Tag: oral sex

kalkibodhi:

Easing into the scene

KalkiBodhi Archives

Source

I don’t usually post flat out porn but I find something about this impressive.

It’s not the composition. A full third of the frame has been cropped out and although I loathe cropping, in this case it’s a vast improvement.

Still, the best bokeh in the world can’t mask the dead light of a rented-for-the-day Hollywood Hills mansion.

What’s more the framing is too close to ground the participants in their environment and too far away to really get an eyeful of the action.

I won’t bother going into the relationship of proximity to the action–beyond a certain point the camera ceases to be independent from the action it’s recording. The trouble with that is the camera is fundamentally incapable of participating in the action. (Ask: were I standing at the distance the camera is would I be watching the proceedings or would I be a part of them.)

There’s the stereotypical absence of body hair–totally your choice if that’s how you are comfortable but, for my part, I resent the implication that smoothly shaved genitals and underarms are the norm.

Also, despite my ironic discovery that I am really into at least the notion of group sex, I am somewhat put off by threesomes. Excluding MMM and FFF (which I didn’t even know was a thing until last week), FMM and FFM threesomes tend toward degrees patriarchal heteronormativity and lipstick lesbianism that I like to convince myself don’t really exist.

For example: dude bros high-fiving over some young woman’s back, the it’s not gay as long as our dicks don’t touch mentalities or the way FFM fantasies are inextricably embedded in the weave of patriarchy.

If women could bring strap-ons to the party or a boy would eat a dick or take it in the ass, I would be all over threesomes. (Although I admit I despise slut-shaming so overwhelmingly that a part of me really digs that FMM pairings result in a +2 partners for the woman; while each boy only gets a +1.)

All that notwithstanding, the sex portrayed here avoids the appearance of mechanization. Note: how the boy on bottom’s mouth hangs open–already beginning to recite baseball statistics in his head; his eyes open only enough to trace his erection from its based until it disappears below the cleft in young woman’s ass. For her part, she looks as if she actually really wants to give head to this muscle-y gent–she uses her hands to stroke his shaft and tug on his testicles.

This lacks the rote performance of pleasure as result of mechanical repetition that ruins 90% of porn for me. And while it does occur to me that it is unlikely the scene ends in mutual pleasure for all parties, what strikes me is in spite of the pornographic trappings, there is a a feeling that at the least this woman is respected by these men; they may even acknowledge her as capable of deriving pleasure from this exchange.

I am not sure I could articulate how I jumped to such a conclusion. Yet, I do find it interesting that–not that it is degrading for a woman to have a man ejaculate on her face if that’s something she wants–but if you look at the other sample images from this scene the muscle bound guy pulls out and comes on the her stomach while the other boy spills himself onto her breasts.

Source: st8guy4mf

letmedothis:

spoil me

Still from A Surprise Guest featuring

Straight-up (pun maybe intended), this is some Grade A #skinnyframebullshit.

Yes, it’s nice to see Cindy presented head-to-toe sans frame line amputation/decapitation. But the result is all wawkerjawed.

I am going to overlook the original image being both in color and bordering on overexposed– I fail to understand how shooting to the right is preferable to just exposing correctly in the first fucking place. But, why did some idiot feel compelled to de-saturate? Was the goal to produce a flat, low contrast image? If so: bravo– mission accomplished.

Technical concerns aside, the image’s awkwardness also works in its favor. It is, after all, an image belonging to a larger more-or-less sequential, implicitly narrative images. For example: before I researched this image, I was fairly sure that this young woman walked in on the young man in the tub, things escalated and she began to undress. (As far as I can tell, that is in fact, what happens.)

There is also the ripe implication of what will happen next: the scenario will proceed to intercourse. Thus, this single image contains all the information for the viewer to discern the entire narrative arc without seeing any other image.

