Smut showcases the soul!
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Does Dark Always Mean Dangerous?
I’m all for not demonizing non-traditional forms of love; not all love stories are sweet and gentle and they shouldn’t have to be, so long as they’re still consensual. But I’m deeply disturbed by disrespectful and dangerous mainstream depictions of them. Why is it, when we want to say something “really dark and weird and cool” about love or lust or sex, it too often tends to be horrifying?
What makes it even more frightening are the people defending Maroon 5's latest "Animal" video. Who say that the video is just depicting stalking and rape and violence that already exist in the world; it’s just telling it how it is. How can you get mad at that? It’s not like the video invented these ideas; it’s just using them to make a cool music video.
Or how it’s just a fantasy, dark as it may be. It’s just like 50 Shades of Grey and other kink fantasies that play with darker ideas and concepts. How can you defame this while defending other kinky sex?
Or how the video is not really that bad. You never actually see real violence. At most, you just see blood splattered all over the place. You see worse in horror films or cop dramas all the time. Why is this such a big deal?
Or how it’s not as if the girl in the video even knew what was happening, so what’s the harm? Nothing actually happens to her in the video.
And I’ll agree that on the merits of the song alone, I actually don’t mind it. The melody isn’t bad. I like Adam Levine’s voice. The lyrics themselves, while not the most romantic or even emotionally stable, aren’t bad. Raunchy, sure. But I’m a fan of raunch. And I don’t mind the idea of depicting darker, maybe even unhealthy romantic relationships. They exist and most of us have a few unwise, unstable, if fun-while-they-lasted relationship skeletons in our closets. In the right context, those are valid stories to tell.
However, the video takes it several steps further into a very offensive category.
1 ) It glorifies this type of psychotic behavior. At no time does the video take a negative stance on the horrible behavior it depicts. I argue that this video is condoning and, in fact, seems to celebrate this type of fantasy. The video is shot completely from the stalker’s perspective in a salacious, sympathetic, “yeah, she’s hot; I want that” kind of way. There’s no repercussion to the stalker’s behavior. You never see the harm that his stalking does. You never see him being punished for his actions. The video doesn’t even hint at the violation the woman would feel, if she knew that this was happening to her.
This isn’t portraying stalking in a realistic light. This is a sick attempt to make stalking sexy. And it’s not. It never is. And can never be. Because, by definition, stalking is a non-consensual act. It’s never okay. It’s never sexy.
But you wouldn’t know that by watching the video where an attractive guy follows his crush around, takes and enjoys naked pictures of her, breaks into her house to lie next to her, and has sex with her in his head. At most, the video makes it seem kinda creepy. And possibly—arguably—ineffective. Except for the fact that:
2 ) the woman being stalked and who is the center of this disturbingly violent fantasy is the singer’s wife in real life. It lends a lot of credence to the video’s creepy message when the creep being depicted is being played by a guy who’s married to the woman being creeped on. It’s tacitly saying that this behavior works. That it may be bad, may be creepy, but guess who’s in my bed every night? That, as the song says, “You can pretend it’s meant to be/ But you can’t stay away from me.” Intentionally or not, it’s saying that stalking is an effective mating strategy and that you don’t have to worry about whether your actions violate someone. Because she’s hot and you want that. And, according to this video, that’s all that matters.
3 ) What’s worse is that it’s teaching our boys that sex isn’t something they control; it’s something that controls them. That, as the song says, “You can’t deny/ the beast inside.” That they “have a natural, ’animal’ lust for women that they are biologically unable to control.” And that isn’t a message we can afford to keep teaching.
4 ) Because boys are learning this message. They’re internalizing it. Normalizing it. To the point that too many of them think that, so long as the women aren’t aware of the violation, it’s not really a violation. Don’t get me wrong; this is less the idea that anyone is going to think “Yeah, I want to be a stalker when I grow up” and more that things like this normalize behavior that shouldn’t be considered normal.
No one wants to be a stalker, no one aims to be labelled a stalker, but how many people are okay with looking at naked pictures of women taken without their consent? How many people viewed the stolen pictures from the Fappening without a single thought to the violation they were committing against the women in those photos? How many people thought they had a right to those photos—to those parts of those women—by virtue that they wanted them? No one proudly says that they violate women, but how many stories have we heard about college students raping girls because she’d passed out and they never took the time to think about how they were violating her? Because they wanted her and that was all that mattered?
Where do you think these people got the idea that what they want matters more than the people they want those things from? How many times do we see this line of thought repeated in songs, in movies, in TV shows, in stories? How many times do we hide behind the idea that it’s just fiction? How many times do we assume that no one could possibly read too much into them?
I doubt, after seeing this, that anyone’s going to become a mad butcher and seek to have blood-soaked sex with someone, but how many people might feel like following a crush or taking or looking at pictures of them without their consent—especially in comparison to everything else in this video—doesn’t seem that bad? That it’s just something people do when they desire someone. It’s almost romantic, really. After all, nothing bad happened to either the girl or the guy in this video—hell, those two are married in real life, right? So what’s the harm, really?
It’s why far too many people think taking advantage of someone who’s unconscious is okay, or looking at private, stolen photos of actresses and models are okay to look at online, or repeatedly showing up uninvited or unexpectedly at a crush’s workplace or home just to see them is normal, because they think it’s not hurting anyone. But it is. Acting without all parties’ consent is a violation. All violation is wrong. That’s the only message we should be teaching anyone about this type of behavior.
5 ) While I’m certainly not a fan of the 50 Shades of Grey novels, there is a massive difference between that and this video. The 50 Shades series plays very fast and loose with widely accepted SSC BDSM practices. The kink portrayed in that novel, as well as many other relationship elements in the story, are not what I would call ethical or healthy. And they certainly have been romanticized and glorified in ways that make me uncomfortable.
However, while the books and film are definitely problematic in terms of consent, when done right, BDSM is completely consensual. Consent is what makes it all okay. Whatever your kink. Whatever the risks involved. So long as everyone involved gives informed consent, it’s okay.
And, if anyone who read the 50 Shades novels wanted to learn more about how to do BDSM responsibly, they could do so. There are many, many, many resources to turn kink fantasies into safe, sane, consensual realities.
In a way that cannot be said for the one-sided, violence-driven fantasy of violation portrayed in this video. Because stalking and sexual violence are not consensual. And that fact makes kink and what’s displayed in this video polar opposites. It’s less a question of dark versus romantic. Or rough versus gentle. It’s a question of consensual versus non-consensual. To forget, ignore, or down-play that shows a complete ignorance on sex, consent, pleasure, and kink.
6 ) The same people who are upset by this video are likely the exact same people who aren’t happy with horror films—or many cop dramas, for that matter—for their tendency to oversexualize their female characters and then punish them, often violently and horrifically, for it. It’s the angry underbelly of the sex-negative, misogynistic current running through too many of our stories that longs to see women dress and act provocatively then accuses them of provoking violence against them. It wants to mold and shape women to conform to the desires of their audience—allows them only to exist if they fit that want—then promptly disposes of them once that want is fulfilled. Too often, when we want to tell darker, grittier, edgier stories, it’s at the expense of the women in those stories. Sex is too often seen as something those women have, something titillating and tempting, that gets taken from them and then used as a weapon against them.
My question is why it has to be that way. Why we can’t tell better stories. The worst thing about this video is that it could have been done so much better. Like I said, I’m a fan of love and lust and sex with an edge. If you want to depict darker, non-traditional expressions of romance—hey, I’m all for it.
This video could have made the woman in it an active participant in that expression—as the song’s lyrics seem to hint that she is. The song also says “you can’t stay away from me/ I can still hear you making that sound/ Taking me down rolling on the ground/ You can pretend that it was me/ But no.” These lines are repeated, making them seem important. The song, if not the video, seems to get off on the fact that the woman is taking what she wants too. That, good decision or not, she desires this too. And that’s what makes something sexy. It’s only sexy when all parties participating consent and actually want to do it. When everyone involved actually gets pleasure from it.
