Embracing Sin

     This Thanksgiving, I returned to my Midwestern hometown. It’s been nearly three years since my departure and, upon return, the many reasons I left have resurfaced. Driving down the near vacant streets, passing the dust settled landmarks, I find it hard to believe that I was actually born and raised here. As offbeat of a man I’ve turned out to be, I must’ve been born this way because I see no catalyst here. (Granted, there were some childhood events that happened, but we’ll talk more about that later.)

     Flashbacks of dark, hidden adult book stores flooded my mind. Within the city limits and beyond, I would search endlessly for rare straight and gay pornography. I would even go to ‘Borders’ or ‘Barnes & Nobles’ and shoplift the gay-themed magazines because I was too afraid to purchase them. I feared, “What if someone I know catches me?” I dreaded the thought of my family, friends or pastor bumping into me in the architecture section, finding me flipping through the pages of “Unzipped Magazine”.
     Back then, I was devoutly Christian; I was even a youth pastor. Two nights a week, I would preach to kids about the perils of lust and fornication. I wouldn’t say that I was living a double life; it was more like a secret addiction. I would have a porn binge, masturbate to my treasure, then throw it all away only to come back to my senses and dig the videos and magazines out from the garbage. I really believed that Satan was after my soul, I could hear The Holy Spirit whimper at the sight of my abominations. I honestly felt the demonic forces drawing me closer whenever I saw the blinking, neon lights of the sex shops. There was a constant battle between my “spirit” and “flesh”. It was a strange phase in my life.
     Driving past the same shops today, I didn’t feel the same gravitational pull. Seeing the neon lights flickering, I wasn’t hypnotized. I find it very interesting that I have found ‘deliverance’ by embracing the sin. By acknowledging my bisexuality, my proclivity for porn and my twisted take on life, I have gained control. I’ve given myself the license to be both wholesome and wicked! I am the same mama’s boy that everyone loves and ‘Forbidden Light’. That gives me a world of freedom and a peace that surpasses all understanding.

To myself, I pledge allegiance:

I indulge in what makes me happy

I discipline myself for my most good

Whether straight & narrow or dark & crooked, I am content with the course my life takes.

I am wicked

I am wholesome

I am perfect the way God designed me…

Really Casual Sex

     I have a thing for casual sex. Not the kind of sex that teenagers are warned about in PSAs, but really casual sex. Sex that takes place while company is over, sex that becomes a sidebar during a movie; I love the notion that sex doesn’t have to be the center of attention but an ornament. It takes a special group of people to overlook sex as they sip their tea. It takes a special atmosphere to concurrently accept conversation and oral service, without letting one interfere with the other. This is where I belong.
     I guess it’s the hedonist part of me. I am in love with the idea of watching a movie with a group of friends while receiving (or giving) head. I fantasize about being a part of a great debate, putting in my two cents as I come up for air from tonguing a chubby clit.
     I know this to be possible, because I have been a part of scenes where sex was so liberal it became pedestrian. I remember vividly, talking to a fully dressed Jamaican man about “Smallville” while receiving a rim job from an older white man. Between briefs moans, I maintained a great conversation about the differences between San Francisco and Kingston.
     I find this concept so endearing because everything is out in the open. The environment would be very conducive to honesty; being I’m partially naked and exploring my preferences, there isn’t much left to hide. Furthermore, if sex is widely available, we could all drop the facades we’ve created to capture it. Everyone would be able to be themselves.
     Or, at least, I’ll be able to be myself. I wouldn’t have to suggest anything about myself through my wardrobe. I wouldn’t have to depend on my car to lengthen my seven inches to ten. I wouldn’t have to confirm my masculinity because it would be abundantly evident and enlarged.
    

