The Pomonan

What Red States Search for at Night

15 of the top 20 states searching trans porn voted Republican.

America has always sexualized what it claims to fear.

That’s the first thing you realize when you start looking at the data. The states most obsessed with policing gender are often the same states obsessively searching for it at night. Texas. Tennessee. Oklahoma. Kentucky. States wrapped in church language, anti-trans legislation, football masculinity, and “protect the children” rhetoric somehow also rank among the highest consumers of transgender porn.

And no, this isn’t just internet mythology anymore. Analyses using Google Trends and porn search data repeatedly found strong search interest in trans porn concentrated in conservative and MAGA-heavy regions. Texas appears constantly in the conversation. So do parts of the South and Midwest.

According to a 2022 analysis of Google search trends, 15 of the 20 states with the highest search interest in transgender porn voted Republican in the 2020 presidential election.

Meanwhile, MAGA politics has become almost erotically obsessed with trans athletes despite the actual number of trans athletes being statistically microscopic. NCAA president Charlie Baker testified there were fewer than 10 transgender athletes competing among roughly 500,000 NCAA athletes nationwide. Yet entire political campaigns now revolve around them.

Meanwhile, MAGA politics has become almost erotically obsessed with trans people in sports despite the actual number of trans athletes being microscopic. NCAA president Charlie Baker testified there were fewer than ten transgender athletes competing across roughly 500,000 NCAA athletes nationwide. Less than ten. And yet politicians campaign on it like civilization itself is collapsing because somewhere a trans girl ran track. At a certain point you have to ask what people are really reacting to.

The lazy version of this story is hypocrisy. “Republicans secretly love trans porn.”
That’s the cheap headline. An easy joke. The smug tweet people throw around to feel morally superior for thirty seconds.

But the real story is more uncomfortable than hypocrisy. Because desire has never behaved politically. A dick does not register Republican before it gets hard. A fantasy does not stop halfway through because someone voted red. Human sexuality has always leaked through the cracks of public morality, especially in cultures obsessed with repression. And America loves repression. That’s half the country’s personality.

This is a place where politicians scream about “traditional values” during the day while millions of people open incognito tabs at night looking for the exact thing they publicly condemn. Not necessarily because they are secretly queer. Not because watching trans porn magically changes someone’s identity. Fantasy is more complicated than that. But repression charges desire with electricity. The forbidden has always been hot.

That’s true whether we’re talking about interracial sex in the 1950s, BDSM in the 1980s, or trans porn now. The more aggressively a culture tries to control sexuality, the more sexuality mutates underground. It develops kinks. It slips through side doors and browser windows. It becomes secretive instead of honest. And porn absorbs all of it.

Porn is where America goes to get off without having to explain itself. That’s why this conversation matters beyond jokes about conservative men secretly jerking off to girls with big tits and dicks. The point is not “gotcha.” The point is a contradiction. Public identity and private fantasy are often living completely different lives. And honestly? Most people understand this instinctively.

You think the married pastor screaming about morality never typed something filthy into a search bar? You think the guy ranting online about gender ideology has never stayed up at two in the morning hard as hell scrolling trans clips because something about it turns him on? Please. Human beings are messy. That’s the truth people hate because it destroys the fantasy that sexuality is clean and ideological. It isn’t. It never was.

What interests me more is the masculinity underneath all this. The panic. The claustrophobia. The way so many men seem trapped inside an exhausting performance of certainty. Don’t be soft. Don’t sound feminine. Don’t cry. Don’t look weak. Don’t want the wrong thing. Don’t even hesitate too long around beauty that confuses you. That kind of pressure does not erase curiosity. It distorts it.

And trans porn sits directly inside that distortion because it collapses categories people are terrified of collapsing. Pussy and dick existing together. Femininity mixed with masculinity. Attraction refusing to stay inside neat political boxes. For some men, that collision becomes intensely erotic precisely because it feels forbidden. Not publicly forbidden. Internally forbidden. Sometimes what scares people is exactly what gets them off.

That’s what makes the obsession with trans athletes feel psychologically revealing. The actual number of trans people in sports is tiny. Statistically almost irrelevant. Yet the panic surrounding them is enormous. Entire campaigns built around maybe a handful of athletes. Hours of cable news coverage. Endless outrage posts. Lawmakers talking about trans bodies constantly.

People fixate on what unsettles them. And America seems profoundly unsettled by gender right now. Especially male identity.

You can feel it everywhere. Gym culture. Alpha male podcasts. Testosterone marketing. Men terrified of softness while simultaneously exhausted by the performance of hardness. Men obsessed with proving masculinity while secretly consuming fantasies that blur masculinity entirely. The browser history starts telling a different story than the bumper sticker.

And the ugliest part is how trans people get trapped inside this contradiction. Simultaneously desired and dehumanized. Turned into fantasy while politicians debate whether they deserve rights. Someone can consume trans bodies sexually every night while supporting policies that make trans lives materially harder during the day. Desire alone does not create empathy. America proves that constantly.

Because this is not really an article about porn. It’s an article about emotional dishonesty. About what happens when a culture teaches people to fear complexity inside themselves. Desire goes underground. Attraction becomes shameful instead of communicative. Sexuality becomes isolated and screen-based instead of relational. People stop understanding the difference between curiosity and threat.

That’s where we are now. A country obsessed with sex but terrified of sexuality.
A nation where people can stream every imaginable fantasy online while panicking over a handful of trans athletes existing in public. A culture that sells tits, ass, and dick constantly while pretending the human body itself is dangerous.

