Kink for All 2

I wasn't sure if I was going to be going to Kink for All 2, but I'm so glad I did. The variety of topics and the diversity of participants is so refreshing. The opportunity for anyone to share anything is so important. Giving people who normally are not invited to speak at the bigger, paid conferences or don't have a two hour long class to teach, but just an idea they want to share that opportunity is such an important part of the ever changing and expanding kink community. Plus, it makes me feel smart.

I hadn't prepared anything to talk about since I wasn't sure I'd even be able to go, but once there I was encourage to give a presentation. I figured I would revisit my last subject of Kink and Popular Culture (someday soon I'll post my notes for that, I promise), but specifically about the film Secretary. I hate doing these things without a slide show, it's a lot easier talking about visual things when there's a picture of that thing to look at, but here's just a few notes from what I can remember I rambled on about:

By the way, if you never saw the movie this is your spoiler alert.



Normality: most of the time depictions of BDSM are portrayed by for a laugh (East of Eden, High Anxiety, Family Guy) or as a sign of pathology or desperation (Blue Velvet, The Piano Teacher, Night Porter). Refreshingly, Secretary is primarily a love story between two fully formed, complex human beings who have issues just like anyone else. It was really the first time I saw a BDSM relationship that looked like something I could identify with.

Aesthetics: one of the things I truly appreciate about this film is that is finally breaks away from the well established tropes of black leather, corsets and high heeled boots that have come to be equated with kink. The depiction of BDSM as something dark and dangerous only to be practiced after midnight in stone walled "dungeons" with red drapery is getting a little old. Not that it's not sexy, but sexy doesn't always look the same to everyone. Those signifiers used to have a real purpose and meaning when BDSM was truly a subversive, underground activity. But now when those same images are used to sell shower gel, cars and soft-drinks, the edge goes a little soft.

In the film, all of the action takes place in the offices of E. Edward Grey during working hours. Before she gets the job as Mr. Grey's secretary, Lee Holloway's environment, her parents house, the "normal" world is all bright colors and plastic. The interiors of his world is all warm wood and earth tones. There are plants everywhere. Rather than the dichotomy being light -vs- dark / normal-vs-deviant / safe-vs-dangerous it is closer to artificial -vs- real. And no one is in leather.

Hardcore: In her essay "Mainstreaming Kink: The Politics of BDSM Representation in U.S. Popular Media", Dr. Margot D. Weiss, PhD discusses the difference in perceptions of BDSM to a non-kinky audience. What did this movie mean to the uninitiated?

... even interviewees who enjoyed the love story in Secretary expressed disappointment that these images of the other were too mainstream, too conventional, too mundane, or too consumerist. Ty thought that if real SM is “violent, dark, and more depressing,” the representation in Secretary, “tone[s] it down a little bit” and “cast[s] a nice humorous light” on BDSM. Suzy thought Secretary made it “a little bit safe,” while Jenny thought the film was a little “too Hollywood.” Abby said that, in Secretary, “SM was portrayed as like not as harsh [but as] something that could bring two people together, and you know, make them fall in love with each other. It was just like more subtle SM, softer.”

These interviewees are pointing to a basic disappointment: Nothing truly shocking and out-there can appear in the in-here consumer culture. Once mainstreamed, these images of BDSM are a little too safe, a little too nice, and a little too easy to swallow. (124)

I never understood this. She waits for him (for days) at his command, sitting at his desk, never moving, not eating, and urinating on herself in determination to not disobey. It's so much more hardcore than anything you'd see in a dungeon, but it's not "obvious". No one's being whipped bloody by a single tail, no one is screaming in pain. No one's in black leather.

Don't get me wrong, the outfits can be sexy and sometimes you want an atmosphere fitting for dark, dangerous and generally naughty behavior. But limiting the images of BDSM to such a narrow range of costumes, colors and decorating choices ignores the complexity and diversity of the people who call themselves kinky.

Review: The Opening of Misty Beethoven

"What's your name?"

"Misty Beethoven."

"Is that your real name?"

"No, it's not. I picked it to sound more important."

"What was it before?"

"Delores Beethoven."

I always thought My Fair Lady was one of the kinkiest movies ever made, the story of a pitiful girl being molded into something else by a powerful, distant cold master. Pygmalion. The person as a blank canvas to twist and turn into whatever you desire.

The Opening of Misty Beethoven  is the story of an overly made-up prudish prostitute who will do nothing but perform hand-jobs. She's picked up in a sleazy porno theater by the sexologist Dr. Seymour Love (the Henry Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle) who takes on the challenge of turning her into an expert in the art of sex. They jet-set between New York, Rome and Geneva on a airline complete with coffee, tea or me flight attendants and through his training and tutelage becomes the glamorous, talk of the town, elite slut of high society. 

"Can you make a man come when he wants?"

"I think so."

"Well, you'll make three men come simultaneously!"

"Why?"

"It will give you confidence."

After many "training" montages of her dressed in pig-tails and a track suit sucking cock to a swinging jazzy soundtrack, she is introduced to the creme de la creme of sluts seducing everyone along the way. She makes her grand debut at the orgy of infamous hedonist Lawrence Layman and proves herself a first class pervert and with some unexpected gender bending along the way. Then, of course, Dr. Love makes the realization that after casting her aside and taking credit for her grand success, he'd grown accustomed to her face (or at least her mouth) and the student becomes the teacher.

I don't watch a lot of porn and if I do I'm watching about 4 minutes of one scene over and over. But I love these old school 70's full-feature movies with real tits, hairy twats, slapstick and bad puns. Like Deep Throat or Behind the Green Door, it's that odd cross between a movie with a lot of actual sex and a porno with an actual plot and it's surprisingly entertaining in all it's hairy, juicy, barebacking, twitchy and silly absurdity.

