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The Lancet followed shortly after, then even the Times proved to have changed position and asked if the surgical treatment of illness was legal at all. But it was too late. Even the Royal College of Surgeons turned away from him, and a meeting decided with approving votes against 38 opposite votes his removal from the Obstetric Society of London. The extraordinary thing was that Baker Brown was disgraced, not because he practised clitoridectomy for ridiculuous indications, but because, out of greed, he had offended against professional ethics.

No one ever suggested that there was anything wrong with clitoridectomy, as such. Many years were to pass before this operation was condemned by the medical profession. And many more, until eventually masturbation could be freed from medical criminalization and moral prejudice: Kellogg as an adjuvant diet against the temptations of onanism. The worse cases among young women are those in which the disease has advanced so far that erotic thoughts are attended by the same voluptuous sensations that accompany the practice.

The author has met many cases of this sort in young women, who acknowledged that the sexual orgasm was thus produced, often several times daily. The application of carbolic acid in the manner described is also useful in these cases in allaying the abnormal excitement, which is a frequent provocation of the practice of this form of mental masturbation.

It was not until the Kinsey Reports that masturbation was eventually legitimized as a natural and healthy part of sexuality. Wikipedia has also a page on the history of masturbation. I also recommend Orgasm and the West. Ayzad is one of the biggest Italian experts in alternative sexuality and BDSM, author of several books on the subject. My respect for his work is unconditional: Addressing these issues in a meticulous yet ironic way, his cartography of the weirdest sexual practices offers lots of fun, awe and many surprises.

I met him the night before the opening of Rome BDSM Conference, where he was lecturing, and he kindly agreed to pen a report for Bizzarro Bazar on this unusual event. I spent the last few days surrounded by people in tears.

The third edition of the Rome BDSM Conference was held in a nice suburban hotel set in the farthest possible environment from the romantic imagery one usually associates with the Eternal City. The area is so existentially dreadful to be the subject of an actual gag in a rather famous Italian movie, where not even the overly optimistic protagonist can find anything good to it. Although I had been there the for the previous edition already, the mismatch with common expectations was no less bizarre — and would prove to be but the first of many during the kinky weekend.

The lobby placards that point the attendees to the conference halls sit side by side with the indications for boring accountancy quarterly meetings, people wear nametags on a lanyard not unlike at an orthodontics exhibition, and exhausted-looking participants sneak out to the lobby bar to catch their breath — and the occasional nap in a corner armchair. Ties and power suits are a rare sight among the casual outfits preferred by most, yet fetish clothing is equally uncommon. The people themselves, on the other hand, are striking in their diversity.

Besides their geographical provenience foreigners outnumber Italians, puzzling the organization , it is apparent that this bunch is happily unburdened by the anxiety of conforming to social standards.

Twentysomethings mix with seniors on polite yet equal terms. The situation closely reminded me of naturist resorts, where nakedness is quickly forgotten as you instinctively see people for their human essence and value, not their appearance.

The event itself takes place in the convention area of the hotel, consisting of several lecture rooms set along a hallway where kinky artisans sell whips, collars, floggers, leather locking cuffs and other wicked toys. This year they shared the space with an exhibition featuring the photos from an art contest organized by the largest Italian leather association, whose winner was announced during the gala dinner held on the second day of the Conference. The program offered over eighty workshops, each of them one hour and a half long.

Presenters come from all over Europe, Israel and the USA and Japan, in the previous editions , and this is where the similarities with other conventions end. In the attendees-only area of the hotel participants remained indeed cheerful and civil, but the sounds coming from behind the classes doors often left no doubt on the nature of the lessons. Whip cracks and loud moans mixed with laughter and the occasional yelp, as the workshops continued with a barrage of bizarre titles.

Violet wands, what to do with electricity ran side to side with The culture of consent ; you could jump from Negotiating a scene to Artistic cutting or the rather technical Progressions for freestyle suspension bondage ; high concept classes such as The reality of total power exchange relationships, Destructuring a BDSM scene or my own Polyamory and BDSM coexisted with the definitely down-to-earth The ups and downs of anal play and Needleplay for sadists.

Other topics included fetishes, psychology, kinbaku, safety, communication, instruments and subjects as exotic as erotic tickling and the semantics of sex. They cannot conceive that BDSM is an art that in order to be safe and pleasurable requires dedication, much less actual study. All the Conference participants were definitely committed to bring their game to a higher level instead, so they behaved like proper scholars.

This made the workshops an especially surreal experience, with people keenly taking notes as desperate interpreters struggled to find the appropriate words to translate speeches about topics as improbable as erotic ageplay, extreme mindfuck, traditional Japanese bondage or the historical origin of a flogger flourish in Reinassance Italy. Trust me when I say that few things in life are weirder than finding yourself at the end of a class compiling a feedback form and wondering with a fellow student whether the genital suturing demonstration should get four or five stars.

No matter how apparently absurd the situation, everyone was seriously committed to learning and sharing, because this sort of knowledge immediately translates into pleasure and safety once you hit the bedroom — or the dungeon. Extreme erotic literacy took absolute priority throughout the event, keeping the discussion going all the time. Even on the third day, when everybody was positively exhausted, the bilingual conversation during lunch focused for example on the comparative merits of the lecturing style of two presenters who had both tackled erotic humiliation in their lessons.

Everyone agreed that the shock of feeling seriously humiliated does help to shed your everyday persona and give yourself permission to leave inhibitions behind. One teacher however had carefully built a safe mindspace to explore embarrassment, while the other had subjected his partner to an extremely degrading session which many attendees found plainly abusive.

You cannot expect to corral hundreds of kinksters in a secluded locations without them getting to have fun in their own unique ways. The retreat program thus included two parties: They were both held in the large, warehouse-like rooms where the bondage and singletail workshops had taken place during the day, due to their major space requirements.

The same carpeted floors that normally accomodated sleep-inducing corporate presentations were cleared of conference chairs and outfitted with an impressive array of St. An immense structure built with the kind of tubes used for construction scaffoldings looked like the biggest jungle gym ever, but it was meant as a support for multiple suspension bondages. What really set them apart from many analogous play nights was simply being surrounded by the very same people you had met red-eyed at breakfast, then as diligent students during the day, then slacking off at the bar or making their moves in the lobby, then elegantly or outrageously dressed for the gala dinner, and now flaunting their latex and leather outfits as they writhed in pain and delight in the dimly-lit halls.

As I queued with them again at the pancake and juice stations the morning after, I felt sort of voyeuristically privileged for the chance I was given to see these strangers so thoroughly naked in all their daily masks and without, candidly exposing sides of their character that only spouses would witness otherwise — and not even all of them at that.

With our psychosexual phantasms exposed from the start, the need to conceal and sublimate our libido simply disappeared, with three curious effects. I venture to say that the rare uneasy persons I stumbled into all appeared to harbor problems of a different nature.

Another peculiarity was that lechery and creepiness were nowhere to be seen. People eyed each other, sure, but erotic proposals were offered and received with a characteristic lack of drama, just like refusals got gallantly accepted. Why wrapping a normal, healthy part of life in the shroud of anxiety, indeed? The more the event got underway, the more people looked relaxed and accepting of their own bodies — including the bruises and marks that were gladly worn not unlike actual badges of honor.

Far from the frigid Helmut Newton stereotypes that are still so prominent in BDSM imagery, smiles and hugs abounded; movements became softer and more deliberate; people literally had learned not to be afraid of each other and of themselves.

The general attitude changed as well: As a sexologist friend commented during the previous edition, anyone who had came in looking for perversion and depravity would feel disconcerted by the tenderness displayed by the attendees. And this is why, come the end of that three-days extravaganza, so many participants were crying at the closing cerimony. For these outcasts who finally found their home and tribe, this final moment becomes so emotionally loaded that they even bet on how long will it take for the burly organizer himself to burst into tears during his thank you speech.

