Tag: handjob

Ida Oppen – Pale Afternoon from The Wicked Innocent series (201X)

Ida Oppen is an early twenty-something freelance image maker hailing from the suburbs of Oslo.

Her work transcends the perfunctory reproaches I customarily present. Honestly, I am profoundly impressed with her sophisticated compositions, precocious attention to scale and use of color.

Thus, the bifurcation into two mutually exclusive bodies of work–the editorial/‘fine art’ and the sexually explicit–really fucking baffles me.

From the standpoint of commerical viability, this is understandable: ‘professional’ clients are unlikely to appreciate graphic presentations of genitalia, intercourse and sexual effluvia.

What fails to track is the degree to which Oppen’s approach varies between disparate oeuvres.

The painstaking craft of the editorial work loosens in favor of a grittier immediacy. Not that craft is by any means lacking–pay attention to the precision of the framing (especially in the multiple image assemblages reminiscent of analog contact sheets), the manufactured multiple exposures and the–admittedly less astute–digital chromatic interventions.

Oppen admits this is what she’s after in her artist’s statement for The Wicked Innocent series. And there really isn’t much room for argument. She knows what she’s doing as well as how it is going to be read by an audience.

But as a member of that ostensible audience I would like to be pushed outside of my comfort zone and confronted a little more directly. Honestly, I mean that less as a criticism and more as a misguided compliment because although I know Oppen does not conceptualize this work as pornography, it offers me everything I look for–but rarely find–there. It’s partly that there seems to be a great deal of overlap between the kinds of sex with which Oppen is preoccupied and my own interests. But that is only intensified by the fact that vulnerability and trust factor so prominently into the process of making the images.

Viewing the work there is an unshakeable sense that the openness is equally if not more arousing than that which is explicitly depicted; the feeling that I am seeing what I am seeing not because there’s any expectation that it will turn me on but that it is a record of what gets someone else overwhelmingly aroused.

Source: Unknown

As best as I can tell, this image was originally from one of three different photo shoots featuring this couple.

It was probably commissioned by one of those dime-a-dozen paid membership amateur porn sites who tout the ability to download unedited photo sets as a selling point.

A certain Motherless user–who I am not going to even bother identifying–shunted the images over to his account on Halloween 2012.

From there, a Serbian tech geek added all three sets to his lo-fi website.

I spent about an hour and a half browsing through them the other day–that time may or may not have featured two self-love sessions–and although they aren’t what I would call ‘good’–heteronormative sex doesn’t really do much for me–there are some things I appreciate:

  • The boy at least seems somewhat mindful that the staging of the scene is runs counter to his partner’s needs–even if he doesn’t really go to any great lengths to compensate for it;
  • The money shot in every set avoids the ubiquitous porn facial that I so hate; she brings him to orgasm via fellatio, letting just a little bit of his semen dribble between her lips to visually signal ejaculation;
  • There are some awkward and poorly planned shots but they come off as strangely sincere and maybe even awkwardly endearing.

Maybe a handful of the images make for pretty decent photography–this is probably the best of the bunch and marginally not #skinnyframebullshit to boot.

The image I’ve posted is not the best-the tile seam between their heads is distracting and emphasizes the frames questionable compositional logic.

What I like are the nuances in their interaction. Her along with her face is flushed; the fringe of her hair, damp. Due to her position, her center of gravity–three inches below her navel–in under his body; her shoulder is turned in to his body.

The way her right hand is holding him is not conducive to anything greater than a teasing level of stimulation. This combined with the way she is cradling his testicles conveys a profound sense of bodily acceptance but also simultaneously proclaims you are mine and I will do what I want to you; you can’t stop me and you are completely safe in this space.

The way he is reaching towards her, kissing her with unfeigned, intoxicated passion is lovely.

The nakedness of the wanting and being wanted is always something I find incomparable erotic. 

Source: 91.210.216.1

Source: Unknown (Earliest post)

Whoa. Fuck me, why isn’t this a video?

There’s a veritable treasure trove of dynamic visual potential what with the driver nearing a point when he will ejaculate onto his shirt and abdomen with his friend following suit shortly thereafter. Add to that the transgressive bonus points of being in a car and therefore implicitly in public gives the proceedings a deliciously transgressive charge.

Moreover, as a video I would be less likely to note to notice the personally triggering asymmetry between the passenger’s attention to the giving of pleasure and driver’s focus on receiving it.

…

When I was five, my military family relocated to the South Pacific. Up to that point, I had lived a relatively insular life so it really wasn’t quite the shock one might have expected.

