J-Porn Favorites: "GayHound Express"

Imagine This

     You're waiting at the bus stop, running late for work...yet again.  Working on your "family emergency" bit, the bus pulls up much earlier than expected.  Sweet!  You would've had a hard time explaining how you acquired a third, dead grandmother anyways.  Rushing on-board, you pay your fare and squeeze your way through the packed bus, "It must be a home game today, everyone and their-fucking-daddy's on this bus."

     Avoiding eye contact with the pervy fat man staring at you, for some reason you check to see if your wallet's still in your back pocket.  You think, "They should really limit how many people they let board at one time.  This guy's breathing on my neck."  The bus is so crowded, you can't even turnover to see who keeps grabbing your ass. 

    

Suddenly, you hear, "Yeah..."

...whispered directly into your ear...

He grabs a fistful of your hair

There isn't enough room to fight

That's when everyone on the bus proceeds to tear your clothes off

     "GayHound Express: The Molester's Bus," is the SCARIEST piece of porn, I've ever seen.  The scariest part is that my dick gets hard while watching these cute Japanese men struggle unsuccessfully.  They can't escape being fondled and stripped.  They're eventually fellated and given forced rim jobs...I've seen other gay pornography feature rape fantasy, but this one is painful to watch!  I keep thinking, to myself, "The poor boy just wants to get to work."

The worst/best part is the walk of shame after he's dropped off.

He's trying to grapple with what just happened...

He came three times against his will...

His nipples are so sore...

He hopes his boss buys his excuse...

(For the record, I am aware that NOT judging me is impossible at this point)

Xenocentrism: Japan

     For the most part, I believe that you can make incredible discoveries about a culture based off their pornography.  You gain great insight just by paying attention to...

How is the power is distributed?

How the men and women are showcased?

What kind of situational themes occur?

What part of sex is emphasized?

What body types are celebrated?

Which parts are adored?

Which body parts are ignored?

Where do they cash in the money shot?

     Think about American pornography for a minute: did a frostbiting chill run up your spine?  If you were to take a pen & pad and observed what we watch while jerking off.  Objectively, I'd assume that Americans were misogynous, typecasting and more concerned with what happens to the ejaculate than the ejaculation itself.  They sure are a pretty and eclectic group though.  These American porn stars make me forget they're getting paid, like they're fucking for the love of it.

      Unfortunately...

My theory of porno-analysis crumbles and bursts into flames when it come to Japanese porn.

     I love watching J-porn because, I'm always left saying, "huh?"  After cumming, I still sit and watch the bizarre shit they're doing.  How is it possible to incorporate gold fish, power tools and one hundred gallons of lube?  My favorite aspect about their pornography: there's less emphasis on the actors and more about the concept and theme.  They really go out their way to fully exhaust a certain scene.  It's living, sexual art!  I had to be Japanese in my past life...

For the next few days,

I will be walking you guys through some of my favorite Japanese titles!

Have you ever felt a combination of confusion and arousal?

Just a Taste: The Provocation of Proximity

 

     Scrolling through the menu, I'm looking for another slice of cheesecake to share with you. Searching for something different enough to be interesting but similar enough to be satisfying.  In a empty restaurant, our discussions seamlessly travel from topics of culture, love and life.  My offbeat humor lands wonderfully, our laughter fills the diner with life.  

     Tell me more.  You've been so many places, experienced so many things.  Remaining on the edge of my seat, your journey is served with a side fries.  Comprehensive yet dissolving, I feel like I've known you forever yet have so much more to find out.  It's amazing that our introduction lasted this long and covered so much ground.  You are so interesting.

The sunrise marks the end of our midnight snack.

The evening is sealed with a kiss

Sweet...Simple...Supple

Our lips made closed cushions

Our tongues stayed home

My erection knocked at the door of my fly

Just enough to keep me transfixed for the week to come

I got just a taste...