He is not alone in that, though: Imagine what it is like to have experienced a perfect world — free of prejudices, ignorance, pettiness, fear, competition, hate — and having to leave it behind to step back into the mundane mess we all suffer.

Imagine how strange it is to realize that life would be so much better if only more people grew less scared of their own sexuality, and how odd to discover this at a kinky convention. In many ways Balthus still remains an enigmatic figure, so unswervingly antimodernist to keep the viewer at distance: Closely examined, his canvas shows an immense plastic work on paint, applied in uneven and rugged strokes, but just taking a few steps back this proves to be functional to the creation of that peculiar fine dust always dancing within the light of his compositions, that kind of glow cloaking figures and objects and giving them a magical realist aura.

Even if the exhibit has the merit of retracing the whole spectrum of influences, experimentations and different themes explored by the painter in his long but not too prolific career, the paintings he created from the 30s to the 50s are unquestionably the ones that still remain in the collective unconscious.

In Villa Medici are presented some of the infamous polaroids which caused a German exhibit to close last year, with accusations of displaying pedophilic material. But if some of his paintings cause such an uproar even today, it may be because they bring up something subtly unsettling. Is this eroticism, pornography, or something else?

Trying to find a perfect definition separating eroticism from pornography is an outdated exercise. Carter states that pornography, despite being obscene, is largely reactionary: What is left out, is the complexity behind every sexual expression, which is actually influenced by economics, society and politics, even if we have a hard time acknowledging it. Being poor, for intance, can limit or deny your chance for a sophisticated eroticism: The way we make love is a product of circumstances, social class, culture and several other factors.

Cruelty was for Artaud a destructive and at the same time enlivening force, essential requisite for theater or for any other kind of art: He sees in his adolscents, portrayed in bare bourgeois interiors and severe geometric perspectives, a subversive force — a cruel force, because it referes to raw instincts, to that primordial animalism society is always trying to deny.

Prepuberal and puberal age are the moments in which, once we leave the innocence of childhood behind, the conflict between Nature and Culture enters our everyday life. The child for the first time runs into prohibitions that should, in the mind of adults, create a cut from our wild past: But is this a sexual provocation, or just ironic disobedience?

Balthus never grew tired of repeating that malice lies only in the eyes of the beholder. Because adolescents are still pure, even if for a short time, and with their unaffectedness they reveal the adults inhibitions. This is the subtle and elegant subversive vein of his paintings, the true reason for which they still cause such an uproar: His aesthetic and poetic admiration is focused on this glimpse of freedom, on that instant in which the lost diamond of youth sparkles.

She will never be able to count her whitening hair, nor the lines that years and experiences impressed on her face; she shall not know the joys of marriage, she shall never be a mother: Whenever death strikes those who have not even had a chance to live, we are filled with a sense of injustice.

He fixed her image in her brighter and most gracious instant: All vanishing beauty, is actually the highest and most excruciating beauty. The virgin girl, in fact, has encountered Death in many forms since the classical era, from the abduction of goddess Persephone by Hades , the god of the underworld, to the self-immolation of Iphigenia.

Then, right in the middle of XIV century, when plague, epidemics and wars were ravaging Europe, death became the central obsession of those dark times: Yes, because the rendezvous between the two, surprisingly enough, begin to show open sexual tones. Of course, the moral behind this kind of depiction clearly aims at exposing the ephemeral aspect of life, the vanity of beauty and pride.

But beyond this facade, this theme evokes darker thoughts, amid visions of crawling worms and putrid blood flowing. The frailty of beauty gives way to a fascination with the macabre: And in fact this is the first time we see recognized, and so overtly expressed, the relationship between Eros and Thanatos — a cultural theme which will become essential, for poets and thinkers alike.

The embrace we are witnessing becomes, through allegory, one between life and death: Even today, Death and the Maiden, depicted together, have lost nothing of their morbid and unsettling charm.

The body plays a fundamental role in Christian tradition. Among the three great monotheistic religions, Christianity is indeed the only one to imply a God who became a man himself, thus granting an essential value to flesh and blood. According to Christian doctrine, it is told that resurrection will not be merely spiritual, but will also concern the physical body. Nevertheless, our flesh never got rid of its intrinsic duplicity: The corruption of the flesh cannot be avoided except by mortifying sensuality or — in the most extreme cases — through the final sacrifice, more or less voluntary.

During the Middle Ages a distinction actually arose, ever sharper, between the carnal body and the body which will be resurrected at the end of times.

That is why, in the lives of the saints, a disdainful denial of physicality and earthly life prevails. If the male saint usually accepts his martyrdom with courage and abnegation, in the vitae of female saints, female bodies are relentelssly destroyed or degraded, reaching superhuman extents in the hagiographic imagery.

A History of Perversion , When they were adopted by certain mystics, the great sacrificial rituals — from flagellation to the ingestion of unspeakable substances — became proof of their saintly exaltation. Gilles Tétart in his Saintes coprophages: Xanthakou recounts several examples of this paroxysmal crusade against the flesh and its temptations.

But after Jesus had called her back to order, she could clean up the vomit of a sick woman by making it her food. She later absorbed the fecal matter of a woman with dysentery. By divine grace, what once would have disgusted her to death, now provoked in her the most intense visions of Christ, holding her with her mouth pressed against his wound: According to some accounts, Catherine of Siena sucked the pus from the breasts of a woman with cancer, and stated that she had never eaten anything more delicious.

Christ appeared to her, and reassuringly said: You have never been dearer or more agreeable to me […]. Not only have you scorned sensual pleasures; you have defeated nature by drinking a horrible beverage with joy and for the love of me.

Before we go further, it is important to always keep in mind that hagiographies are not History. The purpose of these tales is rather to create a bond with the reader, who at the time was supposed not only to deeply admire the saints, but to empathize with their suffering, to feel the pain in first person, even if vicariously, to identify with their tormented body.

Secondly, it should be considered that the lives of saint women were mainly written by male monks, and clearly reflect male enthusiasm and fantasies. All this has brought several authors B. Mills to analyze the hidden parallelisms between hagiography and pornography, as the two genres — all obvious differences considered — share some common features: Sarah Schäfer-Althaus, in her paper Painful Pleasure.

In the case of Saint Agatha, according to some versions, during the torture a significant inversion occurs. Once more, contemporary readers might expect a reaction denoting anguish and pain, a cry for heavenly relief for her suffering, yet instead, Agatha angrily replies in several versions of her legend: The same goes for Saint Apollonia and Saint Christina: Saint Apollonia endures the torment of having all of her teeth pulled out, and Christina has her tongue cut off. At first glance the sexual allusion in these tortures might not be evident, but Schäfer-Althaus unveils its metaphorical code:.

On the other hand, however, from Antiquity up to the ninteenth century, the mouth was linked to the female genitals and the tongue was often paralleled with the clitoris. So these two torments could imply sexual violence, although it is only symbolic in order to allow the reunification with Jesus. These are, eventually, tortures which violate all of the most feminine body parts, yet preserving the purity of the soul.

So much so that Saint Christina can dare pick up her freshly cut tongue, and throw it in the face of her tormentor. And her tongue, this instrument of speech and this symbolic clitoris, takes away his eyesight. We find in both the same tortured bodies that have been stripped naked and covered in filth. There is no difference between these two types of martyrdom.

The Marquis adopts the model of monastic confinement, which is full of maceration and pain, removes the presence of God, and invents a sort of sexological zoo given over to the combinatory of a boundless jouissance of bodies. After all, the line between pleasure and pain is often blurred, and this is even more true in hagiographic literature, since in martyrdom the pain of sacrifice is inseparable from the joy of reunification with God.

