Olivia Davis writes at the Good Men Project:
[Good Men Project] Editor’s note: This is a hard article to read. It’s long and explicit and deals very frankly with the filming of one of the most extreme and disturbing forms of pornography that exists, the faux-snuff films in which a model pretends to be killed. It will be upsetting, triggering, frightening for many readers, and we have been debating for some time whether to run it. We have chosen to run it for one very important reason: because it is from the model’s perspective. The “victim” in the porn movie is telling her side, describing her own experience, her own motivations and memories. The overwhelming majority of discussion of pornography, especially such esoteric and specialized pornography, is from an outside perspective. We at the Good Men Project believe in providing a platform for perspectives that might not otherwise be heard, and we believe that Ms. Davis’s experience, and her thoughts about it, provide a valuable perspective on extreme pornography that is needed if we are to have any serious discussion on the matter. Once again, many people will find the following article upsetting or triggering, and readers should exercise discretion.
Death is big. Death is scary. Death is important. Death is inescapable. It’s the end.
As such, we talk a lot about death. We philosophize about it, write about it, obsess over its prevention. As such, death is the subject of a lot of art, and plays an important role in a lot of media that is, uh, maybe not so much art. Our media mulls it over, sometimes exploiting its horror and extremity, sometimes infusing it with peace and beauty. And sometimes, we make death sexy. We make corpses into glamorous, morbid objects that we show off.
I, myself, have been dead twice, and once it was beautiful.
The first time, a photographer and friend covered me in baby oil so my unmarked skin shone and glowed. She had me lie on a moldering shipping palette and sprinkled me with water so it beaded and pooled on my skin. She tossed a clear, plastic shower curtain over my legs and took photos as I lay in silent repose. Still life with tits.
The second time was on the set of a porn shoot. We’d been shooting the film in chronological order, parts one, two, and three, had been standard porn torture: a lot of hitting and a lot of clamps. And then he put a plastic bag on my head, telling me to struggle a lot at first, but to slowly fight less. Then, I’d die. He’d edit the scene together later. He’d make it look like he’d killed me.
This is how it happened:
I’ve been an amateur fetish model for more than a year now. Despite my Model Mayhem profile, despite the fact that my face will be in a gallery space in April, modeling had netted me exactly one hundred dollars. So, when a porn producer sent me a message offering to shoot with me, I was surprised and pleased. I knew that there was plenty of BDSM and fetish porn work to be done in my city, but hadn’t yet had an opportunity to try my hand at that game.
I found his work unpleasant, but in a rather pedestrian kind of way. The aesthetic was very Kink.com: set in somebody’s unfinished basement, with practical ropework and nobody having a good time. It intimidated me. I like to think I play fairly hard in my private life, but that’s with my partner who I love and trust implicitly. It’s not for a camera and it’s all stuff I’m happy to do. I wasn’t sure that I was tough enough for his brand of kink, which included some stuff I hadn’t done, but I knew there was only one way to find out.
Read more here.