Tag: gif exception

[Source: REDACTED] – Title Unknown (201X)

I’m less than convinced posting this isn’t an ill-advised misstep: it’s irredeemably pornographic. produced by a pay-porn site whose ethos aren’t exactly in line with my own (or this blog) and it’s desaturated from the original (an marked improvement, actually).

Also, I am sure if I bothered to watch the video of which this is a part, odds are I would be repulsed.

Yet, this scratches entirely too many itches I’m feeling right now for any decision to exclude it not to smack of a certain degree of dis-ingenuousness. 

Frankly:  it really fucking turns me on.

Why?

I’ve noted previously my affection for and belief in the artistic potential in the visual dynamism of the ejaculatory act.

And although I am not every going to be first in line on ass play day, depictions of pegging appeal to me insofar as they implicitly flip the gender stereotypical, heteronormative script.

From what is glimpsed in this two second clip, my guess is this video flips the scripts but then amplifies the staged physical and verbal abuse to a level that would result in castigation were the gender roles not so clearly inverted.

What gets me about this clip–and I think it would’ve been enhanced in a wider shot–are the muscle tremors playing over his stomach. After all, he’s been brought to orgasm with an enormous dildo compressing his prostrate. His ability to exercise autonomous control over his body is effectively short-circuited; he is completely at the mercy of his partners.

It’s that feeling of being at the mercy of someone I trust completely is what I miss most about sex. Being pushed up against a wall and told in a whisper almost too soft to hear: you’re boundaries are bullshit. If you say ‘no’, I’ll stop. But you won’t say ‘no’.

And my desire to share that experience–to know the give and take of mutual needing–makes me thing this isn’t a two second clip but a much longer one. Where the woman continues to stimulate the man, reminding him there’s no such thing as too sensitive

Source: Unknown

As far as terms go: ‘fisting’ is problematic.

It’s used because well, duh it’s hell of effective–immediately obliterating any ambiguity regarding its meaning.

Yet, with ‘fist’ routinely associated with  the context of ‘fighting’, ‘fisting’ arrives on the scene back filled with at least an implicit connection to violence.

In keeping with this fisting depictions tend to emphasize the extremity and violence of the act. I don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum–if someone wants to have violent sex with (a) consenting partner(s), I support them. But to me, fisting has less to do with extremity and violence than trust and intimacy–again not that those things are in any way mutually exclusive.

…

She lay face down on the bed in my dorm room. I sat beside her, two fingers to stimulating her g-spot.

Shimmering pre-orgasmic tremors curled my fingers slightly and  I began to twist my wrists side-to-side.

More. Her voice strangled and husky.

I introduced my right ring finger. Letting it gently plumb her wetness, her warm depth.

I teased her clitoris with my thumb for a moment before corkscrewing my fingers in her again, Her body began to tense.

With both hands she reached back, grabbing my arms: more.

Four fingers; More.

Quick–like dropping a heavy rock into thick mud, my hand was consumed up to the second joint of my thumb.

Are you okay? I asked.

She nodded, pressing my pillow around her face with both hands–a muffled: don’t stop.

I met resistance, pushed into it until little by little the widest part of my hand disappeared.

Her breathe–short, sharp gasps sending shimmering contractions racing along the musculature of her back and thighs

Instinctively, I licked the finger tip and gently massage her clitoris with my left hand. A long, atonal moan stretched itself out from her throat into the room. I twisted my hand so the first knuckle of my thumb moved over her g-spot.

Her moan stuttered and caught in her throat; my hand was suddenly immobilized and then shimmering spasms cascaded in waves.

Source: assboobstits

Source Unknown

The customary context for depicting ejaculation–i.e. the pornographic money shot–thoroughly pisses me off.

What upsets me is not so much behavior–any goings on between consenting parties are awesome my book–it’s the ubiquity of the presentation.

(Cindy Gallop’s TEDTak outlines the trouble with such ubiquity better than I can.)

Beyond that, the fact that the woman is expected to wait passively, looking up, making eye contact with her lover–getting semen in your eyes is worse than nosing tequila, FYI. If she really wants cum all over her face, why can’t she exercise some agency and lend a hand. 

Bringing me to the other thing–and I can only speak from my own experience here–but the best self-induced orgasm ever is only marginally better than the shabbiest orgasm contributed by a lover. Why drive cross country in a Maserati only to stop and walk the last furlong to the driveway of the destination?

Lastly, the act of ejaculation–when there’s some force behind it, is both really fucking visceral and with the projectile trajectory taking on endlessly fascinating, liquified globular forms, goddamn visually dynamic.

My own failed efforts not withstanding, I am obsessively convinced of the possibility of depicting ejaculation in ‘fine art’ context.

This .gif is equally a failure In terms of artfulness. But from the standpoint of pornography, it’s an interesting a departure.

Not to mention as far as cum shots go, the distance and arc are not only impressive but also quite lovely.

Clips from the first part of this scene can be seen on XVideo.

***

My first instructor in film school was a regal woman of Indian sub-continental extraction. On the first day while I second guessed all the decisions that had brought me there, she went around the room, greeting everyone by name with a Namaste + a bow; she explained it meant the spark in me acknowledges the spark in you.

***

About a month ago, an acquaintance/friend was chatting with me. We had been talking about a number of superficial things when the topic suddenly shifted to childhood trauma. I had to figure out ways to deal with [the] darkness, and they were definitely not healthy, she said.

***

When I was eight I was preoccupied with black holes. They intrigued me because light could not escape them.

I wondered if one could focus darkness in the same manner as a flashlight focused light + and the respective beams were pointed directly into each other which would win out?

***

Why isn’t there a word for the darkness in me will not turn away from the darkness in you?

There is but it is not a word. I speak it with lips, with tongues + touch. And while I speak everything is dew wet—new and true.

***

This darkness in me stares into the darkness in you.

Source: collection-nu

I find this both—and in equal measure—problematic and arousing.

First, it’s troubling that the scene is presented devoid of context. This could be consensual BDSM play or torture porn.

A part of me assumes, instinctively—given the extremity of the actions depicted, the implication of the scissor clamps dangling from her right nipple as well as the fact that the scene was documented and is now circulating the Tumblr-verse—consent was sought and explicit verbal affirmation given.

My concern is that no one should ever assume anything when it comes to consent.

Thus, a relationship is established between the clip and its audience wherein the predispositions and desires fill in the blanks. In other words: someone like myself—who holds consent as the minimum requirement for sexual expressions—chooses to trust that this shares my ideals. Whereas, another individual looking for torture porn, trusts that there is no need for any suspension of disbelief.

This everything-to-everyone tact bothers me even more than the assumptions with regard to consent; however, it also sheds some light on what turns me on.

I am not really into BDSM although lately I have been posting a good bit of it. I think that has to do with the fact that I sort of have this running argument in my head about which presents first: consent or trust.

And while I cannot dismiss the fact that the thing I like most about sexually explicit imagery is seeing people surrender to whatever they need to get themselves off, what gets me about this image is that it insists that I trust it even though trusting it makes me more than a little uncomfortable, what makes the fluttering rise and fall of her chest as pliers twist her nipple a full 180 degrees clockwise.