Hang-Up #1: Humiliation

     As much as I hate them; everyone has hang-ups, myself included. Some things will forever lie beyond the scope of my freak. There are certain acts that I could never allow in my bedroom. Beyond the normal stuff that nearly everyone finds repulsive (i.e. bestiality, pedophilia, scat, ect.), I have a handful of hang-ups that will wilt my summer sausage into a Vienna link. Number one on that list is: humiliation play. A lot of people love to be put down, but that is where I draw the line. I cannot be the source or the recipient of humiliation.
     It isn’t the act itself that’s humiliating but the spirit behind it. For example, I wouldn’t mind wearing a pair of little pink panties; alternatively, I would hate it if my partner started blurting, “You like that, pussy-ass faggot? Take that, bitch! Give me those fucking panties!” Whatever sexy, delicate feelings I may have had are instantly dissolved into a note of inferiority.
     This hang up with humiliation is the sole reason why I’ve never gotten in the BDSM community. It seems that submission and degradation goes hand and hand. Don’t get me wrong, I find great arousal at the thought of being bound at the mercy of a master; pain and pleasure makes a powerful combo. But, I would hate to trust someone enough to bind me only to have him/her slap me, spit on me and make me feel substandard. Every aspect of BDSM could be just as stimulating, if not more so, if the humiliation was replaced with praise. Ranking high on my list of fantasies are scenes that combine torture with worship.
     A major turn-on for me is the sanctity of sex; I believe that we are all Temples of God and reverence is in order. Whether the stimulus is pleasure, pain or denial, for me to enjoy it, it has to be administered in the context of value. Humiliation play is in direct opposition to my core beliefs. Some people may like to be called sluts, bitches and fags; but if you must refer to me, call me something in a respectful light. Some prefer to be embarrassed, belittled and scolded, but I cannot accept anything less than being exalted.

Fun with Polyamory: The Feminine Void

     Update: I have fallen in love with a couple. I’m sweetly confused because I like each man individually, yet loving their union much more.  One being a Taurus and the other a Cancer, I fit snuggly in between with my Gemini contribution.  Do I provide balance?  Or am I fun third wheel?  It is very strange, how being involved with a triad gives me the freedom and acceptance I so sorely need.  Revolving around them, I occasionally land for a night or two, only to fly back to my single life as usual.  No one’s lonely or requesting more; it’s quite perfect…almost.
     When you cross three, versatile men, you can imagine the infinite possibilities.  I’ve been bent into every direction, every dimension; I’ve been the recipient and the projector, sometimes simultaneously.  Every time we make love, I feel as if something of cosmic proportions happens; as if I mailed a package to God’s Address…and He signed for it!  I feel so charged when I am around them; I can’t keep my hands to myself.  Alternately, I am so fulfilled when I go home; sex/love is the last thing on my mind…unless the number three pops up.
     There is one thing that has kept me perplexed since we’ve been together: There’s a small void.  We’re all bisexual, thus, to a degree there’s still enough room for a woman.  Isn’t that amazing?  Despite the advanced trick where I open my mouth wide enough to take both their cocks.  Despite the ever revolving, four handed massages which leave no one left out. 

Despite the 69-ing/1 & the gay-sex-cubed, there’s still unknown variable: woman. 

     What's the value of this variable?  I don’t know.  Now, I'm famous for intelsexualizing the bare basics and missing the point entirely. I’m ashamed to admit that pondering a woman’s worth is giving me a headache.

(1) It’s beyond sexual, for we have all of the orifices we need.

(2) It’s beyond domestic, for everyone can cook and clean very well.

(3) It’s beyond sensitivity and understanding, because we have expanded our masculinity to include it.

(4) It’s beyond everything I’ve been taught that women are supposed to provide.

Yet the void persists…

     I really hate to pose this question, but what's so special about women? I know there has to be some value, but it’s hard to not see a man with those same qualities. Outside of childbirth, beautiful breasts and soft skin, I am short on answers.  For example, I truly love my mother, I think she is an incredible person; but can her qualities be attributed to femininity? Or is she independently great outside of gender?

Could someone help me out with this?

What's So Special About 30?

(The above photo is "Body Voice" by Erwin Olaf)

     I am currently caught in a paradoxical phase in my life. While racing to fulfill my fantasies, I restrict myself to become more responsible and stable. I can’t wear certain clothes ever again, but I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been. I want to splurge and travel and experience the finer things in life, but I want to fiscally prepare for a family. I am so tired of life, however, I am on the cusp of living.