Sometimes the most unbelievable stories remain forever buried between the creases of history. But they may happen to leave a trail behind them, although very small; a little clue that, with a good deal of fortune and in the right hands, finally brings them to light. This is how the life of Paul Grappe ended. But, as we go back through the years starting from the trial papers, we discover something really astonishing. In the s Paris sounds like a promise to a young man coming from Haute-Marne.

It was mainly a working-class context and like everybody else the twenty-year-old Paul Grappe worked hard to make ends meet. Shortly afterwards, Paul had to leave for military service, but managed to be appointed to stand guard over the bastions of Paris, in order to be close to his own Louise. Our soldier was a skilled runner, he could ride, swim which was quite uncommon at the time and he quickly distinguished himself until he was appointed corporal. Having spent the required two years on active service, Paul thought he was finally done with the army.

But the War clouds were gathering, and everything quickly deteriorated. In August Paul Grappe was sent to the front to fight against Germany.

The nd Infantry division constantly moved, day after day, because the front was not well defined yet. Then gradually came the time to confront the enemy: And, finally, the real battle began. For the French, the most bloody stage of the entire world war was exactly this first battle, called Battle of the Frontiers , that claimed thousands of victims — more than 25, in one day, the 22 nd of August Paul Grappe was at the forefront.

When Hell arrived, he had to confront its devastating brutality. He was wounded in the leg at the end of August, he was treated and sent back to the trenches in October. The situation had changed, the front was stabilized, but the battles were not less dangerous. During a bloody gunfight Paul was wounded again, in the right index finger.

A finger hit by a bullet? He was strongly suspected of having practiced self-mutilation, and in such situations people were not particularly kind to those who did something like that: Paul risked death penalty and summary execution. But some brothers in arms gave evidence for him, and Paul escaped the war court.

Convalescent, he was moved to Chartres. December, January, February and March went by. Four months seemed to be too much time to recover from the loss of one single finger, and his superiors suspected that Paul was willingly reopening his wounds like many other soldiers used to do ; in April he was ordered to go back to the front. And it was here that, confronted with the perspective of going back to that horrible limbo made of barbed wire, mud, whistling bullets and cannon shots, Paul decided that he would change his life forever: He left the military hospital and, instead of going to the barracks, he caught the first train to Paris.

We can only imagine how Louise felt: During the spring of the army was desperately in need of men, even people declared unfit for military service were sent to the front, and consequently the efforts to find the missing deserters were redoubled. One day, overcome by boredom, joking with Louise he chose one of her dresses and wore it. Why not dress up as a woman?

Louise and Paul took a turn. Holding their breath, they went out in the streets. They walked down the road for a little while, pretending to be at ease. Coming back home, they shivered as they noticed a man that was intensely gazing at them, fixing them… the man finally whistled in admiration. It was the ultimate evidence: From that moment on, to the outside world, the two of them formed a couple of women who used to live together. Paul bought some clothes, adopted a more feminine hairstyle, learnt to change his voice.

He chose the name of Suzanne Landgard. But maybe she struggled to stay in her role, because, as far as we know, she frequently changed job because of problems concerning her relationship with her colleagues.

War was over, at last. Paul wanted to stop living undercover, but he was still in danger. Like many other deserters used to do at the time, also our couple left for Spain a neutral country and for a short time took shelter in the Basque Country. They returned to Paris in But the atmosphere of the capital had changed: It was therefore rich in novelties, artistic avant-gardes and unrestrained pleasures.

Louise and Suzanne realized that after all they may look like two garçonnes , fashionable women flaunting a masculine hairdo and wearing trousers, shocking conservative people.

Louise used to paint lead toy soldiers during the evening, after work, to make some extra money. Did Paul, dressed as Suzanne, whore to bring some money home? From then on, his days became crowded with casual intercourses, orgies, female and male lovers, and even encoded newspaper ads.

His thirst for experience was not yet satiated: In January the long awaited amnesty arrived at last. The same morning in which the news was spread, Paul went down the stairs dressed as a man, without make-up. The porter of the apartment building was shocked as she saw him go out: December, January, February and March went by.

Four months seemed to be too much time to recover from the loss of one single finger, and his superiors suspected that Paul was willingly reopening his wounds like many other soldiers used to do ; in April he was ordered to go back to the front. And it was here that, confronted with the perspective of going back to that horrible limbo made of barbed wire, mud, whistling bullets and cannon shots, Paul decided that he would change his life forever: He left the military hospital and, instead of going to the barracks, he caught the first train to Paris.

We can only imagine how Louise felt: During the spring of the army was desperately in need of men, even people declared unfit for military service were sent to the front, and consequently the efforts to find the missing deserters were redoubled. One day, overcome by boredom, joking with Louise he chose one of her dresses and wore it. Why not dress up as a woman? Louise and Paul took a turn. Holding their breath, they went out in the streets. They walked down the road for a little while, pretending to be at ease.

Coming back home, they shivered as they noticed a man that was intensely gazing at them, fixing them… the man finally whistled in admiration. It was the ultimate evidence: From that moment on, to the outside world, the two of them formed a couple of women who used to live together. Paul bought some clothes, adopted a more feminine hairstyle, learnt to change his voice.

He chose the name of Suzanne Landgard. But maybe she struggled to stay in her role, because, as far as we know, she frequently changed job because of problems concerning her relationship with her colleagues. War was over, at last. Paul wanted to stop living undercover, but he was still in danger. Like many other deserters used to do at the time, also our couple left for Spain a neutral country and for a short time took shelter in the Basque Country.

They returned to Paris in But the atmosphere of the capital had changed: It was therefore rich in novelties, artistic avant-gardes and unrestrained pleasures. Louise and Suzanne realized that after all they may look like two garçonnes , fashionable women flaunting a masculine hairdo and wearing trousers, shocking conservative people. Louise used to paint lead toy soldiers during the evening, after work, to make some extra money.

Did Paul, dressed as Suzanne, whore to bring some money home? From then on, his days became crowded with casual intercourses, orgies, female and male lovers, and even encoded newspaper ads. His thirst for experience was not yet satiated: In January the long awaited amnesty arrived at last. The same morning in which the news was spread, Paul went down the stairs dressed as a man, without make-up. The porter of the apartment building was shocked as she saw him go out: Some newspaper headlines read: Prejudices started to circulate: The Communist Party mobilized to defend the two proletarians that were victims of prejudices, and in a short time Paul found himself at the core of an improvised social debate.

The little popularity he gained maybe went to his head: But the more prosaic reality was that Paul told the fantastic story of his endeavours mostly in the cafés, to be offered some drinks. He showed the picture album of him as Suzanne, and also kept a dossier of obscene photographs, that are lost today.

Little by little he started to drink at least five litres of wine per day. He lost one job after another, and turned aggressive even at home. As he recovered his manhood — that same virility that condemned him to the horror of the trenches — he became violent. Before the Great War he had shown no signs of bisexuality nor violence, and most probably the traumas he suffered on the battlefield had a share in the quick descent of Paul Grappe into alcoholism, brutality and chaos.

He used to spend all the salary of his wife to get drunk. The episodes of domestic violence multiplied. When he ordered his wife to leave Paul, Louise left him instead. From that moment on, their story looks like the sad and well-known stories of many drifting couples: She surrendered, but she quickly discovered she was pregnant. Who was the father? Paul, or her lover Paco? In December the child was born, and Louise decided to call him Paul — obviously to reassure her husband about his fatherhood.

