So what does it mean, then, this hiccupping fetish, this sexualizing of an involuntary response that I have never even come close to considering as sexual? I can see it linked to a helplessness, which to some can be seen as sexy. And it is the body, which can be sexualized in whatever ways we can imagine. And it does involve the chest, sort of, especially in the fictionalized versions, heaving breasts and deliciousness. So is it about power? Domination? Or should we just enjoy it, for what we can, if we can?
As the intro says on a new favorite TV show of mine, Pants-Off Dance-Off, which is pretty much exactly what you would expect: "Who cares? They're all naked!"
So we want to watch. We like to watch. We want to see some stuff that's really real. Like nonfiction—memoir, especially.
Another site archives hiccup sound files and video files (a couple of which feature pretty low-resolution naked people hiccupping, though most are pretty harmless-seeming). Many of these are torn from home movies, or from Hollywood (or more often foreign, judging from the sampling I did) movies—the hiccup scenes pulled from the surrounding narratives, like those pornographic videos that do the exact same thing, albeit with other acts, trimming out the feeble narratives hilariously (pool boy, pizza boy) thrown on films made for the acting out of fantasies, for self-gratification.
Does that make narrative of a higher order? Or maybe you should go back to where we left off, this formal experiment starting to leave behind the Choose Your Own Adventure even now.
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