Tag: menage a trois

Source unknown – Title Unknown (20XX)

Despite this being a terrible image–what exactly are those bars behind them and is that a curtain in the background?–I’m into it.

A good part of the reason I’m into it has to do with it avoiding both the usual MMF cliches of dude bros frat studs high-fiving over a coed they’re having their way with as well as the default tender sentimentality of more bi-curious tuned fare.

There’s something more primal to it.

Admittedly the image doesn’t read as clearly as it could but if you look closely you’ll notice that the woman has semen on her neck. It’s very likely that he started to come and is now finishing in the other guy’s mouth.

The way heteronormative porn handles ejaculation pisses me off and I think we should treat male ejaculation closer to female ejaculation in that… oh, that was cool but we’re just getting started here. (I don’t know about you but the best sex I’ve had has always happened after I’m sure I can’t physically handle further stimulation and then my partner(s) demonstrate to me that I most unequivocally can handle a great deal more than I think I can.

Also, I really love that everyone is so into what’s going on. The guy having intercourse with the woman is clearly into sucking cock and the woman appears to be enjoying herself. (I also really like that her braid is coming unraveled on the wood floor.)

Seeing this makes me feel like maybe there are people out there in the world who fuck the way I think people ought to fuck.

Erika Lust – I Wish I Was A Lesbian (2014)

In theory, Erika Lust’s approach to making pornography–outlined in her oft referenced TEDxVienna speech–appeals to me: an emphasis on context (characters are more than the performance of their respective sexualities) and diversity of modes of sexual expression are all v. on-point.

And it’s totally counter-productive but… the traditional trappings of porn are low-production values, improbably scenarios and exaggerated sexual performances. Thus, when you preempt the traditional with a more thoughtful diversion into the who, where and why instead of rushing into the what and how, you raise audience expectations with regard to ultimate quality whether you intend to or not.

That’s the great failing of Lust’s promise: by setting out to make better porn she sets her sights too low. She’d do better to expend her efforts trying to make art that just so happens to be pornographic.

Which is not to say that the above scene is without certain moments. Placing equal emphasis on graphic depictions of sexual expression and the physical response to those depictions is unquestionably inspired. However, those moments are ultimately diminished when they are spliced together in such a rough-shod, pretentious fashion.

And it’s entirely possible that I am putting too much emphasis on the fact that this scene was shot handheld. The current preponderance of handheld camera work in motion pictures is an enormous pet peeve of mine since with the exception of Lars von Trier (who is preoccupied with using a subjective cinema-verite approach in combination with editing to stylize ellipses of perception by a fly-on-the-wall observer) or the Dardenne Brothers (who have pushed subjective handheld cinematography to something perhaps not objective–framing necessarily precluding questions of inclusion/exclusion–but unblinking and entirely unselfconscious), there is a total obliviousness to the history and functionality of handheld camera work.

Granted, I haven’t seen the full scene but the excerpted clips suggest that the handheld nature of the shots is intrusive–it is supposed to be noticed. The audience exercises some sense of active voyeurism, a passive co-authorship. And while, yes, this arrangement allows for scenes like the young woman’s face in the third frame from the top and the lubing up of the strap-on in the sixth frame from the top, my response is that any narrative motion picture instructs the viewer how it is supposed to be seen in the first third of the first act. The expectations that this film establishes are cribbed from art-house/international cinema but it can’t follow through in execution once it arrives at the place where it’s always intended to be.

Source: ferroso01

Source unknown – Ace, Joy and Erica (2008)

As a general rule: I don’t post images shot in color and subsequently desaturated. I’m making an exception with this because it’s literally a thousand times better than the low contrast, optically flat and unappealing original image.

Also, I really try not to post excerpts from shitty corporate porn often. I’ve noted the source here as unknown simply because this image has been licensed and relicensed so often, I really have no idea who the original author even is.

So with two strikes against it and the fact that even if the desaturation restores some desparately needed depth and contrast, it is still a compositional shit show–why the hell am I posting this?

Well, not unlike labeling oneself an anarchist unfairly welcomes correlation with Caucasian crust punk wannabe layabouts who smoke too much weed and have a less than nuanced appreciation for Bob Marley, I feel that the credo sex, drugs and rock n roll gets a similar bad rap by association.

That such a ready-made comparison exists is politically expedient. Thoughtful practice of anarchism is a threat to power structures in a way that few other -isms manage and sex, drugs and rock n roll as a baseline system of belief/motivating factor is similarly if not more dangerous because all three independently or amplified in combination have a proven track record of demonstrating to the individual the extent and degree to which learned limitations are bullshit.

I guess my point is that there is only so much you can to to push your own limitations. It’s like tickling–I can’t tickle myself, someone else is required for that.I know in my own experience that although best orgasm I’ve achieved through masturbation is only slightly better than the worst orgasm I’ve ever experienced during sex. You know what you’re going to do before you do it and you know what you like… there’s nothing unexpected about it. Whereas someone else can tease, cajole, surprise and push your body towards amazing experiences you never knew were possible.

And something with which I am preoccupied is the limitation of how much is too much, is too sensitive really a thing? In my experience, the answers are nothing and no, respectively. But I feel like I haven’t considered all the options and when I die, I don’t want to wonder if I was wrong I want to know with certainty that I was wrong or that as I suspect, I was right.

