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Posts Tagged ‘video’

I’ve been pretty silent here for a while. There are reasons, of course; there always are. But I would like to be saying more in this space. It’s just that the things that are happening to me in the kink realm seem increasingly private, and it’s hard to talk about them in a space where so many people know my real name.

Instead I’ll talk about the woman in the Firefox window I’ve had open for a month, Marina Abramović.

I read about her first when Cal pointed her out at the closing of her recent exhibition in New York.

For those who don’t know (because I certainly didn’t), Abramović is a performance artist who began her career in the 1970s. Her work was explicitly about the body: what it can take, and to whom it belongs. She did work that was grueling, painful, and sometimes close to lethal. In what was likely her most famous piece, Rhythm 0, she stood completely passive and silent for six hours near a table full of objects: chains, feathers, olive oil, razor blades, cameras – and a loaded gun. Audience members were invited to do whatever they liked to her, and while at first people were reluctant, by the end a spectator was holding the gun to her neck until another group of audience members stopped it.

Throughout her career, she has demanded that the audience engage with the art directly – and she has demanded endurance and discipline of herself which, reading about her, made me think of the most extreme forms of submission and service. In this latest exhibition, she sits in a chair, completely silent, and stares into the eyes of whomever cares to sit across from her and look. She did not speak for three months. In older works, besides the extremity of Rhythm 0, she played the point of a knife between her splayed fingers as fast as she could, sometimes missing and cutting herself. When she would complete a cycle, she would attempt to repeat it exactly – including the cuts. With her long-term partner, Ulay, she did a piece where he held the string of a bow, with an arrow pointed at her heart; she held the bow itself, and the two of them leaned back, balancing each other. (A video of this and other pieces is here.) She did a piece in which she lay in the midst of a burning five-pointed star, and one in which she lived on platforms raised high above the gallery floor for twelve days without eating or speaking. The only way down was via ladders, the rungs of which were upturned butcher knives.

The dedication and grace with which this great artist has put herself through privation, suffering and humiliation are admirable in a stark way, that moves me as a person interested in the extremes of human experience. It offers, to me, another window into why we do what we do. Sometimes – often, in fact – it is about sex. But not always. Sometimes, it feels to me, we are reaching for something more: a spiritual cleansing, a direct encounter with our own limits, the kind of fear that allows one to walk the line between life and death without falling in, because the guide, your partner, is there. Watch this to get a sense of that peculiar terror, the predicament that you’ve entered into willingly.

She performed these pieces to say a number of things: about the body, about limits, about Communism and the terror under which she grew up. But it still strikes me, the way we still do these things ourselves: the way we subject ourselves to suffering in order to learn something about ourselves and what we can take. To show ourselves that suffering has meaning.

Because we all suffer, each in our particular way, from the most abject to the most privileged among us. Not many of us can claim the kind of suffering Abramović endured under Tito – but perhaps that’s exactly why we put ourselves through what we do.

I don’t believe, as some do, that kinky inclinations are the result of a diseased mind. But I do imagine that most kinky people are in semi-privileged positions – and for those of us who have never known what it’s like to starve, live in war or occupation, or really hurt people for a living, it can be very intriguing to get close to violence, to put yourself through the kind of challenge that humans who live indoors and have TiVo are rarely called to anymore.

Sure, kink is sexy. Sure, power play is hot. But for me, at least, there’s something more to it. It’s about overcoming fear – or about seeing that fear in someone else’s eyes. It’s about seeing how much pain I can take before I break. It’s about finding my limits. It’s about knowing myself – and stretching the definition.

More of Marina here.

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I was listening to my local NPR station in the car the other day and was overcome with sadness when I heard this short news story: Ray Gosling, a longtime BBC presenter, confessed on-air to killing his lover more than 20 years ago – smothering him with a pillow when the pain from AIDS had become too much. The lovers had an agreement, and the assisted suicide was a total success – until now. Gosling has been arrested and is undergoing questioning.

What killed me was the audio NPR took from this video, of Gosling’s confession:

I found myself deeply touched by his confession, and I’m deeply sad both that our current society does not allow for this kind of mercy killing, and that he confessed it this way, on air – and at a time when there’s no way to prove what really happened. I’m terribly afraid that this will wind up with him going to jail for a long, long time.

In media news surrounding the issue, I’m not at all surprised that that homophobes and conservative Christians are jumping all over this. But I’m more disappointed that Vanity Fair is treating it like a light gossip piece with all the cynicism that implies.

Here’s a somewhat longer piece in which Gosling talks about it afterwards.

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New clip available on my site. My good friend Madeline and I getting a slave to lick nasty junkfood cupcakes off our bare feet.