What’s so special about turning thirty?

     I guess, 30 is the median of life expectancy. Plus, 30 marks the end of wild, idealistic behavior. Do I kill myself now or look forward to life with a wife and kids? Should I bury my dreams of being a best-selling author and rockstar? Or do I postpone them until I sixty? Will I still crave pussy, cock and rock n’ roll once I’m elderly? Probably not. But, on the other hand, 2025’s pharmaceuticals should do wonders! I'm sure, there will be a miracle drug that keeps my dick hard and my mind sharp.
     Writing this blog, I decided to ride this dream until the wheels fall off. I don’t care if I’m thirty, I’m gonna keep wearing my spike collars and small t-shirts, maybe even get some piercings. To think of it, there’s tons of old guys at the Folsom Street Fair…that I don’t want to look like. No one wants to be that old man in the ass-less chaps! There has to be a happy, radical medium. There has to be a way to stay edgy while keeping my saggy cakes to myself.
     Okay, here’s my plan. I’ll cruise along this tangent and, along the way, impregnate beautiful women on accident. I’ll be amazingly wayward and satisfactorily stable, letting God sort out the rest. I’ll live recklessly enough to die early, but disciplined enough to leave a genius body of work behind. And when my loved ones go through my possessions after I’ve passed on, hopefully they’d discover a kick-ass porn collection.

I look forward to living a Wikipedia-worthy life!

"Backstage" by Erwin Olaf

Fashion Victims: My New Artist-Crush Erwin Olaf

     I have been crushing on Erwin Olaf for a week now!  His photography is so good, I will be posting posting a collection a day from him.  The photo above is actually a self portrait.  His "Fashion Victims" collection speaks for itself; this actual his most tame work.  His message is pretty evident in the following photos.  The funny thing, however, is that his self-portrait makes me want to get further involved in fashion.

I am in love with this man and his art!

You'll really see why in the days to come...

Hobson's Choice: When Homosexuality is the Only Option

     There is a percentage of gay men that I feel are conveniently gay or gay by circumstance.  As superficial as the gay community can be, it is also very accepting of people that are...different.  Now, don't throw tomatoes at me just yet, let me explain myself!  When I say different, I am not just targeting the physically awkward or the socially impaired, but also those with very unconventional mind frames.  I have been noticing that some people have no other choice but to be either gay or lonely.

     Believe it or not, there are some men that are naturally effeminate; they speak with a lisp because of a speech impediment and frail bodies run in their family.  I have seen this for myself.  In spite of being heterosexual, women assume that these guys are gay.  No amount of persuading could convince a woman, especially when you're saying, "People always take me for a homothexual, but I'm not."  Furthermore, women normally prefer men that provides a certain feeling of security; it's needless to say that these guys do not qualify.  To make matters worse, its even more difficult to convince the men knocking down their door.

At what point do you throw up the white flag and accept love, regardless of where it's coming from?

     Some men suffer from social anxieties, they have a very hard time approaching anyone, let alone someone of the opposite sex.  Due to their crippling shyness, they require someone dominant to engage them into a relationship.  When there aren't enough overbearing women available, they fall into the grasp of alpha males or power bottoms.  Homosexual by circumstance, this kind of man would've been with whomever snatched him up first.  In my book, he's a pushover, not gay.

     I have come across some men and women that were too eccentric to be in a heterosexual relationship.  These people have such an abstract view on sex and relationships, that they fall into homosexual lifestyle almost by accident.  What other community receives polyamory, kinky sex and other wild preferences so freely?  These guys are attracted to acceptance more than the same-sex.

     This also applies to lesbians as well; I have many stud friends that are actually bisexual but very few men are attracted to masculine women.  So, they get in where the fit in.  However, if presented with a heterosexual fling where acceptance was evident, they would definitely give it a try. 

    

Where am I going with this?