If she’d been into it, if she had actively said or expressed any hint of a “yes” in this video that wasn’t a complete violent-fantasy-driven fabrication that only exists in this deranged stalker’s head, there would probably be less people upset by it. Instead, the video decided to romanticize the man’s complete, obsessive, and potentially violent violation of this woman.
And, I know, it’s just a pop song. Who really cares? Except it isn’t just this one pop song, is it? This is one more unbearable drop in a narrative bucket that has been overflowing for far too long. Stories are how we make sense of the world; it’s why we tell them and have told them since the dawn of time. Is this really a message we’re okay with putting out there? Haven’t we done that too much already?
I’m not saying that dark, controversial materials shouldn’t be out there. We need differing opinions and views out there in the world. If just to make us think more about the world we live in as a whole. Things like Bram Stoker’s Dracula or George Orwell’s 1984 or Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club or, hell, even Joss Whedon’s Cabin in the Woods, these are all dark pieces, but they’re dark for reasons. Their darkness aims to shine light on elements of their audience’s lives. To make them think about the world they live in differently. They asked their audience to think about what is “good” and what is this thing we call “evil” and whether those definitions we hold are right. That’s something I can get behind. But dark for the sake of dark isn't something we should aim for.
What does this video say? If you watch it and really look at the message it’s trying to put out into the world? At worst, it celebrates the violation of another human being. At best, it—what?—shows a creepy guy doing creepy things. At best, it plays pretend with real psychosis out there. Play acts at damaging madness that exists in the world, dressing it up as something it isn’t. Was that really worth saying? Was that art that needed to be?
I’m not saying that this video should be banned or censored or blamed for all the ills in the world. I'm saying that I wish its creators had put more thought into its creation. Because art does help people make sense of the world. With the advent of MRI scans, we realize that it does that in profound ways, for better or worse. And I think that does place a responsibility on those who create art for the masses. Art that is meant to be consumed by a staggering amount of people.
You want to make dark materials that make people question the darkness within themselves? Great. Fantastic. Go for it.
But I don’t think that’s what this video does. This video asks its viewer to not question that darkness. It asks them to accept it and revel in it without examination. To play passive with it and maybe even allow it just a touch more mental reign in the real world. It makes things that should never be right feel just a little right. To feel satisfying and titillating in a way they shouldn't.
As a woman, I find that disturbing and dangerous. As an artist, I find it lazy, irresponsible, and rude. Other artists—better artists—find better, more meaningful ways to use the darker sides of humanity to create art worth making. Why couldn’t the creators of this video take two minutes of critical thought to do the same?
Monday, September 29, 2014
Please Check Out My Patreon Page!
So last year, I wrote about The Art of Asking, which talked about the relationship between an artist and their audience.
Well, here I am again, asking.
I just set up my very own Patreon page.
For those of you who don't know what Patreon is, it's a crowd-funding site much like Kickstarter. However, unlike Kickstarter, it isn't necessarily geared toward a specific project, and is more for enabling and supporting artists to do what they already do.
Now, for me, this feels so thoroughly Greek, in that 1) it feels awkward and strange to ask for money and 2) the concept of patrons to the arts has such a rich history in ancient Greece. So I guess this is me asking you join that distinguished tapestry of history.
By funding my smut.
Most of the content I churn out is out there on the internet for free. And that's something I want to continue. I like sharing with you all. I enjoy the process of doing what I love and the results that allow a person in Indonesia or England or Seattle or down the street from me to see what I have to offer in a way they otherwise never would have. And I don't want to deny someone accessibility to it based on something as base as money.
So this is not about charging people for my work.
The blog posts and stories and photos that I normally post, I will continue to post and put out there for free for anyone who cares to enjoy them.
More than anything, this Patreon account is an attempt to make the creative process a bit more collaborative. Instead of just posting about topics and stories that I feel are interesting when and how I want to, I want to hear from you. Want me to post more often? Want me to post more about a specific topic? Want me to answer a question? Want a story featuring your favorite characters? Want to be featured as a character in one of my stories? Want to see my next novel hit digital shelves a little faster? Pledge a little something and let me know. I want to know.
Because, as I've said before, if you're willing to reach out to me, I am more than thrilled to do what I can to reach back.
I tried my best to keep the pledging pretty reasonable, starting from a single $1 per month to get access to Patron-only content and progress updates on my current novel or story or shoot, going all the way up to $5 per month to get your very own character put into one of my stories.
Please, check out the page and let me know what you think. Are the pledges worth it? Would you participate in something like this? If not, why not? Is there something else you think I offer?
Again, this is about collaboration. I want to know what you want. In essence, I'm asking you one of the most important questions in the world: What are you into?
Well, here I am again, asking.
I just set up my very own Patreon page.
For those of you who don't know what Patreon is, it's a crowd-funding site much like Kickstarter. However, unlike Kickstarter, it isn't necessarily geared toward a specific project, and is more for enabling and supporting artists to do what they already do.
Now, for me, this feels so thoroughly Greek, in that 1) it feels awkward and strange to ask for money and 2) the concept of patrons to the arts has such a rich history in ancient Greece. So I guess this is me asking you join that distinguished tapestry of history.
By funding my smut.
Most of the content I churn out is out there on the internet for free. And that's something I want to continue. I like sharing with you all. I enjoy the process of doing what I love and the results that allow a person in Indonesia or England or Seattle or down the street from me to see what I have to offer in a way they otherwise never would have. And I don't want to deny someone accessibility to it based on something as base as money.
So this is not about charging people for my work.
The blog posts and stories and photos that I normally post, I will continue to post and put out there for free for anyone who cares to enjoy them.
More than anything, this Patreon account is an attempt to make the creative process a bit more collaborative. Instead of just posting about topics and stories that I feel are interesting when and how I want to, I want to hear from you. Want me to post more often? Want me to post more about a specific topic? Want me to answer a question? Want a story featuring your favorite characters? Want to be featured as a character in one of my stories? Want to see my next novel hit digital shelves a little faster? Pledge a little something and let me know. I want to know.
Because, as I've said before, if you're willing to reach out to me, I am more than thrilled to do what I can to reach back.
I tried my best to keep the pledging pretty reasonable, starting from a single $1 per month to get access to Patron-only content and progress updates on my current novel or story or shoot, going all the way up to $5 per month to get your very own character put into one of my stories.
Please, check out the page and let me know what you think. Are the pledges worth it? Would you participate in something like this? If not, why not? Is there something else you think I offer?
Again, this is about collaboration. I want to know what you want. In essence, I'm asking you one of the most important questions in the world: What are you into?
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Happy HUMP! - My Night at a Porn Festival
So my Saturday night began with asking myself, “Soooo, what does one wear to an amateur porn festival?”
After trying on everything in my vast closet—from prom princess to slut, from Domme to schoolgirl—I decided that Stepford Wife was really the clear and obvious choice.
So, tea-length dress, kitten heels, and pearls donned, I joined my date at Dan Savage’s first HUMP! Tour. For those of you who don’t know, Dan Savage—whom I frequently quote here and in real life—is my favorite advice columnist and podcaster. I’m a faithful fan of his blog, column, books, podcast, youtube videos, and his TV show. I’ve converted quite a few friends to his wisdom and he is usually my go-to on any and all advice I give when asked to weigh in on the trials and tribulations of my friends’ relationships.
A few years ago, Dan wondered, if he asked his readers and listeners to send in their amateur porn for a film festival, if he would get any kind of response. Well, he did. In a flood of videos. So, being a man of his word, he had to put on a festival.
For the first years, much to my chagrin—as well as many other’s—HUMP! could only be seen in Seattle. If you wanted to attend, you had to get yourself there. But, this year, Dan decided to assemble the best films from all the past years and take this crazy, sexy show on tour.
Now those of you who follow me may have noticed that I’ve been pretty absent of late. For the past few months, I’ve been helping out a friend with his wedding. Which hasn’t left me much time or energy for the usual sexy shenanigans that I would normally get into.
But now that I’m blissfully if thumb-twiddlingly post-wedding, I’ve been struggling to get my groove back. So, when I saw the announcement for the festival online, I knew that this was the perfect way to get back in the swing of things.
