Schlagwort: Orgasmus

Orgasmus als Kunst


Sexy oder schamloser Voyeurismus? Clayton Cubitt hat für sein Projekt Hysterical Literature Frauen vor einer schwarzen Leinwand gefilmt. Sie lesen scheinbar ungezwungen aus ihren Lieblingsbüchern vor. Doch vom Zuschauer ungesehen versucht eine zweite Person unter dem Tisch, die Frauen mit Hilfe eines Vibrators zum Orgasmus zu bringen. Gebannt kann man zusehen, wie es den Frauen immer schwerer fällt sich zu konzentrieren, bevor sie schließlich komplett die Kontrolle verlieren. Als Zuschauer ist man Zeuge einer sehr intimen Situationen, die anregend, sexy und witzig ist. Stoya, eine der Partizipierenden, sagte zu ihren Erfahrungen:

Sexually speaking I really enjoy things that I can’t predict and things that are new to me. This attempting-to-read-aloud-and-maintain-composure while being sexually stimulated game is new. The video camera adds a dash of exhibitionism which I always appreciate. Most interesting, though, is the Hitachi that my vagina is about to be making very good friends with for the first time.

When I tell Clayton’s lovely assistant for the evening that I’ve never experienced the Hitachi, her eyes light up. I’ve obviously gotten myself into the most fun kind of trouble. Lights get set and everyone assumes their positions. My underwear lays on the floor out of frame. As I start reading, my disbelief is suspended. I forget what is about to happen. The first touch on my thigh sends all available blood to my vulva. I continue to enunciate properly, focusing on the text. I’ve broken a sweat. If this goes on for much longer my hair will be plastered to my head with perspiration as though I’ve been working out or engaging in acrobatic man/woman penetrative fucking. I stumble over a word, my concentration breaks as I go back to pronounce it correctly. Neither the Hitachi or the woman wielding it will be denied, but in the interests of art (and because this feels so beautifully filthy I don’t want it to stop yet) I hold out as long as I can. This section of the world that I’m inhabiting slows down, zooms in. Like a stretched rubber band it suddenly contracts, and I am lovingly punched with an orgasm.

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