Ah, the silliness of this life…

Get it here.

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I cannot stop watching this movie.

And I can’t believe I went all of these years without seeing this beautiful, strange, moving and problematic piece of cinema. I finally saw it this weekend – twice in as many days – and I’m ready to watch it again, soaking in it the way I soaked in A Perfect Circle’s first album when it came out, or my first collection of Nick Drake.

Like so many before me, I’m troubled and intrigued by the “love scene” between Deckard and Rachel, seen here.

I’ve often been troubled by the facile way some kinksters manage to look at certain scenes in movies. In particular, many folks of my acquaintance really get hot watching men get hurt. There’s no doubt that the suffering of the male body can be terribly attractive; I’m totally with it, so long as it’s consensual.

But in a world where desire is a strange beast and so much of our input comes from film and TV, images of suffering, nonconsent, ambiguous consent, and rape become iconic. These days, it seems acceptable to enjoy masculine suffering, but it’s still terribly problematic – and I think, rightly so – to enjoy scenes that are or may be rape of women. We are nowhere near far enough along in the deconstruction of millennia of patriarchy to put women on equal footing with men in terms of their susceptibility to sexual violence, and fetishizing non-consensual violence against women is simply not okay. Still: why is it okay to do it to men? This is something of a tangent, I know, because what I’m really getting at is the following.

Most of the time, I find it horrifying when I detect that a scene of sexual violence against a woman is imminent in a film or TV show. It is never sexy or fun or titillating. Which made me look at this scene in Blade Runner in a different light: i.e., it turned me on. So what does that mean about me, or about the scene? Am I trying not to have the scene be a rape, because if it is I’m a sicko for being turned on by it? Or is it just because I want this film to be more complicated than that, which in all other ways, it is?

For those of you who didn’t feel like watching the video, here’s the scenario: Rachel has recently learned that she’s an android, not human. She’s having a lot of trouble dealing with the idea, especially, that her memories are not her own. She has just saved Deckard’s life, and is herself on the run; he is sheltering her in his apartment.

Seeing him sleeping, she softens her look, taking off her jacket and taking her hair down. She plays something on the piano, which wakes him. He comes on to her, to which she reacts ambivalently, seeming to like it at first, then backing away and trying to leave when he goes to kiss her on the mouth. He chases after her, blocks her exit, and slams her against the blinds. She looks afraid but aroused, too, and he kisses her.

“Now kiss me,” he says.

“I can’t rely on…” she begins.

“Say, ‘Kiss me,'” he says.

“Kiss me,” she says. He does. Then he says, “I want you.”

She says, “I want you,” with her eyes downcast. He doesn’t say anything, but seems to prompt her again. She looks into his eyes and says, “I want you,” once more.

Then, without prompting, she says, “Put your hands on me.”

Now, naturally, his violence toward her is unwarranted. And the way he prompts her responses suggests that she is going along with him to prevent further violence. But the context says something more to me.

Deckard is a man who has known only violence, in particular in his interactions with Replicants. His initial treatment of her, when he feels he might be rejected, is not excusable, but is consistent with his character. Rachel is an android struggling to be human, who has a fascination with Deckard, with love, and has mixed desires. In some readings I’ve seen of the scene, including the actress Sean Young’s, the scene is a teaching by Deckard to Rachel, a woman who “do[esn’t] know the meaning of love, but…want[s] to.” This reading is much more compelling to me than that of a “simple” rape, where Deckard overcomes Rachel by physical, and then by emotional, force and manipulation.

But the overwhelming first experience I had of watching the scene was a kinkster’s reaction: “Oh my gods,” I said, “they’re fetishizing consent.”

I seriously doubt whether Ridley Scott or anyone else involved had this in mind when they shot the scene, but it was the first interpretation that jumped into my crazy kinked-up head. “Say ‘kiss me.'” Tell me you like it. Tell me you want me. Beg me for it.

Nonconsent fantasies are one thing; though they can be problematic, and I still have issues with exploring them through scenes in movies that are clearly meant to be about real nonconsent, not consensual nonconsent. But for me the hotness lies even more in the fetishization of consent: getting the person you’re doing horrible wonderful things to to tell you how much they like it. It’s one of my gooshiest hottest embarrassment buttons as a bottom, to have my top put words in my mouth expressing my desire and enjoyment of what is happening to me. And as a top, I’d much rather hear my bottom say, “Please” than say, “No,” though both have their place.

Please. Yes. Ahh! God… Breath sucked between teeth. A whimper.

I’ve distracted myself again.