The possibility of distilling a story to a single narrative image seed is an idea with which I am pathologically obsessed. And for all its faults, I actually prefer this to the arbitrary, narrative pretense of photographers like Gregory Crewdson, Sébastien Tixier and Reverend Bobby Anger. (If you disagree with this premise: attempt to envision what happened immediately prior and what will happen next. (Pro-tip: you can’t; despite all the gum flapping about narrative, when the work has more in common with the so-called ‘tone poem capturing the something of the weight in moments heavy with emotion.)

But, I would have posted this for nothing more than the way Cindy is standing over the boy in the tub, her expression which might actually be an unfeigned premonition of pleasure. Plus, I think it is so, so hot that she still has her top on.

Source: memeophobia-today

kalkibodhi:

Encouragement request

KalkiBodhi Archives

EDIT I: it has been brought to my attention that the young woman in this image is Kristine Kahill and that this image was originally posted on Sex and Submission (a Kink.com imprint). Sex and Submission interviews models before and after the sessions. In other words, explicit consent is given for the acts depicted in the subsequent images.

Furthermore, it seems the post can be read as suggesting being submissive is a ‘reprehensible’ behavior. I assure you, that was never my intention. As someone who is thoroughly hardwired as a switch–I am not down on D/s practices at all.

I am opting to leave the original post untouched. I make mistakes. And I am sorry if my comments offended anyone. It still concerns me, however, that this image is presented entirely disconnected from its original context. In the future I will make every effort to do better due diligence. That being said, all things being equal I do stand by my reading of the problematic aspects of this image as it originally presented to me.

EDIT II: Also, I neglected to mention this is some straight-up #skinnyframebullshit.

TinEye turns up two ‘matches’ for this: both in color, both cropped and both hosted by purveyors of violent porn.

But anything more than a glance reveals as much: the composition of the image says as clearly as if the image maker had drafted a memo and sent it to every viewer: women are nothing more than props existing for the sole purpose of accommodating male desire.

It’s a reprehensible ideology. And this picture does almost nothing for me.

Except the young woman’s face, hairstyle and how her eyes accentuate her expression bears more than passing resemblance to an erstwhile co-worker on whom I have a crush.

It’s not the first time I’ve chanced upon porn which reminds me of people I trust—and by that I merely mean someone who can touch me without causing me to flinch. Usually, I avert my eyes—much the way I would if a loose fitting top gaps and offers a glimpse of an elicit vista. It’s not that I don’t want to see—fucking Christ on Christmas, I exist to absorb sensory input.

I don’t feel the same inclination here, however; it’s a feeling that I am interested in explaining without judgment or justification—not because either does not belong here but because this response is such a fatherfucking anomaly.

Navigating boundaries is something for which I lack any talent. I don’t really understand them because for all intents and purposes I do not have any of my own. But I comprehend—at least academically—that other people do. I think of boundaries as privacy force fields. (Go ahead and laugh.) Privacy force fields are like whatever it is about a door that prevents a vampire from passing without being invited.

Looking down the front of a loose blouse or connecting a pornographic image with someone I trust usually causes me to feel like a vampire trying to enter a home without being invited.

It’s the same with masturbatory fantasies. Granted when I masturbate I don’t usually think about scenarios or exchanges so much as the process is something more like meditation or stretching my arm through cage bars towards a hanging key I can almost just reach.

On the occasions where I please myself while fantasizing about someone, it’s as a rule never someone with whom I am close. (Of course it’s a different story if the person consents—but this has only happened once with someone show I was never romantically involved.)

There are two notable exceptions. One is my crush.

Perhaps it’s not really an exception. I don’t fantasize about how she might touch me, how I might touch her in turn and where that might lead. Instead I try to picture her in the same room as me—she’s one of those women whose fundamental perception is of being unattractive. She’s not upset about it; in fact, she cultivates an image of herself as not being able to give less of a fuck of what anyone else thinks of her. Of course, this in combination with her vicious wit, talent and intelligence makes her even more attractive. Then I am in the same cell again stretching, reaching for, almost touch that hanging key that if I can only reach will unlock a treasure chest with a mirror that if she held up she could glimpse herself as I see her through my eyes.

