WTF Wednesday: Hey pornographers: enough with the spitting already.

I can’t pop in a pr0n DVD or idly browse a website without a secret lurking terror.

 

I don’t know if you have noticed this, but I sure have. 

 

Spitting.

 

 

Spitting EVERYWHERE. 

 

 

IN the face, ON the schvantz, UP the keister, all over the damned place.

 

 

What is a girl to do when she can’t settle in and watch 90 minutes of “THICK BLACK CHICKS WHO CRAVE THICK WHITE DICKS” in peace for fear of a nasty drooling saliva-shindig?

 

And this ain’t just the hardcore BDSM humiliation stuff neither.  Even the more mainstream porn seems to be lugiefied these days.

 

Once was the day you have to be watching some pretty edgy stuff to see a woman spitting on a guy’s tonsil tickler or a dude spread a gaping gal’s gash before him and using it like a #@!&^* spittoon in preparation for a bit of the old in and out.

 

And I hate it. HATE. IT.

 

How did one of the oddest squicks I have discovered in myself become part of mainstream porno oeuvre?

 

When I first came into the Leather Lifestyle, I’d already done my homework for a couple of years, mulling over whether or not this was something I truly wished to do. Being one of those types who goes whole hog and jumps in with both feet, I wanted to make sure that, if I did, I’d be as prepared as possible.

 

 

My first 2 years in the public Scene here in SF were spent in service with someone who was my partner, and training me for entrée into the world of M/s. After leaving that House, I had several long-term play relationships, one of which generated one of the more interesting and powerful moments in my time playing.

 

We were at a party and having done a fairly long bondage and flogging scene, I was wiped out. He went to get some water for us both, and I though it quite sexy when he took a mouthful of water, pressed his mouth to mine, and gave it to me that way. A few moments later, he playfully “buzzed” me with a mouthful of water, which sprayed all over my face. “Ick!!” I thought, and of course, my discomfort was immediately evident on my face. I am a pitifully easy “read”, I have been told. Sensing my discomfort, and being the sadist he is, he leaned over me, pulled my mouth open, and spit in my mouth. I felt my entire body convulse, I had this rushing sense of … what  … Disgust isn’t inclusive. Anger was a facet of it, shock and horror, and all of these emotions boiling up into a freakishly powerful emotional cocktail that sent me into instantaneous hysterical choking sobs.

 

My partner was bemused, but just held me and talked me down. In a few minutes, I was able to talk and respond shakily when he asked me if I was all right. I was confused by my own reaction. I tried to scan through my memories and recall if I’d had some sort of trauma associated with spitting.

 

Nothing presented itself.

 

A few minutes later, I was trying to make a joke out of the whole incident, and as I sat trying to gather my thoughts, he turned to me, looked me in the eye and spit in my face. My reaction was again instantaneous freak out sobbing shaking quivering wreck. This cycle of freakitude went round two more times, with no discernable reduction of my reaction. Even in the warm light of the next morning, while chatting over the Sunday paper and brunch, when my friend approached me and held me down making threatening throat-clearing noised, I was whimpering like a whipped pup left out in the rain within seconds.

 

This was too bizarre, I thought, and it makes no sense! My friend asked if I wanted to put this on my limit list, since I was obviously really bothered by it. Oy! I’ll confess to a big case of “Masochismo”, and my Sanctified Limits List is (generally) confined to the following:

 

• Scat.
• Play with minors.
• Involving non-consenting participants in my kink.
• Anything that MIGHT leave a permanent mark, unless previously approved. (I am keloid-prone, and you’d be surprised what marks even a knife-tip drawn lightly over the skin can leave!)
• Any play that willfully disregards common sense practices.
• Any play that goes against the spirit of my general character.

 

Because of the way I play and the way I structure my limits, I tend to have very few people I trust adequately in this arena. And my friend, knowing that the spitting thing, while bizarrely unexpectedly difficult, wouldn’t be something I’d redline outright without a thorough examination.That is the long way of me saying I did not, at that time, expressly forbid him the exploitation of this simple and efficient method for reducing me to a sobbing mess.

 

I’m sick like that.

 

But in general, that crap is WAY off limits.

 

So don’t go getting any ideas.

 

You know who you are.

 

I have since informally polled folks about the spitting thing. Interestingly, gender, sexual orientation and BDSM orientation seem to weigh heavily when it comes to thumps up or thumbs down on the Saliva Scene. Men seem to dig it, queer men the most often eroticize it, and by-and-large most women seem to be unimpressed.

 

I have no idea why some things that horrify most people are a walk in the park for me, but this spitting thing….gah.

 

Yum.

 

Lunchtime!