My date and I showed up early, so we could people watch. Because, really, we wanted to know what kind of people would show up to an event like this. I was rather delighted by the diverse crowd that steadily filled the theater. Single old men. Just old enough, college sweethearts. Huge groups of friends. Straight people. Gay people. People in barely street-legal amounts of clothing. People dressed up to the nines. People making-out in their seats. People nervously giggling into their hands. With popcorn in hand, I was thoroughly entertained by the pre-show view alone.
Then the lights dimmed and the first of the twenty five-minutes-or-less films began. “Rumpy Pumpy” was a delightful, vividly colorful cartoon where dicks, vulvas, lips, tits, and tongues did a lovely choreographed, synchronized diving routine onto each other. It was charming, reminding me of a psychedelic, x-rated version of the pre-show “Let's All Go to the Lobby” song where the concession stand soda, candy, and popcorn dance before the previews. Suffice to say, it was the perfect way to start this whole erotic adventure out.
Then there was “The Legend of Gabe Harding,” which was a short, fictional documentary about the life of a porn-set fluffer. Gotta love a movie that ends with a huge bear of a man blowing a line of angels while a diva porn star sings gospel music in the background.
“D&D Orgy” was actually the film that sold my date on coming with me instead of staying at home alone. A DM of an amusingly filthy D&D group herself, she just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see a porn featuring the game. However, I must say, I was a little disappointed by this one. While the movie began with the characters playing D&D and the movie ended with a cast-wide orgy, my date and I were sad that the two things never really felt like were happening together. We were hoping for spells of undressing or rolling dice to determine positions or crazy, zany nerd sex games. Instead, it felt like the characters abandoned their game to have sex. Which was fine, I guess, but not quite what we were hoping. I have a feeling I’ll be reading some how-I-would-have-done-it D&D porn from my date in my future. If not, perhaps, dear reader, you might be reading some from me.
Next was “The Perfect Stranger.” I’m going to also loop this one in with “Music for 2 Humans.” They were both fine examples of straight-up straight porn. A boy and girl just pretty much having sex in different places, in different positions. No real plot. No real dialogue. No character development. No real story to speak of. Just a whole lotta sex. Which was okay. Got ya where you were going. But nothing that everyone hasn’t seen a million times before.
“The Beat,” while it has some tough competition, might be my favorite out of the bunch. It starts off with a pretty, attractive guy waking up and beginning to jerk off. Okay, all right; again, nothing really new, but I’m all for watching and enjoying as he fucks himself with a dildo all around his apartment. He comes and you think that’s it. But then he gets dressed for work and pins on one of those “Can I Tell You About the Wonders of Jesus Christ” type pins and grabs a Bible to the raucous cheer from a thoroughly amused audience. Gotta love when the come-shot isn’t the true payoff in a porn.
I've seen “Mythical Proportions”—so very NSFW, so be careful when you click—before, when I first heard about HUMP! It’s one of the reasons why I just HAD to go to this event. I really have nothing more to say about this than what was in HUMP!’s program description: “This mockumentary details the taboo love of humans and centaurs, as enacted by some butt-ugly puppets.” Perfect.
Before the films began to roll, Dan had prefaced the event by saying that these shorts were not your usual porn, that “if you were alone in the privacy of your own home masturbating, these are probably not what you would click on.” Well, I would have clicked the hell out of “Edged.” Hot BDSM porn about a guy meeting up with a Dom he met online to do edging play, where he’s stripped naked, tied down, gagged, and brought to the edge of coming over and over and over. And, if he comes without permission, he’s not getting untied for the rest of the weekend. Hot premise, hot actors, hot scene. But what sold me so much on this were the mental images the guy tried to use to stop himself from coming. Nothing like a montage of Sarah Palin, Betty White, and tampon commercials spliced together with hot gay sex.
“Go Ahead, Pee!” was...weird. I’m not into piss play, but even for piss play porn...this was weird. It starts out with a clothesline full of soiled underwear. Then a woman in a full-body, white unitard starts jumping on a trampoline in front of the clothesline to the sound of someone urging her to pee. Which she does. Like I said, weird. But what got me was the end tagline, advertising a site for making working out fun. Hey, whatever you gotta do to stay in shape.
“Ouroboros” started out with a very sexy scene of two very sexy guys having fucking hot sex. At the end of the sex, the film starts to rewind, showing the scene in fast reverse. It goes even further and shows you how the two men met in a dance club. You get to see them dance together and flirt together while the film gives you a very sweet background to the extremely hot scene you saw before. It keeps going back until you follow one of the guys home where he’s masturbating to a film of the very first sex scene, giving you a cool infinite timeloop effect.
Oh, “Tuff Titties,” how I wanted to like you. And I did. To a point. The movie starts out with a very endearingly bizarre “Leaving your ladies and children at home; this is just for men” song as the camera closes in on two mechanics bent over as they check under the hood of a car. You quickly see that the two are transmen who have some great sex all over a car yard. And it is hot. Except that they have scenes where they’re deep-throating grease-covered car parts and pouring car lube over each other and fingering each other using car grease. And, even though I’m sure the grease on the car parts was chocolate frosting and the lube in the car lube canisters was body lube and the car grease they squeezed into their hands never made it past the camera-cut and onto the actors’ bodies, the germaphobe, neat-freak in me just goes GAH! I can’t. I just can’t. Those are not body-safe!
And, knowing that Dan Savage is a bit like me in that respect, I wonder if that was why “Krutch” got placed right afterward in the lineup. This was a great story about a woman with a disability and her struggles with just going about life. You see her making her way through crowded, busy streets. You see her run after her bus. You see her fall down and pick herself back up. All intermingled with scenes of her also masturbating on her bed. And, even with this, she struggles. It’s as if she can’t quite get in the right head space to reach orgasm, because her mind keeps flipping back to the more stressful parts of her life. It isn’t until she grabs her trusty, reliable cane and attaches a vibrating cockring to it that she can reach orgasm. I loved two things about this film most. One, I loved that, at the end, her girlfriend crawls into bed with her and you just know they’re going to have one hell of a round two. And, two, before she MacGyvers her cane into a sex toy, she sanitizes and cleans it off. The part of me that freaked out at the previous film thanks you, film makers, so very, very much.
“Fun With Fire.” Oh man. What more can you say about an adorably kinky couple playing with flash paper than the actress’s perfect line, “No big deal; it’s just a fireball over my cunt.”
“Go Fuck Yourself” was a hilarious short comedy about what would inevitably happen if time machines were built. You can’t tell me that there wouldn’t be a significant portion of people going back in time to literally fuck themselves.
“D4U” was another animated short done with paper cutouts of dolphin/unicorn sex. Because why not? What I loved was that the crab filming the dolphin/unicorn sex (again, why not?) put it online, where it was watched by a masturbating bear, rabbit, and t-rex. I loved the sad “awwww” the whole audience gave when the poor t-rex’s arms couldn’t reach his giant paper boner. I also quite enjoyed the Rick Santorum cameo. Bravo. Only a Dan Savage fan.
I have mixed feelings on “Hot ‘n Saucy Pizza Boy.” While I loved the idea of a horny boy masturbating to fantasies about the delivery boy who brought him his pizza, said horny boy looked way too much like my brother. Disturbing.
Much like “Edged,” I would have definitely clicked on “Lauren Likes Candy.” Probably more times than I ought to confess to. This was absolutely BDSM porn done right. It started off with negotiations. Moved on to an incredibly sexy sensation scene against a chain-link fence. It was like being at a kink party. Beautifully real reactions. Nothing was played up or played down. It never felt staged or rehearsed. It was just witnessing a wonderfully done scene. And I love—love, love, love—that it ended with some well-done after care. Yes, every time, would click.
In the same way my date came to see “D&D Orgy,” I came to see “Pie Sluts.” This may be because I’ve been marathoning through my seasons of Pushing Daisies and I love me my Pie Ho’s or my lifelong love affair with all things pastry, but I find the idea of pie-in-the-face porn charming. And it was. While not my kink, what I loved about this was the pure joy of it all. The people in the film were just having so much fun. Even the stern Domme, shoving faces into pies and smashing pies on boys’ butts, slipped a laugh or two. Because, really, how could you not?
