If I did one of those year end roundup things like everyone else does, I probably would have done one on Useful Words I Have Only Read on Sex Blogs. Among the nominees for terms for things that I knew existed by had absolutely no words for, there's "mimbo", "guh", and "subspace". But by far the most useful word that I have yet to see in everyday life has been "squick".
There's a certain scene in a certain movie that everyone talks about in Feederism. Perhaps you've seen it?
This movie squicks me. I first saw it when I was a teeny kid and watching the scene filled me with a horror that I still can't quite describe--Turn it off, turn it off, please please turn it off!
Which, according to some things I've read, is exactly why I'm interested in the things I am now. It's probably in a very general top ten of "When I Realized I Had A Fetish" stories. As one of my feedee acquaintances past explained it to me, What you fear becomes that which you most desire, and so--! One wonders if the makers of Willy Wonka realize how many little children had all their sex synapses fire off at once simply from watching their move. After one showing, hundreds of little inflation fetishists were born!
But the problem with that theory is, the movie still squicks me. It's not that I secretly want it and have deeply repressed it, it's that it doesn't excite me in any way at all. It gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach--or, if I actually force myself to watch it (to prove to myself that I am a normal person and the fact that these images of entirely fantastic expansion shouldn't really bother me) a feeling that something terrible will happen when the tension is finally released. There is a deep part of me that is simply terrified of watching the buildup of pressure that leads to an explosion, and it is this strange quirk of my makeup that will guarantee that if I ever cross paths with a looner, I will hail them as a cousin.
Granted, this peculiar quirk doesn't have much affect on my life. It doesn't inhibit with my everyday functioning, unless you count my media consumption. I didn't even see the second half of Willy Wonka until many years later, when there was a community showing of it that I attended with my friends. I went to the bathroom during the "Blueberry" part, and came back when it was over. I did the same thing during the pig scene in Sprited Away. And that stuffing scene in Cool Hand Luke. And this one bit in Brasil that you will probably watch and feel nothing for at all. It's why I still haven't seen Wall-E.
Oh, yeah, and Akira.
I saw Akira originally because I wanted to watch more anime, and it was recommended to me as a classic. I haven't had much of a desire to watch any anime since.
If I want an explanation for why I feel this way, it's really very simple. I am horrified at losing control over my body to that extent. The possibility of my body's cells going berserk in quite that way is highly unlikely, but nevertheless lurks in the same space as my fear of deep water or airplane crashes. And I feel the same sense of unease when I read about someone who on my fetish forum who has the goal of reaching 500 lbs.
I kind of like my fear. It's how I separate myself from other Feederism fetishists. I imagine myself to be more virtuous in that I draw strict circles around what I'm attracted to, and what I'm not, what I'm willing to do, and what I'm not. In a seemingly limitless fetish, I have limits, and it's this that prevents me from doing harm.
Showing posts with label willy wonka. Show all posts
Showing posts with label willy wonka. Show all posts
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Quickie: Strange Things
A "quickie" is a fragment of story that doesn't quite fit anywhere else. But if you read them, you'll find that they might illuminate a few points of the larger story.
* * *
A constant source of marvels to any of his lovers or acquaintances was Mr. Six's seeming inexhaustible libido. Sometimes, when they had nothing better to do, they would sit and mythologize about it, as if Mr. Six were a movie star or a historical figure and not someone they shared their bed and house with--adding to it, speculating, embroidering truths. it was true, however, that once at a dinner party the topic of the very strangest things to get off to came up...and Rufus found himself blushing as Mister Six had begun to slowly, subtly...then not so subtilely, to lead up to that time in the garrett when he had forced Rufus to drink six bottle of--
"Is there anything you don't get off of?" Rufus cut in, so abruptly that people laughed.
It took the table a moment before they realized Mr. Six had actually taken the question seriously. The silence lengthened.
"Chewing gum," said Mr. Six at last. "the noise it makes. And I hate the flavor."
* * *
"He gets off from watching The Thing--"
Rihanna had yet to see the movie.
"There's this bit in it where a doctor is giving this guy a shock treatment and the guy's stomach caves in and grows teeth and bites off his hands..."
Rihanna's eyes widened. "He gets off from that?"
Rufus had been laying with him on the sofa in the half-dark, as usual. "And I have my head in his lap, right? And all the sudden I realize he's popped a stiffy!"
