girlsrule-subsdrool:

Gonna have to tie this tight for it to stay on when I pull!

When I see this image my first thought isn’t the square format/cropping, the way close-up diminishes context and affects questions of consent in BDSM imagery or the numerous technical shortfalls. No, my singular thought is: I want to be her.

To be teased with the gentlest of tugs; a smidgen harder and a simple length of twine becomes an effective, improvised lead; too hard and everything comes undone in an exquisite moment w pain attenuates almost immediately—even if it will be hours, days maybe, before it fully ebbs.

I can almost feel the sharp premonitions stretching ache into sting on towards hurt; I nearly whisper:

Please, not too fast this time—make it last. Don’t let the world suddenly bloom bright with pain too soon. Please. Make me earn the relief and sadness which rush in after like swollen tide churning grey sand.

Source: zenvibe

pulmonaire:

 (by jɑne.)

I love this. LOVE.

Originally, it was supposed to reblog via sporeprint Wednesday morning but was deleted for ‘violating one or more of Tumblr’s community standards’.

Huh? Why? It’s not like it’s risque. In fact, it’s downright tame compared to what I usual post and G rated by Tumblr standards.

I wonder if maybe there’s something afoul with the attribution? Both this post and the aforementioned deleted post are both sourced to a Flickr user with the alias hisplainjane–maybe that’s incorrect?

After scanning through her images I didn’t see this one. Granted, at present I am locked out of my account, so I guess it could be a restricted image. (Why on earth, though?)

On the other hand it is not exactly out of line with the rest of the work–even if it is of a much higher quality. Or perhaps I am just so jealous and awed as a result of it’s simplicity, surreality and ambiguity. I mean, Jesus Harold and Maude Christ, it’s goddamn dead fucking sexy.

It took longer than am willing admit– along with a good bit of lost sleep and an uncharacteristic stroke of good luck– but I found a cross post. This one lacks the nearly 25K notes.

Source: Flickr / hisplainjane

Alina Senchuk (goodbyestockholm)

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— La petit mort  2011

It is difficult to speak the truth, for although there is only one truth, it is alive and therefore has a live and changing face.

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— Franz Kafka

Source: Flickr / goodbyestockholm

danishprinciple:

Anna Mathilda Eberhard

Part of Eve’s Discussion by Marie Howe

It was like the moment when a bird decides not to eat from your hand,
and flies, just before it flies, the moment the rivers seem to still
and stop because a storm is coming, but there is no storm, as when
a hundred starlings lift and bank together before they wheel and drop,
very much like the moment, driving on bad ice, when it occurs to you
your car could spin, just before it slowly begins to spin, like
the moment just before you forgot what it was you were about to say,
it was like that, and after that, it was still like that, only
all the time.

amorsexus:

interchange

Work by Oscar Delmar (Watercolor and graphite)

Onomatopoeic words tend to grate on my ears even if I am intrigued by the concept of a word’s sound being its meaning.

Similarly synesthesia fascinated me; although, again, I am less interested in someones seeing the number one as blue than in the fact such an associative experience happens.

These and other word-concepts like them make me wish there were a term indicating a unity between medium and message. It would prove a helpful too for talking about images like this where the medium and the process involved in creating the final image bestows great authenticity to the truth of the message–  watercolor, the wet and mess of lips, tongues and teeth & the surreal impression of immediacy, color and texture upon execution that is rendered when the colors dry, respectively.

Source: oscar-delmar

kalkibodhi:

Encouragement request

KalkiBodhi Archives

EDIT I: it has been brought to my attention that the young woman in this image is Kristine Kahill and that this image was originally posted on Sex and Submission (a Kink.com imprint). Sex and Submission interviews models before and after the sessions. In other words, explicit consent is given for the acts depicted in the subsequent images.

Furthermore, it seems the post can be read as suggesting being submissive is a ‘reprehensible’ behavior. I assure you, that was never my intention. As someone who is thoroughly hardwired as a switch–I am not down on D/s practices at all.

I am opting to leave the original post untouched. I make mistakes. And I am sorry if my comments offended anyone. It still concerns me, however, that this image is presented entirely disconnected from its original context. In the future I will make every effort to do better due diligence. That being said, all things being equal I do stand by my reading of the problematic aspects of this image as it originally presented to me.

EDIT II: Also, I neglected to mention this is some straight-up #skinnyframebullshit.

TinEye turns up two ‘matches’ for this: both in color, both cropped and both hosted by purveyors of violent porn.

But anything more than a glance reveals as much: the composition of the image says as clearly as if the image maker had drafted a memo and sent it to every viewer: women are nothing more than props existing for the sole purpose of accommodating male desire.

It’s a reprehensible ideology. And this picture does almost nothing for me.

Except the young woman’s face, hairstyle and how her eyes accentuate her expression bears more than passing resemblance to an erstwhile co-worker on whom I have a crush.

It’s not the first time I’ve chanced upon porn which reminds me of people I trust—and by that I merely mean someone who can touch me without causing me to flinch. Usually, I avert my eyes—much the way I would if a loose fitting top gaps and offers a glimpse of an elicit vista. It’s not that I don’t want to see—fucking Christ on Christmas, I exist to absorb sensory input.

