‘What the hell?’
Zack shrugged his shoulders.
‘My idea was, do something different. So, I thought surreal. I thought paraphilia. How about industrial sexuality? It doesn’t have to be pounding pistons. It could be something to do with ordinary appliances…’ He shrugged and gestured.
‘So you’re expecting me to get up close and intimate with a vacuum cleaner and a toaster, while wearing stockings and opera gloves and covered in baby oil?’
‘Well, since you put it like that… Yes.’
He’d spread out a huge black plastic sheet over the living room floor, so the baby oil didn’t go everywhere. Except over me, of course.
The vacuum cleaner was one of the modern no-bag types in funky purple and red with a lot of transparent parts. Close up I was hypnotized by the smoothness of its cylinders against my legs, the elegance of its handle and accessories, the casual yet firm grip of the ribbed hose wound around my body…
It got messy, both literally and symbolically. The baby oil, slippery as any long term relationship, meant I couldn’t grip the toaster between my thighs. It flew across the room as if I’d just given birth to a technosexual UFO.
I even started feeling maternally attached to the fucking thing. Its cable looked like an umbilical cord, right? So the memes got really dense and fucked-up when Zack decided to lay it on my chest as if I were suckling it, but use the cord to tie my hands.
The thing about models and photographers isn’t always true. Just true for me and Zack, an after-effect of the weirdness he puts in my head. The sex was smooth and slick. No toast was involved, and with the baby oil, no need for butter.
I saw the pics a few days later, when he’d had a chance to Photoshop them. Lurid would be the best word to describe them. Neon colours. They were suggestive and explicit, both at the same time.
What Zack does is… not much, really. He doesn’t even have a proper website, or an agent. Just throws stuff up on his Tumblr blog.
Six months passes. I forget about it. Then, driving into the city, I see a billboard.
It’s not me, not the same model of vacuum cleaner, and my pussy and tits aren’t on display. But it’s the same pose, the same concept for the image.
It’s how they’re marketing their home appliances. They want the surreal market: this vacuum cleaner is not a vacuum cleaner. It’s a wet dream, a sex symbol.
Like it always was, in the hands of marketing people. But different, now – harder-edged, fetishized.
Thing is, every time I see the ad it puts me straight back into that situation, that photo-shoot, the technosex of it. My thighs tremble, there’s a shiver in my belly and my eyes can’t focus. I need to fuck my wonderfully hard, streamlined cylinder upright.
Velvet said: ‘I don’t know how people will take this. They’re going to think you’re weird…’
Please don’t try this at home!