The three of them lived a serene life for some months, like a real family. Paul started again to look for a job and tried to drink less. Crises and violence started again, until the night of the murder the man apparently went as far as to threaten to hurt his child. Louise killed Paul shooting twice at his head, then ran to the police headquarters to give herself up.

The trial had a certain media echo, because of the sensationalist hues of the story: While Louise was in prison, her child died of meningitis. In , Louise Landy was declared innocent, which rarely happened in the case of trials for murder of the spouse. From that moment on Louise disappeared from any news section, and there was no more news about her except that she got married again, and then died in Histoire de Louise et de Paul, déserteur travesti dans le Paris des années folles the title is ironical, and the garçonne is obviously Paul, whereas Louise is the murderer , and also inspired the comic strip by Chloé Cruchaudet entitled Mauvais genre.

Francesco è un nostro affezionato lettore, e una delle migliori amicizie di penna che abbiamo avuto la fortuna di instaurare grazie a questo blog. Giovane, brillante, simpatico — in breve, una persona piena di idee interessanti. Qualcuno avrà accanto a sé ben sei anni di emozioni e ricordi, e fra quelle ciocche tesserà anche il suo futuro di speranza. Francesco è una persona affascinante, e non vi abbiamo ancora detto tutto.

Francesco è biologicamente una femmina di nome Silvia. Sono le visioni alternative, le esperienze non conformi, le vite non allineate che stimolano la nostra ricerca oltre a cambiare veramente le cose, visto che spesso sono proprio le minoranze che fanno la storia.

Abbiamo quindi deciso di approfondire la strana condizione di chi ogni giorno deve fare i conti con un corpo in cui non si riconosce: Francesco ha accettato di rispondere al fuoco di fila delle nostre domande. Quando si sono manifestati i primi turbamenti della sfera identitaria? Come e in che modo hai cominciato a comprendere che eri in parte estraneo al tuo genere biologico di nascita?

Che rapporto avevi con il tuo corpo durante la pubertà? Io sono nata in un paese veramente piccolo: Ci sono state persone tanto invidiose della mia nascita da femmina da odiarmi. I maschi hanno cominciato ad evitarmi, ad accomunarmi alle bambine, a pretendere insieme agli adulti che io mi conformassi a loro ed ai loro giochi: Non volevo mettere la gonna per uscire, non volevo imparare a truccarmi per essere bella anche se mi piaceva farlo per giocare.

Ho provato per anni e anni a conformarmi, ma… non era semplicemente possibile farlo. Anche vestita da donna, sembravo e sembro una specie di mostro, qualcosa che non veste la sua vera pelle. Sembrare normale è la cosa che cerco di combattere ora: Poi a 14 anni ho provato a giocare con i vestiti da uomo e, beh, è stata una scoperta incredibile.

Ci stavo bene, in un modo sorprendente. Credi che vi sia nel tuo caso un qualche tipo di rapporto fra il genere che avverti come tuo, e il tuo orientamento sessuale? La mia omosessualità in realtà sono bisessuale, ma caso ha voluto che ultimamente abbia avuto solo compagne donne è stata una specie di trauma.

Il fatto che io sia poi gender-fluid peggiora la situazione: Chi vorrebbe stare con un ibrido che non è né uomo né donna? Ci sono volte in cui mi vedo in modo molto positivo, in cui mi sento parte della bellezza del tutto. In quei momenti mi sento un essere completo e felice, ma più spesso… Più spesso è soltanto doloroso, perché non è facile capirsi, perché semplicemente non sono un ermafrodito perfetto quindi ci sono cose che mi sono precluse dal mio stesso corpo.

È come essere spezzati. Mi ci è voluto tempo per comprendere che non si trattava di doppia personalità o qualcosa di simile: Lo sto affrontando da quando mi sono trasferito: Ho tagliato i capelli proprio per non dover indossare una parrucca… e per sentirmi più me stesso. Al lavoro e in famiglia mi chiamano tutti Silvia, ma i miei amici e talvolta anche altre persone mi chiamano col mio nome maschile, Francesco, e alcuni usano anche per rispetto il maschile per parlare.

Per me il genere è indifferente, anche se mi piacerebbe che ci fosse un neutro o un modo per non doverlo specificare, come in inglese. Credo che il modo migliore di combattere sia far vedere al mondo che circonda me cosa voglia dire la vera felicità e la normalità della mia vita.

Alcune culture non distinguevano soltanto due generi sessuali, come la nostra, ma ne contemplavano un terzo, una via di mezzo fra i due principali, che spesso veniva considerato sacro: Io invece… non credo di voler MAI scegliere. Non ho bisogno di farlo, non ne provo il desiderio. Questa è una realizzazione degli ultimi mesi: È troppo facile dividere tutto con una riga netta, senza la minima sfumatura. La maggioranza non sa della mia condizione.

Questo a volte mi fa star male, perché vengono dette piccole cose come insinuare che fingo, o chiedermi costantemente di prendere una decisione, di avere un figlio, di adeguarmi o rassegnarmi al fatto che io sia solo donna e che non possa essere altrimenti che mi feriscono a fondo.

È anche vero che non posso biasimarli. Non è un modo di vivere che conoscono, non possono capire cosa si provi. Non è colpa loro, se mi feriscono. Per il momento solo la mia compagna e alcune amiche sanno di me.

Hanno avuto reazioni molto diverse, ma sostanzialmente tutte e tre dicono la medesima cosa: Sono la mia forza per combattere la paura. Parlarne è già un modo di sconfiggerla e cercare di andare oltre. Attualmente la vivo con meno disagio rispetto a prima: Sul sesso inteso come rapporto fra le coperte ho ancora molti dubbi, molte paure. Vorrei semplicemente continuare a capirmi, sconfiggere il terrore, operarmi e… beh, essere ME. È veramente di troppo per me, e qualunque cosa io faccia al proposito falsa la mia impressione sugli altri.

Per i fianchi larghi, il sedere e la pancia posso anche soprassedere o al limite lavorarci dimagrendo e andando in palestra, per questo maledetto seno non posso fare nulla se non operarmi. Il problema è che, come saprai, queste operazioni sono abbastanza pericolose, hanno una degenza lunga, costano molto e se non sono eseguite bene il risultato è spesso deludente. Vorrei sostanzialmente adeguare il mio aspetto a me stesso… e poi si vedrà.

Non credo di avere la necessità né la voglia di operarmi anche ai genitali. Mi hai confidato che sei credente: La tua è una battaglia o un percorso di crescita? Nasciamo e moriamo su questo piccolo pianeta: Non credo che Dio abbia deciso di farmi soffrire. E lo dico semplicemente perché, da credente, SO che è un essere che mi ama, qualunque sia la sua forma, il suo nome, il suo aspetto. Non credo neppure, dal momento che sono cattolico, che mi odi per come vivo.

Io non mi cambio con le donne negli spogliatoi, né accarezzo bambini, perché, purtroppo, mi vedo come un germe contagioso. Dio ha messo sulla mia strada le persone più belle che io abbia mai visto, e di questo e di molto altro posso essere grato: Supervenus è un cortometraggio di animazione diretto dal filmmaker sperimentale Fréderic Doazan.

Si tratta di una satira della moderna concezione della bellezza femminile, della chirurgia estetica e della odierna manipolazione del corpo per raggiungere gli ideali estetici imposti dalla società.