     I think homosexuality is learned for some people, or better, homosexuality is chosen as the best option in an otherwise bad hand.  In spite of internal feelings and desires, 'you can't choose family' sometimes. 

Okay, I'm ready for the tomatoes! 

Chasing the Omni-Chord

(The piece below: "Orgasm" by J. Velasco)

(Please bear with me: I am trying to make sense of some chaos floating around in my head.  I think I'm finally grasping this phantom I've been chasing after.)

     In music, there is a composing method referred to as the 'Twelve-Tone Technique'.  Using this method, the composer ensures that every key of the chromatic scale receives equal emphasis within the piece.  From what I've heard of songs using this style, it develops a sense of roaming which never lands in the chorus we have been accustomed to.  The musical piece ties together a large range of harmonies with a simple line melody.  Of course, this style isn't very popular because there are only so many ways to accomplish this.  I can imagine the Twelve-Tone Technique to be somewhat stifling, because it then turns music into a mathematical equation.  Algebra is rarely fun.

Why am I talking about this?

      For a long time, I have been searching for something I call the "Omni-chord"; a moment where every key occupies the same space simultaneously.  John Coltrane exposed me to the concept in his experimental opus "OM", which sounds like a funeral full of torturing, dissonant wailing.  He truly was searching for this Omni-chord as well.
     But the problem is: Once found, who is willing to hear it?  Ultimately, it would be the equivalent of someone sitting on a piano's keys, striking all of the keys equally at once.  It may sound more like unified field than music.  Physics is rarely fun.

Here's the sexy part...

     I've been chasing the omni-chord in hopes of recapturing a moment I have experienced.  This moment was for only a few minutes, but I was outside of time, so it felt like an eternity.  Sex, prayer, laughter, anger, torture, worship and a myriad of other conditions were taking place at the same time.  Literally, I was crying, moaning, screaming and speaking in tongues while laughing...The moment was sublime and terrible.  I felt as though I experienced the full gamut of experience in one instant.

     Sex wields a great power.  It is the only platform where all things is appropriate; The Universe is magnified and sown together by a simple act.  Or at least it feels this way.  The problem is: as sex draws everything together for me, I look for this same surreal phenomenon within music, cinema, literature, spirituality and erotica: and I can not find it.  Sometimes, it rears its head like in John Coltrane's case, but I have yet to find that moment where The Almighty Omni-chord is struck. 

I'm chasing a high from a drug that doesn't exist!

 

La Petite Mort: The Little Death...The Little Afterlife

     Lately, I have been noticing something a little strange.  Approximately, every two days, I'll refer to my digital porn collection and rub a few out.  I'll spare you the details of my pornographic tastes, but I'll tell you that it's a bit extreme.  Stroking it, everything is beautiful and wondrous; but after I climax I am instantly grossed out by the acts playing on my computer screen.  My interest is evident.  These are the same films I have jumped through hoops to download and categorize.  However, there is a fifteen minute period after cumming where I'm disgusted.

Is this kind of like after eating a big meal and your favorite dish becomes repugnant?

     Whatever this phenomenon is: I don't like it.  I am considering exercising some orgasm control.  I love the peculiar curves my sexuality takes; I love the way my brain operates when it's charged.  I fear that I might exhaust that facet of my identity.  Everything I've been reading in my Tantra books supports my fear.  According to several texts, I'm wasting my seed and leaking unrecoverable vitality.

 

(Check out the Tantric classic, "Secret of the Golden Flower" translated by Thomas Cleary.)

     I look forward to exercising more ejaculate restraint.  I do plan on having sex still, a lot of it; but I'll try to walk away satisfied without spilling anything.  This could prove to be interesting.  Watching porn without cumming into a towel.  Fucking with breaks in between.  Walking around with this primed sexually charge.  I'm excited to see how far I can go.

This will result in a rash of crazy articles: you've been warned.

(Note: The photos are from my new artist-crush Erwin Olaf. He and his work is so dreamy!)

