“Max finally finds a (crazy) girl who thinks he is a sweetheart and he doesn’t know how to react.”
Crazy? Or am I so lucid I can see through it in three dimensions?
One of the reasons Max Hardcore stood out to me, among all other pornographers at the Las Vegas Porn Convention, was that he was a gentleman when I met him. Other porn guys said threatening things like, “If you shoot with me I’ll break you in two. You won’t be able to walk for weeks.” (C’mon guys, does that ever work?) Max’s version was, “We’re not happy till you’re unhappy.” Similar thought, but funny.
No doubt Max Hardcore is notorious. His porn is extreme, he talks in a degrading manner to women, he devastates them with his cock, leaving them covered in cum, piss, lipstick and whatever else they might have eaten. But off camera, he treats his women like princesses. Just look at my behind the scenes videos of hanging out with Max Hardcore’s entourage.
“As far as the aversion of many women to meeting you that can be explained very easily in 2 words: Max Hardcore.”
As a feminist, I am not offended by his language because I don’t take it seriously. I am not so fragile that his dirty talk bruises my ego as a woman. Again, I find it funny. In contrast, Sean Suhl, owner of Suicide Girls, uses feminist-pleasing language to exploit women.
(In the Marquis de Sade’s Justine, one of the many misadventures involved Justine being taken in by a gang of robbers. The robbers were crass but instead of raping her, which they certainly could have done, they decided to treat her well in hopes that she would voluntarily give herself to them. One day the robbers kidnapped a soft-spoken young man. Justine felt sorry for him and with her help, they both escaped. Once the two were a great distance from the robbers, the man raped Justine and left her for dead in the forest.)
I’d rather be a Max Girl than a Suicide Girl any day. For one thing, I like it rough, hard and dirty. I like to be gagged, I like my hair pulled, I like to be treated like a bad girl. For real. Not just look like a bad girl, with tattooes and piercings, while sitting around being pretty. I am the real deal. I am proud of being a strong woman. I can take it.
I also know several women who complain to me that their men tiptoe around them too much, afraid to offend, scared they’re going to break. Maybe they don’t necessarily want to be pissed on and choke-fucked, but they do want a strong man to take control in the bedroom.
I want to be taken. I want to be ravaged. I want to be used and abused, and then, afterwards, but only after I’m devastated, I want some tenderness. A kiss, a hug, a washcloth.
