topoftheshaft:

Time Seems Like a Blur When You Cum

Bill in Exile – Load Dump (2010)

Let’s consider the previous poster’s comment because I think it’s actually insightful af.

It’s impossible to describe the taste of coffee to someone who has never had it. But you don’t try to describe it, you brew a cup and say: taste this, it’s warm and delicious. (Or, if you’re me and can’t stand warm beverages, you break out the Chameleon Cold Brew.)

It’s interesting: before I ever used marijuana, a number of people had explained to me what it was to be stoned. I remember being like uh, wait, I don’t get it.

After I smoked up, I totally got it. There’s no way to describe it. It’s like the taste of coffee–once you’ve had it, you’ll never forget what it tastes like. But you also don’t ever remember not knowing what it tastes like.

Literacy is probably a better example. Once you learn to read you know–practically–that at a certain point you didn’t know how; but the knowing overrides the memory of not knowing. (Like I’m a bit precocious in that I remember very specific things from as young as six months. So I can remember seeing signs before I was able to read and being able to read them in my recollection even though I couldn’t have read them at the time.)

Again, that only works ex post facto. You sort of have to walk to the edge and jump.

Consider this scenario: you’re sitting in your room and suddenly the brightest red cardinal darts in through the window and lands on the back of a chair. The incongruity is stunning to you and the surprise of it shakes your brain out of it’s perpetual classifying and organizing: this is inside, this is outside; me vs. not me, when do I need to leave to meet Su for dinner, etc. But in that moment of unplanned surprise, there is the briefest of moments where you are too surprised to label or otherwise interpret the scene.

And when you tell people about it your explanation will last ten times longer than the moment did. Our eyes see and even though we can’t see the act of our eyes seeing, that is how our brain processes it–we see routinely as if through a mirror darkly. But in moments of self-transcendence it’s like the experience of needing glasses and never having had them and then when you put them on you’re just like OMFG at all the details you’ve been missing.

Interestingly, virtually every account I’m familiar with as far as mystical/self-transcendent experience involves the distension of time. You can see 100 things for every one you’d normally notice and because your brain is too shocked to filter any of it, it just all comes in and you absorb it.

So the person who posted this image is actually very much on point with their observation. Orgasm does share a number of points of commonality with transcendent experience in my… er, experience. And if I’m not mistaken that’s why church and state are so down on drugs and an openness to sexual expression–when you realize the kingdom’s keys are within your grasp why would you give the first half a fuck about an institutional intercessor?

mou5eleeUntitled (2015)

Drawing/illustration is not a field where I have any sort of expertise.

About all I know is the stuff that crossing my Tumblr dashboard and that’s control by the interests and aesthetics of the blogs I follow.

Thus, it’s probably pretentious and definitely solipsistic for me to assert that most of the illustration work I see these days shows one of two characteristics–the sort of clean, minimal look that by this point has been completely co-opted by the tech sector (Apple, web dev standards, etc.) or this sort of Schiele-cum-Picasso styling.

I really like the above because based upon my limited understanding of trends and techniques in illustration, the way this is shaded actually reminds me of woodcuts.

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.

lusting-and-thrusting:

Samantha-fucking-Saint

Source unknown – Title unknown (201X)

After my first encounters with porn, I rapidly developed a abusive relationship with it. Namely, my curiosity regarding it always seemed to outweigh the loathing and alienation it triggered.

There was a local video rental chain with a location within walking distance of my house. After some cautious prodding, I realized that several of the staff members didn’t give fuck one when it came to determining whether or not I was old enough to rent items from their enormous back room.

Thus by the time I was sixteen I was renting two or three XXX videos a month.

Amazingly, I found some stuff that if I didn’t necessarily like, it certainly interested me. In particular, a gonzo series called New Faces, Hot Bodies–made by, if memory serves a Cleveland based kink smut purveyor named Bob Bright–never failed to pique my interest.

As I remember it was the diversity of the scenes that fascinated me. In any one tape, there would be a range of scenes from vanilla to hardcore and bizarre kink fetish.

I believe a testament to how different they were is that I can still vividly remember a number of scenes from the series. One was my first introduction to bukkake–in the scene five to eight studs ejaculated at least 3 times a piece over a young woman while two other women used spoons to collect the semen off her body so as to feed it to her.

In another scene in the first video I from the series I ever viewed, there was a parenthetical return to the first scene. The lead in said something like fifteen minutes after we last saw them and then the couple went for round two.

I found the second scene unbelievably hot. It didn’t matter that it had likely been filmed on two separate days. The imposed continuity and the notion that the scene didn’t end just because the guy blew his load really turned me on.

It was another five or so years before I saw anything similar. It was one of those videos that makes you feel a little uncomfortable watching. Low production values, with most of the shooting budget going to acquire a superficially opulent location and then the performers being paid in drugs.

The performers were clearly coked out of their brains. The guy was fucking like a spastic jack hammer. He pulls out, ejaculates so forcefully the first two spurts shoot over the woman’s head and end up on the carpet. He immediately starts rubbing his glans around the woman’s clitoris, while a small puddle of come leaks out of his cock and then he promptly reinserts and continues as if he’s just getting going.

All this is by way of saying I like deviations from the straight cisgendered heteronormative porn script. For example, in the image above it’s clear that guy has already ejaculated forcefully on the woman–who the captions say is Samantha Saint but I remain unconvinced of that attribution; yet, the scene clearly continues while he ensures that she gets off.

Yes, the notion that sex has to result in orgasm for both parties is also fundamentally heteronormative but it’s one of those things that although micro-ly problematic, still–for me at least–represents a decided improvement on the status quo.