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È come essere spezzati. Here, the repulsion for an act which was already considered aberrant, was joined by all those ancestral fears regarding female sexuality. It is an ancient story repeating itself since the beginning of centuries, it will repeat for you. Ma forse il momento più site de cul escort ivry è quando afferma che la domanda più comune che la riguarda è sempre la stessa: Paul bought some clothes, adopted a more feminine hairstyle, learnt to change his voice. Hans Bellmer Share this: Mi dà spesso una mano, aiutandomi ad organizzare la contabilità, esaminando i contratti con i diversi siti, inventando nuove cose che potrebbero piacere alla clientela, ma non interviene mai negli show, né io lavoro mai mentre lui è in casa non viviamo assieme attualmente. Some bulges are small, other enormous; the garden, once flat and regular, at this point is completely packed with mounds appearing with every new loss, porno naturel escort girl bagnolet. Al di là del tuo ragazzo, come vedono la tua occupazione gli amici? He showed the picture album of him as Suzanne, and also kept a dossier of obscene photographs, that are lost today. Credi che vi sia nel tuo caso un qualche tipo di rapporto fra il genere che avverti come tuo, e il tuo orientamento sessuale? In fact another sensational element for the time was the candor and openness with which he publicly spoke of his sexual life, or lack thereof.

And just like that, on tiptoes, this eternally romantic and idealistic human being of rare kindness quietly left this world, and the stage. The audience had already left, and the hall was half-empty.

Perry; aside from beautiful anatomical plates, the book also shows a priceless subtitle: One page after the other, the reader learns why onanism is to be blamed for such illnesses, specifically because it provokes an. But this is just the beginning: What moral region does that man live in? Now, if physicians reacted in such a harsh way against male masturbation, you can guess their stance on female auto-eroticism.

Here, the repulsion for an act which was already considered aberrant, was joined by all those ancestral fears regarding female sexuality. We see some perverted young girls, who have conducted a voluptuous life over a long period of time, suddenly fall prey to this disease; and this happens when forced retirement is keeping them from those occasions which facilitated their guilty and fatal inclination.

Of course, this an Eighteenth Century text. But things did not improve in the following century: This euphemism was used to indicate the practice of clitoridectomy , the surgical removal of the clitoris.

Everybody kows that female genital mutilations continue to be a reality in many countries, and they have been the focus of several international campaigns to abandon the practice.

It seems hard to believe that, far from being solely a tribal tradition, it became widespread in Europe and in the United States within the frame of modern Western medicine.

Clitoridectomy, a simple yet brutal operation, was based on the idea that female masturbation led to hysteria , lesbianism and nymphomania. The perfect circular reasoning behind this theory was the following: One of the most fervent promoters of extirpation was Dr.

Isaac Baker Brown , English gynaecologist and obstetrical surgeon. By means of clitoridectomy, he was able to cure if we are to trust his own words several kinds of madness, epilepsy, catalepsy and hysteria in his patients: The Lancet followed shortly after, then even the Times proved to have changed position and asked if the surgical treatment of illness was legal at all.

But it was too late. Even the Royal College of Surgeons turned away from him, and a meeting decided with approving votes against 38 opposite votes his removal from the Obstetric Society of London. The extraordinary thing was that Baker Brown was disgraced, not because he practised clitoridectomy for ridiculuous indications, but because, out of greed, he had offended against professional ethics. No one ever suggested that there was anything wrong with clitoridectomy, as such. Many years were to pass before this operation was condemned by the medical profession.

And many more, until eventually masturbation could be freed from medical criminalization and moral prejudice: Kellogg as an adjuvant diet against the temptations of onanism. The worse cases among young women are those in which the disease has advanced so far that erotic thoughts are attended by the same voluptuous sensations that accompany the practice.

The author has met many cases of this sort in young women, who acknowledged that the sexual orgasm was thus produced, often several times daily. The application of carbolic acid in the manner described is also useful in these cases in allaying the abnormal excitement, which is a frequent provocation of the practice of this form of mental masturbation. It was not until the Kinsey Reports that masturbation was eventually legitimized as a natural and healthy part of sexuality.

Wikipedia has also a page on the history of masturbation. I also recommend Orgasm and the West. Ayzad is one of the biggest Italian experts in alternative sexuality and BDSM, author of several books on the subject. My respect for his work is unconditional: Addressing these issues in a meticulous yet ironic way, his cartography of the weirdest sexual practices offers lots of fun, awe and many surprises.

I met him the night before the opening of Rome BDSM Conference, where he was lecturing, and he kindly agreed to pen a report for Bizzarro Bazar on this unusual event.

I spent the last few days surrounded by people in tears. The third edition of the Rome BDSM Conference was held in a nice suburban hotel set in the farthest possible environment from the romantic imagery one usually associates with the Eternal City.

The area is so existentially dreadful to be the subject of an actual gag in a rather famous Italian movie, where not even the overly optimistic protagonist can find anything good to it.

Although I had been there the for the previous edition already, the mismatch with common expectations was no less bizarre — and would prove to be but the first of many during the kinky weekend. The lobby placards that point the attendees to the conference halls sit side by side with the indications for boring accountancy quarterly meetings, people wear nametags on a lanyard not unlike at an orthodontics exhibition, and exhausted-looking participants sneak out to the lobby bar to catch their breath — and the occasional nap in a corner armchair.

Ties and power suits are a rare sight among the casual outfits preferred by most, yet fetish clothing is equally uncommon. The people themselves, on the other hand, are striking in their diversity. Besides their geographical provenience foreigners outnumber Italians, puzzling the organization , it is apparent that this bunch is happily unburdened by the anxiety of conforming to social standards. Twentysomethings mix with seniors on polite yet equal terms.

The situation closely reminded me of naturist resorts, where nakedness is quickly forgotten as you instinctively see people for their human essence and value, not their appearance. The event itself takes place in the convention area of the hotel, consisting of several lecture rooms set along a hallway where kinky artisans sell whips, collars, floggers, leather locking cuffs and other wicked toys.

This year they shared the space with an exhibition featuring the photos from an art contest organized by the largest Italian leather association, whose winner was announced during the gala dinner held on the second day of the Conference. The program offered over eighty workshops, each of them one hour and a half long.

Presenters come from all over Europe, Israel and the USA and Japan, in the previous editions , and this is where the similarities with other conventions end.

In the attendees-only area of the hotel participants remained indeed cheerful and civil, but the sounds coming from behind the classes doors often left no doubt on the nature of the lessons. Whip cracks and loud moans mixed with laughter and the occasional yelp, as the workshops continued with a barrage of bizarre titles. Violet wands, what to do with electricity ran side to side with The culture of consent ; you could jump from Negotiating a scene to Artistic cutting or the rather technical Progressions for freestyle suspension bondage ; high concept classes such as The reality of total power exchange relationships, Destructuring a BDSM scene or my own Polyamory and BDSM coexisted with the definitely down-to-earth The ups and downs of anal play and Needleplay for sadists.

Other topics included fetishes, psychology, kinbaku, safety, communication, instruments and subjects as exotic as erotic tickling and the semantics of sex. They cannot conceive that BDSM is an art that in order to be safe and pleasurable requires dedication, much less actual study. All the Conference participants were definitely committed to bring their game to a higher level instead, so they behaved like proper scholars.

This made the workshops an especially surreal experience, with people keenly taking notes as desperate interpreters struggled to find the appropriate words to translate speeches about topics as improbable as erotic ageplay, extreme mindfuck, traditional Japanese bondage or the historical origin of a flogger flourish in Reinassance Italy. Trust me when I say that few things in life are weirder than finding yourself at the end of a class compiling a feedback form and wondering with a fellow student whether the genital suturing demonstration should get four or five stars.

No matter how apparently absurd the situation, everyone was seriously committed to learning and sharing, because this sort of knowledge immediately translates into pleasure and safety once you hit the bedroom — or the dungeon. Extreme erotic literacy took absolute priority throughout the event, keeping the discussion going all the time. Even on the third day, when everybody was positively exhausted, the bilingual conversation during lunch focused for example on the comparative merits of the lecturing style of two presenters who had both tackled erotic humiliation in their lessons.

