Friday, September 30, 2011

What Makes Pornography Look Cheap?

My Usual Bitching Continues

I have harped about pornography on a few occasions. But, when one is hungry and only slop is available, one eats slop. I am presenting this in an anecdotal fashion, and then conclude with a subjective analysis. I am not trying to say what is right or wrong, just what makes pornography look cheap, unrealistic, and amateurish. It seems that any lamebrain with a video camera can now produce a video. They are always able to find willing “professional amateurs” with loose inhibitions to abuse or be abused for fame and some compensation. I hope that you can laugh at much of it even when it pretends to be serious.

If you have read my blog so far, you probably know the theme: Female Led Relationship. In my limited experience, that is very close to submission to a woman or women in general. This then sets the stage for my primary interest in erotic novels and movies that deal with the dominance of females over males, hence my preoccupation with femdom. I realize that there is a lot more to porno, but as usual, I will stick to my favorite subject. The rest of this post is primarily presenting pornography in terms of femdom genre.

The Nightmare
I awoke stretched out on my back in an ill-lit room. Several wood-looking beams with a single cross beam sporting eyebolts and hooks interrupted the smooth surface of the dark ceiling. Some eyebolts had chains hanging, and one in the center had a hoist with a chain and an electrical control hanging above me. My balls ached, and I attributed that fact to some strap around my package, which in turn was pulled taut by the hoist. I could move my head left to right, so I checked the area in the dim light emanating from shaded floor strips along the walls. The wall to my left had an elaborate Saint Andrew’s cross with eyebolts affixed. On both sides to the corners was furniture whose purpose I could guess, but not ascertain for the moment. One was like a child’s hobbyhorse without wheels or a head, but had straps on the four legs. Another was a short-legged wooden chair with some padding, but had a hole in the seat, roughly the size through which my head would pass face up. Above the furniture were horizontal boards attached to the wall on which instruments, and various crops, whips, paddles and straps hung, some gently swinging in the wind generated by the overhead fan. On my right were two credenzas. On the top of each were sex toys of the sadistic nature: dildoes, strap-on cocks, butt plugs, clamps and clips of a dozen nature and size, hand and ankle cuffs, chains, mask, and more. The far wall toward my feet was covered in cheap wallpaper depicting rough-hewn stones in some blue-gray color. Over the door at each end were fake arches of the same motif. Both doors were closed. The only items between them were a padded bench covered in leather, an ashtray on a tall pedestal, and an unlit floor lamp with several sources of light. 
I lay there trying to remember how I came to be in this place, but came to no conclusion. My last memory was that of watching a cheap pornographic video on my computer. After that I don’t know. The air in the room was cool but not uncomfortable on my naked skin. My wrists and ankles were strapped to a narrow table. I needed to use a bathroom, but was unable to move other than wiggle my butt. What seemed like hours later the door on the left opened, and a woman, or one, who appeared to be one, entered carrying a small tray. On the tray was a beer glass half full of some pale liquid, and a clip, the kind one would use to keep a bag of chips closed. As thirsty as I was, I hoped that she meant for me to drink that beer. She picked up the clip and applied it to my nose, essentially forcing me to breathe through my mouth. She then lifted my head and placed the glass to my lips, “Drink until the glass is empty,” she said in a deep voice. She tilted the glass, and I gulped before I realized that beer it was not.
I spilled only a small amount at which point she withdrew the glass and slapped my face on both sides. I reacted angrily, and said, “Stop that and let me get up. You have no right to do this to me!” I should have checked my cock before uttering this silly request. It was rigidly pointing at my face. 
“Shut up slave, or you’ll be sorry,” she hissed. She wore a tight red body suit made of shiny plastic. Her matching plastic boots with eight-inch heels on the platform came up to her crotch. The heavy dark makeup around her eyes looked deep as if hollowed into her skull. The exaggerated lips made up with a color matching her boots were clownish. The red fingernails were about three quarters of an inch longer than natural. I wonder how she manages to wipe her butt after, … I thought. She picked off one of the riding crops from those hanging on the wall, and struck my exposed cock, thus interrupting my assessment of this female. After that she left strutting on her high heels and skinny legs. I was alone again. 