I think at the root of it that encapsulates my fascination with group sex in the face of the fact that I am a misanthrope with pronounced anti-social tendencies.

Source: icesalander

X-Art – My Best Friend’s Boyfriend feat. Katka and Mikah  (2011)

There are like a fucking million and half things I don’t like about this scene. Let’s start with the fact that it typifies the heteronormative porn trope that all women are bisexual and the cisgender male gets to reap the benefits. (And that’s not to shame any sort of bisexual women who have negotiated consensual best girlfriend sharing with their boyfriend arrangements–I say more power to y’all.)

I don’t like the implicit assumption and the subsequent straight cismale entitlement is particularly intolerable.

Honestly, those more social justice oriented objections get the volume turned way the fuck down on them–at least in this gif, less so in the full scene–because I’m so fucking captivated by the reverence with which Katka watches Mikah and her open and unselfconscious masturbatory response. (I think that’s part of the attraction I have to group sex scenarios, the notion of being in a safe space where you are invited to contribute your own individual sexual expression in a fully consensual and accepting environment is a big part of why I bother with this blog–as it allows me to express thoughts and facets of my identity for which there is no outlet in my life AFK.)

I know it’s staged in such a way that she’s splayed out for the benefit of the stud and the traditional male gaze but her authenticity subverts all that–at least for me.

Source unknown – Title Unknown (19XX)

By Marie Howe
I want to write a love poem for the girls I kissed in seventh grade,
a song for what we did on the floor in the basement
 
of somebody’s parents’ house, a hymn for what we didn’t say but thought:
That feels good or I like that, when we learned how to open each other’s mouths
 
how to move our tongues to make somebody moan. We called it practicing, and
one was the boy, and we paired off—maybe six or eight girls—and turned out
 
the lights and kissed and kissed until we were stoned on kisses, and lifted our
nightgowns or let the straps drop, and, Now you be the boy:
 
concrete floor, sleeping bag or couch, playroom, game room, train room, laundry.
Linda’s basement was like a boat with booths and portholes
 
instead of windows. Gloria’s father had a bar downstairs with stools that spun,
plush carpeting. We kissed each other’s throats.
 
We sucked each other’s breasts, and we left marks, and never spoke of it upstairs
outdoors, in daylight, not once. We did it, and it was
 
practicing, and slept, sprawled so our legs still locked or crossed, a hand still lost
in someone’s hair … and we grew up and hardly mentioned who
 
the first kiss really was—a girl like us, still sticky with moisturizer we’d
shared in the bathroom. I want to write a song
 
for that thick silence in the dark, and the first pure thrill of unreluctant desire,
just before we’d made ourselves stop.
Source: musorka

Source unknown – Title unknown (19XX)

I tried to draw attention to this series a few posts back but on the grounds of quality of craft, i.e. adept handling of a diverse tonal range and unimpeachable attention to skin tone/texture.

Yes, some of the framing is awkward but I feel that’s more than counter balanced by the fact that the camera remains at enough of a remove that it remains voyeur instead of becoming an ersatz participant in the liaison.

(And my Wittgensteinian side thrills in the fact that the action–haphazardly framed or not–is firmly grounded in the context of a background equal parts Ostra Studios and anticipating Saudek.

Source: robotromis221168

Jacques Biederer – Women in Love (1930)

If your thing is top shelf vintage (think 20/30s & not 60/70s) erotica and porn, drop everything and check out The Venusberg. (Note: the URL is mispelled, the ‘u’ and ’s’ are inverted.)

The Venusberg came to my attention due to another breathtaking menage a trois post. It deserves far more attention than its received but the sense in this of unabashed intimacy is something for which I am craving desperately tonight.

X-Art – Sex and Submission feat. Teal & The Red Fox (2014)

I run–ostensibly–a sex blog. Porn flits across my dash on the daily. Surprisingly, in the two years I’ve maintained this site I’ve found myself seeking out pornographic content less and less frequently.

Recently, I did go rather out of my way to check out two videos–the above [based on the intriguingly atypical way the money shot is handled, i.e. not in close-up/ not involving a(n intentional) facial and the way the stud doesn’t disengage just because he’s come] and Courtney Trouble’s indiequeer Fucking Mystic [based on the glowing recommendation from a genderqueer acquaintance].

Viewing both in the same week, there’s definitely an added push to compare and contrast. The first thing I feel should be noted is the above is not only the highlight of the X-Art video, it’s the only thing you need to see of it. Despite high production values–horizontal tracking shots, holla–everything remains paint-by-numbers pro forma porn.

Alternately, if you can squint passed the paper thin ‘plot,’ Fucking Mystic is hands-down-your-pants haute–even if it does suffer exstensively from a questionable-to-downright-shite production values–wild tracks and tripods, yo; learn them, live them, love them–and despite it’s amazing anything goes approach to sexuality, it ends up turning a little pro forma (anal penetration) itself. [A justification along the lines of it’s a queer critique of mainstream porn holds a few ounces of water at most.]

It all leaves me wondering, why high production values and real-ish depictions of non-exclusively heteronormative content can’t sit side by side more often.

I know the adage be the change you want to see in the world. And truth be told, I confess that I am very interested in the prospect of directing a (singular) porn movie. Unfortunately, I have zero idea how to go about it.

Source: deliciousnights

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.