Tag: handjob

Sources unknown – Titles Unknown (20XX)

I have mixed feelings about this photoset.

Part of it hinges on inclusivity. Yes, kudos for representing a panoply of sexual behavior–i.e. group sex (something by which I’ve grown increasingly fascinated) circumcised vs. uncircumcised, shaved vs. unshaved and oral/vaginal/anal.

But the problem becomes more glaring because of the inclusion of the lesbian scene. I’m not opposed to spread-so-wide-the-viewer-can-see-the-urethra shots; but I can’t shake the fact that this is essentially a lipstick lesbian scene–like so much of things pertaining to depiction of lesbian culture–played out in a way which appropriates a portion of the spectrum of female sexuality that notably has fuck all to do with men and stages it as yet another location for male pleasure.

I’ve started to draft a modification based upon this set where I replace the lesbian image with this image–because it would fit aesthetically–but also it just seems more legitimately about documenting pleasure than the appropriation of pleasure as aesthetic.

Then I’d also need to add at least one image to combat the stifling heteronormativity–probably something like this.

However, in doing that you lose something of the charm of the photoset–which is probably the entire reason I ever noticed it in the first place.

Excepting the retro looking sixth image from the top there’s something approaching consistency in image quality. I won’t for a second argue that it looks like all the images were made by one person. (There’s at least a hundred reasons that’s not the case.)

Yet, the images do feature–across the board–one of two things: a sort of surrender to extremity of sensation or a loving attention to detail. For example: the way she’s reaching behind her head to stroke his side in the second image, the way the visible top quarter of his member is covered with the sheen of her juices in the third image, the way it she’s trying to catch every last drop in the fourth image, the bracelet on her right hand in the fifth frame, the way she’s trying to do all the things at once in the sixth image, the visible bubbly spit in the seventh image, her tongue, its piercing and her expression in the eighth image and the way the angle of the light accentuates the texture of her skin in the tenth picture.

And I guess what it boils down to is not only that these are all scenes that I think warrant more expansive consideration but I also feel there exactly the sort of stuff that would provide a solid grounding for an examination of how documenting people fucking in explicit and graphic ways is hardly antithetical to Capital-A Art.

Also–the longer I run this blog–the less out-and-out porn I consume. But when I do consume it, I want it to present sex as anything but rote or by the numbers. I’m interesting in consensual experimentation and extremity.

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

Sandra Torralba – [↑] Estranged Sex 4 (2008); [←] Estranged Sex 8 (2009); [→] Estranged Sex 12 (2009); [↓] Estranged Sex 2 (2008)

I love these so effing much I can’t even…

It’s partly the pathos–the simultaneous ravenous curiosity and trepidation that comes along with exploring the boundaries of your sexuality as an adolescent, the libidinal asymmetry that touches all relationship, the fine line between performing your sexuality in public and the need to restrain or privatize the sexual as it pertains to your family and television as active incitement to participate voyeuristically with the sexual performance of strangers.

I’m not quite sure these qualify as capital A Art, the process that goes into making these images is reminiscent of Gregory Crewdson–about whom I make no secrets to the fact that I think his work is heinous excrement not even deserving of inclusion in discussions of lower case a art; but if you spend any time perusing Torralba’s blog, you’ll note that her process is of a decidedly fine art bent.

This is exactly the sort of work I started this blog to showcase and it’s exactly the sort of work I want to be creating as a photographer.

Source: sandratorralba.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

Apollonia Saintclair – The knack (2015)

I love this but for very different reasons that most of the material I’ve posted relating to ejaculation.

I’m usually arguing for the potential of seminal emission as a subject of artistic examination due to it’s visual dynamism. And it’s not that this image isn’t dynamic–jizz jetting 3.5 inches into inky black negative space is always going to be inherently dynamic.

But here that reads as quotidian compared to other incisive details. The lighting is discernibly motivated–presumpably falling from the window in the upper left of frame, haloing the right hand and wrestling highlight detail from the shdows. (The way the hair from his happy trail fades to scattered razor stubble and then to bare skin is lovely.)

But what’s most interesting is the attention to detail. The pinky of the left hand pressed against the skin. Even though there’s no motion it’s clear that the left hand is stroking down, while squeezing tight and the right hand is ascending, clenching tightly over the head of the penis.

Source: apolloniasaintclair

Source unknown – Title Unknown (XXXX)

I’ve mentioned a few times already about my interested in the potential for depicting ejaculation in a fine art context.

A sharp eyed follower pointed out that I was completely off base with my initial post. The shot is underwater. Something I can’t believe I overlooked. (Apologies for the fuck up.)

Usual ejaculation is presented with a slow-ish shutter speed. Something like 1/60 of a second in a video. Maybe slower under poor light for a DSLR still This creates a sense of ejaculation as a continuous stream.

The shutter speed here is much faster–1/2000 of a second or faster would be my guess. Notice how it changes from a single string to something closer to a shotgun-esque discharge. It looks less like liquid and closer to scratches on negatives or smoke.

Further, I’m reasonable sure this isn’t post processed. The tones and shadows would be very difficult to match and you can see the shadows created by globules of semen caught in the strobe.