Large and In Charge: The Work of Namio Harukawa

     In Harukawa's world, big isn't only beautiful but it's dominating.  He features smothering, bondage and facesitting all with voluptuous women in charge.  He is one of my favorite fetish artists because he makes it seems so casual, as if it was a day in the life of these goddesses.  Who would've thought this art would come out of Japan?  Everyone seems so small and dainty...thats probably why he sees the beauty in big packages.

The Rise of the Rubenesque: Why Are Big Girls So Much Fun?

     A group of friends and I went out to one of the premiere clubs in our area.  Chilling in VIP with bottle service, it was fun dancing in my seat looking like high society.  Lounging in the upper deck of the club, everyone was getting increasingly aloof; the woman were only dancing with other women and the men stood around in their b-boy stance swirling their drinks.  Although a great scene for a hip-hop video, for me and my thirty dollar cover, it wasn't satisfactory.  I come to the club to sweat it out!
     Looking over the ledge, I saw the crowd on the dance floor below.  I decided to join the fun amongst the common folk, this VIP bracelet wasn't going to weigh me down.  Working my way through the crowd, I attempted, and failed, to dance with the women.  It felt like they were sizing me up, whether I was an athlete or someone lucrative.  One woman even approached me asking, "Aren't you a comedian? I loved you on that HBO special!"  After a few dance moves, I told her that I wasn't the performer she took me for; she lost interest immediately.  I found myself a corner and did what I do best: have fun.
     I'm no stranger to dancing by myself, I actually enjoy it.  Getting my groove on to Jay-Z's "Run This Town", I was suddenly grabbed from behind.  I looked over my shoulder to see a short but beautiful big girl pumping the shit out of me.  I can't lie, that got me excited!  We ended up dancing for three or four songs straight.  She was so much fun!  She just wanted to have fun just like me.  Whether we were rhythmically dry humping or doing some funny dance steps; we had a good time.
     After separating with her (after exchanging Facebook info, of course) I tried to give the skinny girls another chance.  Even when they would accept my invitation, they were too busy trying to be sexy to dance.  I found myself seeking out other big girls.  Everytime I found one, we got busy, we laughed, we partied until I was sweating through my blazer.  For now on, I think I will start partying exclusively with BBWs!

My question:

Why are big girls so much more fun?

     Aren't they supposed to be insecure?  Shouldn't I have to warm them up and pull them out of their shell, constantly reaffirming them every step of the way?  That was not the case that night.  On another note: I also find this to be true in the sack as well; big girls seem to be more liberated and giving.  I am really interested in finding out what's different about their psychology that works so well with me.

Sexuality: Is it Retroactive or Prospective?

When categorizing yourself or others' sexuality, which method is used?

     Retroactive Sexuality: Most people refer to a person's history to define one's sexuality.  This method is action oriented.  Tallying each encounter, we draw a conclusion to the person's sexual orientation and caliber.  For example, if I have slept with only men, then I am hereby deemed "gay".  If I had a period where I had a high volume of sexual partners, or if the sum total partners reach a high degree, I am hereby deemed "promiscuous".
     As much as I hate to say it, a person's history is a good indicator of many things.  Generally speaking, if my friends loaned someone money and he failed to pay them back, I may think twice before letting him borrow from me.  In the realm of the sexual, if I loved men in the past, its safe to say that particular preference will be carried into the future. 
     In spite of the practicality of this perspective, it is very important to note that we should not let a person's past determine his future.  If I was once promiscuous, its would be unfair for someone to stigmatize me as promiscuous for life.  Some phases are just that: phases, temporary stages.  Whores can become housewives effectively.

     Prospective Sexuality: This method would refer to the expected direction someone's sexuality is likely to take.  Have you ever witnessed a young boy playing with Barbies or double-dutching?  Actions are irrelevant; curiosities, fantasies and fixations determines orientation. For example, there was a period when I only have had heterosexual relationships, but I knew that there was a chance I could form same-sex relationships as well.  Even if I made it to the grave without having a single same-sex relation, I would be buried a bisexual man because my porn collection says otherwise. 
     The beautiful thing about this method is that it speaks more on the surveyor than the subject.  A straight man that constantly estimates other men to be bisexual or gay would be indicating that he himself could be a part of what he sees to be so prevalent.  Psychologically speaking, repressed aspects of identity resurfaces in the perception of others.  The mind has a way of subconsciously highlighting things we identify with. 

