Sep 212015
 

I’ve found a new site I like. I mean, really like. It’s called “Digital Desire.” The basic premise is simple: beautiful women masturbating.

There are other sites that feature women (and men) masturbating: I Feel Myself, Beautiful Agony, and The Life Erotic, to name three I’ve enjoyed over the years. Each has its own spin. I Feel Myself purports to show “real women” – amateurs, not porn stars – engaging in “real masturbation” – the way they do it at home. With, without toys, in positions and outfits selected for their pleasure, not the viewers’. It feels authentic, for what it’s worth: there’s a huge variety of women – different ages, races, body types, outfits, positions, techniques. The camera work is arty, not leering, respectful. The general sense conveyed is one of, if not quite voyeurism, consensual watching. There’s no pretense that the camera isn’t there, but neither are the women particularly performative. It’s very, very hot. Somehow, though, it always leaves me a little cold. I’m not exactly sure why: I think, though, that I feel almost… excluded. Like, the women are letting me watch them, but my presence or absence is utterly irrelevant. This is complicated for me, because I definitely don’t (think I) want women to perform for me. But I sort of do want my viewing to be, somehow, essential.

Beautiful Agony is similar, but different. It too features a wide variety of models (including men). But here, all we ever see are people’s faces. The body never appears. It’s a study in the infinite variety of orgasm faces. It, too, is very hot. And it too renders me irrelevant.

The Life Erotic is very different. It features professional models (from the Met Art family of sites and models), disproportionately Eastern European, very homogeneous, professionally shot in sumptuous studios. The focus is on the models’ uniformly perfect bodies, with an emphasis on close-ups of vaginas. It feels a lot like watching the same thing over and over, and the performances are all very, very (too) performative. The effect (on me) ends up being a bit numbing, unvarying. “Oh yeah,” I think, “another stunning 20-year-old being paid to (pretend to) make herself come.” Some of the orgasms surely are real, some pleasure surely is had, but, in the end, it is, unmistakably, professional porn, featuring professional porn actresses. This isn’t necessarily always a bad thing, but it is monotonous, and the general sense of artifice is inescapable.

One other collection bears mention, before I get to Digital Desire: the “Hysterical Literature” series, by Clayton Cubitt. These are astonishingly hot to me. But there are only eleven videos available. I want more. Hundreds more. These are so fucking hot, because they feature women not just traveling from zero to orgasm in ten or fifteen minutes, but because they feature women struggling not to come. There’s something so hot about seeing these women resist pleasure, try to focus, and increasingly, being pulled away. But the problem is, this is conceptual art, not porn. (It could be porn, if there were more of it.) I would love to watch hundreds of women come like this. But eleven just isn’t enough to hold my attention long.

So. Digital Desire. First, its flaws: the women are all very pretty, very model-like. They move around in exaggerated, slow languor, showing off their bodies in a way that, generally, does nothing for me. And where Beautiful Agony and I Feel Myself lack performative-ness, here, it’s a little bit too much, generally.

But their bodies! And, the clothes they wear!

Generally, the women wear pastel panties, bikinis, boyshorts, rarely thongs, and lacy or cotton bras. The lingerie is, generally, a size too small, hugging the flesh so tightly as to become one with it, nearly erasing the insanely hot transition points where fabric gives way to flesh (where flesh gives way to fabric).

This spot – the spot where my visual access to your flesh ends, where hiding trumps revealing – is the whole point of most porn for me. Sure, I like to see a woman sucking a cock, riding a cock, being fucked or licked. But more than that, what gets me hard is the contradiction presented by sexual availability on the one hand, and coy, teasing withholding on the other.

It’s why my favorite sexual image isn’t of a nude woman (nudity is, for me, nearly always the same), but instead, of a woman clothed, legs spread not too wide, but wide enough to give me a privileged view of her thighs, ending in a fabric-covered pussy. That says, to me, something like, “I know what you want, and you may have it,” without, actually, giving it to me. And as I’ve written over and over, getting something is, for me, infinitely hotter than having it.

So on Digital Desire, these beautiful women don’t give me their pussies. Except, actually, they do. And this is where the site tips from hot to scorching. The way the site goes, the women start by dancing for the viewer, slowly, playfully. (This part I would happily do without, or see transformed, as it is in a series they call “flirt,” into a more interactive segment, in which the women present themselves, talking a bit, behaving more naturally. Again, there’s too much artifice here, but still, it’s better.) Anyway, most of the videos progress, from models displaying themselves for me to models getting themselves off. And while many appear to be getting themselves off for me, moaning theatrically, positioning themselves self-consciously for the camera, others don’t. Many appear, genuinely, to lose themselves here, the performance seemingly giving way to pure masturbatory pleasure. And here, like in the Hysterical Literature series, what makes it so hot is (the impression?) that the women start in one place, and lose themselves in another, overwhelmed by pleasure.

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I’m not dumb. I know this all is artifice, that there’s a director and someone(s) working the cameras, that the pleasure is for me, that the women are being paid.

But it’s fucking hot.

I could watch that shit all day.

  One Response to “A new porn discovery”

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