While the laymen may well blur the line between ataraxia and ecstasy, the truth remains that one is distinct from the other. Porn will surely lead you into a state of euphoric ecstasy, but it cannot instill the feeling of blissful ataraxia. The serene feeling of harbored XXX thoughts one can conjure up as they watch rain fall over a glistening body as one eyes the droplets sliding over, under and around a full pair of subtle yet firm breasts. The way in which a wet white shirt clings upon the curves, ravenously embracing each nipple that seem to struggle for release from their confinement. While sex is everywhere, and as near as a click away, is there really any substitute for slowly watching a hand slide across a firm stomach, downward, pressing on over the upper inner thighs, while both the viewer and legs brandish nervous goose bumps drawn forth from the sense of anticipating the penetration. That, my friends, is sex in its most blissful form, that, my friends, is ataraxia.