With my father traveling around the Pacific Rim for months at time, my mother became increasingly dependent upon her membership in the Seventh-day Adventist church–especially the pastor’s family.

They had two children. Ellie was four year’s older than me, Will, a year and a half.

Will had blond hair, blue eyes and a deep tan. He could ride a bike without training wheels or a helmet, collected Smurf figurines and was the most worldly kid I had ever met. He was my first ‘friend’.

In hindsight, Will was a little off. He was secretive, volatile and detached. Of course, all that registered to me was his mom would more or less let us watch cartoons whenever we wanted.

On day, Will said we were going to play ‘Butt Work’. I didn’t know what that was but he said he’d show me. He spread a blanket on the floor of the closet and told me to lay down on it. I did.

Now take your pants off. I did.

I was embarrassed. Will slid the closet door closed. I wiggled out of my underwear.

Spread your legs. I did.

There was a click and a flash of light. I realized Will had his Spiderman flashlight. I the fingers of his left hand spread me. I fidgeted.

Hold still.

After what seemed like forever, Will extinguished the flashlight.

My turn. I scooted to the side and before I could get my underwear and shorts back on was laying naked from the waist down with his legs spread. I tried to replicate what he did to me but I didn’t understand what I was doing.

After a second or two he angrily took the flashlight from me. You don’t know how to do it, right. He grabbed his shorts and slipped out of the closet.

…

The second time Will suggested we play ‘Butt Work’, I had an erection before I could even get my underwear off. I couldn’t lay down on the ground and Will was cross with me.

…

The third and all subsequent times, when Will wanted to play ‘Butt Work’ he would shove his hand down the front of my pants and push my penis down between my legs until I was laying flat on the ground.

It wasn’t traumatic and it didn’t really bother me. Even when things progressed from spread my ass and eying anus to blowing a stream of exhaled breath onto it. This led to him using small twigs to tickle me. I didn’t necessarily like what was happening but I enjoyed the attention even if I didn’t understand what he got out of it, it was clear that he was deeply invested in the proceedings.

He never again let me try to do what he did to me to him though.

…

I can’t remember the first time he penetrated me with his finger. I did not like it but the attention he gave me afterwards was so much more focused, seemingly sincere.

…

One afternoon, Will and I had been playing hide and seek for most of the morning around my house. My father had come out and was mowing the lawn. We’d made a game of trying to sneak up on him but since he always knew we we’re coming after him the game lost it’s appeal.

I found this centipede in the gutter adjacent to my house. Centipede’s were a fairly regular siting but this one was easily four times the size of the one’s I was accustomed to seeing. I called Will and predictably, he began to poke it with a stick trying to knock it off the grate into the drain.

Or at least that’s what I thought we was doing. Instead, he managed to hook it onto the end of the stick and thrust it towards my face. I freaked out and ran but I made it maybe three strides before I was suddenly flat on the grass and dazed.

Will had tripped me. I heard the lawnmower. Will was on top of me. the lawnmower droned closer. Will pulled my shorts down around my knees and shoved his finger into me up to his second knuckle. He wiggled his finger up-and-down rapidly.

The lawnmower stopped. There was a shuffling sound and then Will wasn’t on top of me. He was sprawled three feet away.

My father put me on my feet. Roughly dragging my pants up. Hurting me. Red faced and screaming. The gist of it was what is going on, what are you perverts doing, I’m going to call your parents. Go home. I don’t ever want to see you again.

…

I didn’t understand what had happened/what was happening.

Inside the house–with the lawn left half mowed–the interrogation began. I wasn’t especially ashamed and I certainly wasn’t traumatized but I knew that to be truthful about all the specifics would be a very bad idea. I explained merely that it was a game. I refused to admit it had a name or detail the specifics.

Looking back, I realize my parents thought I was gay and they figured this was an early manifestation that they needed to discipline/scare out of me. My punishment was being grounded for three months; I would go without dinner every evening during that same time and since Xmas fell during it, festivities such as presents, stockings and the like were categorically cancelled for me.

…

As a form of protest, every night while my family ate I laid under the Xmas tree. My mother has always had this stupid fixation with the ‘country’ craft aesthetic and instead of bulbs the tree was festooned with red glazed plastic apples. I would sit with them bobbing directly above my face.

Generally, there would be some comment along the lines of me using the time productively to meditate on what I had done wrong.