     I'm not used to this.  In my current mode of life, I have grown accustomed to immediate consummation.  Instant gratification.  Taking perfect strangers and devouring them completely upon meeting.  Nothing is left.  Nothing is desired.  I'm satisfied until the hunger returns.  But now, my stomach won't stop growling...I can't stop salivating.  You've been on my mind non-stop.

You've prepared a cruel concoction of hope and lust.

     What will I do to your body?  Your mind?  Once I get my hands on you, how will I prepare my feast?  You've laced my creativity with your image and I've been compiling different fashions of fucking you...loving you...worshiping you...serving you...addicting you, just so I have the chance to return with another approach.

I got just a taste of what could be

A universal flavor lingers from a single kiss

The only thing sweeter:

your absence

  The only thing more bitter:

the volumes of unfulfilled fantasies

     Scrolling through the menu, there's so many possibilities.  Perhaps I'd anoint this special occasion by ordering something different this time.  Something I've never had.  As long as it's eaten with you, any dish will be satisfying...no price is too heavy...no arrangement too conflicting.  

I've been waiting a long time for this. 

The above art is from "Saint-Cochon"

     I found this collection to be appropriate because it captures that tension that comes from close proximity.  The electricity that builds when you're close...but not touching.  I also love the picnic scene, the concept of presentation and dining is very alluring to me; they have  managed to translate the mixed feeling of delicacy and restraint.

You can view the rest of this photo set

Here

Cocaine & Caffiene: Cure for Writer's Block?

Goodbye...emerald blades of grass

Painfully bright diamonds of jagged sunshine

The sky shifts from sapphire to ruby to sexy

Brake lights pump to the beat

of his hand grabbing my crotch, chest and feet

He can't decide on which part he wants

so we change the station

because his stupid CD skips and repeats

I feel sooooo good

better than good

EXCELLENT

I want to touch their earlobes

trace their lips with my fingers

but they don't know me

they'd probably freak out!

I can't stop dancing to the rhythm

You're right, Solange, my mind IS a prism

God's light is shining through

It hurts me that nobody sees it

Excuse me, ma'am, are you fucking blind?

I'm lighting up the street at two in the morning

and you're pretending to not see me

I am not INVISIBLE!

Let go of me, Max!

She needs to see the truth

Open you eyes, Bitch!

I'm NOT high...I'm down to Earth

I'ma whup your ass if you don't let me go...

Hmm, Max, I kinda like the way you got me by the arm...

You wanna take this struggle indoors?

The New Ladies: Male Objectification

Women are admitting to being visually stimulated

Men are becoming more vain

Gay culture is becoming more mainstream

Because all of the above is happening at the same time.

Men have become sex objects!

     Everywhere I look, my eyes indulge in six pack abs...bulging biceps...perfectly trimmed stubble...sexy scowls...boyish beauties...suggestive lumps...alpha-grade masculinity at it's most polished.  Men are becoming objectified to the point where athletic, firm asses are selling watches.  Well defined quadriceps are marketing tools for sunglasses.  Rock hard pecs are putting big breast out of business.

     The downside: I've never been so self-conscious.  I am caring about things I normally wouldn't give two fucks about.  Do I have a normal or oily complexion?  How can I add more sheen to my hair?  What's a reasonable price for a partial Brazilian wax?  For the first time, I'm considering manicures and "shape enhancing" undergarments.  Could this be why women hate being objectified?  It does make life a bit more complicated. 

It's all fun and games...

Old men drooling at the sight of you naked

Cougars begging to drink from your fountain of youth

Getting mangoes & honey eaten off your torso on a weekly basis

...until your metabolism slows down!

I spending my Monday nights chained to a Stairmaster

I've grown accustomed to praise and worship

Free dinners followed by foot rubs

Shit!

Maybe it's the free sushi that's making me fat in the first place?

It's a vicious cycle!