“Magic Love” was also a clear favorite of mine. Done in stop motion, it was an ingenious way of spicing up what would have otherwise been a pretty average porn. But there’s something indeed magical about the jerky-yet-smooth slide of a couple, in congress, going up and over their couch, onto the floor, through a hallway, and up onto their bed, all without missing a single thrust. Where they then played sex-pong on the bed. I about died laughing as she spring-boarded off his dick, hit the headboard, only to bounce right back onto his cock. Not to mention the facial with packing-peanut semen. It was absolutely visual magic.
So how on earth do you end something like this? How do you round out the night, leaving a theater-full of fully-clothed, non-masturbating people watching an hour-and-a-half of porn fully satisfied?
With freakin’ E.T. porn.
“E.T. 2: Dark Territory” took a beloved childhood memory and fucked it into submission. From the “It’s safe to come out of the closet now” line spoken by the the now fully grown, adult Elliot, this animated film just went there. For deity’s sake, E.T.’s penis bloomed like an exotic orchid out of his weird alien body, sprouting out nearly twice his body length. The girth of it was so large and oddly shaped that E.T. had to use strange glowing-finger magic to widen Elliot’s anus, so he could take it. Which means that E.T.’s glowing tip shuttlecocking within Elliot’s chest will haunt my dreams for freaking ever. FOREVER! You can’t unsee some things and I fear that that and the sound of Elliot calling his alien buddy his “space whore” will follow me to the grave. But, as I told my date on our way back to the car, it’s still not as bad as if Michael Bay had redone this childhood classic.
And, so, my night of HUMP! Tour ended with some heavy breathing, some laughs, a few tears, and memories of a night that, given the chance, I would definitely do again.
After trying on everything in my vast closet—from prom princess to slut, from Domme to schoolgirl—I decided that Stepford Wife was really the clear and obvious choice.
So, tea-length dress, kitten heels, and pearls donned, I joined my date at Dan Savage’s first HUMP! Tour. For those of you who don’t know, Dan Savage—whom I frequently quote here and in real life—is my favorite advice columnist and podcaster. I’m a faithful fan of his blog, column, books, podcast, youtube videos, and his TV show. I’ve converted quite a few friends to his wisdom and he is usually my go-to on any and all advice I give when asked to weigh in on the trials and tribulations of my friends’ relationships.
A few years ago, Dan wondered, if he asked his readers and listeners to send in their amateur porn for a film festival, if he would get any kind of response. Well, he did. In a flood of videos. So, being a man of his word, he had to put on a festival.
For the first years, much to my chagrin—as well as many other’s—HUMP! could only be seen in Seattle. If you wanted to attend, you had to get yourself there. But, this year, Dan decided to assemble the best films from all the past years and take this crazy, sexy show on tour.
Now those of you who follow me may have noticed that I’ve been pretty absent of late. For the past few months, I’ve been helping out a friend with his wedding. Which hasn’t left me much time or energy for the usual sexy shenanigans that I would normally get into.
But now that I’m blissfully if thumb-twiddlingly post-wedding, I’ve been struggling to get my groove back. So, when I saw the announcement for the festival online, I knew that this was the perfect way to get back in the swing of things.
My date and I showed up early, so we could people watch. Because, really, we wanted to know what kind of people would show up to an event like this. I was rather delighted by the diverse crowd that steadily filled the theater. Single old men. Just old enough, college sweethearts. Huge groups of friends. Straight people. Gay people. People in barely street-legal amounts of clothing. People dressed up to the nines. People making-out in their seats. People nervously giggling into their hands. With popcorn in hand, I was thoroughly entertained by the pre-show view alone.
Then the lights dimmed and the first of the twenty five-minutes-or-less films began. “Rumpy Pumpy” was a delightful, vividly colorful cartoon where dicks, vulvas, lips, tits, and tongues did a lovely choreographed, synchronized diving routine onto each other. It was charming, reminding me of a psychedelic, x-rated version of the pre-show “Let's All Go to the Lobby” song where the concession stand soda, candy, and popcorn dance before the previews. Suffice to say, it was the perfect way to start this whole erotic adventure out.
Then there was “The Legend of Gabe Harding,” which was a short, fictional documentary about the life of a porn-set fluffer. Gotta love a movie that ends with a huge bear of a man blowing a line of angels while a diva porn star sings gospel music in the background.
“D&D Orgy” was actually the film that sold my date on coming with me instead of staying at home alone. A DM of an amusingly filthy D&D group herself, she just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see a porn featuring the game. However, I must say, I was a little disappointed by this one. While the movie began with the characters playing D&D and the movie ended with a cast-wide orgy, my date and I were sad that the two things never really felt like were happening together. We were hoping for spells of undressing or rolling dice to determine positions or crazy, zany nerd sex games. Instead, it felt like the characters abandoned their game to have sex. Which was fine, I guess, but not quite what we were hoping. I have a feeling I’ll be reading some how-I-would-have-done-it D&D porn from my date in my future. If not, perhaps, dear reader, you might be reading some from me.
Next was “The Perfect Stranger.” I’m going to also loop this one in with “Music for 2 Humans.” They were both fine examples of straight-up straight porn. A boy and girl just pretty much having sex in different places, in different positions. No real plot. No real dialogue. No character development. No real story to speak of. Just a whole lotta sex. Which was okay. Got ya where you were going. But nothing that everyone hasn’t seen a million times before.
“The Beat,” while it has some tough competition, might be my favorite out of the bunch. It starts off with a pretty, attractive guy waking up and beginning to jerk off. Okay, all right; again, nothing really new, but I’m all for watching and enjoying as he fucks himself with a dildo all around his apartment. He comes and you think that’s it. But then he gets dressed for work and pins on one of those “Can I Tell You About the Wonders of Jesus Christ” type pins and grabs a Bible to the raucous cheer from a thoroughly amused audience. Gotta love when the come-shot isn’t the true payoff in a porn.
I've seen “Mythical Proportions”—so very NSFW, so be careful when you click—before, when I first heard about HUMP! It’s one of the reasons why I just HAD to go to this event. I really have nothing more to say about this than what was in HUMP!’s program description: “This mockumentary details the taboo love of humans and centaurs, as enacted by some butt-ugly puppets.” Perfect.
Before the films began to roll, Dan had prefaced the event by saying that these shorts were not your usual porn, that “if you were alone in the privacy of your own home masturbating, these are probably not what you would click on.” Well, I would have clicked the hell out of “Edged.” Hot BDSM porn about a guy meeting up with a Dom he met online to do edging play, where he’s stripped naked, tied down, gagged, and brought to the edge of coming over and over and over. And, if he comes without permission, he’s not getting untied for the rest of the weekend. Hot premise, hot actors, hot scene. But what sold me so much on this were the mental images the guy tried to use to stop himself from coming. Nothing like a montage of Sarah Palin, Betty White, and tampon commercials spliced together with hot gay sex.
“Go Ahead, Pee!” was...weird. I’m not into piss play, but even for piss play porn...this was weird. It starts out with a clothesline full of soiled underwear. Then a woman in a full-body, white unitard starts jumping on a trampoline in front of the clothesline to the sound of someone urging her to pee. Which she does. Like I said, weird. But what got me was the end tagline, advertising a site for making working out fun. Hey, whatever you gotta do to stay in shape.
“Ouroboros” started out with a very sexy scene of two very sexy guys having fucking hot sex. At the end of the sex, the film starts to rewind, showing the scene in fast reverse. It goes even further and shows you how the two men met in a dance club. You get to see them dance together and flirt together while the film gives you a very sweet background to the extremely hot scene you saw before. It keeps going back until you follow one of the guys home where he’s masturbating to a film of the very first sex scene, giving you a cool infinite timeloop effect.
