Sex MachinesbyCal Y. Pygia©
Anyone who has ever viewed machine-human sex is apt to have been amazed at the brutality of the machine's engine-driven, focused, but indifferent activity. Without even hormone- or gene-driven lust, more chemical than emotional, the machine feels no sentiments; certainly, it experiences no love for the woman whom it fucks. The loveless, mechanical act is what makes machine-human sex intriguing; it is forbidden; it is perverse; it is bizarre.
Human ingenuity knows no bounds, and, at last, engineers have created literal sex machines. Of various designs, each of these motor-driven devices is equipped with one (or, sometimes, two) dildos. They take sex to a new dimension. Sex becomes impersonal, the efficient, wheel-driven armature at the end of which the artificial penis is attached relentless, fluid, fast, and truly driven, but by gears and belts and other moving parts, rather than by love or even instinct. In a word, sex machines make sex entirely mechanical.
Symbolically, the sex machine (it is also known as a fuck machine) may be said to represent man's technological control of nature; the sex machine may also represent the absent male. Emotionally absent, he is present only as a sexual apparatus, reduced to mere objectivity, as a set of genitals that fuck with as much impersonal detachment as a purely mechanical device. Only the woman retains her humanity, but at the cost of near solipsism.
Mechanical sex is masturbatory sex. The sex machine maximizes the efficiency and effect of self-abuse. Subjecting herself to the mindless, heartless, faceless assault of the sex machine, woman (herself sometimes designated as a sex machine) is isolated from the rest of humanity, in the form of a man or a woman as her partner, thereby losing her ability to interrelate with another person. In becoming the solitary human, mated, as it were, to cold machinery and a plastic or rubber phallus, she loses something of her own humanity.
Philosophers have long referred to the human soul as "the ghost in the machine." Sex machines reduce women to such creatures, imprisoning their humanity in their flesh and offering them no way to share their souls with the kindred spirit of another person. Narcissism reaches its extreme, as sex becomes solipsistic.
In Sexual Personae, Camille Paglia contends that women represent Mother Nature and that civilization is men's attempt to separate themselves from her and to develop their own distinct identity. Civilization, she suggests, represents the birth of the male's soul. Art and science both are the tools that he uses to deliver himself, as it were, from the tyranny of the feminine. It might be argued that the invention of the sex machine is one of the latest and more innovative attempts in man's continuous enterprise of self-definition and autonomy.
By removing his soul from the enterprise of sex and making it a strictly mechanical function, he asserts his independence from the very act itself that binds him most to the opposite sex, at the same time, subjecting woman to the erectile power and the mechanized sexual force, as it were, of his masculinity. In short, mechanical sex is not only mechanized, but it is also a means of dominating, even of ravishing, woman. The sex machine is a dynamo of irresistible power.
The sex machine also removes the possibility of pregnancy from sex. There are no testicles involved, or, if there are, they are artificial, like the penis, and cannot produce or deliver semen or sperm. Sex machines are not designed with the purpose of procreation in mind. They are purely mechanical. Mere machines, they are created simply to fuck and fuck and fuck, continually and relentlessly, delivering the same, fluid strokes back and forth inside the vaginal or anal sphincters.
They can literally go for hours, days, weeks, months, years. Possibly, they could continue to fuck a woman's cunt or ass, or both, indefinitely, forever. Sex machines enhance the strength and power of men by reducing manhood to relentless, impersonal, mechanical efficiency. Therefore, they are masculinity, if not virility, all but deified.
Although women may enjoy vaginal, anal, or dual assaults by such machines, they are more likely to want simply to endure being ravished by these relentless, merciless fuckers. The penis or penises lunge and plunge in a steady, continuous, fluid, back-and-forth action that is as deliberate, as calculated, and as inevitable as only the operation of a machine can be. Without flesh and blood, without hormones and genes, without orgasm and ejaculation to govern and terminate the assault, the sex machine will continue, mindlessly and blindly, to fuck and fuck and fuck.
For electric machines, short of pulling the plug or the presence of a programmed timer switch to break the circuit, only a power failure or Armageddon itself can bring the apparatus to a halt; for gasoline-powered machines, only the complete consumption of fuel will bring the equipment to a stop. Otherwise, the woman is at the mercy, as it were, of these impersonal and merciless hunks of metal.
