At least it’s not porn.” This phrase ran through my head somehow giving personal validation to my choices as a young teenager to gaze upon historical artwork of unclothed persons, dwell on human anatomy in science textbooks, and re-watch scenes from some popular movies. I was allowed to see all of these things, so surely it wasn’t wrong. I kept telling myself, “it’s not porn,” but I was still using it as visual stimulation and it morphed into erotica in my mind. These desires and habits became ingrained, and the trajectory was set.