     I can't be a mere admirer.  I can't be the average slob jerking off to people who are actually hot.  I'll pay for the annual gym membership, the subscription to Men's Health; because I want to hold on to my place in the world.  It's the inside that count, alright.  That's what the infinite fiber shakes and enemas are for!  I have to be black and magnificent on the outside and pink and sweet on the inside; at all times!

     The pressure becomes too much sometimes; I miss the days when being gainfully employed bested the biggest dicks on the block.  All the muscle in the world couldn't compete with health benefits and a 401k plan.  

Too bad I can never go back

My nerve endings will never allow it

I can't even achieve an erection without free drinks and shrimping
Shit!

Creative Conflict: Beauty vs. Art

     This is happening too often.  I search online for art that inspires me or supports the overall concept of my thoughts.  Maybe I'm old school, but I like my art painted or if it's photography, I appreciate photos with an artistic direction.  But lately, I've been coming across more and more glamour; more and more pieces of "art" which entire value is supported by the beauty of it's subject.  It's getting to me.

The difference between art and beauty:

One compels you to find out who's in front of the camera.

The other reminds you: there's someone on the other side of the lens.      

     I appreciate beautiful people, maybe more than most.  I praise circumferences, symmetry and luster.  I worship at the temple of flesh, muscle, bones, hair, teeth, cocks, breast, asses.  Although I'm constantly entranced by the human form; I am starting to miss one of the most important parts of the body: the soul.  Flipping through pages of people posing and pointing their best feature forward; I'm growing jaded.  Scrolling through several blogs, I'm growing weary of the laundry list of hot guys and girls.  I get it: they're beautiful.

Can't we do more with a six pack?

Aren't there other qualities to black skin beyond it's blackness?
Where's the creativity?

Valentine's Day Plush

     Ever since watching Marilyn Manson's "Tainted Love"; I've had this fixation on sexy bodies with mascot heads.  Maybe it's because bunny rabbits can't talk? Or it's the perfect combination of cute and sexy?  I don't know why, but I'd love to have someone dress up for me...

     My ultimate fantasy is to get really ripped and in shape and troll around San Francisco wearing only combat boots, a jock strap and giant Teddy Bear head...That would be so awesome!  Going to the clubs and dancing my ass off.  Hitchhiking.  Fun times had by all!

(I LOVE JACK! He's makes me happy...I bet you he's hung like a horse!)

Monsters

     Because very few people are telepathic, he wears his memories on his flesh.  Constantly reversing his immune system's work, he displays his wounds...his illness...his distortions to the world.  It may cause you to look away, drag your curious youth to the nearest safe point; but to him it's beautiful.  Not because he finds the grotesque: gorgeous or the filth: fine; but because it's sexy to survive.  It's sexy to rise from the ashes...to surface alive from puddles of blood...to remain whole after being fractured and shattered.  To him, the soul is only visible after the body's been broken.
     Because very few people are aware of how often this happens, he scribbles the truth across his skin...runs it through his nostrils...stretches his lobes with it's weight.  You call it distortion; he calls it commonplace.  You call it warped; he suggests its reality.  He recognizes the crow's feet along your young eyes.  He decodes your stiff stride in your painful shoes.  You call it privacy; he call it deception.
     From his perspective, we are a society who have grown accustomed to being raped.  We are a people who's comfortable with slavery.  He witnesses us relaxing and adjusting to take it all in because resistance proves to be too inconveinant.  He's the freak because he wears his shackles outwardly?  He's the freak because his modifications testify a universal violation?

Little do we know, we look just as perverted to him.

We grin and bear it.  We ask for more.

Who's the real monster?

2 Ways to Improve the Planet

Everything you hate about yourself

Is a manifestation of your self-hatred

Would you do the world a favor...

Innocent bystanders become sworn enemies

because you assume we all agree with your self-perception

Please make this planet a better place...

You shove and attack everyone that is close

Out of fear you'd be struck first

You could aid in humanity's evolution

You've become part of dark cycle, 

where you are the only perpetuating force.

The integrity of our society depends on your ability

to see the truth for yourself

Would you do the world a favor...