Rihanna laughed at the phrase he used and immediately regretted it when she saw how distraught Rufus looked. "Maybe it was just you...", she tried to soothe him, thinking that the weight off Rufus' head on her mound, all that silky hair, would be enough to get anyone off.
"He wasn't even looking at me! You know how he gets, right? The Look..."
Rufus had been shutting his eyes. He himself was "sensitive", with a private list of movie scenes he could hardly bare to look at--everything from Violet Beureguard in Willy Wonka to the last thirty minutes of Akira--when he'd noticed Mr. Six's growing "problem".
"And I said, are you getting off? And he said, 'His stomach caves in,' very simply, like if there's a tummy in it he just "has" to get off! But there's this other bit, where the head kind of oozes off the table--"
"Stop!" said Rihanna, laughing and putting her hands over her ears.
"--and he's still hard! I mean, I'm a pervert too, but I'm not perverted like that!"
Rihanna began to laugh again, this time at Rufus' mix of awestruck and indignant.
"I've just never thought of what the inside of his mind is like--tentacle porn and medical texts and The Cell and all that vore by mamabliss... it's all gotten mixed up in his head until I just can't imagine what he's envisioning when we're having sex. How can real life sex be enough for him, anyway... sometimes I think he's lost all sense of boundaries when it comes to fantasy..."
"Maybe he likes the idea of kissing your lips when the rest of you is someplace else. Maybe he likes the idea of your morphing into a lot of tentacles to pull him closer, or splitting down the middle so he can get his whole body inside you. Isn't there that scene in Alien where he puts his tail up her ass?"
Rufus just shook his head.
A constant source of marvels to any of his lovers or acquaintances was Mr. Six's seeming inexhaustible libido. Sometimes, when they had nothing better to do, they would sit and mythologize about it, as if Mr. Six were a movie star or a historical figure and not someone they shared their bed and house with--adding to it, speculating, embroidering truths. it was true, however, that once at a dinner party the topic of the very strangest things to get off to came up...and Rufus found himself blushing as Mister Six had begun to slowly, subtly...then not so subtilely, to lead up to that time in the garrett when he had forced Rufus to drink six bottle of--
"Is there anything you don't get off of?" Rufus cut in, so abruptly that people laughed.
It took the table a moment before they realized Mr. Six had actually taken the question seriously. The silence lengthened.
"Chewing gum," said Mr. Six at last. "the noise it makes. And I hate the flavor."
* * *
"He gets off from watching The Thing--"
Rihanna had yet to see the movie.
"There's this bit in it where a doctor is giving this guy a shock treatment and the guy's stomach caves in and grows teeth and bites off his hands..."
Rihanna's eyes widened. "He gets off from that?"
Rufus had been laying with him on the sofa in the half-dark, as usual. "And I have my head in his lap, right? And all the sudden I realize he's popped a stiffy!"
Rihanna laughed at the phrase he used and immediately regretted it when she saw how distraught Rufus looked. "Maybe it was just you...", she tried to soothe him, thinking that the weight off Rufus' head on her mound, all that silky hair, would be enough to get anyone off.
"He wasn't even looking at me! You know how he gets, right? The Look..."
Rufus had been shutting his eyes. He himself was "sensitive", with a private list of movie scenes he could hardly bare to look at--everything from Violet Beureguard in Willy Wonka to the last thirty minutes of Akira--when he'd noticed Mr. Six's growing "problem".
"And I said, are you getting off? And he said, 'His stomach caves in,' very simply, like if there's a tummy in it he just "has" to get off! But there's this other bit, where the head kind of oozes off the table--"
"Stop!" said Rihanna, laughing and putting her hands over her ears.
"--and he's still hard! I mean, I'm a pervert too, but I'm not perverted like that!"
Rihanna began to laugh again, this time at Rufus' mix of awestruck and indignant.
"I've just never thought of what the inside of his mind is like--tentacle porn and medical texts and The Cell and all that vore by mamabliss... it's all gotten mixed up in his head until I just can't imagine what he's envisioning when we're having sex. How can real life sex be enough for him, anyway... sometimes I think he's lost all sense of boundaries when it comes to fantasy..."
"Maybe he likes the idea of kissing your lips when the rest of you is someplace else. Maybe he likes the idea of your morphing into a lot of tentacles to pull him closer, or splitting down the middle so he can get his whole body inside you. Isn't there that scene in Alien where he puts his tail up her ass?"
Rufus just shook his head.
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