Tag: uncircumcised

Source unknown – Title Unknown (20XX)

The way I feel about the Marquis de Sade is not unlike how I feel about hentai–downright irresponsible in its extremity but at the same time relevant and necessary due to its radical openness to a dizzying spectrum of non-traditional experiences.

It’s like that infamous Terrence quote: homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto, or for the non-Latin kids: I am human, and nothing of that which is human is alien to me.

Sure, that doesn’t go along way to explain tentacle sex, and I’m not going to start going out of my way to become familiar with hentai but I do feel that there’s a virtue to obsessively cataloging depravity in all it’s shapes and forms.

Yes, it’s easy to see that sort of thing as a checklist or map–a curriculum for sexual deviance. But, two counterpoints: if so, why bother–I mean isn’t the fun of it at least partly in the novelty? And, those who insufferably follow maps and extant formulas obsessively, lacks the proper imagination to truly embrace depravity.

I feel like–at its best–hentai manages to invent simple, straightforward means of depicting expressions of sexuality that are like nothing I’ve ever seen before and also vaguely synesthetic. For example, looking at this it’s almost as if I can feel it as if I were there.

Unfff.

Source unknown – Title Unknown (20XX)

This could almost be a frame from Ryan McGinley’s Yearbook–same colored paper backdrop and a single studio light.

Unlike McGinley, however, this lacks the grimy, bleaching grain and the body objectification is way too unsubtle.

I like it–which is saying something because I have a strong bias against studio photography.

Explaining what I like about it is going to be a bit of a minefield because the things I like exist–moreover are facilitated–by being in tension with things that are hell of problematic.

For example, I dig the single, angled overhead light. It contributes to a pleasant peach skintone that’s just on the realistic side of hyper-stylization. Conversely, it also accentuates the oddity of the pose–the model has his back arched, his stomach sucked in and three-quarters of his ass is held just off the ground by his left leg.

I love that the texture of his scrotum borders on the synesthetic–sight as touch spectrum…but it is kind of disturbing that the rest of his body is so plastic-like (which could be the lighting, but is most-likely indicative of a Canon full frame camera).

The pose in tandem with the eye contact and the fact that the right frame edge amputates both the boys legs makes me uncomfortable. It’s like trying to interpret mixed signals. On the one hand this image seemingly goes out of its way to be respectful in its depiction; on the other, it’s still entirely prurient.

I feel like if the boy had an erection at least the impetus for the image and the image itself would be more in line. Hell, it’d almost even be even better if the boy had just masturbated to orgasm and made a cummy mess of his chest and tummy.

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

Our Naughty Adventures – Submission to Let Me Do This To You (201X)

There’s this essay that’s been bouncing around in my head for more than a year. It has to do with the junctions, disjunctions and ruptures in the terms ‘erotica’, ‘sexual explicit imagery’, ‘pornography’ and ‘Art’.

I have some 30 pages of notes but sitting down to write in earnest is a real struggle for me.

It’s a shame, really–being able to call on such an essay in the analysis of this image would pay rich dividends in the case of this image, especially given that I’d be inclined to label this as both ‘erotica’ and ‘pornography’ but less willing to attribute any strong artistic merit or suggest that depicting and erect penis precludes sexual explicitness.

What’s sexual here is the position of the female body in relationship to the male. The image clearly captures a moment prior to the commencement of sexual congress; in other words, the image titillates through implication.

There is a sense of artistic pretense–high contrast, black and white, shot with a strobe there’s also the feeling that what is presented is a crop from a larger image; or, what should have been a composition centering on a wider angle of view.

Artistic shortcomings aside I do find this image to be highly erotic as it includes a number of things that dampen my undies: the fact that although not wearing a stitch, the female bodied participant is presented in such a way that her nakedness is hidden at the same time the male bodied participant is visible for all the world to see. (In this case I also really dig the acute angle of his erection and way the flash draws attention to the texture and tone of his foreskin.)

There’s also something intangible about the image that conveys for me  a sense of craving a lover’s body so much it causes physical pain. And with that aching transforms the carnal union into not only an approaching of ecstatic bliss but a drowning of pain in pleasure.

Source: letmedothis

Jan Saudek – The Dancer (2001)

Consider:

  • the staggering tonal range and varied texture in the concrete backdrop,
  • the painstakingly graded skin tone (for me invoking little as much as the incisive crosshatching in Dürer’s etchings),
  • the obvious resemblance to Michelangelo’s David,
  • the subject is presented slightly off-center, cheated toward the source of light at frame left and formally balancing every aspect of the composition.

There’s no denying Saudek’s mastery; sadly, I find my frustration with his proclivity for shooting the same/image images in perpetuity an insurmountable obstacle to engaging with his work.

I absolutely see inspired flashes of anti-authoritarian glee, subversion and rebellion amidst the cloying repetition–all attitudes that resonate strongly with me. Ultimately, the work either commands my eye or it doesn’t.

This is one is just motherfucking goddamn incredible.