It's ok to just like things.
You may enjoy the taste of a really good Thai Green Curry, the sound of a jazz quartet or the visual stimulation of graffiti by Banksy.
You may feel uplifted by the breeze on your face on a sun dappled afternoon, you may experience more delight for the bubble wrap than the gift it surrounds, or perhaps you just melt if a finger is traced along the nape of your neck.
You could write pages, essays on why these things should be so. On why these things give you pleasure. People do. They take a piece of art or literature and tear it apart to see why it worked. Those who fancy themselves as thinking bloggers will devote pages to analysing a single word and why it worked for them. They gaze into their navels (or other orifices) and suck every last bit of colour and animation from the original work, until all we are left with are dry definitions, battened down and neatly labelled. This kind of approach narrows and restricts these experiences, rather than expanding them.
I must confess, it bores me rigid. I am no intellectual. I know my limits. I am a simple oik. I am that person who says "I don't know much about art but I know what I like." There are those who would feel compelled to explain why I am right or wrong about my preferences by cutting them up and laying them open for me. The types who say "ooh, listen, listen this is a particularly good bit coming up, the horn section in this is superb" so that you miss the very thing they so want you to appreciate. Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up shut up! Unless it contains some relevance to my continued survival, it doesn't matter why something gives me pleasure just let me enjoy the fact that it does!
Shakespeare, for example, was never meant to be read. His plays were meant to be experienced. Schoolchildren have suffered for decades, sitting in dusty classrooms, having every last syllable dissected for meaning until none of the original passion or intent is left. It's all wrong, wrong, wrong. You should just turn up to the play, watch it, feel it and then say "that was great" or "that was crap" depending on your own visceral response.
My pleasure from feeling the sun on my skin is not diminished by not fully understanding the chemical processes involved in my body synthesising vitamin D. I just like it, it makes me happy.
Similarly, I don't need an essay on the evolution of language and its inherent gender stereotyping to enjoy a post about fucking. If I read a bit of smut and am suddenly thinking "my goodness, that's an innovative new way of using that verb in a non-passive gender empowering manner" I am probably not as immersed in the moment as the original author may have hoped.
I'm not saying we shouldn't have inquiring minds, only that there is a risk of becoming over analytical. If you show me how the trick is done it won't be magic anymore. I don't want to see the wires and strategically placed mirrors, I don't care how it works. I just like it.