Tag: masturbation

the-secretpervert – submission to porn4ladies (2014)

Although these lack fully differentiated tonal range and the content/ composition announces them as cockshotus vulgaris, there is at least something charming about them.

I am probably being disingenuous–it being unwise to project the subconscious internal on the manifest external and label the result: interpretation–but this reminds me of Peter Hujar’s breathtaking portrait of David Wojnarowicz.

Whether or not that free associative jump stands up under interrogation, I think the common denominator–both depict male bodied individuals masturbating–is applicable here.

Adding masturbation by no means ameliorates concerns over presumptive entitlement associated with male-bodied exhibitionism but in this case the image reads less like look-at-what-I’m-doing-doesn’t-it-make-you-horny and more what-I’m-doing-makes-me-horny-and-I’m-curious-as-to-the-visual-mechanics-of-the-action.

Interestingly enough that does actually lead right up to what attracts me to these images: a very dear friend once confessed to me that although she masturbated frequently, she had only ever made herself come perhaps three times.

One of those times, she hadn’t intended to masturbate, she’d just been curious about her own genitals and employed a hand mirror to ease closer examination.

In her retelling, she didn’t realize she was going to come until it was too late to stop. Fifteen some years later, she still claimed it as one of the three best orgasms in her life.

For me, this image invokes the same feeling of someone explaining their sexuality to me not in an effort to invoke arousal–although if that happens as a side effect, so be it; but to instead share something true about themselves without fear of judgment or reprisal.

I can’t help but find that attitude incredibly sexy.

Source: Unknown

Um… so, uh… yeah: LOVE THIS. For you know, reasons and stuff.

At the same time: I hate it, omfg sooo much.

For once my objections have fuck all to do with curmudgeonly hyper-criticality. I object because I am devastated.

I have been trying and failing to make a self-portrait that is alarmingly similar to this; really, this and my idea two might as well be fraternally twinned.

But to top a sundae of injury with rainbow sprinkles of insult: this is just flat-out so, SO much better than any of my fumbled false starts and artless misfires.

And although I have no intention of giving up–I’m exactly the sort of fool for whom the prospect of defying impossibility actually serves as compelling motivation.

Of course, motivation alone doesn’t address the fact that I am not getting any younger and I will never be ripped with six-pack abs.

But my phenomenal lack of physical attraction isn’t even the most profound hurdle. This was almost certainly taken by another person. I only have and will likely only ever have–sadly: recourse to the self-timer.

bumblebail:

True Red

Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. – ubiquitous paraphrase of Ecclesiastes 1:2

…

There’s no way around it: no matter how lovely, this is a dick pic.

Seeing it as such it’s easy to focus on the impetus for such leering color: friction? lipstick? Photoshop? I’m not really interested in that.

I am almost tempted to interrogate the close-up frame and bokeh, attribute them to a so-ascetic-as-to-be-decontextual minimalist aesthetic bent.

But my thoughts drift further afield; circle and finally alight on the concept of vanity.

…

Carly Simon would have us believe vanity is seeing oneself as the bright center of the universe around which smaller, less bright things swirl.

And any art history student worth their salt will couch things in terms of mirrors.

There is, however, a danger in conflating symbol with meaning–narcissism is decidedly self-sustaining; vanity must feed off others.

In a way, vanity requires empathy.

…

I want to double back to that matter of this being a dick pic but I feels necessary to suggest a corollary with the so-called selfie.

I am not sure it’s wrong to think of them as vain as long as it is borne in mind that the selfie can also be an ontological document–look here I am in this place-time.

I feel like what makes a shitty dick pic is narcissism combined with ontology–this is me-now, this is my desire which is your desire.

To me that is what this image does so exquisitely well: it displaces any vestige of ontology to elicit an unselfconscious perspective. There is no identity, merely a view one or any lover might glimpse of another.

Source: bumblebail

Mr. H – 浪奔 [Ben Lang] (2011)

Originally, this was supposed to follow up my post on close-ups and the notion of the foreign-in-the-familiar.

A series of unfortunate events–bad weather, illness, intoxication and the Internet at my accommodations crashing–made that impossible. Maybe it’s better that way.

I don’t necessarily dispute what I suggested. I just think the foreign-in-the-familiar indicates something more in line with those puzzles in children’s media where they a extreme close up that’s been all reoriented to be wawker-jawed and one has to recognize the original object.  (And one of them is always a goddamn manhole cover–WTF is that about?)

I would have been much better served by suggesting a metaphor with detail insets. For example: here’s the absolutely fucking brilliant Ghent Altarpiece; and here’s a detail inset of Eve holding some type of citrus.

In photography/digital imaging (which really need to be treated mutual exclusive disciplines that share a common lineage but suffered a irrevocable schism and are roughly as non-interchangeable as the Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodoxy), the close-up is comparable to the detail inset de-linked from the original contextual totality. In other words: in art you see the big picture first and then a small detail of the big picture is brought into sharper focus–by focusing on a part of the whole the whole gains further specificity of meaning; in photography/digital imaging, it’s the other way around– one focuses on the detail and from the detail has to intuit the broader context. That’s great if a broader context has been exists, has been established, is explicit. The problem is when the close-up relies upon the interest generated by an atypical manner of seeing to sell the frame independent of broader detail.

