have opinions about her expressions. Those moments before she changes.

I fall for the performative if it feels genuine. The doe look of surprise when she sees his massive manhood for the first time. That’s the tell - whether fake or not - that gets me going because I like the surprise, too.

The empath in me identifies with her experience. I’m virtually cucking myself in anticipation as she gives the bull a tease. We both wait eagerly to see what he’s about to deliver and what she’s about to enjoy. This doesn’t have to be cuckold/hotwife porn either, it can be a straight up PIV scene, and I’ll anxiously await the big reveal.

Those moments right before he divulges his bulge, right when she feels the outline of his cock through his trousers. See the swell. The trace of the possible. Her hand travels down, down, down a massive shaft. The grip. The purr. The promise.

That deer in the (giving) head-lights is what I look for when watching porn. Her realization. Her “genuine” shock when seeing his cock unfurled from slacks and boxer briefs. (Please, no sweatpants. Ugh. Let’s keep it classy.) Eyes go wide. Pupils huge with lust. Mouth agape. Even better when she smiles. Hands go to face before sheepishly reaching out toward the intimate monster that protrudes between them. That space occupied with a ton of tension and yearning.

The first touch. The sigh. The slight laugh of the unbelievable becoming tangible. Her fingers unmet in her grip. The lengths of her slow stroke. Her moans and sighs of want with the questionable doubt of sexual physics as she considers “how will I make this fit?”

Sloppy blowjobs with ropes of spit connecting chin to cock. Gasps for breath when her throat goes vacant. (Please don’t give me the gargle gags, though. That feels fake.) Give me spit. Globular goop in a sheen that slicks her strokes. Her hungry hum taking cock down her throat.

Give me cuckold kisses. I want her pulling her mouth from the bull, to ram her cock coated tongue into her husband’s mouth. Let him taste cock by proxy. Heteroflexible. Even better if she pulls his head into the action and has him suck off the bull.

Give me cuckold kisses as the bull enters her cunt (or ass). His thrust forces her tongue deeper into the husband’s ache. Hotwife moans filling hubby with the same delicious stretch that fills her.

Or her expression as she’s taking his cock for the first time, I prefer the wide angle view. I want to simultaneously see his cock head parting labia and her eyes rolling back. No clinical closeup. No choreography. Just her revelatory experience of taking massive manhood with a mouth shaped ‘oh’. This one gets me every time. Makes me ache with want.

I measure myself against all of them. Expressions of surprise, open grasps, and blissful moans on entry. I play with my envy. Stroke the meagerness between my legs as I watch her fingers not even meet around his girth.

His cock, her face… that’s the whole frame. We never see him. Why would we? The camera doesn’t care what he’s feeling, and neither, historically, have I.

The porno gaze. He merely exists as sexual synecdoche. A blind spot of the male gaze. We want her. She’s objectified in this exchange and yet there’s the massive appendage to appease. The cock to worship.

I’m reminded of the limited equipment I own. What I’ll never have. What I’ll never be. Instead I wrestle with desperate want. Similar to hers.

Am I wrapped in the female gaze? No. Not in pornography. The female gaze goes entirely absent. Its lack compensated by length and girth. To own. To control. To be catered to. Because it’s all so very fragile.

My focus has shifted from streaming fleshtones to reading texts. The mind’s eye takes over when experiencing erotica. Now I actively imagine scenes instead of passively watching them — scenes written by women, for once, telling me what they actually want instead of what a camera assumes they want.

At least for this I don’t feel the need to compensate.