Oh, “Tuff Titties,” how I wanted to like you. And I did. To a point. The movie starts out with a very endearingly bizarre “Leaving your ladies and children at home; this is just for men” song as the camera closes in on two mechanics bent over as they check under the hood of a car. You quickly see that the two are transmen who have some great sex all over a car yard. And it is hot. Except that they have scenes where they’re deep-throating grease-covered car parts and pouring car lube over each other and fingering each other using car grease. And, even though I’m sure the grease on the car parts was chocolate frosting and the lube in the car lube canisters was body lube and the car grease they squeezed into their hands never made it past the camera-cut and onto the actors’ bodies, the germaphobe, neat-freak in me just goes GAH! I can’t. I just can’t. Those are not body-safe!
And, knowing that Dan Savage is a bit like me in that respect, I wonder if that was why “Krutch” got placed right afterward in the lineup. This was a great story about a woman with a disability and her struggles with just going about life. You see her making her way through crowded, busy streets. You see her run after her bus. You see her fall down and pick herself back up. All intermingled with scenes of her also masturbating on her bed. And, even with this, she struggles. It’s as if she can’t quite get in the right head space to reach orgasm, because her mind keeps flipping back to the more stressful parts of her life. It isn’t until she grabs her trusty, reliable cane and attaches a vibrating cockring to it that she can reach orgasm. I loved two things about this film most. One, I loved that, at the end, her girlfriend crawls into bed with her and you just know they’re going to have one hell of a round two. And, two, before she MacGyvers her cane into a sex toy, she sanitizes and cleans it off. The part of me that freaked out at the previous film thanks you, film makers, so very, very much.
“Fun With Fire.” Oh man. What more can you say about an adorably kinky couple playing with flash paper than the actress’s perfect line, “No big deal; it’s just a fireball over my cunt.”
“Go Fuck Yourself” was a hilarious short comedy about what would inevitably happen if time machines were built. You can’t tell me that there wouldn’t be a significant portion of people going back in time to literally fuck themselves.
“D4U” was another animated short done with paper cutouts of dolphin/unicorn sex. Because why not? What I loved was that the crab filming the dolphin/unicorn sex (again, why not?) put it online, where it was watched by a masturbating bear, rabbit, and t-rex. I loved the sad “awwww” the whole audience gave when the poor t-rex’s arms couldn’t reach his giant paper boner. I also quite enjoyed the Rick Santorum cameo. Bravo. Only a Dan Savage fan.
I have mixed feelings on “Hot ‘n Saucy Pizza Boy.” While I loved the idea of a horny boy masturbating to fantasies about the delivery boy who brought him his pizza, said horny boy looked way too much like my brother. Disturbing.
Much like “Edged,” I would have definitely clicked on “Lauren Likes Candy.” Probably more times than I ought to confess to. This was absolutely BDSM porn done right. It started off with negotiations. Moved on to an incredibly sexy sensation scene against a chain-link fence. It was like being at a kink party. Beautifully real reactions. Nothing was played up or played down. It never felt staged or rehearsed. It was just witnessing a wonderfully done scene. And I love—love, love, love—that it ended with some well-done after care. Yes, every time, would click.
In the same way my date came to see “D&D Orgy,” I came to see “Pie Sluts.” This may be because I’ve been marathoning through my seasons of Pushing Daisies and I love me my Pie Ho’s or my lifelong love affair with all things pastry, but I find the idea of pie-in-the-face porn charming. And it was. While not my kink, what I loved about this was the pure joy of it all. The people in the film were just having so much fun. Even the stern Domme, shoving faces into pies and smashing pies on boys’ butts, slipped a laugh or two. Because, really, how could you not?
“Magic Love” was also a clear favorite of mine. Done in stop motion, it was an ingenious way of spicing up what would have otherwise been a pretty average porn. But there’s something indeed magical about the jerky-yet-smooth slide of a couple, in congress, going up and over their couch, onto the floor, through a hallway, and up onto their bed, all without missing a single thrust. Where they then played sex-pong on the bed. I about died laughing as she spring-boarded off his dick, hit the headboard, only to bounce right back onto his cock. Not to mention the facial with packing-peanut semen. It was absolutely visual magic.
So how on earth do you end something like this? How do you round out the night, leaving a theater-full of fully-clothed, non-masturbating people watching an hour-and-a-half of porn fully satisfied?
With freakin’ E.T. porn.
“E.T. 2: Dark Territory” took a beloved childhood memory and fucked it into submission. From the “It’s safe to come out of the closet now” line spoken by the the now fully grown, adult Elliot, this animated film just went there. For deity’s sake, E.T.’s penis bloomed like an exotic orchid out of his weird alien body, sprouting out nearly twice his body length. The girth of it was so large and oddly shaped that E.T. had to use strange glowing-finger magic to widen Elliot’s anus, so he could take it. Which means that E.T.’s glowing tip shuttlecocking within Elliot’s chest will haunt my dreams for freaking ever. FOREVER! You can’t unsee some things and I fear that that and the sound of Elliot calling his alien buddy his “space whore” will follow me to the grave. But, as I told my date on our way back to the car, it’s still not as bad as if Michael Bay had redone this childhood classic.
And, so, my night of HUMP! Tour ended with some heavy breathing, some laughs, a few tears, and memories of a night that, given the chance, I would definitely do again.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Is Objectification Always Bad?
So I had shown a friend this flow chart by Playboy:
And she'd asked me if I thought that it's always wrong for someone to objectify you. After all, despite being completely platonic, she and I constantly ogle and flirt with each other. Yet it never feels degrading or insulting. Because we know each other. We like each other. Deep down, we know we respect each other.
So, really, what's a little sexual objectification between friends?
Then I saw this article, titled "Being Objectified May Be Linked To Sexual Coercion In Romantic Relationships, Study Says," being linked all over my newsfeed about researchers from Bridgewater State University who state that "objectification within a relationship is, at best, a serious red flag. If a woman is objectified in a relationship, the research indicates, it's more likely that her male partner will sexually coerce and pressure her."
I can certainly see the logic of that claim. No one wants to be reduced to a set of body parts. Especially by a significant other. And a person who would dehumanize someone like that seems a poor choice for a partner.
But, to be honest, most of the article made me super uncomfortable. It wasn't until the last few paragraphs that it felt like there was an honest acknowledgement that, while it should never be abused, a certain amount of sexual objectification is normal. Even healthy.
I don't know anyone, male or female, who doesn't want their partner to find them physically attractive. And, if your relationship is a sexual one, you want your partner to look at you sexually. You definitely want them to be able to acknowledge and appreciate the whole package but, personally, I'd be more than a little disappointed if my partner's lizard brain didn't go at least a little drooly and googly-eyed over the gift wrapping too.
And the researchers' phrasing of "It's the woman's responsibility to provide for her partner sexually" feels tricky. It feels a little like a verbal trap. Because, if you're in a sexual relationship, isn't it both partners' responsibility to provide for each other, emotionally and, yes, sexually?
I'm not saying that you have to have sex every time someone's horny or force yourself to have sex if you're not in the mood. And it is NEVER okay for someone to pressure someone into a sexual act that they don't want to do.
But, yeah, provide for your partner sexually...pretty sure that's something you want to do for your partner and that you would rightly expect your partner to do for you.
Within reason, I don't think that's too much to ask.
And, if you reversed the genders in that statement, I don't think anyone else would either.
The fact is I agree with Dan Savage's philosophy that "If you acquire a dairy cow, it's considered animal cruelty to not milk it; if you acquire a sexual partner, it should also be considered animal cruelty to not keep them regularly milked." Because, as someone who's been on the high end of a relationship with a libido imbalance, it does feel cruel to be rejected so often. To be denied. To be made to feel unwanted and unfulfilled.
It affects one's pleasure and orgasms, sure. But, more than that, to be told "no" over and over, it takes a toll on one's self-esteem and well-being as well. It makes you feel greedy and dirty, like there's something wrong with you. Like you disgust the person you want most in the world. Like your feelings toward them--your passion and desire for them--violates them.
And, again, this isn't to say that people with lower libidos ought to put out to appease their partners.
