Relentless Deepthroat
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Relentless Deepthroat
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Grand finale of Angel Allwood's BaRS show with relentless machine dicking down and BBC deepthroat!
(2016)
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Here is the Public Release of my latest animation.
If you like my work you can follow me on Twitter:
https://twitter.com/honeychansfm
I hope you enjoyed it, and i wish you a good fap ;)
Newgrounds accounts are free and registered users see fewer ads!
Sexy animation! Some parts like shoulders/armpits look a bit too thin compared to their curvy bodies. Throat expands a bit much as well. Otherwise great stuff!
The angles, concept and sounds are hot. The models could really use some work though, too purpley and shiny and the proportions are too much for me. The length of the video also sets me up with an expectation that you'll use more positions. If you're only gonna use a couple loops, don't make the video so long.
Hey Trevskies,
First of all, thank you for your review!
This video is an extended version of a previous one i've made. That's why it looks so long :)
The project i'm working on will be wayyy longer with lots of different positions, avoiding loops as much as possible! There's some animated previews on my Twitter if you're interested ;)
Good animation, shame It's a loop of the same animation every 30secs or so
If it keeps growing it will eventually touch the roof.
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By
Kristin Battista-Frazee
Published October 19, 2014 6:00PM (EDT)
Related Topics ------------------------------------------
Books
Deep Throat
Editor's Picks
Excerpts
Love And Sex
Pornography
“Grosses this week at the Premier are up, and Deep Throat is still bringing in the crowds," said Tony Arnone, my father’s business partner and old college friend.
Dad held the phone closer to his ear lest one of the other salesmen working at the twenty identical desks lined up in the cavernous trading room at W.E. Hutton would hear the man my family called “Uncle Tony” on the other end of the line.
“Look, I don’t want to keep you,” Tony continued, “but a business opportunity has come up. You remember me mentioning Lou Perry?”
Dad whispered into the phone. “Your Deep Throat contact?”
“The producers are moving the movie nationwide, and pronto,” said Tony. “They need distributors in the Northeast. I think you’d be perfect. All you’d have to do is call up some theaters and pitch them the movie. You get five percent of the distributor’s cut of the gross from whatever theaters you sign.”
My father peered left and right at the large office space. What would his co-workers think if they knew he was having this conversation while on the clock at W.E. Hutton? “Doesn’t sound too hard,” he said after a moment. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll think about it.”
“Man, don’t think too much. These people are ready to go.”
My father knew making a few phone calls and booking sales was basically what he did as a broker, so in that regard, he was incredibly well suited for this opportunity. And he knew Deep Throat would basically sell itself. The film had premiered in Times Square at the World Theater in June 1972 and had been showing in theaters for more than a year. By then, August 1973, it was still hugely popular. In fact, its popularity accelerated. In January of that year, The New York Times Magazine had published an article titled “Porno Chic” that described Deep Throat as a cultural phenomenon, and the article’s author, Ralph Blumenthal, had even hypothesized that based on Deep Throat ’s huge crossover success, hardcore pornography would one day merge with traditional movies.
The reasons for the movie’s success are myriad. For one, the film defied convention in that it incorporated a complete plot (albeit a flimsy one). It also boasted a keen sense of humor. The notion of a woman having a clitoris in the back of her throat—perhaps the weirdest and most notorious aspect of Deep Throat —was not seen by most as obscene, but rather hilarious. The film was a household name, even before its bizarre and rather arbitrary connection to the Watergate scandal, with which the term “ Deep Throat ” is now more popularly associated.
My father had seen the movie shortly after its premiere when he and a group of coworkers had gone to a local theater on their lunch hour to check it out. He appreciated the movie’s unconventional, offbeat storyline, and he was strangely curious about Linda Lovelace’s unique skill set, which left the average viewer dumbfounded about the gag reflex (or, in this case, the lack thereof). The director, Gerard Damiano—himself transformed from Queens hairstylist to porn director—knew he had found a gem when he discovered Linda Lovelace. It seemed part luck and part genius that Damiano was able to pull this movie together in such a short amount time and with very little money.
After they left the theater, a coworker said to my father, “If my wife could do what Linda Lovelace can do, I might be worried.”
My father laughed. “I just found the plot so weird,” he said. “My wife would probably find it funny. That wacky doctor character, Harry Reems, actually seemed to have some acting talent.”
As my father tells it now, he returned to work that afternoon having no idea that someday he would be involved with the film. But fast forward a year and everything had changed— Deep Throat was an all out sensation. My dad knew that if he didn’t cash in, someone else surely would.
But there was much more to Deep Throat than just a very good business opportunity for my father. This movie was redefining our culture in a controversial way. In April 1973, Deep Throat was banned in New York City as part of Mayor Lindsey’s vow to clean up Times Square. Judge Joel Tyler, in a Manhattan Criminal Court, ruled that the film was indecent and he closed down the showing at the World Theater. The headline on the marquee of the World Theater—“Throat Cut, World Mourns”—seemed to signal the end of Deep Throat. But, in fact, it was just the beginning of the phenomenon. The trial leading up to its ban made the film wildly popular in other parts of the country, which helped fuel rumors that the early court proceedings had actually been staged to create buzz.
At about the same time, in June 1973, the Supreme Court decision in Miller v. California granted greater power to states in setting their own “community standards” and established the “Miller Test” for communities to decide for themselves if material was obscene. Marvin Miller, the owner of a small mail order business, was convicted of sending sexually oriented ads through the mail. Before this decision, communities had had to apply a national standard to enforce obscenity laws. But Miller v. California clarified that obscenity was no longer solely protected by the First Amendment, which was the beginning of local governments prosecuting obscenity cases around the country, making it illegal in some places (but not all places) to show Deep Throat and other films. Miller v. California made it possible to hold the federal obscenity trials in Bible Belt states and conservatives went into a feeding frenzy to enforce what they saw as the high moral standards of their communities.