The machines are of various, homemade designs. The makes and models differ, based upon their designers' intent and imagination. Some attack from behind, others from below. Some machines feature accessory items, such as glass or plastic suction cups, like those of a milking machine, that fit over the woman's breasts, pulling them up inside their tubular interiors, thus to further focus her awareness upon her body's ravishments.
An unusual device features a circular belt to the upper surface of which are attached a line of large, artificial tongues. These appendages appear to be fashioned of rubber, and, as the belt turns, they lightly slap against, as if lapping, the labia and the clitoris, performing, with mechanical precision, a sort of motorized, impersonal, saliva-free cunnilingus.
The size of the dildo at the end of the wheel-driven armature can be decreased or increased, and a few are as large around as saucers or small dinner plates, filling the vagina to the capacity of its sphincter's elasticity. As the armature retreats in preparation of delivering its next thrust into the woman's interior, the whole area around the cunt is pulled several inches after the retreating phallus, gripping the artificial penis, which, as it advances, drives it back into the impaled pussy.
Often, the woman assists herself by holding a massive vibrator against her clitoris while the mechanized phallus assaults her, fore or aft. The availability of dildos in various styles, sizes, and colors enhances the artificiality of the mechanized sex, reinforcing one's awareness of its mechanical nature.
Sex is often performed from behind, doggy style, but it may also take place while the woman is seated, facing her mechanical partner, and, in some cases, when the dildo assaults her from below, she may even squat, supporting herself by clutching a bar or stirrups suspended overhead. Sometimes, the woman lies prone upon a tabletop or bends over a bench. In a few cases, the machine on the floor, between her parted legs, she even stands.
Although there are floor models, most of the sex machines are mounted on a stand of some sort or within a framework resembling a metal cage, delivering their tireless thrusts horizontally rather than vertically. The assaults may occur anywhere, in a house or outdoors, for instance, but, often, they take place in a basement that resembles a dungeon or a mad scientist's laboratory, perhaps to enhance the perception that the woman is being tortured by being made to endure the unflagging assault of an indefatigable sex machine.
The impaled woman, of course, writhes and moans, groans and whimpers, frowns and grimaces in time with the pace and rhythm of her mechanical ravisher. Her cunt, saturated with her own juices, indicates her pleasure amid the pain.
Whether the women in the films dedicated to this form of entertainment actually do experience the intense orgasms that they appear to have is known only to the actresses themselves. They certainly appear to enjoy enhanced orgasms, thanks to the tireless efficiency of these devices and their unusual accessories. Maybe they're just faking it. Who can say?
The impossibility of knowing another person's mind is the final theme, perhaps, of sex movies that feature sex machines. As ghosts in machines, women (and men) are ultimately unknowable and, therefore, mysterious. Each of us is isolated from one another as much as if we were a woman being fucked by a machine or the absent male who mechanically delivers his organ into hers, impersonally and deliberately, without expectation of giving or receiving love.
In such a world, appearances are all we have to guide us as to what, if anything, another person may be thinking or feeling, and he or she could be faking it, could be lying. In sex machine movies, though, the woman seems to enjoy being ravished by a preprogrammed, soulless, phallus-equipped mechanical device--at least when she's not trying merely to endure its unflagging and endless action--and appearances, though they can be deceiving, are all we have to go by. As far as men are concerned, when it comes to sex, that's enough.
A woman is a sex machine herself, as we have said, and whether there is more to her--a soul to her--doesn't really matter when it comes to sex, any more than whether she can conceive and bear and deliver a child matters, for sex is not about love or relationships or humanity. Sex is about pleasure and power. Maybe, in fact, it is about the pleasure of power. What better way to convey such a message than to remove the male from the scene altogether, replacing him with mechanized and artificial male parts, and, at the same time, reducing woman to a solipsistic and masturbatory, flesh-and-blood sex machine?
Not only because of the "sex" itself, but also because of the taboos and the symbolic associations that the use of sex machines conveys, this form of sexual exploitation and recreation, it seems safe to say, is here to stay.