Love yourself or kill yourself...

So we can all move on with our lives.

(Sorry guys, someone had to say it...
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.)

Sunrises & Dark Alleys

     I love/hate black people!  Simply because you never have to wonder what we are thinking; we will shout our opinions from the rooftops and then call our friend on speakerphone to elaborate.  Due to this key cultural feature, my day at work got very interesting.  It all started with the golden child of cyber-voyeurs and exhibitionists: Facebook.

     After a week of working with a new firm, I added a co-worker as a friend.  I took to her quickly because our discussions would range from The Book of Hebrews to Fantasia to coke lines; we could talk about everything under the Sun.  Online we'd exchange witty comments, LOLs and smiley faces; she was a great add.
     One day while filing some documents, I suddenly heard a loud scream come from the central office.  Rushing out to help, I walked in to my co-working clicking through pictures of me at the "Death Guild".  I'm dressed in a tight, black T-shirt; on the front was a drawing of a naked woman ball-gagged and bound.  I am also donning a big spiked collar.  She tried to click off, but it kept going to the next picture...and the next...and the next.

     I wasn't really embarrassed, but I was a little annoyed that she wouldn't stop screaming.  Looking up at me, professionally dressed in a suit and tie and glaring back at the computer screen, she couldn't grasp that I could be genuinely both people, "Oh my Lord!"  Her reaction was incredibly humorous to me; but the funniest part was that those pictures were just the tip of the iceberg. 

She hadn't the slightest clue about what I was really into.

     Getting a grip of herself, the first thing she does is go through her purse, "You're off on Wednesdays, right?  My church has a service starting at 7:00 pm!"  She takes a laminate invitation from her bag and scoots it across the table towards me, "Please go and get some prayer, Jesus still loves you!  It's not too late!"

     At this point, I'm laughing hysterically.  If she only caught of glimpse of the shit on this blog, she would drag me to the altar herself.  After catching her breath, she collects herself, "I'm so sorry; that was just a lot to take in on a Sunday morning.  I'm not judging you, I'm just caught off guard! You're nothing like that in real life, You're a big square!"

What's the definition of "Real Life"?

     Little does she know, I am a big square.  I laugh too loud.  I love cartoons.  Gummy worms make me incredibly happy.  Just because I have a proclivity towards leather, whips and chains doesn't mean I'm incapable of being goofy or naive. 

     I hate the assumption that one of my incarnations must be a facade.  I am authentically myself whether I'm in the office, writing this blog or at the club wearing a muzzle.  As if I'm at the San Francisco Citadel because it makes me feel cool.  Or while watching "The Princess and the Frog", I'm secretly wishing I was watching "Bound Gods".  This is why pseudonyms exist in the first place. 

People still can't get over the fact that the world is round:

Beautiful sunrises and dark alleys can exist in the same instance.

Can't my life be entirely non-fictional?

Can't I be all these things at once?

Is it really a paradox?

Or just reality?

80 year-olds are having hot, fulfilling sex as you read this

Some beautiful Mandingo warriors are born with micro-penises

Why are we so shocked?

     While pondering my new thoughts of duality and public vs. private personas, I hear, "Girl, you gotta see this! Look on my Facebook page!"  This woman called her friend to talk about her discovery, "I know, girl, night & day! Night AND DAY!"  One moment she's introducing me to her Lord and Savior and the next she's posting my pictures on her wall!  This made me laugh harder because, in my mind, I instantly labeled her a hypocrite....which , in turn, makes me one  The law of transitivity says: If I can be this grand multi-dimensional being; in the same fashion, she can be equal parts saint and sloppy gossiper.  She looks up at me and seriously asks, "Are you into dominatrixes and stuff?"

     I went ahead and nodded, "Yes." (Why not?)

