Tag: erection

Tor Larsson – Fifteen 15 (1974)

I have no idea what the story is with with these images. (I very much want to know more/everything about them–so if you know anything, please share.)

I have half a mind to use them a prophylaxis against Clark and McGinley’s youth and beauty. And, I mean–yes, the above photograph is #skinnyframebullshit and not especially technically accomplished, but, at least, it embraces what it’s ostensibly about contrasted with Clark and McGinley’s constant equivocation. It’s like I always feel with maybe not as much Clark but McGinley feels like this sort of fragile fairy tale that will wilt or collapse under too much scrutiny.

I mean… maybe it’s just me–after all I was raised in an insanely regressive Evangelical environment but the stories my non-Xtian friends tell about discovering their sexuality are a great deal less curated.

Everything about this feels if not authentic then perhaps at least grounded. There’s a playfulness that serves as a sort of lubricant against what would otherwise been an arousal killing gravitas. I love the way that her sticking her tongue out conveys both a mugging for the camera–which actually de-emphasizes the way her legs are spread for the camera to get an unobstructed view of her vulva; but it also teases the implication of oral sex. (Also, I really dig that you can see the reflection of the edge of the tub in her hippie glasses.)

I don’t know. Unlike Mcginley, these resonate with me not because of some sort of false nostalgia–a wish for an experience so rarefied it might as well not exist. Instead, it reminds me of dear friends who have told me about how your best friend was someone who not only knew you masturbated but would lay side by side without under the covers masturbating, racing to see which of you would orgasm first. (Contrary to my own experience where sex was dirty and solely for the purpose of procreation.)

Also, I really–in a way I cannot clearly articulate–respond to the woman in the shorts and shirt. The way she’s participating in the intimacy but not the physicality.

Source: oldalbum

Source unknown – Title Unknown (201X)

Another thing I don’t like about most porn is that even when they don’t cut to extreme close-ups of what’s going on at the site of various erogenous zones, they position the camera in such a way as to maximize the unobstructed view. It always feels annoyingly gratuitous. (I’m probably an anomaly but I am far FAR more likely to masturbate along to something like say this than this.)

Although I’m really not into the down tilt in this and how it renders the verticals diagonal instead of straight up and down. I don’t feel the angle was chosen to provide a titillating view of the one participants genitals and anus. Instead the view seems chosen to convey the most coherent information about both the space and what is happening within the space. The explicit nudity just happens to be a bonus.

Source: refer.ccbill.com

Source unknown – Title Unknown (201X)

I guess this technically qualifies as post-orgasm torture.

I’m not super fond of the term. It’s not that I object to so-aggressive-it-could-be-deemed-brutal stimulation after orgasm–it can be a damn near transcendent experience.

This is less vigorous, more focused stimulation which acknowledges the fact that after the initial forceful spasms of pleasure, the genitals become hyper-sensitive. The body is hard wired to interpret continued stimulation as pain even though it’s not.

The way I describe it is image a medium sized river with levees on either side to handle flood tides. Orgasm swells the river to it’s edges. Continued stimulation causes the water to rise over the banks and fill the levee. Too much pleasure, at first, is experienced like pain. But it’s not. And if you don’t always have to be in control and trust your partner(s), you can let go and drift in the waves of something unspeakably blissful.

For example: in that last frame, those shaking legs and abdominal contractions are completely involuntary. If you’ve ever experienced that feeling, you’ll understand why I’m obsessed with it. It’s amazing and I crave it.

Alas, just as being tickled isn’t something you can do to yourself, this is the same. And I remain broken and irrevocably unwanted and alone.

I guess at least I can experience a fleeting tinge of it via this gif set.

Source: homobeing

Mihail Nekrasov – Title Unknown (201X)

The strong right to left key light illumination and the desaturation gives this image an arty pretense.

The composition, however, does not hold up under scrutiny. There appears to be no regard for form or logical arrangement of positive/negative space–it’s a left hand, a right hand and a phallus disembodied and floating in a void.

In other words, the impetus for this image is the gesture. Yet, since gesture consists at least partly of considerations with regard to observation of form, the image ends up establishing a criteria for conceptual success it subsequently ignores in execution.

Ultimately, it’s sloppy image making.

However, I am grudgingly willing to acknowledge that it does at the least nudge my thinking in an unexpected direction; namely, the fact that in utero all fetuses are gender neutral for the first two or so months. It’s the presence/absence/mitigating levels of dihydrotestosterone which determines whether the fetus’ genitals develop into a penis, vulva or remain indeterminate.

Society makes a really fucking big deal about gender distinctions along anatomical lines. And while, yes, the anatomy looks different. The underlying structures and functionality are not actually that different.

Source: dommetoy

Source unknown – Title Unknown (19XX)

I could comment on this isn’t necessarily a good picture but at least the depth of field softejs in both the foreground and background.But mostly I have been sleeping like shit for the last week and am not exactly in a frame of mind conducive to critical/analytical writing. So I’m just leaving this here because I think it’s hot as fuck.

Source unknown – Title Unknown (20XX)

The way I feel about the Marquis de Sade is not unlike how I feel about hentai–downright irresponsible in its extremity but at the same time relevant and necessary due to its radical openness to a dizzying spectrum of non-traditional experiences.

