eric-x-jessica

hxzel1x1  asked:

Você é fraco e eu só estava usando isso pra ter o que precisava (Jess x Eric)

     Eu desviei meu olhar do de Jessica, e em seguida olhei para o chão com a cabeça a balançar de um lado para o outro, tentando fazer com que suas palavras não me atingissem, porém já era tarde demais, elas já haviam perfurado meu peito, já haviam feito meu coração de refém! Eu levantei meu olhar mais uma vez e olhei para a morena, em minhas pálpebras formava-se um dilúvio, pouco a pouco eu começava a derruba-lo em minhas bochechas, descontrolado e fraco, fraco exatamente como ela alegara há alguns segundos atrás. “Yes, i’m weak!” eu vociferei, não importando-me com como minha voz soava debilitada. “And i know that.” passei as mãos em meus olhos, enxugando-os, no entanto em vão, nova lágrimas caíam atrapalhando este meu esforço. “But what you needed?” questionei-a, confussisímo. “Tears on your clothes? That’s all i gave to you.”

Top, found photograph from a Chinese wedding, 1994. Via. Bottom, screen capture from Invisible Adversaries [Unsichtbare Gegner] by Valie Export, 1977. Via.

According to custom, the bride expresses her gratitude to guests by lighting a cigarette for each man invited, then joins her groom in a series of comical cigarette smoking games for good luck.

See also, Eric Rohmer x Jessica Craig-Martin x Nightmare Brunette, and Martin Paar x Alec Soth x Dan Savage.

Thanks to the flood of social messaging, it’s rare to have sex without a subconscious notation of what that sex means. For example, sex with a spouse is good; sex with someone else, when you’re married, is not. Sex with a paid provider is wrong, unprotected sex is wrong, sex without love is wrong. (There are a lot more wrongs than rights.) We can reject the most popular public interpretations of our sexual lives—by, say, deciding sex with multiple partners is fulfilling and not a black mark on our characters—but it’s difficult to have no response at all. Norms are maintained as such in part because they’re so internalized; we sieve our intimate encounters through the social stories around sex even when we know those stories are corrupted in service of hierarchies we don’t subscribe to.

And so sex is far more likely to drive us into ourselves rather than out—at least, that’s largely the truth for straight women, and it’s straight (or mostly straight) women who’ve been tasked with managing the disaster that is heteronormative sex. They are jugglers given only bowling balls: expectations to be sexually giving yet not slutty; religious strictures on partners and circumstantial restrictions on birth control; feminist exhortations to fuck politically and demand pleasure; the publicly acknowledged failure of penis-in-vagina intercourse to produce regular climax and the tenacious, maddening sense that it should. Queer women’s work is equally impossible, undertaken from inside a society disinvested in their success and unwilling to admit their sexual drive at all.

Women of all orientations can’t afford to be nonchalant about sex. We cannot take it for granted as a source of delight or pride or forgettable entertainment. For while men are taught that sex is a fun, relatively frivolous activity that proves their masculinity via instinctual biological mechanics—a flawed narrative but at least one with a clear directive—women are told that sex will probably be the site of their ruination, in reputation or body or spirit, or all three. We have to calculate how to have sex in a way that will preserve our selfhood, our un-pregnancy, our virtue. Maybe then, if we are successful, we can attempt the effort of obtaining pleasure. (We are also told that our genitals are complicated and intractable, our orgasms elusive and time-consuming.) Naturally, we work harder to build an architecture of sexual satisfaction, acting as self-taught sex whisperers trying to mitigate the damage done by a persistently hostile environment.

Charlotte Shane, Why Sex?, September 2015.