Instead, wouldn't it be better--be easier on all parties--to ensure sexual compatibility before entering into a relationship? To place that as high and to give it as much relevancy as we do, say, having similar interests or religious philosophies or socio-economic standings or future plans? If you know your libido is high, don't date people with low libidos and vice versa. Find the people who fit you. Or, if you can't, if you're already in the thick of things, figure out ways--be it porn or different forms of sexual stimulation or open relationships or engaging a sex worker--to come to a compromise. To make sure that, even if both partners have to surely make sacrifices and undoubtedly won't get exactly what they want, that the satisfaction found through that compromise is still enough for both people. That the things you're giving up or powering through are made up for by the things you're getting by being together.
Which, taken in the wrong light, sounds horrible. Forcing oneself to go without sometimes or giving into a demand that you're less than enthusiastic about. So often, the response from people is a balking "Why is sex so important?" Why, if you love each other, would you let something like sex ruin everything? Why is sex such a big deal?
Because it is.
If it wasn't, people with lower libidos would just do it to please their more amorous partners. Or let their partners find sexual outlets elsewhere. That is as difficult and as unfair as their asking those partners to forgo sex to please them.
I would never advocate doing something you don't want to do sexually or to manipulate or coerce someone into doing something sexually that they don't want to do, but it is your responsibility, as a partner, to provide satisfaction for your partner. To make their happiness and well-being a priority.
And, if the act of doing so sacrifices your own happiness, you have to wonder why you're in that relationship in the first place.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Overexposed - Part Two
A Short Story –
Part Two
Read Part One Here
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Edited by, and featuring, Charlie Powell, Corrupted contains ten powerful stories by Vanessa de Sade, Rebecca Chase, Annabeth Leong, Sonni de Soto, Robin Juliet, Kiki DeLovely, Byron Cane, Erin Horáková and Zak Jane Keir.
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UNIDENTIFIED FETISH OBJECT
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Overexposed - Part One
Safeword:
A Short Story –
Part One
You never feel more attention than in the moments you wish you could disappear. You shrink. Slump your shoulders. Cross your arms over your chest. Tuck your legs tight under your chair. But, no matter what you do, it’s impossible to ignore, much less deny, the auditorium-full of focused stares you can feel on you.
The room is so quiet, you can hear the squeak of your philosophy professor’s dry erase marker while she writes today’s topic on the whiteboard.
“Is Privacy Possible?” Professor Miriam Vegas reads the words she wrote. She turns to face the class. “In a world connected by the internet and social media, where we document, record, and share everything we do with the world, has the expectation for privacy become obsolete?”
Her eyes pause on you. It’s slight, but you catch her cringe. She tries to hide it by adjusting her glasses.
You sigh. It’s a nice effort, but about as subtle as flashing warning lights telling everyone not to look at you.
You just nod and hope it comes off confident and reassuring. Even if it isn’t true, you owe it to Professor Vegas to pretend. She’d been kind enough to send an email before class, to make sure you’d be all right during today’s discussion topic.
And, to be honest, you’d thought about skipping class. There’s no way to have this discussion without talking about you and the disaster site your life has become.
“With stories about government and commercial leaks, financial and personal hacking, doxing, and cyberbullying dominating our news coverage, is privacy in the modern, digital age a fantasy?”
Yeah, you should have skipped.
But the idea of being scared or shamed away by gossip had seemed worse than just getting through it. You can do this. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re not about to let anyone make you act as if you have.
Take a breath. Sit up straight. And remember that you are more than what people think of you.
You can do this.
It’s just one class.
One really long, really invasive class.
You take another breath.
You used to love this class. After spending eighteen years in a house where right and wrong were non-negotiable, it was refreshing to be in a space where morality was up for debate.
But that all changed after the story broke last month—after your private life spilled in vibrant HD color across the local news shows and in stark black and white over all the local and college papers. Strange how all that debate has become a lot less fun now that it’s moved beyond the theoretical.
“The number one rule of the internet,” a guy on the back of the room with deliberate bedhead and a wrinkled band T-shirt says with an exaggerated shrug, “is that the internet is forever. If you put it out there, you have to know that someone’s going to find it and spread it everywhere.”
“So you’re cool with the government monitoring your phone calls, texts, and emails?” A blond girl with glasses and dreadlocks shoots him a snarky, knowing smile. “I mean, you put it out there, right?”
One of the guy’s friends rolls his eyes. “That’s completely different.” He leans forward, resting a hand on his knee. “That’s the government, not a bunch of guys on laptops. Hackers can’t take away your freedom by throwing you in jail.”
You think about your life lately—spent isolated and lonely in your dorm room, weary of all the stares and whispers—wonder how free he would feel, if it’d happened to him.
A guy in the front twirls his pen in his hand thoughtfully. “What about when people hack customer data from stores or websites? Does the fact that it’s not Big Brother doing it make it all right?”
“Of course not.” The bedhead guy waves his hand. “Breaking the law is breaking the law. But, like, pictures and posts you put on the internet; that’s free game.” He shrugs and turns to face you. “I mean, if you really don’t want your nudes all over the internet, then stop taking naked selfies or recording sex tapes on your phone. ‘Cause, you know, social media never forgets.”
You wince. “Because you’ve never taken and sent a dick pic.”
You shouldn’t have said it. You know that.
The second rule of the internet: Don’t feed the trolls.
“Not one with my face in it.” The meticulously messy guy cocks his head arrogantly. “Like a smart person.”
You have a comeback ready. Something cutting and witty. Something emasculating about how everything looks bigger with no frame of reference.
But it dies in your throat.
The way this guy and his friends look at you—with an intimate familiarity virtual strangers should never have glinting in their eyes—makes you soundlessly swallow hard.
Don’t look away. Don’t lower your gaze. Don’t let him feel better for making you feel worse.
A month ago, you might have. But, ever since a horde of private photos of you and a secret video of a scene you did leaked all over the internet, you’ve had to learn to get used to the stares.
When everyone knows what you look like naked—in every conceivable way possible—there’s really not much a look can do to you. You know this all too well. You had to learn the hard way.
He grins wider, almost excited by the challenge. “But, I mean, isn’t that the point of exhibitionism, for people to know that you did that? Why else would you take photographic evidence, if you didn’t want anyone to see?”
“Taking a private photo of a private moment,” Tori, a girl you often sit next to, argues, “doesn’t mean you mean or want it shared publicly with the world.”
You nod her way gratefully. She smiles sympathetically and tilts her head. It’s nice to have someone—even for a moment—have your back. Tori is one of four openly gay students you know at this historically conservative college. You suppose she’s probably had her own experiences with having her private life dragged out in the open for everyone to judge.
“I’m not saying it’s fair or right, but the second you took and shared that photo,” Jacob, a guy sitting next to Tori, leans forward to point out, “you made that private moment public.”
“Exactly,” a stiff-spined girl next to him—Janet, you think her name is—adds. “It’s not simply your business anymore; it’s everyone’s. Once the news gets a hold of them, then suddenly it’s not just about you and your actions; it inevitably reflects badly about people just peripherally connected to you.”
“Oh, come on.” Tori groans. She ticks off her points on her fingers. “One, it’s unfair to journalism as a profession to call that news; it’s mean-girl gossip on a grand, high-budget scale. And, two, to claim that anyone else was victimized by it has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Except it wasn’t just Lyndsey’s scandal.” You see a Hispanic girl in glasses raise her hand a bit before shooting a sharp gaze at you. “It’s the college’s scandal. Her actions become all of ours. The school—as a whole, from the administration to the students—suddenly has to rationalize and account for the actions of one person.”
The blond tosses her dreadlocks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Her actions? You mean sex? Are we really going to pretend that no one in this room has had sex before? Or that we believe that the sex we’re having should be seen as anyone else’s business but our own?”
“Again,” Jacob prefaces with his hands held up in front of him, “I’m not saying it’s right, but there’s a difference between a reasonable expectation of privacy and making a sex tape at a house party. A person ought to be able to have their private matters kept private but, once you make an easily reproducible and virally re-postable video at a party, I think you have to go into that knowing that you’re giving up at least some measure of privacy.”
