“When your brains are gone, what nobler substitute could there be than wine?” ~Supervert, ‘The Necrophilia Variations’
Do not scroll down.
Do not read past the picture of the sweet lass, below. I have a link you should watch. Before you do, there’s probably a couple of things I should say. There are some things going on in this video, including the reading of an excerpt from the Necrophilia Diaries, read by the beautiful woman with the delightful smile you see below. I should note the reading is pretty adult in a NSFW/NSFF sort of way.
I should also say this picture is part of the story of how that smile came about.
Now, having said this much, I think I can assume what some of you might be thinking regarding where that happy expression came from, and what this means in terms of what you are about to see.
No. Sorry to disappoint, but I can can assure you there is no real suggestion – let alone presentation – of nudity, sex acts, or much of anything of an overtly visual nature.
Nothing. Except for that smile. And to quote the young lady making that smile: “Wow.”
Now, go watch, right here, watch the progression all the way through, no skipping, nothing, just listen to her, watch her … and then we’ll take a smoke break, calm down a little and talk about stuff, as Stu is fond of saying.
“Why do you watch me so intently?” she asks.
Feeling pretentious, he replies:
“To see you.”
“When it happens, when you let go. I see you, a part of you you don’t share with anyone else. There are no inhibitions, there is no restraint … well, no inner restraint. You allow yourself out. A very private part of yourself.”
“Really? You judge your experience with women by the intensity of their orgasms?”
“Um … not judge. More like enjoy.”
“What if I told you that you were full of shit.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily argue.”
“Good.” Pause. “At least you didn’t say you were looking into my soul.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“There’s an upside to this, though, if you give the idea some thought.”
“And that is…?”
“Obviously, if you have a lover with this sort of voyueristic fetish, wouldn’t it follow that your lover would wish to better learn how to help make things happen for you, and that he or she might thus be well-practiced in the art of getting you off?”
“You are really having this conversation with me? Really?”
“Dunno. But it’s an interesting thought, don’t you think? If you want to get someplace, it follows you have to figure out how to get there.”
“But what is the ‘there’ you are getting to?”
“The visual thing?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe its peeling back the layers to get at the uninhibited joy that lurks beneath. Maybe that thing that scares men about women, the idea they can reach a place men can’t.” He grins. “Maybe this is what ancients were referencing when they talked about the ‘Goddess’ in women. I think I can see that. In you, for example.”
She looks horrified.
“Do not start describing…”
“Self-conscious, too,” he offers, and gets a punch in the shoulder and a dirty look for his trouble.
Back to our story …
Clayton Cubitt is playing with female things.
He says he’s making art.
Okay. I can buy that.
The art he is making is short films.
Orgasms as art, as one interview characterized what Cubitt is about.
The concept is simple: a young woman sits at a table with a book she has selected to read from and proceeds to do so.
What happens next is filmed, all in one take.
The tension of each piece is the element of resistance. The reader is instructed to ignore what is happening to her as long as possible until, as they say in all the best Star Trek episodes, resistance is futile.
Shot cleanly in black and white, the womens’ skin and the flat table stand out in stark contrast against a black background, ensuring focus on the reader, and the expressions on her face.
And those expressions are the real art here.
Beautiful. Open. Unambiguous, hiding nothing, sharing everything.
There are five videos released so far, with five different readers. In each one, the young woman is brought to orgasm, slowly, inextricably, by what we assume – and are told – is hidden manipulation.
All the while they read on, resisting giving in to sensation.
In each of the videos, the women succumb.
I use the term ‘succumb’ intentionally.
It doesn’t hurt that the first video features the beautiful Stoya, perhaps one of the most beautiful actresses in porn. Stoya is fresh-faced, her light skin flawless in the black and white medium. As one person remarked to me, she looks like that prototypical girl next door.
In the Stoya reading, something else about her stands out – there is no sense of anything unusual conveyed, not subtle hesitations, signs of discomfort, self-consciousness. She is, as we might say in the acting profession, in the moment. Except she’s not acting. She’s reading. She will read until she can’t read.
So you – the viewer/ voyeur – know the setup. You know what is supposed to happen. So you wait.
It really is about the expression, I think. What happens to the face – in this case, a woman’s face during that special moment when nothing in the world matters except that moment.
Speaking of moments, there is always the question whether this is a ‘When Harry Met Sally’ moment.
Personally, I kind of think Cubitt’s films underscore why that scene was both true, and pure bullshit – ’cause either Stoya is one of the best damn actresses you’ve ever seen, easily kicking Ms. Ryan’s ass in the fake orgasm department – or this is about as true a moment caught on film as you could ask for.
I think the real truth of what WHMS told us is a lot of men are stupid when it comes to women. How stereotyped that perception is will have to be your call. Beyond that, the scene was bullshit, at least in the sense that if you are talking about real lovemaking, the kind that goes on for a long time, (as opposed to the two minute slam-bam-thank you ma’am stereotype comedians have done to death) there’s a certain point where the thought of things being faked do not follow (i.e.: Time + Making Love = Truth).
But, hey, what do I know? I’m a guy.
What I do know is I don’t invest a lot of time in things I do not like.
I doubt women do, either.
And that the converse holds true.
But I digress …
Stoya’s thoughts on the session are here.
More Hysterical Literature here.
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