Everyone agreed that the shock of feeling seriously humiliated does help to shed your everyday persona and give yourself permission to leave inhibitions behind. One teacher however had carefully built a safe mindspace to explore embarrassment, while the other had subjected his partner to an extremely degrading session which many attendees found plainly abusive.

You cannot expect to corral hundreds of kinksters in a secluded locations without them getting to have fun in their own unique ways. The retreat program thus included two parties: They were both held in the large, warehouse-like rooms where the bondage and singletail workshops had taken place during the day, due to their major space requirements.

The same carpeted floors that normally accomodated sleep-inducing corporate presentations were cleared of conference chairs and outfitted with an impressive array of St. An immense structure built with the kind of tubes used for construction scaffoldings looked like the biggest jungle gym ever, but it was meant as a support for multiple suspension bondages.

What really set them apart from many analogous play nights was simply being surrounded by the very same people you had met red-eyed at breakfast, then as diligent students during the day, then slacking off at the bar or making their moves in the lobby, then elegantly or outrageously dressed for the gala dinner, and now flaunting their latex and leather outfits as they writhed in pain and delight in the dimly-lit halls. As I queued with them again at the pancake and juice stations the morning after, I felt sort of voyeuristically privileged for the chance I was given to see these strangers so thoroughly naked in all their daily masks and without, candidly exposing sides of their character that only spouses would witness otherwise — and not even all of them at that.

With our psychosexual phantasms exposed from the start, the need to conceal and sublimate our libido simply disappeared, with three curious effects. I venture to say that the rare uneasy persons I stumbled into all appeared to harbor problems of a different nature. Another peculiarity was that lechery and creepiness were nowhere to be seen. People eyed each other, sure, but erotic proposals were offered and received with a characteristic lack of drama, just like refusals got gallantly accepted.

Why wrapping a normal, healthy part of life in the shroud of anxiety, indeed? The more the event got underway, the more people looked relaxed and accepting of their own bodies — including the bruises and marks that were gladly worn not unlike actual badges of honor. Far from the frigid Helmut Newton stereotypes that are still so prominent in BDSM imagery, smiles and hugs abounded; movements became softer and more deliberate; people literally had learned not to be afraid of each other and of themselves.

The general attitude changed as well: As a sexologist friend commented during the previous edition, anyone who had came in looking for perversion and depravity would feel disconcerted by the tenderness displayed by the attendees. And this is why, come the end of that three-days extravaganza, so many participants were crying at the closing cerimony. For these outcasts who finally found their home and tribe, this final moment becomes so emotionally loaded that they even bet on how long will it take for the burly organizer himself to burst into tears during his thank you speech.

He is not alone in that, though: Imagine what it is like to have experienced a perfect world — free of prejudices, ignorance, pettiness, fear, competition, hate — and having to leave it behind to step back into the mundane mess we all suffer. Imagine how strange it is to realize that life would be so much better if only more people grew less scared of their own sexuality, and how odd to discover this at a kinky convention. In many ways Balthus still remains an enigmatic figure, so unswervingly antimodernist to keep the viewer at distance: Closely examined, his canvas shows an immense plastic work on paint, applied in uneven and rugged strokes, but just taking a few steps back this proves to be functional to the creation of that peculiar fine dust always dancing within the light of his compositions, that kind of glow cloaking figures and objects and giving them a magical realist aura.

Even if the exhibit has the merit of retracing the whole spectrum of influences, experimentations and different themes explored by the painter in his long but not too prolific career, the paintings he created from the 30s to the 50s are unquestionably the ones that still remain in the collective unconscious. In Villa Medici are presented some of the infamous polaroids which caused a German exhibit to close last year, with accusations of displaying pedophilic material.

But if some of his paintings cause such an uproar even today, it may be because they bring up something subtly unsettling. Is this eroticism, pornography, or something else? Trying to find a perfect definition separating eroticism from pornography is an outdated exercise.

Carter states that pornography, despite being obscene, is largely reactionary: What is left out, is the complexity behind every sexual expression, which is actually influenced by economics, society and politics, even if we have a hard time acknowledging it. Being poor, for intance, can limit or deny your chance for a sophisticated eroticism: The way we make love is a product of circumstances, social class, culture and several other factors.

Cruelty was for Artaud a destructive and at the same time enlivening force, essential requisite for theater or for any other kind of art: He sees in his adolscents, portrayed in bare bourgeois interiors and severe geometric perspectives, a subversive force — a cruel force, because it referes to raw instincts, to that primordial animalism society is always trying to deny.

Prepuberal and puberal age are the moments in which, once we leave the innocence of childhood behind, the conflict between Nature and Culture enters our everyday life. The child for the first time runs into prohibitions that should, in the mind of adults, create a cut from our wild past: But is this a sexual provocation, or just ironic disobedience? Balthus never grew tired of repeating that malice lies only in the eyes of the beholder. Because adolescents are still pure, even if for a short time, and with their unaffectedness they reveal the adults inhibitions.

This is the subtle and elegant subversive vein of his paintings, the true reason for which they still cause such an uproar: His aesthetic and poetic admiration is focused on this glimpse of freedom, on that instant in which the lost diamond of youth sparkles. She will never be able to count her whitening hair, nor the lines that years and experiences impressed on her face; she shall not know the joys of marriage, she shall never be a mother: Whenever death strikes those who have not even had a chance to live, we are filled with a sense of injustice.

He fixed her image in her brighter and most gracious instant: All vanishing beauty, is actually the highest and most excruciating beauty. The virgin girl, in fact, has encountered Death in many forms since the classical era, from the abduction of goddess Persephone by Hades , the god of the underworld, to the self-immolation of Iphigenia. Then, right in the middle of XIV century, when plague, epidemics and wars were ravaging Europe, death became the central obsession of those dark times: Yes, because the rendezvous between the two, surprisingly enough, begin to show open sexual tones.

Of course, the moral behind this kind of depiction clearly aims at exposing the ephemeral aspect of life, the vanity of beauty and pride.

But beyond this facade, this theme evokes darker thoughts, amid visions of crawling worms and putrid blood flowing. The frailty of beauty gives way to a fascination with the macabre: And in fact this is the first time we see recognized, and so overtly expressed, the relationship between Eros and Thanatos — a cultural theme which will become essential, for poets and thinkers alike.

The embrace we are witnessing becomes, through allegory, one between life and death: Even today, Death and the Maiden, depicted together, have lost nothing of their morbid and unsettling charm. The body plays a fundamental role in Christian tradition.

Among the three great monotheistic religions, Christianity is indeed the only one to imply a God who became a man himself, thus granting an essential value to flesh and blood. According to Christian doctrine, it is told that resurrection will not be merely spiritual, but will also concern the physical body.

Nevertheless, our flesh never got rid of its intrinsic duplicity: The corruption of the flesh cannot be avoided except by mortifying sensuality or — in the most extreme cases — through the final sacrifice, more or less voluntary. During the Middle Ages a distinction actually arose, ever sharper, between the carnal body and the body which will be resurrected at the end of times. That is why, in the lives of the saints, a disdainful denial of physicality and earthly life prevails.

If the male saint usually accepts his martyrdom with courage and abnegation, in the vitae of female saints, female bodies are relentelssly destroyed or degraded, reaching superhuman extents in the hagiographic imagery. A History of Perversion , When they were adopted by certain mystics, the great sacrificial rituals — from flagellation to the ingestion of unspeakable substances — became proof of their saintly exaltation. Gilles Tétart in his Saintes coprophages: Xanthakou recounts several examples of this paroxysmal crusade against the flesh and its temptations.

But after Jesus had called her back to order, she could clean up the vomit of a sick woman by making it her food.