As a fun exercise: Pay attention to things that stand out most in a person.

     In my opinion, sexuality is a fluid rollercoaster filled with heights and valleys.  There are phases that will never return.  There are preferences that make up our identities, just as real as the skin coating our bones.  Generally speaking, a person's life isn't fully captured by the places traveled or activities performed, but also one's thoughts and ambitions.
       Sexuality differs for each person.  Believe it or not, there are men that have had a "gay phase".  Is he gay forever?  Is he bisexual due to his accumulative list of partners?  Who are we to judge?  Oh yes, that's right! We are to judge, for we are ultimately judging ourselves!

A saying comes to mind,

"Whenever you're pointing the finger at someone, there's three more pointing right back at you."

Beautiful (Dis)assembly: The Work of Richard Taddei

"While I regard distortion necessary as a path to a different beauty and truth, I am also enamored of the sensuous volumes of the nude figure. They may be truncated or fragmented or metamorphosed, puzzle-like into the geometry of armor or architecture, but they always express the grandeur of the pose." - Richard Taddei

     I identify a great deal with his surreal style.  It brings to mind the suffering/indulgence of being fragmented, diffused and divided.  It reminds me of times my body and spirit was left rearranged by a lover's hand.  I constantly feel scattered and searching, like vapors in the wind.  Each day, I amalgamate with the outside world; returning to bed a different incarnation than which I've awakened.  His art confirms that this is indeed a beautiful thing.

    

Enjoy the rest of Richard Taddei's work:

http://www.richardtaddei.com/index.html 

Partialism: Back of the Head

Has this every happened to you?

     I was standing in line at the local Seven-Eleven.  Suddenly, I found myself hypnotized by the hairline in front of me.  I wasn't sure if I was developing a crush on the guy before me or his barber; his haircut was immaculate.  The edges looked airbrushed! 

    Thanks to the cashier-in-training, we were in line awhile, I started to check out the rest of his backside.  From the posterior view, he was in decent shape.  Judging by the nape of his neck, his apparel and the woodsy cologne filling my nostrils, I made him out to be very clean cut.  Looking downward at his manicured hands, I took that as a beautiful confirmation.

     Taking one step at a time towards the register.  Looking at his flawless skin and the hint of red on his ears, I started to create a fantasy character. I began to fill in the mysteries of his front side. 

     Paying for his Rockstar and Winterfresh, I hear his deep voice say softly, "Thank you."  Catching a glimpse of his face...I kicked myself for letting my imagination run so far away.  Let's just say: I was sadly disappointed.  Unless his barber happened to be a plastic surgeon as well, I had no reason to draw a correlation between his face and his line up. 

What's wrong with me?

     The next time I find myself captivated by the back of someone's head, I'll cherish my fantasy and avoid seeing the front side.

Intelsexualism: Erotic Examination

     No one has ever paid this much attention.  We talked about my sign, my signature and the "money line" in my palms.  We traded kisses in between statements about my desires, my plans and stress.  No one has ever cared to inspect the makings of my being.  Carefully uncovering every hidden talents and praising each one, my personality was expounded upon.  Unraveling my fears down to their sensitive roots. 

I admit, I want to be acknowledged...

I desperately want my value to be confirmed and redeemed... 

I long to be appraised in detail and fall in love with my sum total...

     The magnetism between our lips were constantly intercepted by compliments and questions.  Our loving gazes were constantly broken by book suggestions and passages read.  No one has ever looked this deeply into me...and liked what was found.  What I thought were demons actually turned out to be "wild oats".  My shortcomings were flipped into cute nuances. 

     It was a very intimate exchange of philosophies and paradigms.  I've never been so stimulated intellectually, spiritually and sexually simultaneously.  Analysis has never felt so good.  I never want it to stop.  Keep reading.  Keep reading to me.  Keep reading into me. 