It’s like that infamous Terrence quote: homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto, or for the non-Latin kids: I am human, and nothing of that which is human is alien to me.

Sure, that doesn’t go along way to explain tentacle sex, and I’m not going to start going out of my way to become familiar with hentai but I do feel that there’s a virtue to obsessively cataloging depravity in all it’s shapes and forms.

Yes, it’s easy to see that sort of thing as a checklist or map–a curriculum for sexual deviance. But, two counterpoints: if so, why bother–I mean isn’t the fun of it at least partly in the novelty? And, those who insufferably follow maps and extant formulas obsessively, lacks the proper imagination to truly embrace depravity.

I feel like–at its best–hentai manages to invent simple, straightforward means of depicting expressions of sexuality that are like nothing I’ve ever seen before and also vaguely synesthetic. For example, looking at this it’s almost as if I can feel it as if I were there.

Unfff.

Joymii – What a Ride featuring Josephine and Den (2015)

There are a raft of reasons I ought not be posting this:

  • I am suspicious–at best–of close-ups (let alone extreme close-ups such as this)
  • It’s heteronormative in a way which really goddamned irks me
  • The above image has been cropped from the original (which I would’ve posted if it didn’t feature an intensely intrusive, dumb watermark).

All that BS aside, there is something not if not exactly substantive then I guess ‘considered’ about this. I don’t mean the polished gloss of it–although it certain supersedes that of quotidian porn.

What catches my eye is the extremely shallow depth of field–which allows both out of focus bits in the foreground and background.

Image makers are frequently obsessed with the flattering effects of so-called bokeh to isolate and emphasize the subject of the composition. But bokeh centers on rendering the background out of focus. Out of focus elements in the both the fore- and back- ground is more commonly associated with cinema–where due to the scene playing out of thousands of frames shifting focus can be used to guide who or what within the frame the audience is supposed to attend to. (I’ve written about this before.)

In the above image the point of sharpest focus draws attention to the act of genital penetration. In this crop, the action still manages to be ever-so-slightly off-center. No matter how pretty the soft focus, the image would’ve crumbled given knee-jerk dead center placement.

What’s interesting is in the uncropped version, everything shifts left and down. It’s a better frame by miles but I don’t think I’d have necessarily realized what I have about the image and why it appeals to me without comparing the crop and the original–although not strictly compliant, there are absolutely points of correlation with the composition and the Golden Ratio. (I recommend opening the diagram and the original side by side.)

Source: btgated

Peter Hujar – Bruce de Sainte Croix Triptych (1976)

The central image here served as my introduction to Hujar’s work. (I posted about it 2.5 years ago–misattributing the subject and excerpting just the one image from the grouping.) But, I recently discovered that I was familiar with another of his photos well ahead of that–probably the photo most commonly associated with Susan Sontag was made by him.)

I keep coming back to his work, though. I guess the reason I do is due to his patently even handed approach to all subjects. From portraiture, to landscapes to erotica, he invariably affords his subjects a calm dignity which more often than not edges over into a flash of stubborn pride.

As if in the mid-to-late 70s and big bad eighties in Manhattan with the specter of HIV and AIDS stalking the gay community, there was a camaraderie and joie de vivre that you just don’t really ever see. (And to be clear, I have no intention of romanticizing. It just strikes me that the romanticization of much of the work emanating from the downtown scene possesses an openness an candor that was bred as a result of surviving, the creation of which was clear eyed and unpretentious and for those who didn’t live through those years in that climate read as charmed in a way that was never intended by the creators.)

His tone and frank presentation of ‘high’ and ‘low’ subject matter with the same, quietly incisive approach are things I would very much like to achieve in my own work.

Source: peterhujararchive.com

Source unknown – Title unknown (20XX)

When ever someone tells me: you write well. I always kind of look around with an expression like: I do?

It’s not that my grammar is atrocious–I made it through to my senior year in high school without ever being taught anything about the mechanics of writing. (My senior AP English teacher tried but eventually gave up and instead taught me how to hear something wrong in a sentence–which doesn’t really help as I am too impatient too go back and read 90% of what I write out loud after I finish it.)

But, writing is actually a painful process for me. I don’t particularly care for it but my soul demands it. What finds its way out onto the paper is usually such a poor approximation of the thoughts I struggle to fit to words.

The reason I mention all this is because for all my awkwardness and social phobias, I’m more comfortable with gestures–specifically using touch as a means of bridging the gaps between words and thought.

A hand placed on an arm in an unpremeditated way can have the effect that stylists will tell you saying the name of the person to whom you are writing can have in fomenting intimacy.

A hug can been domineering, as a means of trying to draw someone out of an emotional morass, and (counter-intuitively) a way of giving yourself permission to let go of someone.

Meeting others who speak this language of–for lack of a better term–gestures, is rare. They are always fighting to convey something of the immense silences of being a person who has lost full access to their first language and instead always fumbles for the almost right words in a faulty second tongue.

I love this .gif because of the way his lips twist at the most sensitive spot. The way the coating of saliva on the cock glistens. But most of all I have the way the stroking hand says all at once: “what you are doing to me feels divine” and “your skin is beautiful and soft” and “every part of you belongs to me”.

:::shivers:::