I don’t feel the same inclination here, however; it’s a feeling that I am interested in explaining without judgment or justification—not because either does not belong here but because this response is such a fatherfucking anomaly.

Navigating boundaries is something for which I lack any talent. I don’t really understand them because for all intents and purposes I do not have any of my own. But I comprehend—at least academically—that other people do. I think of boundaries as privacy force fields. (Go ahead and laugh.) Privacy force fields are like whatever it is about a door that prevents a vampire from passing without being invited.

Looking down the front of a loose blouse or connecting a pornographic image with someone I trust usually causes me to feel like a vampire trying to enter a home without being invited.

It’s the same with masturbatory fantasies. Granted when I masturbate I don’t usually think about scenarios or exchanges so much as the process is something more like meditation or stretching my arm through cage bars towards a hanging key I can almost just reach.

On the occasions where I please myself while fantasizing about someone, it’s as a rule never someone with whom I am close. (Of course it’s a different story if the person consents—but this has only happened once with someone show I was never romantically involved.)

There are two notable exceptions. One is my crush.

Perhaps it’s not really an exception. I don’t fantasize about how she might touch me, how I might touch her in turn and where that might lead. Instead I try to picture her in the same room as me—she’s one of those women whose fundamental perception is of being unattractive. She’s not upset about it; in fact, she cultivates an image of herself as not being able to give less of a fuck of what anyone else thinks of her. Of course, this in combination with her vicious wit, talent and intelligence makes her even more attractive. Then I am in the same cell again stretching, reaching for, almost touch that hanging key that if I can only reach will unlock a treasure chest with a mirror that if she held up she could glimpse herself as I see her through my eyes.

Then I fall away, crawl back but fail.

I don’t know why I refuse to turn away in this case. But in so doing, I remain unashamed.

letmedothis:

let me give you a taste

I posted an image featuring this pair back in early December. 

It’s cropped and the colors were mangled to hell—can someone explain to me Tumblr’s pervasive affection for the offset slider? I continue to dig that image and stand by my original comments.

Thus I was excited to happen upon another image featuring the same pair even if it was clear although the colors were better the composition was decidedly less inspired. Still, I have do have a soft spot for erotic imagery that leaves the man more exposed than the woman.

Then I noticed the boy’s expression which reads to me as a sort of haughty bitch-why-aren’t-you-deep-throating-my-shit-already pout. Uh, hello Fuckwit. She has her soft, warm tongue on the most sensitive part of your anatomy. Please die. Now.

I should have left it at that. But no, I am trying to be a more thorough curator. I just had to query TinEye.

And le sigh, it’s true the images are part of a series. It’s hosted on BeataPorn. (There’s a FREE PREVIEW of the series but probably unnecessary spoiler: it’s the same old eyes-bleeding-from-uninspired-repetition-of-the-routinzed-hetero-normative suck-and-fuck charade.)

Source: letmedothis.com

I’m iffy—at best—when it comes to choking and the whole glory hole fantasy is something I fail to understand (but to each her/his/their own).

All that is fine—what bothers me is removed as this image is any context, all that can be said is that it depicts reasonably rough sex; reasonably rough sex which the viewer must assumes is consensual based upon the mise-en-scene, gestures and expressions. In other words: non-verbal cues.

This is hugely fucking problematic. Consent CANNOT be assumed; it must be verbal, explicit.

But there’s also the fact that as much as the ambiguity surrounding consent in this image makes me uncomfortable; it also really turns me on.

As previously noted, I have a great deal of trouble navigating the boundaries. For example: if someone can touch me without causing me to completely freak the fuck out, then there’s a part of me that sees my body as belonging to her just as much as it does me.

It makes me sound irrevocably fucked in the head but if someone can hug me then if they wanted they could touch me like this too, or circle their hands round my neck as they push my face hard against a wall and who knows what else.

I trust wholly or not at all.

[If anyone happens to know, I am very interested in discovering the identity of whomever made this image.]

Source: tenderandhard

A lot has been going on: I lost my job and my continuing health troubles seem to be worsening again but I was also able to spend a week shooting a commercial with a dear friend– my first substantial production work in half a decade.

As a much needed break from a suicidally punishing production schedule, my friend and I saw Zal Batmanglij and Brit Marling’s The East.

Exclude the preposterous ‘twist’ miring the third act it is one of the best films I’ve seen in a good long while. (Even with it, it’s still damn decent.)

It was entertaining but never comfortable– like want to be held and realizing only after you lover slaps you hard across the face and spitting into your mouth that you needed that for which you were most afraid of asking.

Above is a still from a scene in which members of a vaguely anarchistic group of eco-terrorists plays spin-the-bottle with radically reinterpreted rules that emphasize consent.

I can’t really talk about it without tearing up a little– it’s so effing beautiful. And I wanted it to be my new post. Unfortunately, Tumblr doesn’t play nice with JavaScript embedding, so please accept THIS LINK instead.