Deep Throat also reshaped the sexual landscape for both men and women and carried the torch for sexual pioneers Alfred Kinsey and Williams Johnson and Virginia Masters and the free love time of the 1960s. Sex was something to be embraced and enjoyed, not hidden. The birth control pill was now taken by many women and sex was now free of consequence as well, unleashing a time of experimentation.
The film became a part of the mainstream during a time in our country when people had a growing distrust of its government. My father’s generation had experienced so much turmoil in the 1960s— the Civil Rights movement, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and Dr. Martin Luther King, not to mention the agony of the Vietnam War. Then, on the brink of the 1970s, came the Nixon Watergate scandal. The country was ripe for social change. By the end of its multi-year run, the film had grossed hundreds of millions of dollars from a $25,000 initial investment.
My father told me he did not give much thought to the obscenity controversy the movie was stirring across the country or that distributing it might be a risky venture. He believed, perhaps naively, that because Philadelphia was not a small town or located in the Deep South, he was not risking any legal repercussions.
And anyway, this would only be a part-time gig.
On his way home after work from bustling downtown Philadelphia to suburban Upper Darby, my father would often pick up flowers for my mother. (My mother loved any flower except for carnations; she always called carnations “funeral flowers” and said that they reminded her of an open casket wake, which was the typical way Italians honored the dead.) When he entered the door of our modest row house on Spruce Avenue, he would announce, “I’m home!” and call out to my mother, “Smells good, Frannie. What are you cooking?” Usually I would be watching The Electric Company or Sesame Street in the living room, and I’d jump up to greet him. “How’s my little girl today?” he would ask as he lifted me from the floor and gave me a big hug. It was always so exciting to feel weightless for a half a second. As he made his way to the kitchen—with me watching curiously from behind—he would peer around the doorway to see my mother, with her tall slender frame and jet-black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, busy at the counter or stirring a pot on the stove. My father would stand behind her with the flowers until she turned around. “Oh Anthony, they’re beautiful!” I remember her saying many times, tilting her head slightly to kiss him on the cheek.
On the day my father received the offer from Uncle Tony to distribute Deep Throat , he told my mother at dinner matter-of-factly about his decision. “I’m going to take Tony up on it,” he said. Then he added, “I think I could make us great extra money.”
My mother told me later that she doesn’t remember giving it much thought. She could sense that his gut instincts told him this was a good move and she knew he never ignored his gut instincts. And anyway, she’d been fine with him investing in the Premier Theater. This didn’t seem like a much bigger deal.
“If you think it’ll be worthwhile,” she said confidently, looking at the white dahlias he’d brought her that evening.
A couple of weeks after talking to Uncle Tony, my father began distributing Deep Throat in earnest. “All of a sudden I was getting lots of phone calls at my office,” my father told me when we talked many years later about his distributing days. “A cottage industry had sprung up overnight.”
“How did you get any W.E. Hutton work done?” I asked. If his phone was ringing off the hook as he described, I imagined that his coworkers at W.E. Hutton must have thought he was selling a helluva lot of stocks. Distributing Deep Throat gave a whole new meaning to the term “moonlighting”; this wasn’t like waiting tables or stocking shelves at a retail store late at night, this tapped into an insatiable demand for racy content and created an outlet for people to express their sexuality. Sex was no longer something to be hidden. This venture was also part entrepreneurial American dream, part pure craziness.
“I worked long hours,” my father answered simply. Then he confessed, “But there were some days that Deep Throat business was all I did.”
He landed a few small bookings across town, but for his first major booking, he selected the venue strategically: The Midtown Theater, a massive 900-seat, velvet-draped classic movie theater located on Chestnut Street in downtown Philadelphia. Not only was the Midtown in a plum location, it was also part of the huge Budco theater chain and it was the epitome of the 1970s movie-going experience in Philadelphia. If he could land the Midtown, he knew he’d have a leg up in developing a huge clientele in the Philadelphia area.
And, coincidentally, the Midtown is where my father had taken my mom on their first date.
Mitch Goldman, the Budco booking agent, contacted my father and over the next few weeks they discussed the possibility of booking the Midtown. Goldman wanted the movie. Badly. But there was one huge problem . . . they had to convince Claude Schlanger, the conservative owner of the Midtown, to take the film.
“Anthony, man, I want this movie,” Goldman said to my father in his fast-talking New York accent. “But I’m telling you, convincing Schlanger will be like convincing Jesus to sin. He’s a strict German Catholic, for Christ’s sake.”
“You sure? With a name like Schlanger?” my dad said laughing. “This movie is perfect for him.”
“No, he’s an uptight Kraut, I’m telling you,” Mitch said.
“Okay, I get you. You want me to call him? Just tell me what to do.”
According to my father, hearing this was an epiphany for Goldman.“Anthony, you know, that’s a great idea. He’ll love you. You’re both Villanova grads. You could chat him up about basketball. And you’re Catholic, right?”
“Why would he want to take advice from an obnoxious Jew like me?” Goldman asked, snorting laughter through his nose. “Our races don’t exactly have a good history, if you know what I mean.”
“I’d hardly say I was Catholic, Mitch. My mother does the praying in our family. But if you think it would help, I’ll call him.”
My father banked on charming Schlanger with the latest Wildcat basketball scores and reminiscing about the old days on campus. But after repeated attempts, Schlanger remained adamant: he did not want to be involved in pornography. (It didn’t help that Deep Throat had already showed a year earlier at Theater 1812, also on Chestnut Street, and that it had come and gone without much fanfare.) No matter what my father said and no matter how much evidence he provided of D
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