(It occurs to me that this detail inset metaphor functions exquisitely when applied to cinema before–and I’m guesstimating here–the late 70s/early 80s with the exception of Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc; however, even that used close-up is an exceedingly well-reasoned and above all consistently applied manner.)

There is a great deal of contextual information that can be sussed out from The Frenzy of the Visible’s masturbatory Self-Portrait–things about the space occupied by the subject, that the light is daylight coming through a window, etc.. Mr. H, on the other hand–although clever in his framing which implies the explicit instead of showing it–removes any sort of contextual cue to focus attention on the ejaculatory aftermath of a male bodied individual masturbating to orgasm. I won’t lie: this makes my brain run 200 km/h in the wrong lane* about potential applications for the wonderfully surreal textures semen exhibits under the light pushing overexposure. Still, such detail would have been equally visible and more compelling–although also more explicit and therefore more challengingto present artfully–with more context.

Lastly, although its soft-core coyly pushing up against hard-core is hardly my cup of tea, Mr. H seems–after a cursory scan–to have a good bit more instinctive talent than any image maker I can think of making similar work targeted at heteronormative types.,

Source: moremoremoreee

nymphoninjas:

nymphoninjas:

“And it will be more like a song, and less like its math

If you pull on my hair and bite me like that.” (Bright Eyes)

I used to submit my self shots, but now I have few reasons for submitting some I took of my partner.. first of all, there aren’t that many male submissions here usually and I don’t like this difference. this is quite generic view only. most personal is that I enjoy watching my partner playing with himself and it really turns me on. this time I took some pictures of the action..

It was a great Saturday afternoon and we had sex straight after this little shoot and few times later. different places, different intensity but all these were a real pleasure.

Absolutely gorgeous photo, I like everything about it from his sweet purple pants to her knees in the corner. Glad to hear you two are showing off for each other and documenting it, watching your partner get themselves off is pretty much the best way to learn about what they like and how to get them off. Sounds like you two had an amazing day, I’m quite jealous. I hope you two come back to share with us again, thanks again great job A+. 

This and Knitphilia’s Rape isn’t sexy, but being a survivor is are far-and-a-fucking-way my favorite Nympho Ninjas’ Submission Sunday contributions. (An aside: while I am guardedly supportive of the community surrounding NN it does–as an Asian-American–bother me the way ‘ninja’ is so casually appropriated.)

I don’t think this is an objectively good image. Further, pairing it with Conor Oberst’s self-important ravings borders on intolerable.  But, for all its flaws, it has something many more technically adept work lack: truthfulness–the frayed rag rug, messy hair, kick ass pants, beautiful light on the back of his right hand and knees jutting into the frame.

This is the first time in my life I have actually wished a depiction of male-bodied desire was of me–I almost globally identify with female-bodied depictions of desire. Here, I think it’s due to a mistaken notion that if I looked like this there’d might be a slightly better than impossible odds someone would find me attractive.

The Frenzy of the Visible – Self-Portrait (2013)

The first thing I notice about this is actually the last thing that registers: these are both close-ups.

I’m not averse to close-ups; they allow for focusing on details that might otherwise be missed and when thoughtfully applied can draw attention to the foreign-in-the-familiar.

However, most close-ups exemplify a knee-jerk, voyeuristic fixation: faces and erogenous zones.

It’s sensible enough tactic–glimpse up-close that which is instinctively watched; but there are at least two flaws:

  1. Contextual diminution imposes a representational metonymy wherein a part of the subject (the face) replaces the whole.
  2. Heaping familiarity on top of familiarity in tandem with physical proximity of the imaging device to the subject fosters a false sense of intimacy.

With something like say: portraiture, these are–at worst–critical peccadilloes. When it comes to imagery preoccupied with explicit content, it’s rather another.

This not only shows something beautiful, it shows its work with regard to why what is being shown is being shown in the way it is. (i.e. in close-up)

To see it: take either image independent of the other. Each is strong image in-and-of-itself; each offers an incontrovertible reading of the scene: a male-bodied individual laying on clean, white sheets, masturbating.

Taken together, the artful foreign-in-the-familiar framing in the separate panels merges to form a close-up than in an acharacteristic manner conceals more than it reveals. (Further emphasized by the matting and the orientation as a diptych.)

Truly a first-rate, fucking crackerjack image.

Source: frenzyofthevisible

Source Unknown (Initial poster Scott Loves Cock, maybe?)

My reading of this runs pretty much like this: these two fellows are hanging out and one says: would you mind licking my balls while I masturbate.

I’m not going to lie: a world where desire was addressed in a similar fashion as admitting you’re hungry and inquiring if someone else is also. (By extension, the other person could not be hungry and it wouldn’t be a big deal that one party was and the other wasn’t.)

As fabulous as it all sounds–it’s a pipe dream for hundreds of reasons I can’t possibly get into here.