But this scene. Like the rest of this film, so complex, so tied into questions of misogyny or commentary thereon, of human versus non-human, of what it means to be capable of consenting. In my view, this is a scene wherein Deckard goes through wrenching changes: he’s long felt that Replicants don’t deserve to be shot in the back just for being Replicants, but his training tells him to treat all Replicants the same. What happens when he finds himself desiring one, falling in love with one? The idea that she might reject him is intolerable. His first response is violence, but his second is to try and be sure of her, to know that she actually wants him, that she actually is consenting, is capable, as a machine, of consent.

And her response to him. Earlier in the scene, she asks if he would “hunt” her if she ran. The question has desire in it as well as fear: if she left, would he follow? When she tries to leave and he prevents her, she is scared, but wanting, too: she feels the desire, but it is new, and she needs guidance. Her interrupted line, “I can’t rely on…” suggests that she doubts her own ability to make decisions or even to have desires, and he wants to show her that she can, that she does. She choses a tragically broken teacher, but then everyone in this world is broken. And when she finally says, “Put your hands on me,” I do not believe that she is simply acquiescing to make things easier on herself: she is making a statement of agency, of humanity.

Feel free to argue with me if you like. I’m open. I’ll be over here, watching this movie again.

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There’s a new video clip up at my clips store of me spanking the crap out of a sissy over my knee. Bare hand, hairbrush, paddles, you name it. He whines hilariously, too.

.wmv and .mov formats are up; more are coming. Enjoy!

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I’ve got a new trampling clip up in several different formats at my clips store. Please to enjoy.

Next week there should be a new OTK spanking clip, and then if I can keep my videographer hoppin’, we’ll get many more clips up (I’m hoping for one new one per week) in the next few months.

Enjoy!

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This past weekend’s video shoot was a smashing success, and I can’t wait to see the results. We shot with the voluptuous Madeline, who at nearly six feet tall with a stunning fall of naturally red hair is quite a match for me. (Good thing, too, since I happen to love her something terrible.) While she’s chiefly played the sub to me in the past, this time we let her flex her inner domme a bit, and she really shone.

We performed various tortures on a video slave I like.

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Be on the lookout for some harsh high-heel trampling with verbal humiliation, some shoe, boot, stocking and bare foot worship, dirty feet cleaning, panty and stocking washing (by mouth, of course), cigarette torture and glove fetish, and a good old-fashioned ass-kicking.

Torturing the slave boy was amusing; causing anguish and embarrassment to someone who loves it is entertaining and fulfilling to me, but can be somewhat tiring as well. By the end of it I generally feel drained and have sore feet, back and legs from walking around in heels all day. My creativity is tapped by improvising witty dialogue and focusing all of my energy onto the object of my torment. It’s the same reason I can only do four sessions a day, tops, without actually making myself sick: I take it seriously. I focus my energy. I pay attention, every second. And when the camera’s rolling, it’s just that many more things to pay attention to.

But for me, the coup de grace was the final scene, which Madeline and I shot together after the slave went home. I rediscovered, as I so often have the opportunity to do, what really turns my crank versus what I just find amusing.

First, I got my guy on a bit.

I got into some good old blue jeans and a Nasty Pig rubber belt. I wore a leather halter on top and some Diesel men’s briefs underneath, and I was packing with a leather harness and a nice slim cock that Vixen makes. I topped the whole thing off with a buttery leather racing jacket, and dressed my girl up in a floofy little skirt and tank top.

As soon as the camera started to roll I just did what came naturally: grabbed her by the hair, slammed her against the wall and kissed her, holding her nose shut with one hand. Pushed one thigh up between hers. Brought her to a chair and made her kneel down in front of me, told her to take my cock out and suck it, make it nice and wet and ready. She undid my belt and reached in, letting it spring free. Her beautiful mouth wrapped around that cock was heaven, and her enthusiasm plugged me right into it, made that cock mine. It wasn’t long before I was dripping underneath the base of it, all of that sexual energy running right through the silicone and into her. I grabbed her, reluctantly pulling her off of me, and made short work of her little lacy panties. Her sweet little cunt, tight and more bud-like than most, is covered with sweet red hairs, and inside it was wet and ready for me, as my black-gloved hand quickly found out.

I sat her down on top of me and let her rock.

I often lament how little really good lesbian porn there is: the mainstream stuff that’s labeled “lesbian” is all too often two pneumatic blondes with dragon-lady fingernails making me fear for each other’s shaved clits while they delicately finger each other and flick their tongues in each other’s general direction. The Crash Pad Series is so far my favorite answer to this problem, and I adore DarkPlay for lesbian BDSM. I hope that with this little video, and future clips I do with beautiful women, I can add to the collection and maybe give people more of a taste of what (some) real sex between women looks like.

I’ll let you know when it goes up.

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