Snap That Yeah

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gq: Shalom Auslander’s Hard-Core Obsession The novelist / memoirist / GQ contributor has written one of the darker, more provocative pieces we’ve published in a while: an exploration of why he (and we) get off on the kinky, fucked-up things that he (and we) get off on, and the psychological price we all pay for it. Note: we strongly recommend that you do not—as we did—read this story on the subway. Or anywhere in public. Proceed with caution. Click here for the full piece. Below: a, uh, taste. A while back, I read that a pornographer named Max Hardcore, having been convicted of obscenity charges two years earlier, was serving time in a federal prison in Texas. A few Googles later, I learned that over the course of his career, Max had made hundreds of films, ranging from the mildly rough in his early years to the truly disturbing before his conviction. A few more Googles later and I was watching one of his scenes. Ext.—Somewhere in California—Day. Open on wooden deck. A bright yellow couch. Max and his co-star appear. Max wears his trademark cowboy hat, white tube socks, and nothing else. The woman wears a ponytail and pink high heels. She lies supine on the couch, legs spread, her head tilted back over the armrest, mouth open. This video seemed to be about a 5 on the Max Hardcore 1-to-10 Scale of Fucked-Upitude. Still, it was shocking. It was outrageous. I didn’t want it to work. It worked. Fuck. It wasn’t any one thing they did, not one specific act or position, and I suppose with fantasy it never is; it’s a triggering thought, a concept that runs through the mind at just that apical moment, and for me that triggering thought was this: I can’t believe she’s letting him do that. I hoped the woman was okay. I hoped she was acting. I hoped she hadn’t been forced. I wondered if the founders of Google knew they were contributing to an exploitative, misogynistic industry that lets strange men watch this woman do these strange things. I wondered if I could find her and apologize. And I wondered, most of all, what the hell was wrong with me.

gq:

Shalom Auslander’s Hard-Core Obsession

The novelist / memoirist / GQ contributor has written one of the darker, more provocative pieces we’ve published in a while: an exploration of why he (and we) get off on the kinky, fucked-up things that he (and we) get off on, and the psychological price we all pay for it. Note: we strongly recommend that you do not—as we did—read this story on the subway. Or anywhere in public. Proceed with caution. Click here for the full piece. Below: a, uh, taste.

A while back, I read that a pornographer named Max Hardcore, having been convicted of obscenity charges two years earlier, was serving time in a federal prison in Texas. A few Googles later, I learned that over the course of his career, Max had made hundreds of films, ranging from the mildly rough in his early years to the truly disturbing before his conviction. A few more Googles later and I was watching one of his scenes.

Ext.—Somewhere in California—Day. Open on wooden deck. A bright yellow couch. Max and his co-star appear. Max wears his trademark cowboy hat, white tube socks, and nothing else. The woman wears a ponytail and pink high heels. She lies supine on the couch, legs spread, her head tilted back over the armrest, mouth open. This video seemed to be about a 5 on the Max Hardcore 1-to-10 Scale of Fucked-Upitude. Still, it was shocking. It was outrageous.

I didn’t want it to work.

It worked.

Fuck.

It wasn’t any one thing they did, not one specific act or position, and I suppose with fantasy it never is; it’s a triggering thought, a concept that runs through the mind at just that apical moment, and for me that triggering thought was this: I can’t believe she’s letting him do that.

I hoped the woman was okay. I hoped she was acting. I hoped she hadn’t been forced. I wondered if the founders of Google knew they were contributing to an exploitative, misogynistic industry that lets strange men watch this woman do these strange things. I wondered if I could find her and apologize.

And I wondered, most of all, what the hell was wrong with me.