“She wasn’t the only one in those photos or in that video.” Tori turns to face her friend, who leans back with an expression that feels like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion. “Yet the media made her the face of this scandal. Maybe none of us would have to worry so much about what amount of privacy we have the right to expect or not, if we stopped acting like each other’s sex lives—particularly women’s—were some community standards issue we all get to weigh in on. It’s a personal issue between the people involved; it isn’t anyone else’s business. So why do we all act as if it’s communal property?”
“So we should celebrate that kind of behavior?” Janet scoffs. “If you knowingly engage in activities that you know society frowns upon, can you really be all that surprised when society frowns on you?”
Dear God! “You make it sound like we were torturing puppies.”
“You were torturing people.” She sanctimoniously directs her dismissing gaze over her shoulder at you. Her face looks pinched, as if it physically hurt her to remember.
“We didn’t torture anyone.”
“You were hitting people.” Janet’s gaze narrows on you and her lips curl righteously. “What else would you call that, if not torture and abuse?”
Your chin rises, your spine straightening under her gaze. “As long as everyone consented beforehand,” you say matter-of-factly, keeping your voice casual and non-defensive, “I think I call that a good time.”
“So you think that abuse is acceptable?” the Hispanic girl balks.
“Of course not.” You shake your head. “What I’m saying is that if everyone consents, it’s not abuse.”
“A person beating someone with a weapon isn’t abuse?” She scoffs. “How is that anything but?”
They weren’t listening to you. “If they want it, if that person is turned on by it, and if it’s been agreed upon in advance and all the way through, it’s just another form of pleasure.”
“No one in their right mind would feel pleasure from that.” Janet sniffs, so sure. “They’ve just been tricked or confused into sexualizing violence or are too afraid to say no.”
“Just because you’ve never encountered it or aren’t orientated that way, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen.” You’re living proof. Not that you think that counts for anything to her. “It happens.”
“I’ve seen the pictures,” Tori adds softly.
You shoot her a glaring look; she shrugs. She has. They all have.
You blush remembering the images of you topping co-eds at parties—private and those that were less-than-private.
Turns out, as of a month ago, all those parties became a little less private after some anonymous source flashed your face—as well as others—in front of everyone.
You shake your head, clearing those thoughts. “And, whether you agree with it or approve of it or not, none of that should matter. No one is forcing anyone to do anything. No one is being hurt or harmed against their will. What gives people outside of that scene the right to say what people in it can or cannot do.”
“It’s not about can or can’t,” Jacob points out. “This isn’t a matter of ability; you can do whatever you want, so long as it doesn’t break any laws. But it is about whether you should or shouldn’t. And, the minute those photos and video went from being on your private hard drive to the public sphere of the internet, the events became part of the public consciousness. Whether you intended it or not, at that point, I don’t think it matters all that much whether they ought to or have the right to weigh in or not. Because, whatever the morality, humanity proves, time and time again, that people will.”
For a second, you’re stymied. For all your talk about the ideals and principles of fair play and what should and shouldn’t be, he’s right. It happens.
You’re living proof that it does. Once a person’s private lives go public, no amount of wishing can put it back in Pandora’s box.
The guy in the back smirks at you smugly. “It’s Internet Rule Number One for a reason.”
“Okay,” the professor interrupts, “I think it’s time to turn to the text.” Professor Vegas begins to write quotes from the homework’s reading, turning the talk from current events to theory.
You lower your gaze to stare at your notes, the words you took down last night no longer making sense to you now. You can still feel the weight of every stare—a mad mix of curiosity, intrigue, accusation, and titillation—in the room.
Yeah, you should have just stayed in bed.
———
You smile as you look at Porter lying limp on his bed. He looks quite pretty with his eyes wide with fear—yearning want sparking in those round, clove eyes. His hands are tied above his head, the wrists crossed around a bedpost. His long, strong back is spread exposed before you.
Beautiful. Simply beautiful.
You touch his flesh, so sensitive yet so resilient and the color of blanched almonds, in a way no one else ever has. You tell yourself that no one else ever will. Not like this. Fingertips tentatively traverse the bruised hills and marred vales of his body. Each mark a pink and purple trail, tracking your time together, your history.
His body arches into your touch, as if aching for the tender attention after such adoring abuse. You let your fingers linger across his ass, caressing the keen crease of his cheeks.
Your smile spreads into an outright grin while you dip your finger in to play with his hole. You shift over him to straddle his hips, your plastic hardness pressing insistent into his back. He moans.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
Your other hand strokes lube along the long, impossibly hard shaft held tight inside you, touching you with every pass of your hand. You moan too before you rear back and slide in deep.
You ride Porter, listening to him grunt and groan beneath you. Gripping the rope tying his wrists, you pound his thoroughly exploited flesh.
You can feel the blushing heat left by your hand on his pale peach skin and think there’s little in this world better than this.
Fisting his anise hair in one hand while the other grips his hip, you take him, racing desperately toward your end together.
The room is so quiet, you can hear the squeak of your philosophy professor’s dry erase marker while she writes today’s topic on the whiteboard.
“Is Privacy Possible?” Professor Miriam Vegas reads the words she wrote. She turns to face the class. “In a world connected by the internet and social media, where we document, record, and share everything we do with the world, has the expectation for privacy become obsolete?”
Her eyes pause on you. It’s slight, but you catch her cringe. She tries to hide it by adjusting her glasses.
You sigh. It’s a nice effort, but about as subtle as flashing warning lights telling everyone not to look at you.
You just nod and hope it comes off confident and reassuring. Even if it isn’t true, you owe it to Professor Vegas to pretend. She’d been kind enough to send an email before class, to make sure you’d be all right during today’s discussion topic.
And, to be honest, you’d thought about skipping class. There’s no way to have this discussion without talking about you and the disaster site your life has become.
“With stories about government and commercial leaks, financial and personal hacking, doxing, and cyberbullying dominating our news coverage, is privacy in the modern, digital age a fantasy?”
Yeah, you should have skipped.
But the idea of being scared or shamed away by gossip had seemed worse than just getting through it. You can do this. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re not about to let anyone make you act as if you have.
Take a breath. Sit up straight. And remember that you are more than what people think of you.
You can do this.
It’s just one class.
One really long, really invasive class.
You take another breath.
You used to love this class. After spending eighteen years in a house where right and wrong were non-negotiable, it was refreshing to be in a space where morality was up for debate.
But that all changed after the story broke last month—after your private life spilled in vibrant HD color across the local news shows and in stark black and white over all the local and college papers. Strange how all that debate has become a lot less fun now that it’s moved beyond the theoretical.
“The number one rule of the internet,” a guy on the back of the room with deliberate bedhead and a wrinkled band T-shirt says with an exaggerated shrug, “is that the internet is forever. If you put it out there, you have to know that someone’s going to find it and spread it everywhere.”
“So you’re cool with the government monitoring your phone calls, texts, and emails?” A blond girl with glasses and dreadlocks shoots him a snarky, knowing smile. “I mean, you put it out there, right?”
One of the guy’s friends rolls his eyes. “That’s completely different.” He leans forward, resting a hand on his knee. “That’s the government, not a bunch of guys on laptops. Hackers can’t take away your freedom by throwing you in jail.”
You think about your life lately—spent isolated and lonely in your dorm room, weary of all the stares and whispers—wonder how free he would feel, if it’d happened to him.
A guy in the front twirls his pen in his hand thoughtfully. “What about when people hack customer data from stores or websites? Does the fact that it’s not Big Brother doing it make it all right?”
“Of course not.” The bedhead guy waves his hand. “Breaking the law is breaking the law. But, like, pictures and posts you put on the internet; that’s free game.” He shrugs and turns to face you. “I mean, if you really don’t want your nudes all over the internet, then stop taking naked selfies or recording sex tapes on your phone. ‘Cause, you know, social media never forgets.”
You wince. “Because you’ve never taken and sent a dick pic.”
You shouldn’t have said it. You know that.
The second rule of the internet: Don’t feed the trolls.
“Not one with my face in it.” The meticulously messy guy cocks his head arrogantly. “Like a smart person.”
You have a comeback ready. Something cutting and witty. Something emasculating about how everything looks bigger with no frame of reference.