The door on the right this time opened. An overhead light came on. A woman came in riding on the back of a naked man who moved on his hands and knees. The woman struck the beast’s ass with a riding crop at each step. She wore black leather panties about the size of a half of playing card cut diagonally. The matching top covered her breasts just barely. Black leather gloves covered her hands and arms nearly to her armpits. Halfway into the room she dismounted her beast and staggered to get her balance. She was wobbly on her platform boots with impossibly high heels. I wondered what would happen to her ankles if she lost her balance. Slipping from that height could break one. As she clopped to the Saint Andrew’s cross, she pulled the man by a leash around his neck, and again struck his butt with each step. As the man reached the cross, she screamed, “Get on your feet, slave!” She milled about for a few seconds apparently trying to decide what evil thing to do next. With each step she took on the hardwood floor I could visualize a heavily shod Clydesdale horse on cobblestones. Schmuck got off the floor but not fast enough before she struck his butt again and again. She pushed his back against the cross and began to attach his appendages to the cuffs at ankle and wrist levels. When done, she stood back to examine her work. Apparently satisfied, she clopped around the table on which I lay to the credenzas. She selected several clips and weights. She also picked up a gas mask that looked like a combination of a World War I flying ace full leather cap with an old style rubber hose used in diving. The hose would run from the mouth area down to crotch level. Managing to clop back to Schmuck she put her clips and clamps next to my head on the table, then manhandled the ersatz gas mask over Schmuck’s head. His eyes bulged behind the huge glass eye pieces of the device as he tried to yell in panic. The volume of his oral emanation was muzzled to about the level of an average groan. The skinny black-styled woman (somehow I assumed her name to be Black Mistress) picked up the end of the hose through which Schmuck breathed, and blew into it all of her lungs’ capacity. After getting her breath back, she held the end to her mouth again, and screamed into it, “All right you fucking maggot, I’m going to teach you some fucking manners. You’ll fucking call me Mistress, not Ma’m! You’ll be fucking sorry for being alive before I get through with you!” 
She dropped the hose, and grabbed the man’s balls, pulling them as far as the sac allowed. The man whimpered and tried to follow his balls’ trajectory in vain. She began to attach clips and clamps to the balls and the cock, and then hung weights to the metal hooks. She finished with two sturdy clips on the man’s tits. She pulled a cat-o-nine-tails looking device off the wall, and swished it to get the feel of it. After ascertaining the distance of her reach, she held the tips of the whip in her left hand, and then did a full stroke with her right hand as she released the tips. The tips landed on the man’s chest, and he jumped. She sneered at her helpless slave, “I’m going to whip your fucking tits off,” as she continued the strikes to his chest. After a few strikes she clomped back and forth perhaps for effect, but apparently no reason. She stopped and kicked the weights hanging from the man’s balls, sending them swinging. Schmuck groaned. She kicked again snarling, “I’m going to fucking rip your fucking balls off.” Her last kick caused some of the clamps and weights to fly off in different directions, getting quite a reaction from the man. For good measure she raised the whip again, holding the tips, and then struck at Schmuck’s genitals. He had a hard on before, but it was quickly going away now. 
She noticed my own erection as she turned toward me. This time she did not hold the tips, but swung with full force front and center. Those tips were not hard, but they came with high speed, and stung like a hive of bees. “You fucking voyeur,” she screamed at me, “Close your fucking eyes or I’ll have my slave sit on them!
"Better yet, I’ll do just that,” she said, and then yelled for her slave. The red-clad woman who was there earlier came in. “Sit on this slave’s face,” Black Mistress said, as she pointed to me. Red Slave got up onto the table behind my head and then knelt on both sides. 
“No, no,” Black Mistress screamed, “Open our crotch first.” 
Red slave unsnapped her crotch. A somewhat small but erect cock snapped forth before she deposited her butt on my face, thereby shutting off any view of the activities. She wiggled her butt while I tried to breathe. I could only hear what Black Mistress was doing. After some chain rattling and clomping I heard her again yelling at someone to move his ass.  She ordered Red Slave to get her the biggest strap-on. Red Slave got off my face, and did as her mistress ordered. I could now see Black Mistress tediously strapping on the dildo. Schmuck was draped over the padded hobbyhorse with his ass at ninety degrees from my point of view. Black Mistress moved behind Schmuck’s ass. Without much preparation she jammed home the enormous device. Schmuck was now free to scream since the fake gas mask lay at his feet. Black Mistress began to pound his ass and soon she moaned “Oh yeah,” every few seconds interspersed with “Take it you fucking slut! I’m going to ream your fucking ass up to your fucking chin,” and the like. It must have been a sympathetic orgasm when she finally stopped. She was looking satisfied, yet she had not lost the permanent sneer on her face. Red Slave was standing on the side masturbating while groping her womanly breasts through the shiny red plastic. 
Black Mistress turned to me, “Now it’s your turn, you fucking pervert. First we make sure that you don’t see what’s coming to you. “Slave, get up on his chest and stick your dick in his fucking mouth.” Red Slave eagerly complied. As she carried out the order I felt my other cheeks also parted as Black Mistress moved in for the final act. 