I think my favorite part of this image is although you can’t tell whether it’s an up or downstroke, her white knuckles and the force she’s exerting are clearly visible.

Source: explicitavalon

Source unknown – Title unknown (200X)

Make no mistake, from the standpoint of technique this image is inexcusably inept as far as execution goes–there’s neither rhyme nor reason to the composition (the slight leftward cant in combination with the proximity of the camera to the wall distracts from the action by emphasizing the visual clutter of the curtains, TV and radiator) and the focus is most likely set to infinity and as such the foreground goes a bit too soft.

For all its fumbling, the image does succeed–if I you can call it that–in several small but notable ways:

  1. It’s firmly grounded in an ephemeral moment, i.e. this couple in this room with a view of the winter landscape through the windows;
  2. Despite the idiocy of the composition, there is a sense of acknowledged and subsequently subverted voyeurism, i.e. it feels less like the couple is photographing themselves and more as if there a several other people in the room watching the events unfold and this image just happened to be snapped by the person closest to the action;
  3. The couple is clearly more interested in what’s happening between them than the fact that they have an audience, i.e. her focus on how the movements of her hand are affecting his arousal, the way he’s touching her shoulder in a manner that is both romantically possessive and simultaneously a plea not to stop what she’s doing to him. (Also, you gotta love the way his ass is clenched and the sloppy grins on both their faces.)

Stanely Stellar – Jerkoff (1977)

It’s mind boggling that the site of this photograph looks like this now.

However, if you didn’t know a bit about Stellar and/or the history of pier 46, there’s nothing to immediately betray the image as anything less than contemporary. (The towel, facial hair and discarded underpants strike me as par for the The Hipster Porn Project-course props.

I have always felt this profound and extremely problematic nostalgia for the NYC circa the late 70’s/early 80s. The grit and desperation. Patti Smith. Swans. But also the AIDS epidemic and a despite being post-Stonewall there was still a prevailing rampant homophobic sentiment.

For me that milieu tries to shift what I think of this image. I say tries because I see it as both brash and dangerous–regardless of where it was shot. But there’s also a beautiful openness to it. And I don’t care whether or not you see me, this is who I am. (I’m someone who always views radical honesty as worth whatever risks comes with it.)

And as much progress as has been made–not that the work is by any means complete–I do feel a heavy despair knowing that living in the city these days means there’s little (if any chance) I’ll ever encountered this sort of open display of sexuality in public but I’m accosted by Justin fucking Bieber’s Calvin Klein wrapped package on the side of every fifth bus and bus stop enclosure.

I can’t help but think of Iranian poet Ahmad Shamloo. In the same year, Stellar made this image, Shamloo left Iran to protest the Shah’s regime. He traveled around the US lecturing at various colleges.

I’m not sure if it’s apocryphal but apparently a number of people were rather surprised when he chose to return to Iran. On being asked why he claimed that at least in Iran the mechanism of state control and oppression were clearly visible. He said that the reason America worked is because they had grown so adept at hiding the very same mechanism.

(As an aside: I can’t help making a rather obvious correlation between this image and Stranger by the Lake– it’s streaming on Netflix, you have no excuse. It doesn’t escape my notice that Stellar is essentially filling the role of the skeevy guy who stands around awkwardly masturbating while folks he’s attracted to hook up.)

Source: raveneuse

Source unknown – Title Unknown (201X)

The videography on this is utter shite–(Jerry Seinfeld voice) I mean: what is the deal with that corner where the walls meet? Is this a demonstration of every degree angle between 85 and 100 that isn’t 90?

But this isn’t about the videography. It’s not even about the ejaculation, it’s the way he’s trying so hard to hold back and then just begins to writhe due to the stimulation overload of his orgasmic response.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a double-fisted hand job before and I’d wager this is from a gay porn source.

The thing that I wonder–and if you aren’t in to TMI, you can skip this part: I really don’t know why after the initial spurt, the hand job provider ceases to stimulate the glans/corona. Yes, both become SUPER SENSITIVE after ejaculation; but, where I come from heightened sensitivity is just another part of the total experience. And can, in the right hands, be used employed to transcendent effect.

For instance if it had been me on the receiving end, I’d have wanted at least this in addition if not something a little more.

(via mullets-make-me-moist–whose blog is really just fucking fantastic.)

Source unknown – Title Unknown (198X)

I consider it a damn shame that I can’t trace exact attribution for this image. All I know is that it seems to have been a popular set shot in Russia circa the 1980s.

Its #skinnyframebullshit is so egregious it’s laughable. However, setting that point aside this and the rest of the images from the aforementioned set are disarmingly charming.

I love how he’s naked and she’s clothed. Her exposed labia are a little too dimly lit to comply with porn expectations–instead I read it as reading as the boy going down on her prior to the scene in the above image (which appears to be supported by the set).

I love how he’s stroking her hair and her visual preoccupation to the proceedings in the majority of photos from the set.

Taken together the set suggests a curiosity the mirrors the rapt, passionate explorations of the couples. Nothing about it feels staged, artificial or contrived.