Then I fall away, crawl back but fail.

I don’t know why I refuse to turn away in this case. But in so doing, I remain unashamed.

I’m iffy—at best—when it comes to choking and the whole glory hole fantasy is something I fail to understand (but to each her/his/their own).

All that is fine—what bothers me is removed as this image is any context, all that can be said is that it depicts reasonably rough sex; reasonably rough sex which the viewer must assumes is consensual based upon the mise-en-scene, gestures and expressions. In other words: non-verbal cues.

This is hugely fucking problematic. Consent CANNOT be assumed; it must be verbal, explicit.

But there’s also the fact that as much as the ambiguity surrounding consent in this image makes me uncomfortable; it also really turns me on.

As previously noted, I have a great deal of trouble navigating the boundaries. For example: if someone can touch me without causing me to completely freak the fuck out, then there’s a part of me that sees my body as belonging to her just as much as it does me.

It makes me sound irrevocably fucked in the head but if someone can hug me then if they wanted they could touch me like this too, or circle their hands round my neck as they push my face hard against a wall and who knows what else.

I trust wholly or not at all.

[If anyone happens to know, I am very interested in discovering the identity of whomever made this image.]

Source: tenderandhard

This post is guest curated by azura09:

spaceykate:

In conclusion, Victorian trans porn. Good night, lovelies!

How sometimes it’s easier to get yourself off with your mouth on your lover. How sometimes the photos are better when you pull your clothes up instead of taking them off. 
For some reason this photo reminds me of an afternoon in a bedroom with a big, uncovered window that looked out to an overgrown backyard, laying on a bare mattress licking coconut pie meringue off my girlfriend’s breasts and thighs. I left the rest of the pie by the windowsill and ate it the next morning while drinking coffee from a suspiciously dirty mug.

We were living in different states and not seeing each other frequently so it’s likely I took pictures of her then, if not that afternoon than sometime during my trip. It’s something I’ve done many times because she asks. And then poses happily on the bed fully dressed. 
Usually, I pull off one layer at a time, taking a photo in between each with an old pink camera. I’m impatient—it’s never my idea to forestall sex this way—but she’s right, I’ll want the pictures later when I’m alone. I’ll want the memory of how I undressed her, how when I took off her skirt I discovered she was wearing my black underwear and hadn’t planned to give it back. How she kept shaking her hair out so it fell over her shoulders.
I’ve photographed exactly where her tights were torn in a New Orleans cemetery, standing next to untended gravestones and spilled silk flowers. Other photos from the same cemetery: her bra unhooked and her head titled to the side, photos of me, always clothed but with my bare shoulders cooking in the sun. 

She’s braver with her body than I am. She’ll put even the parts she doesn’t like on display for me, let them be permanently cataloged. The one time I took photos of myself to send to her I was so careful. I got made up, put on the only nice underwear I owned, kept only the pictures from the most flattering angles. 

The photo above is almost certainly a staged one, taken outside any moment of sexual connection. Even so, I like to imagine these models, caught up in their race toward mutual orgasm and the bliss of being partially undressed, kept going after this photograph, and all its duplicates, were taken.

kalkibodhi:

Keep it up

KalkiBodhi Archives

If the above or something like it were representative of a Platonic form then I could sort of begin to understand why so many straight, male bodied persons have this as their default ultimate-sexual-fantasy setting.

Alas, I don’t think pleasure-giving/sharing-as-caring motifs figure as prominently in these fantasies as pleasure-taking/validations-of-masculinity…

…but really there comes a time when even I have to ditch theory and unabashedly relish in something this thoroughly and enticingly lascivious. (And that’s coming from the same individual who readily admitted finding most blowjob scenes dull.)