A Look at True "Omnisexuality"

     I've seen the term 'omnisexuality' thrown around here and there; describing the preferences for men, women, the trangendered, the intersexed and (dare I say) animals.  I have a different idea of what this means and it isn't as controversial as it seems.  It is important to know that this is coming from someone who does not identify himself as an omnisexual.  This is the account of someone who hasn't actually experienced the following phenomena.

     There is a particular movie scene that comes to mind when I think of omnisexuals.  In 2004's film, "Kinsey", there is a chilling scene where a pansexual discusses his sexual affairs with men, women, children and animals.  The characters sat in disgust as he spouted off data about his encounters.  The way he cataloged his sexual history in grave detail told the truth about his sexuality; he was simply aroused by the dark and deviant aspect of sexuality.  In my opinion, he was like someone who travels just for the sake of frequent flyer miles.  How many people do we know that have daring sex just for the sake of saying that they did it? 

     I was recently in the company of someone who shed light in the direction of true omnisexuality.  This woman was sexually charged by the moon; to the point where the quarter moon, the full moon and even the constellations gave her a different impulses.  She talked about making love against Redwood trees and feeling the soft, jagged bark against her naked backside.  She even mentioned how she likes the way her cat looks at her while she masturbates.  (I, for one, thinks its creepy the way my cat always comes out when I'm jerking off; but to each his own.)

     She can not have it any other way, she couldn't fathom having sex in a motel room.  She needs nature, stars and humanity as a participating audience for her to climax completely.  Like all of the weird fetishes we've read about, she walks past certain trees and gets horny thinking about the possible positions she could perform on its branches.  Watching snakes slither gets her juices running southbound.

    

(It's possible that this is the only brand of omnisexuality I'm comfortable with; even I have my limits!)

Cross Contamination or All-Inclusivity?

     I have always hated the notion that some body parts are considered acceptable whilst others are considered dirty.  How is it possible to divide a person?  How do you reject an aspect of someone without rejecting wholly?  I believe that every appendage, limb and organ should receive attention and pleasure, equally.  That's true love in my book, when I am loved armpits and all!

     That's why I gravitate towards the taboo areas; (feet, assholes, scalps) because they're sadly understimulated.  Furthermore, whenever you re-introduce your lover to his/her body, the reactions are very interesting to say the least.  He becomes adorably embarrassed.  She laughs so hard she snorts.  It adds a fun dimension to the bedroom.

     My philosophy of love: include as much of the body as possible.  If your mouth is free, why not fill it with fingers?  If your feet are free, why not impersonate a Thai masseuse?  Sex is all about exploration.  Its a beautiful opportunity to learn about the human body and those precious nerve endings.  Next time you get a chance, spare a little love for the forgotten parts...

These beautiful examples of all-inclusivity are courtesy of french photographer, Laurent Benaim:

http://www.laurentbenaim.com/

I will definitely be doing an article about this chick later...

Invisible for a Day: What Would You Do?

If you were invisible for a day, what would you do?

Would you be a voyuer or go bump in the night?

Would you have sex or money on your mind?

I'm really interested in what you guys would do with a 24 hours of invisibility...

Partialism: Calves

     Thank you, Calves, for absorbing every step of my journey.  I appreciate the way I can point my toes; illustrating my grace while on my back or adding a few inches to height while standing.  Whether bulky & powerful or sleek & slender, you are beautiful!  It's hard to lift my eyes from the pavement, gazing at the many gorgeous legs around me.  Some hairy.  Some smooth.  Some golden.  Some milky.  How I love to see you bolster many walks of life. 
     If I ever get the chance to show you, I'll savor the opportunity.  With my hands and lips, I'd bless the space between ankles and knees.  I get lost sometimes, imagining myself trailing my firm touch and wet tongue from heel to hamstring.  In my grasp, every tendon, every muscle will be praised...

The Work of Patrick Rachon

His Medium is Light: How Powerful is That?