My own snoring woke me. The computer monitor before me on my desk still had the final scene of the video that I was watching when I fell asleep. I was leaning back in my chair as I looked around fearfully, for my wife could have, or maybe she did walk in to see me in that compromising position. I quickly killed the browser, and went to make a cup of coffee. Apparently she had not caught me. I could reset my fear counter and try again next time.

 Analysis in Very Subjective Terms

In the short story above I may have overdone the presentation in many respects. My purpose was to include many of my favorite idiocies used in pornography, so the story may not be as smooth as it would be if I had tried a “real” one. If you want to see a “real” story, see my book, “Jason’s Deliverance” as described in the side bar of this blog. My objection is not to the category of porno, for we each are titillated by slightly or greatly different things. I am objecting to the implementation.

While I read blogs dealing with my favorite subjects I run across videos that the bloggers thought were great. I am easy to entice into trying them myself. Then one thing leads to another, and I get more than I need or want. With the exception of some one-time-amateur productions, I have developed an aversion to the entire genre now available in erotic videos. Although the theme of some categories is still enticing, the implementation sucks. I watch the short free clips for a few seconds or a few minutes, skipping forward just to see what is there. I have never paid for one. I figure that if these free clips irritate and bore me, the long movie version will put me to sleep. My pet peeves of stylized porno are the following:

Platform boots or shoes: The original idea for platform footwear may have born from wanting to increase the height of the heels. I don’t see the need to go past what looks good, but we all have our kinks. There is a limit before the wearer is walking with toes pointed straight down. So, to increase the height of the heels from, say, three inches to five, add two inches of platform, and you have it. The effect is ridiculous. The sexy effect of the original idea is lost because of the implementation in a clunky and dangerous manner. I know it is a matter of taste, but no sane woman would wear platform shoes or boots to go to any place other than the few feet from her car to the front door of some D/S party. She may as well wear stilts if she is trying to look taller.

Stylized femdom wear: By definition, a dominant female (femdom) wears weird corsets, is naked between her breasts and thy-high stockings, wears gloves up to her biceps, wears fingerless gloves, wears harnesses made of metal, leather, plastic with lots of rings and chains, studded dog collar, tall boots, military hat, and smokes cigarettes through a foot-long cigarette-holder. She never goes anywhere without a whip and a riding crop. Obviously she cannot have all of these femdom things on at the same time, so there are many outfits looking different, but unmistakable femdom.

Plastic/rubber attire: While I don’t make fun of those who prefer it, I make fun of those who think that it makes femdom or submissive of the person wearing it. Once on, how can one tell who is dominant and who is submissive? Personally I find rubber and plastic even in small quantities uncomfortable, smelling bad, and ridiculous under the circumstances. But that is just my opinion.

Gas masks: This one is ridiculous. Why would anyone want to use a gas mask in sex play? I might see some use of a full head mask in sensory deprivation play, but one must be careful with that.

Facial masks and head masks with eye, nose, and mouth holes: This is a little less ridiculous than gas masks, but it is close. It does not impede the submissive who wears it, so why put it on? Is it perhaps to allow Joe Blow from next door to act in two-bit porno and not be recognized by his wife or his buddies? That is rather unfair to the dominant who does not wear a mask. Why not add flippers and rubber duckies?

Screaming dominas: They are screaming idiots. If they are not intelligent enough to explain their agenda in a calm tone, especially in view of the usually bound and gagged submissive, then they should not be allowed to wield a riding crop. It is like handing a loaded gun to an unstable person.

Sneering dominas: A dominant woman, or one acting like one, need not sneer, snarl, or try to look mean. She can impart the look of dominance with feeling rather than grimacing. Sometimes showing emotion, sometimes withholding emotion can accomplish more than these faked grimaces. The permanent or repeated sneer looks irritating and stupid. Even a teenager will look normal from time to time, why should not an adult dominant woman?

