Souvenir Soreness

Have you ever been reminded by a painful limp?
An interrupted stride
Bringing a pleasurable evening to mind

Just when I forgot about it,
I bend over to find tension across my backside

What we did was unnatural...
Twisting my limbs out of place
Extending my jaws from my face
I stretched beyond my limits to give you a deeper taste

I stare at the reflection of my bruises
Recapturing the music
Born of slapping flesh
Sounds of suffering and sex
Hair pulling from my scalp and blood sucked from my neck

The soreness is a sweet souvenir
It marks the time you were here
It marks the conflict between pleasure and fear
I pray these wounds take their time to heal
Or, you hurry before these blemishes clear

The above photography is from Kostas Avgoulis' editorial "Accessories"

Jewelry and bandages are great metaphors of pleasure and pain.

Mystery Floodgate

We tighten our legs....
We change the angle of our hips...

What is this urge to run away?
Why do we attempt to escape?
Why do we evade pleasure?

     Thank God for his hands and their unwillingness to let go of my hips; I wanted him to stop but needed him to continue.  Somehow, he discovered a spot inside of me, a trigger that opened a mysterious floodgate.  Something completely new to me.  I was unaware I had "spots", however, I was introduced with every stab, every piercing.  Every precise punch tore me apart.  With each thrust, a strange grunt escaped from my core.
     The pleasure was becoming unbearable.  The pleasure was becoming suffocating and I needed to come up for air.  But those hands of his held me under, binding me to face this emanating explosion.  Stroking my erection, I wanted this to be over and eternal at the same time.  Each moan got louder.  Each pant got deeper.  Until...I shut my eyes so tight I saw a bright shade of red.  Until...My body became stiff as my soul took off running.  Until...I ran out of breath from screaming.

I passed out
Dreaming a forgotten vision,
I was awakened by our missionary madness

     Returning to Earth, I looked down at myself.  Expecting to find a belly covered in milk, I found nothing.  Feeling around, I realized that the most powerful orgasm I've every experienced was dry... How is this possible?

Is there such a thing?
Is this similar to a feminine orgasm?
Is this some kind of spiritual release?
Could this be repeated?
Can I handle a second coming?

Note: The pearls represent the origin of an orgasm.

Erotic Errands

     Today, I'm heading to San Francisco to make a few purchases.  I'm very excited because I finally found a shop that sells leather and bondage gear, "Stormy Leather".  Nothing against my favorite online shop, Extreme Restraints, but I've been craving a brick & mortar spot for the longest time.

I've always wanted to try gear on.
See myself in shit I can't afford.
Ask someone, "How does this look?"

     I'm going to buy something special: some black and silky to wear under my leather chastity belt...maybe something lacy yet masculine.  I also need a ball gag.  Under the right pressure, I can be a screamer, thus, I'll need something to sink my teeth into and muffle my cries.  Catharsis can get very loud.  My voice can get really high.  Hopefully, he straps it on too tight...just enough.
     Another item on my to-do list: make a copy to my chastity belt's key.  Only one other person has it, maybe it's time to give lust a try.  In a pretty box adorned with a bow, I'm granting him the gift of control.  I'll invest in him the power of "when".
     I love the idea of being trapped until he decides to give me freedom.  My dick does a great impersonation of The Incredible Hulk!  Filled to the brim with sexual energy, I can dwell in denial or experience pleasure vicariously.  There's a powerful feeling of relief that washes over me when the pad lock is removed.  A relief so poignant it's orgasmic in itself. 

A Perverse Patience: Arousal By Waiting

My last text to him read,
"Promise me, you'll grant me the opportunity to express my gratitude;
To deny me such a chance would be too cruel."

     My Ivory Sphinx set up our first session for a date weeks away.  Although we're well acquainted, we have scheduled an introduction of a darker proportion.  In essence, I'll be meeting my master for the first time.  On the sixth day of May, I'll be bound and twisted to his inventive liking.  I will finally be at his mercy. 

How do you pray for brutality?
How do you beg for suffering?