She later absorbed the fecal matter of a woman with dysentery. By divine grace, what once would have disgusted her to death, now provoked in her the most intense visions of Christ, holding her with her mouth pressed against his wound: According to some accounts, Catherine of Siena sucked the pus from the breasts of a woman with cancer, and stated that she had never eaten anything more delicious.

Christ appeared to her, and reassuringly said: You have never been dearer or more agreeable to me […]. Not only have you scorned sensual pleasures; you have defeated nature by drinking a horrible beverage with joy and for the love of me. Before we go further, it is important to always keep in mind that hagiographies are not History. The purpose of these tales is rather to create a bond with the reader, who at the time was supposed not only to deeply admire the saints, but to empathize with their suffering, to feel the pain in first person, even if vicariously, to identify with their tormented body.

Secondly, it should be considered that the lives of saint women were mainly written by male monks, and clearly reflect male enthusiasm and fantasies.

All this has brought several authors B. Mills to analyze the hidden parallelisms between hagiography and pornography, as the two genres — all obvious differences considered — share some common features: Sarah Schäfer-Althaus, in her paper Painful Pleasure. In the case of Saint Agatha, according to some versions, during the torture a significant inversion occurs.

Once more, contemporary readers might expect a reaction denoting anguish and pain, a cry for heavenly relief for her suffering, yet instead, Agatha angrily replies in several versions of her legend: The same goes for Saint Apollonia and Saint Christina: Saint Apollonia endures the torment of having all of her teeth pulled out, and Christina has her tongue cut off.

At first glance the sexual allusion in these tortures might not be evident, but Schäfer-Althaus unveils its metaphorical code:. On the other hand, however, from Antiquity up to the ninteenth century, the mouth was linked to the female genitals and the tongue was often paralleled with the clitoris.

So these two torments could imply sexual violence, although it is only symbolic in order to allow the reunification with Jesus. These are, eventually, tortures which violate all of the most feminine body parts, yet preserving the purity of the soul.

So much so that Saint Christina can dare pick up her freshly cut tongue, and throw it in the face of her tormentor. And her tongue, this instrument of speech and this symbolic clitoris, takes away his eyesight. We find in both the same tortured bodies that have been stripped naked and covered in filth. There is no difference between these two types of martyrdom. The Marquis adopts the model of monastic confinement, which is full of maceration and pain, removes the presence of God, and invents a sort of sexological zoo given over to the combinatory of a boundless jouissance of bodies.

After all, the line between pleasure and pain is often blurred, and this is even more true in hagiographic literature, since in martyrdom the pain of sacrifice is inseparable from the joy of reunification with God.

Sometimes the most unbelievable stories remain forever buried between the creases of history. But they may happen to leave a trail behind them, although very small; a little clue that, with a good deal of fortune and in the right hands, finally brings them to light. This is how the life of Paul Grappe ended. But, as we go back through the years starting from the trial papers, we discover something really astonishing.

In the s Paris sounds like a promise to a young man coming from Haute-Marne. It was mainly a working-class context and like everybody else the twenty-year-old Paul Grappe worked hard to make ends meet. Shortly afterwards, Paul had to leave for military service, but managed to be appointed to stand guard over the bastions of Paris, in order to be close to his own Louise.

Our soldier was a skilled runner, he could ride, swim which was quite uncommon at the time and he quickly distinguished himself until he was appointed corporal. Having spent the required two years on active service, Paul thought he was finally done with the army. But the War clouds were gathering, and everything quickly deteriorated. In August Paul Grappe was sent to the front to fight against Germany.

The nd Infantry division constantly moved, day after day, because the front was not well defined yet. Then gradually came the time to confront the enemy: And, finally, the real battle began. For the French, the most bloody stage of the entire world war was exactly this first battle, called Battle of the Frontiers , that claimed thousands of victims — more than 25, in one day, the 22 nd of August Paul Grappe was at the forefront.

When Hell arrived, he had to confront its devastating brutality. He was wounded in the leg at the end of August, he was treated and sent back to the trenches in October.

The situation had changed, the front was stabilized, but the battles were not less dangerous. During a bloody gunfight Paul was wounded again, in the right index finger. A finger hit by a bullet? He was strongly suspected of having practiced self-mutilation, and in such situations people were not particularly kind to those who did something like that: Paul risked death penalty and summary execution.

But some brothers in arms gave evidence for him, and Paul escaped the war court. Convalescent, he was moved to Chartres. December, January, February and March went by. Four months seemed to be too much time to recover from the loss of one single finger, and his superiors suspected that Paul was willingly reopening his wounds like many other soldiers used to do ; in April he was ordered to go back to the front.

And it was here that, confronted with the perspective of going back to that horrible limbo made of barbed wire, mud, whistling bullets and cannon shots, Paul decided that he would change his life forever: He left the military hospital and, instead of going to the barracks, he caught the first train to Paris. We can only imagine how Louise felt: During the spring of the army was desperately in need of men, even people declared unfit for military service were sent to the front, and consequently the efforts to find the missing deserters were redoubled.

One day, overcome by boredom, joking with Louise he chose one of her dresses and wore it. Why not dress up as a woman? Louise and Paul took a turn. Holding their breath, they went out in the streets. They walked down the road for a little while, pretending to be at ease.

Coming back home, they shivered as they noticed a man that was intensely gazing at them, fixing them… the man finally whistled in admiration. Many years were to pass before this operation was condemned by the medical profession. And many more, until eventually masturbation could be freed from medical criminalization and moral prejudice: Kellogg as an adjuvant diet against the temptations of onanism. The worse cases among young women are those in which the disease has advanced so far that erotic thoughts are attended by the same voluptuous sensations that accompany the practice.

The author has met many cases of this sort in young women, who acknowledged that the sexual orgasm was thus produced, often several times daily.

The application of carbolic acid in the manner described is also useful in these cases in allaying the abnormal excitement, which is a frequent provocation of the practice of this form of mental masturbation. It was not until the Kinsey Reports that masturbation was eventually legitimized as a natural and healthy part of sexuality. Wikipedia has also a page on the history of masturbation.

I also recommend Orgasm and the West. Officially forbidden by the English in , the practice declined over time — not without some opposition on behalf of traditionalists — until it almost entirely disappeared: The sacrifice of widows was not limited to India, in fact it appeared in several cultures. At times, some mothers from the tribe would even sacrify their own newborn children, in an act of love so strong that women who performed it were treated with great honor and entered a higher social level.

Similar funeral practices existed in other native peoples along the southern part of Mississippi River. If female self-immolation and, less commonly, male self-immolation can be found in various time periods and latitudes, the Dani tribe developed a one-of-a-kind funeral sacrifice. Among this people, according to tradition when a man died the women who were close or related to him wife, mother, sister, etc.

Today this custom no longer exists, but the elder women in the tribe still carry the marks of the ritual. It is a narrow and oblong hump, it looks like a burial mound. My dearest friend Sandro Bartoli, who was twenty-one-years-old, had died in the mountains with his skull smashed. Bartoli […] was buried at the foot of that mountain, as you know. But here in the garden the lawn bulged all by itself, because this is your garden, sir, and everything that happens in your life, sir, will have its consequences right here.

Some bulges are small, other enormous; the garden, once flat and regular, at this point is completely packed with mounds appearing with every new loss. Because this problem of humps in the garden happens to everybody, and every one of us […] owns a garden where these painful phenomenons take place. It is an ancient story repeating itself since the beginning of centuries, it will repeat for you too.

However, one person in the world, at least one, will stumble on it. Perhaps, on the account of my bad temper, I will die alone like a dog at the end of an old and deserted hallway.