America has always done this. The browser history says what the campaign signs never will.


Roux writes about sex, power, and intimacy with sharpness, humor, and a refusal to look away.

Dickstraction: The New Wellness Obsession with Bigger, Harder, Longer

A culture obsessed with hard dicks and soft men.

There’s a new kind of self-care on the rise, and it has nothing to do with skincare or journaling. It’s about your dick.
Or rather, his.

Lately, I’ve been watching men, online and off, spiral into something weirder than fitness and more obsessive than skincare. They call it male enhancement. Not just to get hard, but to stay hard, grow longer, and feel stronger. It isn’t about porn addiction anymore; it’s about optimization.

And no, it’s not only the older guys. There are twenty-somethings spending money on cock rings and stretching routines the way others buy adaptogens or cold plunges. Wellness with a stiff purpose. Performance is everything now. Not just for sex, but for self-worth. The modern dick has a job to do, and it better not fall short.

Scroll through Reddit long enough and you’ll see it. Gooning forums. Edging trackers. Supplements with names like Vigor XL, HardMode, Shockwave Therapy for Peak Male Performance. There’s a full vocabulary now: semen retention, penis yoga, jelqing, hung culture, TRT micro-dosing. Dicks aren’t appendages anymore, they’ve become hobbies.

And the numbers prove it. Market research from Polaris projects the global male-enhancement industry will reach twelve billion dollars by 2030. Twelve billion, for pills, pumps, patches, surgeries, and devices designed to soothe the oldest fear there is: being average.

And yes, there’s Hims. The wellness brand for guys too embarrassed to walk into a pharmacy but desperate to fix what’s not working. Hims sells generic Viagra, and yes, it works, if you’re dealing with erectile dysfunction. If the blood flow's the issue, sildenafil will help. But if the problem is shame, pressure, or you believing that your dick needs to be a brand, that’s a different medicine.

They offer more than pills. Gummies, supplements, vaguely titled libido boosters. A whole performance starter pack for men who think their dick needs a morning routine. And the truth? Some of it’s backed by science. A lot of it’s backed by fear.

You can’t heal a wound by branding over it. And that’s what most of this is, branding your insecurities as self improvement. The pills help you get hard, but they won’t help you feel enough. That’s the part Hims can’t ship.

Most men don’t say it out loud. But scroll TikTok and you’ll see them hint at size the way women once hinted at waistlines. Quiet flexes. Sweatpants shadows. Then come the comments: What’s your stack? Your routine? Your source?

This is body dysmorphia with a new face. Like everything in wellness culture, it runs through the same dirty pipeline, insecurity, profit, performance anxiety, and the endless fantasy that you can become a better version of yourself if you just try hard enough. Or, hard longer.

Let’s not pretend this appeared from nowhere. Porn helped. So did capitalism. So did the comparison. We know what women went through with thigh gaps and waist trainers; now men are tracing their own path of quiet self-loathing.

Only this time, it’s attached to masculinity, not vanity. These aren’t guys trying to look good — they’re trying to measure up.

Some go deeper: surgery, filler injections, even risking nerve damage for half an inch. In one study from the International Journal of Impotence Research, men who underwent phalloplasty, medical term for penis enlargement, reported mixed satisfaction and high stress, even regret.

We rarely talk about that part.
We don’t mention the shame, the injury, the mental fallout. We don’t say how many men in their twenties already use Viagra off-label, or how many believe sex isn’t good unless they last an hour, bend her five ways, and finish with a pop shot fit for a browser tab. When every orgasm turns into a performance review, something breaks.

It’s exhausting. Lonely, too. You can hear it between the lines, in the forums, in the breathless way they describe “progress,” as if their cock were a stock they’re tracking. They call it discipline and self-improvement, but what they really want is relief.

And then there’s actual dick health, not the TikTok kind, the real kind. The kind ignored because men are too embarrassed to ask why it curves weird or goes numb after a cock ring. Erectile dysfunction. Peyronie’s disease. STIs. Nerve damage from overuse. It’s not sexy, but it’s real. The penis isn’t a machine; it’s tissue, blood flow, sensation, hormones. You can’t keep beating it into submission and expect it to serve you like a soldier. Yet men are conditioned to believe if it’s not hard, they’re broken. So they push past pain and fear, chasing the myth that longer or harder means better. It doesn’t. It just means more risk when you don’t know what you’re doing.

Somewhere, a man is tugging at himself at three a.m., stretching toward the future, hoping to feel like enough. Somewhere, a boy is screenshotting porn stars in Telegram groups, asking, “Do you think I’m close to this yet?”

I don’t say this with scorn. I say it with concern. I’ve seen what performance does to sex — how it shrinks it, flattens it, turns your pussy into a mirror where he measures his worth.

This isn’t pleasure. It’s panic.

And maybe the saddest part: most of them never ask what we actually want. They’re too busy becoming what they think we need. But I don’t need a dick that can deadlift. I need a man who can listen. Who can be soft without apology. Who can look at my body without making it a milestone.

So before you pump it, pull it, pop a pill, or sign up for surgery, ask who you’re trying to impress, me, or the version of you that never felt like enough.

If your dick needs healing, it won’t come from a bottle.
It might start with letting go.


Roux writes about sex, power, and intimacy with sharpness, humor, and a refusal to look away.