     Taking her hand off the receiver, she laughs, "He is! Oh my God, who did they hire to work with me?  They left me alone with this cat!"  The fact that she's doing this in front of me, in a weird way, demonstrates her respect.  We're still cool.  After she got off the phone with her friend, she started to take an interest in me.  Asking safe questions, like, "So do you dance at these clubs or just get tied up?  Are there other black people at these clubs?"

It was fun answering "Yes" to all of her questions.

Reverse Frotteurism: Reading Over My Shoulder

I can feel the blood filling my face; I know this feeling all too well.

I consciously keep my breathing in check, chanting to myself, "Remain professional, remain professional..."

I try to delay the erection

If you knew what this was doing to me

Would you discontinue?

Would it freak you out?

 

Your index finger traces the lines on my computer screen

Reading to yourself, you mumble under your breath

Unintentionally, spilling your words onto my face

Exhaling them softly down the side of my neck

Out of compulsion,

I ask another question, to which I already know the answer

Giving a more thorough explanation,
you lean in closer

Placing your cheek within kissing distance

Resting your hand on my shoulder

As if to invite me into your knowledge

Information has never been so warm
 

Whenever accounts receivables come to mind,
I'll remember your manicured hands

Your signature scent making me a genius and forgetful with every whiff

Suddenly, your voice breaks my trance,

"How was that? You think you get it now?"

The 2010 Kreativ Blogger Award

     I've been seeing this award float around me and I felt a little left out.  Is there any room for the Omni-fetishist?  Any love for the pervy, black optimist?  YES!  Cogent Ascending, you've made my day, kitten!  Although I'm aroused by everything and there's nothing that doesn't disgust you, we still get along far too well.  I can't wait to drink rum from your navel...

The rules goes as follows...

7 interesting things no one knows about me...

(1) I was a Baptist youth minister for four years; 

during that time I was completely celibate.

Masturbation doesn't count, does it?

(2) The moniker "Forbidden Light" is actually of Luciferian descent.

My library card and Wikipedia search bar has seen some dark times.

(3) I am a semi-aspiring emcee and vocalist.

I like to think that I'm pretty good...
But you can't write erotica and rap...yet.

(4) I am a certified massage therapist.

(5) I have written a total of three full length novels.

Getting them published is the hard part!

(6) I have Japanese characters that says "God Seed"
tattooed to my lower abs.

Due to a little gut, I don't show it off! But, I'll be ready by summer...

(7) Cogent's post "Your Closet is a Sinking Ship"
was mainly inspired by me.

My writing and art is my way of coming out...you hear that publishers?

7 Bloggers I'd like to nominate...

(In no particular order...)

From the Desk of Pimusique Inc. 

Cool Whippings 

Ile Oxumare 

Queer 

Toddy English 

Bombilicious "The Man" Destroying Blog

Homo on the Loose

In accordance to the rules,

I shall visit each blog and relay the good news that they've been nominated...

A big, giant thanks to everyone who have support me thus far...

Aliphineurism: Oily Decadance

    One of my favorite things to do is to give myself long massages.  Catering to the attention glutton within, I spend a great deal of time on each muscle.  Stretching.  Vibrating.  Kneading.  After a couple of hours, I feel like self-appointed royalty.
     An interesting progression happened.  I slowly went from generic massage oil to Jasmine Essential Oil to thick, slippery oils like Olive Oil.  I can't get enough of that saturating feeling.  At this time, I'm indulging in peanut oil.  The consistency is perfect; heavy and buttery.  I've gotten to point where I apply generous amounts, smothering myself from head to toe.  Pouring on quarts, for a moment, I reside in the lap of luxury.  I'm suddenly surrounded by satin and service.

Peanut Oil has revolutionized my masturbatory life

The golden brown luster of my skin fills my eyes

The smooth movements of my hands travel all over my body

 Every throbbing vein becomes pronounced

Two fingers insert with zero effort

The honey hued oils takes on a silver tint

(Thank you, George Washington Carver!)

Haiku: Corporate Greed

You love it, don't you...

Served, while I'm completely dressed

Italian silk soiled