And yet one person that evening will stub his toe on the little hump in the garden, and will stumble on it the following night too, and each time that person will think with a shred of regret, forgive my hopefulness, of a certain fellow whose name was Dino Buzzati.

The latter represent a touching and powerful image: On the account of this physical expression of grief, fingerless women undoubtedly have a hard time carrying out daily tasks; and further bereavements lead to the impossibility of using their hands.

The oldest women, who have seen many loved ones die, need help and assistance from the community. Death becomes a wound which makes them disabled for life. Of course, at least from a contemporary perspective, there is still a huge stumbling block: The creation of meaning in displays of grief also lies in reciprocity — the very tradition that makes me weep for the dead today, will ensure that tomorrow others will lament my own departure.

Regardless of the historical variety of ways in which this concept was put forth, in this awareness of reciprocity human beings seem to have always found some comfort, because it eventually means that we can never be alone. Sometimes the most unbelievable stories remain forever buried between the creases of history. But they may happen to leave a trail behind them, although very small; a little clue that, with a good deal of fortune and in the right hands, finally brings them to light.

This is how the life of Paul Grappe ended. But, as we go back through the years starting from the trial papers, we discover something really astonishing.

In the s Paris sounds like a promise to a young man coming from Haute-Marne. It was mainly a working-class context and like everybody else the twenty-year-old Paul Grappe worked hard to make ends meet.

Shortly afterwards, Paul had to leave for military service, but managed to be appointed to stand guard over the bastions of Paris, in order to be close to his own Louise. Our soldier was a skilled runner, he could ride, swim which was quite uncommon at the time and he quickly distinguished himself until he was appointed corporal. Having spent the required two years on active service, Paul thought he was finally done with the army. But the War clouds were gathering, and everything quickly deteriorated.

In August Paul Grappe was sent to the front to fight against Germany. The nd Infantry division constantly moved, day after day, because the front was not well defined yet. Then gradually came the time to confront the enemy: And, finally, the real battle began.

For the French, the most bloody stage of the entire world war was exactly this first battle, called Battle of the Frontiers , that claimed thousands of victims — more than 25, in one day, the 22 nd of August Paul Grappe was at the forefront. When Hell arrived, he had to confront its devastating brutality. He was wounded in the leg at the end of August, he was treated and sent back to the trenches in October. The situation had changed, the front was stabilized, but the battles were not less dangerous.

During a bloody gunfight Paul was wounded again, in the right index finger. A finger hit by a bullet? He was strongly suspected of having practiced self-mutilation, and in such situations people were not particularly kind to those who did something like that: Paul risked death penalty and summary execution. But some brothers in arms gave evidence for him, and Paul escaped the war court. Convalescent, he was moved to Chartres.

December, January, February and March went by. Four months seemed to be too much time to recover from the loss of one single finger, and his superiors suspected that Paul was willingly reopening his wounds like many other soldiers used to do ; in April he was ordered to go back to the front. And it was here that, confronted with the perspective of going back to that horrible limbo made of barbed wire, mud, whistling bullets and cannon shots, Paul decided that he would change his life forever: He left the military hospital and, instead of going to the barracks, he caught the first train to Paris.

We can only imagine how Louise felt: During the spring of the army was desperately in need of men, even people declared unfit for military service were sent to the front, and consequently the efforts to find the missing deserters were redoubled.

One day, overcome by boredom, joking with Louise he chose one of her dresses and wore it. Why not dress up as a woman? Louise and Paul took a turn. Holding their breath, they went out in the streets. They walked down the road for a little while, pretending to be at ease. Coming back home, they shivered as they noticed a man that was intensely gazing at them, fixing them… the man finally whistled in admiration.

It was the ultimate evidence: From that moment on, to the outside world, the two of them formed a couple of women who used to live together. Paul bought some clothes, adopted a more feminine hairstyle, learnt to change his voice. He chose the name of Suzanne Landgard. But maybe she struggled to stay in her role, because, as far as we know, she frequently changed job because of problems concerning her relationship with her colleagues.

War was over, at last. Paul wanted to stop living undercover, but he was still in danger. Like many other deserters used to do at the time, also our couple left for Spain a neutral country and for a short time took shelter in the Basque Country. They returned to Paris in But the atmosphere of the capital had changed: It was therefore rich in novelties, artistic avant-gardes and unrestrained pleasures.

Louise and Suzanne realized that after all they may look like two garçonnes , fashionable women flaunting a masculine hairdo and wearing trousers, shocking conservative people. Louise used to paint lead toy soldiers during the evening, after work, to make some extra money. Did Paul, dressed as Suzanne, whore to bring some money home? From then on, his days became crowded with casual intercourses, orgies, female and male lovers, and even encoded newspaper ads. His thirst for experience was not yet satiated: In January the long awaited amnesty arrived at last.

The same morning in which the news was spread, Paul went down the stairs dressed as a man, without make-up. The porter of the apartment building was shocked as she saw him go out: Some newspaper headlines read: Prejudices started to circulate: The Communist Party mobilized to defend the two proletarians that were victims of prejudices, and in a short time Paul found himself at the core of an improvised social debate.

The little popularity he gained maybe went to his head: But the more prosaic reality was that Paul told the fantastic story of his endeavours mostly in the cafés, to be offered some drinks. He showed the picture album of him as Suzanne, and also kept a dossier of obscene photographs, that are lost today. Little by little he started to drink at least five litres of wine per day. He lost one job after another, and turned aggressive even at home.

As he recovered his manhood — that same virility that condemned him to the horror of the trenches — he became violent. Before the Great War he had shown no signs of bisexuality nor violence, and most probably the traumas he suffered on the battlefield had a share in the quick descent of Paul Grappe into alcoholism, brutality and chaos. He used to spend all the salary of his wife to get drunk.

The episodes of domestic violence multiplied. When he ordered his wife to leave Paul, Louise left him instead. From that moment on, their story looks like the sad and well-known stories of many drifting couples: She surrendered, but she quickly discovered she was pregnant.

Who was the father? Paul, or her lover Paco? In December the child was born, and Louise decided to call him Paul — obviously to reassure her husband about his fatherhood.

The three of them lived a serene life for some months, like a real family. Paul started again to look for a job and tried to drink less. Crises and violence started again, until the night of the murder the man apparently went as far as to threaten to hurt his child. Louise killed Paul shooting twice at his head, then ran to the police headquarters to give herself up.

The trial had a certain media echo, because of the sensationalist hues of the story: While Louise was in prison, her child died of meningitis. In , Louise Landy was declared innocent, which rarely happened in the case of trials for murder of the spouse. From that moment on Louise disappeared from any news section, and there was no more news about her except that she got married again, and then died in Histoire de Louise et de Paul, déserteur travesti dans le Paris des années folles the title is ironical, and the garçonne is obviously Paul, whereas Louise is the murderer , and also inspired the comic strip by Chloé Cruchaudet entitled Mauvais genre.

Francesco è un nostro affezionato lettore, e una delle migliori amicizie di penna che abbiamo avuto la fortuna di instaurare grazie a questo blog. Giovane, brillante, simpatico — in breve, una persona piena di idee interessanti. Qualcuno avrà accanto a sé ben sei anni di emozioni e ricordi, e fra quelle ciocche tesserà anche il suo futuro di speranza. Francesco è una persona affascinante, e non vi abbiamo ancora detto tutto. Francesco è biologicamente una femmina di nome Silvia.

Sono le visioni alternative, le esperienze non conformi, le vite non allineate che stimolano la nostra ricerca oltre a cambiare veramente le cose, visto che spesso sono proprio le minoranze che fanno la storia. Abbiamo quindi deciso di approfondire la strana condizione di chi ogni giorno deve fare i conti con un corpo in cui non si riconosce:

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