Ungainly and purposeless clopping on hard floor: This happens when a domina can’t think of the next move since there is no script. So she walks in her high heels or platform-wear on a hardwood floor. After a few seconds of it one wants to hit the fast-forward or the stop button on the video.

Usage of “fucking” more often than every three words: See, for example this video. I have been know to use the word, but seldom more than once in the same sentence. When used in every sentence, it becomes irritating in a hurry especially when combined with screaming.

Lack of direction, ad-hoc and arbitrary acts: This is the earmark of the lowest class porno. It has to do with adlibbing the scenario. Some people can do it; others just end up looking stupid.

Locked into stylized femdom with no originality: If you have seen a dozen men being whipped by skinny females, you have seen them all. They may vary the number of victims or perpetrators, they may vary the background, they may add a few twists, but the result is the same. There is no reason for the scene other than punishing or mistreating some poor schmuck who appears to enjoy it regardless of the pain or degradation. If only they would add some plausibility to the scene, and be able to make it look real! However, even when they try, it is blatantly fake.

Amateurish use of whips: I call these dominas professional amateurs. They are professional since they do it for a living. Yet they are amateurs, since they obviously have not educated themselves on the use of their main instrument. I have never whipped anyone, so I am not the expert here. On the other hand, I know how to use a whip. If you have seen any Indiana Jones movies you will recall that he picks up the whip in one hand, and wields it. He does not hold the tip in one hand, while beginning the strike with the other.

Na├»ve use of toys and tools: The domina is given a box of stuff to use to make the video entertaining. She picks up a pair of pruning shears, and applies it to the genitals of the submissive. The only thing she can do after that is to put it down before she is charged with a felony. It reminds me of Eddie Murphy in the movie, Golden Child, in which he yells, “I’m gonna row your ass!” An oar is just not the right instrument for the purpose.

Brainless, purposeless activity: I usually ask myself, “Why is she doing that?” It is like splicing together a few seconds of unrelated movies that did not make sense in the first place.

Fake dungeon walls: This is just professional crap. It looks cheap and their production is cheap.

Faking orgasm: It is all right to fake one when appropriate. It is also distracting when inappropriate. See “Oh yeah”.

“Oh yeah”: Repeatedly moaning this while faking orgasm even as she is using a strap-on dildo on some man. In the throes of passion one tends to lose inhibition, and will say and do things never thought of normally. After the first “oh yeah”, however, one wishes that she would just shut up.

                                                                          ***


Monday, September 5, 2011

Ephemeral

With mankind’s having a relatively short life span relationships must be squeezed into short periods. For example, a man finds a woman who is perfect. He is in lust with no restrains. After a while he finds out that she has brought baggage, which he does not want to handle. Even while this were not to surface at an early date, she might find that he is not the perfect dildo that she assumed: he had idiosyncrasies that will cost her grief and time on the long run.

Am I saying anything new here?

We have either read about this or experienced it or both. So why is it that we start the perfect relationship, we write (blog) about it, and then it comes to an end? The reason is hope. Hope is irrational. Hope is illogical. Hope is nonsense. What we do is ignore rational reasoning, we ignore logical conclusions, and we go with feelings knowing that they are not based on reality. Predictably, the hope-based relationship fails, and then we are into another similarly ill-fated relationship.

It is a wonder that some relationships last. I happen to be in one. We have tried most of my fantasy things, and they worked for a while. I assume that we could have tried all of my wife’s fantasies and achieve the same. The problem is that any fantasy that is not part of one’s everyday routine requires effort by one or both partners. Putting forth the effort is where the implementation of the fantasy fails. You wake in the morning, you do your work, and then, you think of the obligation you have to fulfill your partner’s fantasy. Unless it is also your own fantasy, at some point you will think, “Fuck it! It’s not worth my effort.” And then the implementation of one’s fantasy is over. It may also be the relationship that is over if it was based on the fantasy alone in the first place.

I read blogs of happy couples with aberrant sexual habits: chastity, orgasm denial, cuckolding, sadism, and the like. They thrill me as I read; yet I am aware of their ephemeral nature. I have not yet read a blog where the author said, “This has worked just fine, but I am now too damn old to continue writing, so this is it. Good bye.” What I read instead is the lack of further postings on these formerly fascinating sites. It is as if the author has died, or his/her theme reverted to vanilla. That, or they have split. The question I have is this: “Are you in a long term aberrant sexual relationship that has lasted more than a few years?” If so, please speak, for you may be one of the few who survived.