Orgasms and other illusions

I click thru photo sites, pinterest, tumblr, ... and feel like a dinosaur.

I run across a lot of female faces in orgasmic enchantment. Sometimes quite arousing. Was the photographer really witness, or even part, of a truly exciting moment? I see all these perfect tits, faces without pores, arms without hairs, perfect bums and thighs without the lightest touch of cellulite.

All fake? All fake! Most of it.

Fake? Real? She knows. I know. You'll never know...
"Yana's orgasm" (by Daniel Bauer)

My friend Venus recently published an article in the sex column of a Spanish news paper about the reasons why many women sometimes fake orgasms.

She presumes that most men don't stop fucking until the woman reaches her climax. And if she don't, he keeps going on and on, until she pretends to cum, what finally makes him end bumping into her.

Reading this, I remembered a night with a very intimate friend. We were both very tired.

Laying on her side she snuggled against me. Feeling my dick in the warm valley between her firm little buttocks, she mumbled: "You can fuck me a little bit, if you like".

Her hand gently guided me into her. She didn't move.

I fucked her softly, and fucked her a little bit harder, holding her young ass in my hands, and fucked her a little bit more, flying away in my cloud of absolute emotional well being, feeling the warmth of her body, listening to her moaning and the exciting sound that the fluids cause when penetrating her wet pussy. The odor of her soft skin filled me with that kind of happiness where all the annoyances of the world simply disappear, when I heard her say: "I said, a little bit - I didn't mean for hours...".

So what's the advantage of faking an orgasm instead of just telling what a woman wants, exactly as my lover did it that night? I guess, some do it out of love. They don't want to hurt the self-esteem of their partner and give him the feeling of being a great lover who gives her complete satisfaction.

How nice. And how wrong.

Is she really hot? (by Daniel Bauer)

First of all she looses the chance to have sex the way she really loves.

The inexperienced man will do the same again and again because she makes him believe that this is the way she takes off. A some more experienced man will easily sense a fake orgasm.

Maybe she can control her facial expression, her sounds and the move­ment of her body, but she can not control what happens in her pussy when she's about to cum. Inside her, it's impossible not to feel it.

Her lover feels cheated and irritated (I noticed, b.t.w., that girls who fake orgasms often also are not very honest in other ranges of life...). Finally he'll ignore her simulated gestures and takes her as he'd take any prostitute. The more she fakes, the worse gets her own sex experience.

But what the fuck am I talking about all this?

I believe that fake orgasms are illustrating very clearly the disadvantages of faking anything in life. Fake stuff, no matter what, is never satisfying. It always leaves a bad taste.

Because this is an art nudes photography blog I relate this to images, too, and especially to the "optimized" women one can see in standard nude photography - which makes by far the biggest part of all published nudes. In the end these images leave everybody unsatisfied, even if on the fist sight one might consider such an over-retouched image as beautiful.

There's no photoshop in real life. Yana by Daniel Bauer

Have you ever met such a "perfect" woman in real life? You'll never find that girl with those never ending legs, the perfect tits, the always shiny hair, the spotless shaven pubes, the always erected nipples and the orgasmic face without a wrinkle.

Unfortunately women want to follow these unrealistic ideals, too. Without any success, of course, because there is no photoshop in real life.

The more we admire those "super creatures" the bigger our dis­ap­point­ment. Photo­shop produces fake goals that can never be reached and instead of enchanting us fill us with frustration. We compare reality with industrially produced stereotypes. Bombed with standardized "perfection" we loose the feeling for real, individual, human beauty. Beauty that exists and that we can love.

I'm a dinosaur. I want the real thing, and I'm not talking about the sticky soft drink.
I want real life, real love, real orgasms.

And I want real photographs of real women. Fuck photoshop! It is nothing but the fake orgasm of our times.

(Photos are symbolic illustrations and are not connected to the storyline of this post)

Sea, She, See

I am not a cool guy. One of my ex-girlfriends always told me so, when I tried to put on a poker face. It was meant as a compliment...

No, I'm getting too excited too often and too fast to pass for a real cool guy. I can't prevent my emotions to appear in my face and my body language. I guess I am kind of a very archaic soul. Nothing can caught my imagination so much like the sea - and the woman. The origins of life. Where we're coming from. Where we're going to.

Yana at the seaside, by Daniel Bauer

I can sit for hours at the seaside, looking almost behind the horizon, unfocused, feeling the humidity and the salt on my skin, scenting the unique odor of salty water, hearing the never ending, in every moment varying and appeasing sound of the waves rolling in. My mind flies away. I feel kind of mesmerized. I want to touch it, feel it, and sometimes it costs me quite some self-restraint to not simply walk into the water, diving into the pleasure of endless freedom, drifting almost without weight, forget about everything, my body caressed all around... I could lose myself forever.

I didn't fall in love many times in my live. I'm not talking about the flimsy butterflies in one's stomach that appear more easily in such a readily flammable person as I am. I'm talking about the real, deep feeling of really FALLING in love. The fingers of one of my hands are enough to count those few times when it happened and dragged me away like a huge wave for which no human power was strong enough to offer resistance. It always took some years, in one case 25, until that wave released me again - with luck throwing me on the beach, with less luck, on the rocks of the coast, leaving me licking my wounds.

Yana on the rocks of the coast, photo by Daniel Bauer

But while floating on the wave of love I could almost use the same words to describe my feelings as I used above, sitting on the coast. Hypnotized by her beauty, drugged by her scent, ravished by her voice. Filled with the desire to admire the marvel of her existence. Overwhelmed by the longing to feel her warmness, to touch her skin and hair, to follow the curves of her face and body, to discover her most hidden areas and secrets. To dive into her. And to stay there for ever.

No, I'm not a cool guy. When I'm thinking of complete happiness I don't think about having a fast car, a big house, a thick bank account (although it really could be a bit thicker...) or being one the most renown photographers drinking champagne on hot parties. I dream of the sea. I dream of a woman. I dream of being by the sea, making love with a woman I love.

That's what's cool for me!