Immersion Porn

Book Review: Opening Up

I will admit, reading Tristan Taormino's Opening Up is a lot like watching the Food Network when the only thing in my refrigerator is a half a bottle of fat-free blue cheese dressing and an unopened bottle of Maraschino cherries.

There is a lot of very helpful information and good advice for issues that I, unfortunately do not have. I wish I needed advice on negotiating the sex lives of my husband, his boyfriend, my girlfriend, our long distance lover and our local fuck buddy. I wish I needed a guide book to help me cope with too many people being in love with me.

Oh, luxury problems.

But in all seriousness, it did help me clarify, to a degree, what I do have and put into some clear terminology what I know I want. I tend to approach my relationships with a casual, "let's just see where this goes" laissez-faire attitude. Normally I don't like to pigeon-hole relationships into one category or another and I tend to avoid labels at all costs. It took me a year to finally admit that the guy I had been dating and sleeping with exclusively was my "boyfriend".

But, I'm starting to think not only is okay to label relationships, it might be kind of helpful.

According to Taormino, I would currently be "solo polyamorous" (or, you know, single) and what I want is to be is in a "partnered nonmonogamous" relationship. I tend to just go with the flow and let things just happen (or not) in relationships, more out of laziness than anything else, I think. Maybe out of fear, too. I've had enough unrequited love, I've learned to not push it. There's helpful stuff in there about jealousy and envy. I get jealous, it's true, I admit it and it sucks. I hate it, but it happens. Sometimes going with the flow is easier said than done.

I think it's good to take a look at what I have, what I want and what I need. What I do have is pretty rad. The stuff I want is relatively easy to get. It's the stuff I need that has proven much, much more difficult.

I read The Ethical Slut and thought the same thing I did reading this. Yes, all this is very helpful and practical and makes perfect sense, and maybe someday I'll actually need it.

Sequential hermaphrodites!

I'll do anything for a man with a bullhorn

I don't really have a problem getting naked in front of people, at least when everyone else is getting naked too, so the whole public nudity thing wasn't an issue for me. I was concerned about the cold and I was kind of hoping to be somewhere in the middle of the pack (I didn't want my sandy tits front and center, but it would be cool to be able to pick myself out of the great texture of human skin), but other than that, I was more excited than anything else. I always wanted to be in a Spencer Tunick photo. Friends of mine did the shoot in Grand Central Station and it seemed like a hoot and one of those things that one should just do at some point in their life if given the opportunity.

So, after a 3 hour trip on the Long Island Rail Road (arriving at midnight), a desperate attempt to grab a couple of hours of sleep (unsuccessfully), and a 30 minute cab ride from Amaganset, Lynsey and I and 298 other people gathered in the pre-dawn darkness, next to the Montauk Point Lighthouse getting ready to get naked for art.

People were wandering around or sitting in their cars waiting for instructions when finally we heard a voice from a bullhorn. A small cheer rose up from the crowd and we gathered closer, ready to do pretty much whatever this guy wanted us to do. We would have about an hour to wait until 5:15 when the sun came up and while we waited in line to get release forms, I turned to Lynsey and said, "It's getting chilly isn't it?" When we first got there, the temperature was surprisingly mild and thankfully it was not raining. But as the sun was coming up, the temperature seemed to be dropping and the wind was picking up. I pulled the hoodie over my head and wished for gloves. This might kind of suck, I thought.

Finally as the light crept up, Spencer climbed a ladder and bullhorn in hand, thanked us all for doing this, thanked his team and led us down to the beach. He warned that if he yells at us, it's not because he's mad, he's just trying to get as much done in the least amount of time. He ran through the poses he wanted to do: standing looking at the ocean, standing looking at the lighthouse, curled up in a ball… the "crab walk."

He walked off into the distance to set up and when he gave the signal, suddenly the big crowd of just people transformed into a big crowd of naked people.

My first thought was that the temperature was quite comfortable. It wasn't as windy as it was on the hill. I didn't even have goose bumps. The second thought was, holy god this is a very rocky beach. Oh yeah, this is Montauk. Tentatively, I maneuvered my way around the rocks and shards and twigs and landed on a relatively clear sandy bit.

Pose 1: stare into the ocean. It was really quite lovely. The cool air on my skin, the only sound was the roar of the waves and the occasional screams from those folks brave enough to actually get in or near the water. The guy in front of me was shivering. We were then told to lie down facing up. Then we curled up like ball, our faces to the sand. Every once in a while he would shout for somone to get down or to stop looking into the camera.

When the signal was given to stand, a cheer rang out. We'd done it! We're awesome! We're naked and we're awesome!

We're not done?

He wanted some shots further down among the rocks. The rocks, those horrible, horrible rocks. I inched along, each step a little more painful than the next. Then we sat facing the water on the rocks, then we laid on our backs (on the rocks) and arched ourselves up into the crab pose and the distant groans of muscle strain matched the squeals from the folks down by the water. Then we laid down on our backs, then on our sides with our arms draped over the person to our left. I carefully rested my arm on the sandy buttock of the woman next to me and closed my eyes while rocks jabbed into my side. Then face down and I closed my eyes to the scurrying bugs just underneath my face and thought about my friends who only had to contend with the clean, cool flat marble surface of the floor of Grand Central Station.

It is amazing the amount of power someone with a megaphone and a camera can yield.

When we were indeed done, I sighed with relief and cursed my soft, modern feet as we made our way past the two confused (and I hoped pleased) looking fishermen back to where we dropped our clothes. I have never been so grateful to put on shoes in my entire life.

I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Ease on down the road.

You can't win - Michael Jackson - The wiz
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I always had an irrational crush on the "sleeveless" crow.