     I love this photographer's work because it reminds me that "I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for." (John Mayer)  One hundred percent analog, he paints an aura using pen lights, flash lights, anything that emits light.  His work is inspirational because he warps and manipulate energy the way we do invisibly.  He perfectly depicts our energy fields, chi and subtle body: deep...colorful...vibrant...

Experience His Light Paintings:

http://patrickrochon.com/index.html

Sensory Depravation Hood: "Blind Man's Bliss"

     To pass the time, I imagine his voice saying the password, “Blinded eyes bear no witness,” through an exhale of cigarette smoke. My ability to fabricate possibilities into reality is all I have left to make use of my senses, that and my sense of touch. Like a serpent, my naked flesh picks up the vibration of his steps into my chamber. Drawing closer to me, I slip into a posture that makes me feel both elegant and enigmatic. Exquisitely available, delicately strong, I brace myself while dilating my defenses.

     I have grown to find torment tangled within the dead air between his entrance and first contact. Keeping my breathing steady, my composure still, I pretend to be unaware of his presence; I wait to be caressed, smothered or hit. I’m prepared to be penetrated, pierced or punctured.

In the indulgence of the forgetful midnight hour, the darkness comes to life.

     My eyes are covered by thick, black leather. My ears are plugged and enveloped. My mouth is gagged and silenced. My entire head is wrapped in a sensory deprivation mask. My only lead into the outside world is my nude body and the two tiny holes barely allowing me to breath from my nostrils. My cloaked face remains left to the imagination and so does his. While waiting, I used to envision a pleasurable participant, I now have the wisdom to clear my mind of all expectations.
     This is indeed torture, waiting for him to touch me. I can feel his presence hovering over me, I imagine him ingesting the sight of my body. There is always a brief moment of strategizing; deciding what to do with this instance of invisibility. I feel his breath descending onto me; the temperature of the room rises. I can feel the momentum of his torso bending forward, the breeze of his garments falling towards the floor.
     Anticipating anything, my face aims forward to preserve the fantasy of frozen prey. I play the role of the warm, soulless confessional awaiting for him to deposit of sin. His size is apparent as he crawls onto the bed; tall and heavy, but not obese. Creeping towards me on all fours, the distribution of his balance tells me he’s strong. I remain motionless until I am melted by the warmth of his palm sliding up my thigh.
     Wrapping himself around my waist, he suspends my legs into the air. He begins to feast on what’s in between. Snaking his warm tongue in and out of me, his choice is gorgeous. He chooses to savor and indulge when other men pummel and rape. He chooses to absorb when other men gnaw and devour. My blinded eyes recognize his muffled soul; I can see his truth blooming in the shadows of the forbidden. His truth is beautiful.

(This is preview of the novel "Between Black & Blind" by VII)

Dolce & Gabana Ads: The Best Source of CFNM

CFNM:

Clothed females amongst nude male(s) in a subserviant scenario where power and authority is displayed.

     I have always fantasied about being naked in a room full of women.  Objectified.  Submissive.  I imagine other men and I, serving beverages and hors d'oeuvres to fully clothed women as they have normal conversations; as if nothing special is happening.  I don't know why, but that is my shit!  I'm sure its the power switch and the titillation of something sexual occurring.  But, it's also the opportunity to be amongst goddess (or gods) completely humble and available.

 Imagine me pouring Jasmine tea in the nude, wearing only a collar and an erection...

     Whomever is in charge of Dolce & Gabana's marketing also sees the appeal in CFNM (and also clothed males and a single nude man).  The stark contrast between professional, outfitted men and women alongside golden nude flesh is a sight to see.  I always find myself staring at these ads in "Details" or "GQ"; wondering why they never make porn like this.  It is a powerful premise: the wealthy having a pet god(dess) at their disposal.

     After a little research, I have found a place in New York that has parties where nude men serve fully clothed women.  The potential is limitless.  I think I'll have fun being a part of that scene.  Alternatively, I would also have fun being dressed in my finest while being waited on, hand and foot, by naked servants. 

Indeed, a good, sexy time had by all...