Heather Brooke is the poster-girl for moral cocksucking. The classical definition of "sin" is "to miss the mark." Conversely, immorality can be understood as deviation, recoil, the avoidance of straight-forward relational benevolence. A sinner cringes from the touch of a saint.
In legends, the saints are portrayed as wonderfully open & innocent beings who do not suffer from the usual reluctance to engage other human beings from the heart. They do not flinch from lepers, beggars, whores and enemies. Their gestural performance demonstrates a fidelity to the Open Hand rather than the Closed Fist. This connexion between morality and participatory directness has many dimensions.
One of them is sexuality.
In the context of a loving (or willing) merger of intimate bodies what sense could it make to be distracted, holding back, reluctant, half-present, conflicted, tentative? Yet many human beings express dissociative posture and uninvolved expression even in this most intimate arena. A sinful lack of direct, straight-forward and participatory feeling is exposed in us.
Heather Brooke, however, does an able job of embodying the non-deviated innocence of moral sexuality. She appears as a focused and vigorous engagement with her partner and her circumstance... utterly willing to make full relational contact in every appropriate sub-relationship involved in the incident.
Many a fellatrix strokes the cock-shaft a "ring" made of one or two fingers -- as if reluctance to commit the full sensory array of the human palm. Techniques vary, of course, but we must be conscious of our responsibility to make complete contact.
Heather is an icon of embodied connectivity. Consider the famous scene where she receives Jim's ejaculate into her mouth before "finishing up" with an additional deep throat. As she strokes his cock, she holds the tip of it against the surface of her tongue. Just this tiny move, oddly unusual in pornography, demostrates her instinctive committment to energetic contact during engagements.
Compare this to the common film image of the conflicted fellatrix, slightly repulsed by her own deed, a frozen look on her face, pathetically failing to conceal her deep ambivalence towards her own embodiment. Heather Brooke becomes a living goddess of interpersonal affirmation whose pulsating, purring body incarnates the deep happiness of dependable connectivity.
Or, at the very least, she is a moral cocksucker.
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