Here’s the knotty rub (pun maybe a little intended): part of the reason I see this image in the way I do is that I tend to perceive ‘gay’ porn as a cut above porn targeting straight men.

‘Gay’ pornography constitutes a fraction of my lifetime smut consumption, in truth. Whereas, I am familiar with the conventions of ‘straight’ porn: bronzed and muscle-bound male-bodied performer encounters buxom female-bodied performer in a perfectly mundane situation that might happen to anyone, things rapidly and unrealistically escalate and so begins ticking off check boxes on the list of things porn through nothing more than rote force of blind habit has convinced us ‘straight’ folks get off on seeing.

Not to even get into the issues surrounding privilege, objectification, exclusion, etc. & etc.

But as I am largely unfamiliar and therefore oblivious to comparable tropes in ‘gay’ porn, my impression is that ‘gay’ porn is more enjoyable for those who perform in it that is ‘straight’ porn.

It’s a well-intentioned enough view. However, at best it’s essentialist, at worst slut-shaming by proxy–the assumption being that because of the pervasive sexism in the porn, there is no way a woman can derive pleasure from her participation. (I am going to work on this, going forward.)

Finally, my reading presumes from a place of fundamental unknowing that there are no comparable politics of oppression acting in ‘gay’ porn. Just because I am unfamiliar with them doesn’t mean they do not exist. (I’m sure they do, in fact; history shows that as soon as something is commodified, means of exploiting the commodification for material gain come out of the fucking wood work.

Source: scottlovescock

Exclusive Teen Porn – Teen Threesome featuring Peach + Kyara (2012)

I would really rather skip the citations here because ExclusiveTeen Porn’s features a downright creepy website.

I am more surprised by how unsavory it is than I really should be considering my first reaction to this was SMASH THE PATRIARCHY!

But between the third and fourth syllable of ‘patriarchy’ I’ve registered the red outlining the lower crest of Peach’s right ear, pink flush speading through her checks. And Jesus Christ, her expression–eye closed, lips pressed hard against enamel. trying to focus on sensation, to concentrate to not lose the rhythm, holding out against surrender but want to fall hopelessly hard, now and forever.

My thoughts shift back to how bankrupt this is of artfulness or subtlety. Don’t get me wrong the more graphic the depictions of sex, the happier I am. But I just don’t see how this is anything other than an effort to cater to the basest aspects of what society whispers behind its hands is the stuff firing masculine sexuality. This fellow has two young women who are presented as focused on his sexual pleasure. (Admittedly, the rest of the series does pay lip service to an interest in the women’s pleasure.)

There’s momentary fluttery where I realize that Peach’s labia are just crowning the swollen corona of her lover’s erection and you can see his glans peaking out. That has to feel exquisite.

This isn’t art. Not even close. It’s not supposed to be. Ultimately though it’s like only being able to eat candy when you want something healthy and substantive.

I guess I just don’t understand how with a seemingly legit location with reasonable lighting and people who are willing to be photographed doing virtually anything, why more of a thought isn’t given to presentation.

Put another way: given all the same ingredients, I fundamentally believe it is possible to make art. The fact that no one ever tries is something I take a little bit like a kick in the teeth.

Not to mention it is some insufferable #skinnyframebullshit.

Two final notes:

  1. there is another version of this image floating around Tumblr. It looks terrible. Why do people insist on doing this?
  2. this image has been cropped a quarter of an inch or so on the bottom to remove a watermark.

Igor Mukhin

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If it moves, Igor Mukhin likely shoots it; if it doesn’t, he’ll still take aim.

With nearly 5000 images—split between B&W film scans and Leica AG M9 captures, amassed over 6.5 years—perusing his photostream is like mainlining a hyper-distilled, chaotic mélange of interesting, occasionally ingenious work.

My head doesn’t wrap around such profligate excess easily—limitation is too central a feature in my own process. (Read: I am poor.) But I can let that slide. What I fail to fathom is how Mukhin’s haphazard, throw-it-at-the-wall-to-see-what-sticks curatorial approach works at all, let alone results in such jaw-dropping examples of all that photography should embody.

(To avoid unnecessary disappointment, skip his staid personal website.)

Source: Flickr / im_foto

Google Image Search suggests the earliest instance of this image being post to a site on Blogspot called Tacobill in June 2010 even though all the links on the page are broken. Beginning in August 2010 a broad swath of entries are attributed to So Many Boys. (EDIT: Wyohhandplay was kind enough to inform me that the source for this is bitemarks.)

It’s really a shame. For what it is– a staged photo of a boy with his fist circling his cock– I think this is classy.

The composition is nice. He’s presented entirely within the frame, not making eye contact with they camera. His body’s mid-line angles to his right, counter-balancing the framing which clips the vertical of the lamp base against the middle vertical of the metal bed frame/headboard.

With the lamp turned toward the wall, the light blows out into a white-hot super overexposed orb. In turn this allows the reflected light to illuminate the rest of the frame with appealing, dusky tones.

It’s an artful take on what could have easily been another uninteresting, disposable iteration of the same old thing.