Instead, I imagined the apples were real. Imagined how they might taste, if I could just reach up, pluck one and bite into it. I didn’t feel like I’d done anything wrong. And more than once the apple motif made me wonder if maybe this is how Eve felt.

cute*blue – Bubblegum Lovers (2013)

I really, really, really, really, really like this a lot.

I am not really into ass play– for reasons. But I do try to take a don’t knock it till you try it/don’t try it till you knock it take when it comes to sex.

This is maybe the first thing I have ever seen that has made me crave switching places with these folks.

The reason for that shift is probably due to the real and meaningful communication. I loathe the the masculine assertive, i.e. take that dick and the feminine receptive, i.e. fuck me, fuck me, fuck me tropes.

And most of the imagery I see depicting pegging does little more than flip the same old gendered script. Major turn off.

But the way this shows these partners checking in with each other is really, really, really, really, really hot.

Source: cute-blue

Source: Unknown

This is not an objectively ‘good’ image. Overexposure leaches color from an already truncated palate; while the framing–presumably orchestrated to preserve anonymity is painfully awkward. (Scooting the camera back as little as two inches and squaring the level would have done wonders.)

Still to my eye there is something magical here–although I am not entirely sure how to explain my meaning.

It seems–in my head, at least–more of a still from an amateur sex tape than a discrete image; I keep imagining how things will proceed from here.

Not knowing the source, it seems inappropriate to project my own sexual predilections onto an image that has fuck all to do with me, instead of reading and interpreting things at face value.

Here’s somethings things that grab my attention:

  • Both are smiling in playfully curious/knowingly smirking way,
  • He is laid out, open and on display while she is more curled into herself,
  • His pubic hair is carefully trimmed,
  • Her red lacquered nails draw attention to the slightest bit of motion blur, suggesting teasing strokes,
  • Her hair is a mess, having what could be a either bed head or post-coital, shower wet hair that has dried unevenly over the course or further lovemaking sessions,
  • And, she’s wearing what may well be a wedding ring.

All of it taken together suggests to me the crucial distinction between the taking of pleasure and the receipt of it. One is a central tenet, the prerogative of patriarchy; the other: demands a willingness to surrender, to become vulnerable, to let go and in letting go, letting another.

Misattributed source; proper attribution sought (The furthest I can trace it is TinEye’s entry–dated January 11, 2011 on a now defunct Tumblr.)

Sometime before the October Revolution, filmmaker Lem Kuleshov made a short film. The film consisted of the same shot of Ivan Mousjoukine wearing a blank look interspersed with footage of a bowl of soup, a child in a coffin and a woman splayed on a couch.

Despite there being no difference in the footage of Mousjoukine, the audience was extremely impressed with the depth of his craft–feeling that he was hungry when he saw the soup, grief stricken upon seeing the dead child and highly desirous of the reclining woman.

Today, film studies peeps refer to this projection of the audiences feelings in response to an image onto an actor/surrogate as the Kuleshov Effect.

(I argue this interpretation stops short: that which precedes informs with regard to the nature of the seeing, what follows contextualizes what has preceded.)

In other words: my experiences/prejudices not only color but dictate to a great extent what I see.

For example: one person may read the above as a trite riff on fashion photography voyeurism, giving the finger to prevailing tendencies for female-bodied folk to be openly arranged and displayed.

Someone else could claim it has D/s overtones.

Still another might be triggered due to similarities between the depiction and memories of past abuse.

What I see ties into the emerging trend of referring to physical intimacy as ‘sharing’ your body. To the extent that this phrase functions as sharing something neither party can own, I find it conceptually fulfilling. When it comes across as this is my toy and I am only letting you use out of my heart’s boundless kindness, I begin to have problems.

To me, this toes the line from the side I endorse.

What do you see?

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.

Source Unknown

The composition here is certainly not The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp; but at least it’s thoughtful enough to present a legible staging: 16 seemingly male-bodied persons in 4 groups–3 threesomes & 2 couplings.

There are:

  • 4 instances of fellatio
  • 2 handjobs
  • 1 soixante-neuf situation, and
  • 1 occasion of anal penetration.

It is unclear what the gent whose stroked erection marks the center of the frame is doing with his hands between his two attendants legs. (Cradling their testicles? Fingering their asses?)

And I can’t help thinking that the photographer must have had some decent art historical chops due to the pose of the fellow who is licking the reclining gent in the white shirt’s scrotum, is too much like Velázquez’s Rokeby Venus to be accidental.

Further this isn’t the worst example of the whole proximity/participation thing I am always kvetching about w/r/t close-ups.