But it dies in your throat.
The way this guy and his friends look at you—with an intimate familiarity virtual strangers should never have glinting in their eyes—makes you soundlessly swallow hard.
Don’t look away. Don’t lower your gaze. Don’t let him feel better for making you feel worse.
A month ago, you might have. But, ever since a horde of private photos of you and a secret video of a scene you did leaked all over the internet, you’ve had to learn to get used to the stares.
When everyone knows what you look like naked—in every conceivable way possible—there’s really not much a look can do to you. You know this all too well. You had to learn the hard way.
He grins wider, almost excited by the challenge. “But, I mean, isn’t that the point of exhibitionism, for people to know that you did that? Why else would you take photographic evidence, if you didn’t want anyone to see?”
“Taking a private photo of a private moment,” Tori, a girl you often sit next to, argues, “doesn’t mean you mean or want it shared publicly with the world.”
You nod her way gratefully. She smiles sympathetically and tilts her head. It’s nice to have someone—even for a moment—have your back. Tori is one of four openly gay students you know at this historically conservative college. You suppose she’s probably had her own experiences with having her private life dragged out in the open for everyone to judge.
“I’m not saying it’s fair or right, but the second you took and shared that photo,” Jacob, a guy sitting next to Tori, leans forward to point out, “you made that private moment public.”
“Exactly,” a stiff-spined girl next to him—Janet, you think her name is—adds. “It’s not simply your business anymore; it’s everyone’s. Once the news gets a hold of them, then suddenly it’s not just about you and your actions; it inevitably reflects badly about people just peripherally connected to you.”
“Oh, come on.” Tori groans. She ticks off her points on her fingers. “One, it’s unfair to journalism as a profession to call that news; it’s mean-girl gossip on a grand, high-budget scale. And, two, to claim that anyone else was victimized by it has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Except it wasn’t just Lyndsey’s scandal.” You see a Hispanic girl in glasses raise her hand a bit before shooting a sharp gaze at you. “It’s the college’s scandal. Her actions become all of ours. The school—as a whole, from the administration to the students—suddenly has to rationalize and account for the actions of one person.”
The blond tosses her dreadlocks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Her actions? You mean sex? Are we really going to pretend that no one in this room has had sex before? Or that we believe that the sex we’re having should be seen as anyone else’s business but our own?”
“Again,” Jacob prefaces with his hands held up in front of him, “I’m not saying it’s right, but there’s a difference between a reasonable expectation of privacy and making a sex tape at a house party. A person ought to be able to have their private matters kept private but, once you make an easily reproducible and virally re-postable video at a party, I think you have to go into that knowing that you’re giving up at least some measure of privacy.”
“She wasn’t the only one in those photos or in that video.” Tori turns to face her friend, who leans back with an expression that feels like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion. “Yet the media made her the face of this scandal. Maybe none of us would have to worry so much about what amount of privacy we have the right to expect or not, if we stopped acting like each other’s sex lives—particularly women’s—were some community standards issue we all get to weigh in on. It’s a personal issue between the people involved; it isn’t anyone else’s business. So why do we all act as if it’s communal property?”
“So we should celebrate that kind of behavior?” Janet scoffs. “If you knowingly engage in activities that you know society frowns upon, can you really be all that surprised when society frowns on you?”
Dear God! “You make it sound like we were torturing puppies.”
“You were torturing people.” She sanctimoniously directs her dismissing gaze over her shoulder at you. Her face looks pinched, as if it physically hurt her to remember.
“We didn’t torture anyone.”
“You were hitting people.” Janet’s gaze narrows on you and her lips curl righteously. “What else would you call that, if not torture and abuse?”
Your chin rises, your spine straightening under her gaze. “As long as everyone consented beforehand,” you say matter-of-factly, keeping your voice casual and non-defensive, “I think I call that a good time.”
“So you think that abuse is acceptable?” the Hispanic girl balks.
“Of course not.” You shake your head. “What I’m saying is that if everyone consents, it’s not abuse.”
“A person beating someone with a weapon isn’t abuse?” She scoffs. “How is that anything but?”
They weren’t listening to you. “If they want it, if that person is turned on by it, and if it’s been agreed upon in advance and all the way through, it’s just another form of pleasure.”
“No one in their right mind would feel pleasure from that.” Janet sniffs, so sure. “They’ve just been tricked or confused into sexualizing violence or are too afraid to say no.”
“Just because you’ve never encountered it or aren’t orientated that way, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen.” You’re living proof. Not that you think that counts for anything to her. “It happens.”
“I’ve seen the pictures,” Tori adds softly.
You shoot her a glaring look; she shrugs. She has. They all have.
You blush remembering the images of you topping co-eds at parties—private and those that were less-than-private.
Turns out, as of a month ago, all those parties became a little less private after some anonymous source flashed your face—as well as others—in front of everyone.
You shake your head, clearing those thoughts. “And, whether you agree with it or approve of it or not, none of that should matter. No one is forcing anyone to do anything. No one is being hurt or harmed against their will. What gives people outside of that scene the right to say what people in it can or cannot do.”
“It’s not about can or can’t,” Jacob points out. “This isn’t a matter of ability; you can do whatever you want, so long as it doesn’t break any laws. But it is about whether you should or shouldn’t. And, the minute those photos and video went from being on your private hard drive to the public sphere of the internet, the events became part of the public consciousness. Whether you intended it or not, at that point, I don’t think it matters all that much whether they ought to or have the right to weigh in or not. Because, whatever the morality, humanity proves, time and time again, that people will.”
For a second, you’re stymied. For all your talk about the ideals and principles of fair play and what should and shouldn’t be, he’s right. It happens.
You’re living proof that it does. Once a person’s private lives go public, no amount of wishing can put it back in Pandora’s box.
The guy in the back smirks at you smugly. “It’s Internet Rule Number One for a reason.”
“Okay,” the professor interrupts, “I think it’s time to turn to the text.” Professor Vegas begins to write quotes from the homework’s reading, turning the talk from current events to theory.
You lower your gaze to stare at your notes, the words you took down last night no longer making sense to you now. You can still feel the weight of every stare—a mad mix of curiosity, intrigue, accusation, and titillation—in the room.
Yeah, you should have just stayed in bed.
———
You smile as you look at Porter lying limp on his bed. He looks quite pretty with his eyes wide with fear—yearning want sparking in those round, clove eyes. His hands are tied above his head, the wrists crossed around a bedpost. His long, strong back is spread exposed before you.
Beautiful. Simply beautiful.
You touch his flesh, so sensitive yet so resilient and the color of blanched almonds, in a way no one else ever has. You tell yourself that no one else ever will. Not like this. Fingertips tentatively traverse the bruised hills and marred vales of his body. Each mark a pink and purple trail, tracking your time together, your history.
His body arches into your touch, as if aching for the tender attention after such adoring abuse. You let your fingers linger across his ass, caressing the keen crease of his cheeks.
Your smile spreads into an outright grin while you dip your finger in to play with his hole. You shift over him to straddle his hips, your plastic hardness pressing insistent into his back. He moans.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
Your other hand strokes lube along the long, impossibly hard shaft held tight inside you, touching you with every pass of your hand. You moan too before you rear back and slide in deep.
You ride Porter, listening to him grunt and groan beneath you. Gripping the rope tying his wrists, you pound his thoroughly exploited flesh.
You can feel the blushing heat left by your hand on his pale peach skin and think there’s little in this world better than this.
Fisting his anise hair in one hand while the other grips his hip, you take him, racing desperately toward your end together.
Read Part Two Here
New Smut Project News!
Hey, folks!
Come click for the table of contents for the Between the Shores anthology I’m going to be a part of, so named “from an inspiring quote by Khalil Gibran about the importance of both togetherness and self-sufficiency, generosity and maintaining boundaries in intimate relationships.”
Come click for the table of contents for the Between the Shores anthology I’m going to be a part of, so named “from an inspiring quote by Khalil Gibran about the importance of both togetherness and self-sufficiency, generosity and maintaining boundaries in intimate relationships.”
Hope you all check it out when it comes out!
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