Yesterday morning I saw an article about an art project called Hysterical Literature. It's a series of nine sessions, each with a different subject reading a classic novel. The catch is, the subjects are all attractive women who are simultaneously being "distracted" by an assistant using a vibrator.
Before you rush to judgement and assume this was porn, you need to understand the setup. Each woman is seated at a small desk and all the viewer sees is their face, arms and torso. What's going on under the table is hidden. The subjects are filmed in black and white with a black backdrop, centering all your attention on them.
Maybe it's odd, but I'm convinced it's the most erotic thing I've ever watched. There's something that I find enchanting about hearing someone else read, male or female. One of my fondest memories of college was a professor walking in, an old record player in his hands, nodding to us, then putting a record of Dylan Thomas reading his own works. His only words came at the end when he welcomed us to his class and walked out. Not one class was missed that semester, by anyone.
The women are all attractive, but in different ways. Some tried with all their might to read and ignore their pleasure, but many succumbed almost instantly. What made it so human, so sexy, was that when it was done, or should I say they were, they reintroduced themselves, stated what they had read and almost all laughed. The art in this piece could be argued, but what it revealed was that we aren't programmed to see this kind of sensuality. We're used to seeing women ravaged by a man, the moment ending when he is finished and her pleasure being an afterthought, maybe even not. To see these women, reading something that means something to them, losing themselves in the book, then not being able to continue was amazing.
It might sound silly, but it made me miss having someone to share that with. To read to or to be read something that interests them. Maybe it's just as simple as missing one's mind and understanding that if one appreciates a woman for her mind and can stimulate that, she will be as comfortable with you as these women were with their prose.
Before you rush to judgement and assume this was porn, you need to understand the setup. Each woman is seated at a small desk and all the viewer sees is their face, arms and torso. What's going on under the table is hidden. The subjects are filmed in black and white with a black backdrop, centering all your attention on them.
Maybe it's odd, but I'm convinced it's the most erotic thing I've ever watched. There's something that I find enchanting about hearing someone else read, male or female. One of my fondest memories of college was a professor walking in, an old record player in his hands, nodding to us, then putting a record of Dylan Thomas reading his own works. His only words came at the end when he welcomed us to his class and walked out. Not one class was missed that semester, by anyone.
The women are all attractive, but in different ways. Some tried with all their might to read and ignore their pleasure, but many succumbed almost instantly. What made it so human, so sexy, was that when it was done, or should I say they were, they reintroduced themselves, stated what they had read and almost all laughed. The art in this piece could be argued, but what it revealed was that we aren't programmed to see this kind of sensuality. We're used to seeing women ravaged by a man, the moment ending when he is finished and her pleasure being an afterthought, maybe even not. To see these women, reading something that means something to them, losing themselves in the book, then not being able to continue was amazing.
It might sound silly, but it made me miss having someone to share that with. To read to or to be read something that interests them. Maybe it's just as simple as missing one's mind and understanding that if one appreciates a woman for her mind and can stimulate that, she will be as comfortable with you as these women were with their prose.
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