Yes, the camera hung back to front load explicit content into the frame. But that’s probably less due to an aesthetic concern than a a necessity borne of limitation– i.e. scarcity of equipment/skill required for its operation.

Take a minute to consider each of the 4 groups independent of the others–again the composition makes this fairly easy to accomplish. What would close-up really add? Reducing the totality to a metonymy of explicit action. Does that add anything? Does seeing the sheen of saliva on an stiff cock bestow some kind of hyper-real synesthetic sensory stimuli?

Whereas in a wider shot bodies not only move in relation to each other, they retain evidence of being ground in their particular form of life.

girlonboy:

GIRL ON BOY: Pegging – Anilingus – Fingering » Follow

This GIF reminds me of Johanna, the daughter of one of my mother’s church friends who, in hindsight, was almost certainly sexually abused throughout her childhood.

At six, Johanna was a pretty and knew it. Around adults she adopted an affected shyness. One-on-one she was not unfriendly as long as you did exactly what she said. If you didn’t, she could be viciously mean..

I was a year older and not especially friendly with her. But kids make all kinds of alliances against boredom and it didn’t hurt that Johanna wanted to undertake something illicit. 

She explained to me that although her mother had forbidden it, she wanted to rebuild her Fort.

The Fort, it turned out, was a sort of tent. It had a house shaped frame formed from interconnecting black plastic rods. Said rods needed to be smuggled from her upstairs bedroom through the living room crowded with adults and downstairs into the sun drenched rec room.

It took an hour or so to erect the frame and fit the nylon skin tattooed to resemble an idyllic suburban house over it. 

Johanna told me that we were going to play house. She was the dad and had to go to work; I was the mom and she expected me to clean the house and have dinner ready when she got home. 

She marched off upstairs; I opened the zippered front door and went into the house– inside it was too small for me to stand up all the way. 

Johanna came in behind me and asked why dinner wasn’t ready. I said I hadn’t expected her so early.

She demanded that I come outside with her. Standing beside the Fort she told me she was going to punish me and pulled down my underwear. I tried to pull them up with both hands but she seemed to have expected this and fondled me. Her touch was clumsy; it made my insides feel strange.

She shimmied the waist of her own underwear down and told me to touch her between her legs

She guided my hand and fingers, pressing her body roughly into mine as she explored me with increasing insistence.

I started to feel like I was melting before I remembered how to move, pushed her away and ran upstairs.

…

Five years later, I was waiting for my mom to finish with a church elder’s meeting when Johanna shoved me into the men’s room. Inside, she quickly checked the shower area and stalls before menacing me with the chrome blade of a Swiss army knife. She pushed me back against the wall and pushed metal edge against my throat. 

I will kill you unless you stick your tongue in my ass.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t scared or worried for my safety. What upset me was having no notion whatsoever of what she really wanted.

Before anything more could happen, my brother walked in on us. Johanna brandishing the knife and charged at him. He sidestepped and she spun, pointing the tip of the blade at each of us, threatening grievous bodily harm if we told anyone then disappearing into the hallway.

…

What happened between us failed to traumatize me. And I bear her no ill will. All she did was tell me to do something when asking would have worked– Johanna was not unattractive and in spite of my deep reservations with regard to anilingus, it’s likely I would have complied.)

I haven’t thought of her in more than a decade. And seeing this GIF my first thought was not to immediate flashback to the aforementioned incidents. I started off thinking about how there are two types of BDSM imagery: those pathologically preoccupied with power dynamics and those focused on the role trust plays in transgressing bodily boundaries. I categorically dislike the former; the latter tend to really get under my skin because I cannot help attributing metaphorical significance to them.

I know I am not normal but when I trust someone it’s not that I expect them to want to tie me up and do whatever they want with my body as much as I just would have no qualms whatsoever if they did. I sincerely feel my trust entitles them to places just as much of a claim on my body as I do. It is as if through friendship I am already completely naked, restrained and at the mercy of another–much like this boy.

It occurs to me that Johanna probably shared this feeling of base nakedness, The difference lay in her willingness to strip others to level the field.

I do not accept such wonton disregard for consent. At the same time, I don’t comprehend why it would ever not be okay to ask for something as long as it is okay to decline.

You’d think most people’s curiosity about the bodied-ness of others would thrill at such openness. Most leave you restrained and walk away. A few will willingly touch you, even fewer will admit they want you to touch them the way you want to be touched and maybe once in a lifetime someone will summon from you a certain degree of the grace which transcends mercy.

Source: fistmehard