     The anticipation is interesting.  Lately, I've been experiencing micro-trances where, suddenly, my mind drops into a valley of fantasy.  Short lived erections fill my pants repeatedly during work.  His voice saying, "The foreplay has already begun," echoes in my head as I adjust my briefs for the twelve time.  For some odd reason, everything black and shiny makes me drool.  Have you ever lusted after a stapler?
     Vivid possibilities are involuntarily popping up in my imagination.  Salty, sweet phantom flavors has been filling my mouth spontaneously.  Clearly mind fucked, somehow his hot load is impregnating my brain.  I can't get him off my mind!  Every thought bears his image.

I will savor this moment.
The fresh and exciting often becomes custom and stale.
It isn't everyday when you have something to look forward to

Invocation: Forbidden Moon

It's a new era

Watching me suck cock makes her hot.
She whispers encouragement as I take it up the ass.

She's my match.
We're twisted by the same curve.
Her belly bubbles behind her eyes.
The New makes her pussy wet.

Let's blur the lines
Smear plum colored lipstick across my black hole
Peg me with sympathy then selfishness
I'll return the favor a hundred fold

She exists...
I'm ready.

Modern-Day Unicorns

     Face it, some things just don't exist.  Pots of gold waiting at the end of the rainbow.  Beautiful princes disguised as frogs.  Lauryn Hill's new album.  Yet, so many of us are chasing magical arrangements that won't be found outside of a fiction novel or a romantic comedy.  So many of us are attempting bend and twist regular men and women into sexier versions of Santa Claus.  Don't get me wrong, I am sympathetic.  I've been there, done that and will continue to hopelessly chase unicorns.

Unicorns are beautiful beasts of mythological proportions

     Me and my friends have wasted enough time trying to trap these following sexy beasts.  Either I'm trying to save you time and energy chasing something that doesn't exist or I'm a hater.  Both could be true, but at least this could help you narrow your search for the impossible...

Domesticated Thugs

     Wrangling him with your streetwise sugar, you take this testosterone soaked powerhouse home to play...Maybe, even to stay.  Yes, he's sexy, powerful and talented, however, these qualities doesn't make the thug in shining armor you daydream about.  Outside of his natural habitat, he will devour your good credit, good loving and a few of your good friends.  Sure, he will leave some beautiful memories behind, but is it worth the trouble of regaining your rectal elasticity?

The Generous Non-John

     Your smile can light up a room.  You are a master-class conversationalist.  Your company is envied by all parties uninvolved.  And you just so happen to be really good looking.  Have you ever considered being an escort?  You saw the documentary on 20/20, where men pay big bucks just to be seen with you.  They give you an allowance just to hold you hand and dine at five-star restaurants.  Escorts are different from whores, because you don't have to put out.  Right?  Unfortunately, there's actually a deleted scene in that documentary that was never shown: it's kind of important.  Let's just say that there's full frontal nudity, ejaculation and having to find your own way home. 
     Note: there's a hidden unicorn in this section.  Not only is there no such thing as johns that are willing to pay for Platonic companionship, without any sex ever.  There's also no such thing as a personality so great I'd pay to sit next you without putting my dick in you at some point.  If you aren't a therapist, consultant or lawyer giving me legal advice, your face will be residing in my lap if I'm paying you.

This list is a work ever growing...

Upcoming Unicorns Include:
Gorgeous Guys and Girls with Good Credit
The Fixer-Upper
The Wealthy Male Monogamist

Is that a pink do-rag?
I love this spread because it's so crazy...
Who would do this?

What do you get when you cross Fetish, My Little Pony and Muscle?

Find the answer:

Hierophilia AND Pecattiphilia

     His scent entered the room before his body; as if, sandalwood and patchouli rolled out the red carpet for his arrival.  A dark, floral foreshadow of what was to come.  Opening the door to our office, we were all surprised.  Surprised by his appearance: wild, curly locks...long, brown beard...a one-piece garment that covered everything but his muscular calves, naked ankles and leather sandals.  Surprised that he reeked of sex appeal: he was young...handsome...almost regal.
     One of my female co-workers approached him with her hand extended, "Hi, welcome to Bridgewater!"
     In the nicest way possible, he rejects her invite to shake hands, "I'm sorry, ma'am, per Islam, I am unable to shake the hands or women.  Out of respect for you and my family, I can only lay hands on my wife."  I've never seen a moment when people were offended and aroused simultaneously.  Indeed, forbidden fruit is always sweeter.
     Reluctantly retrieving her lonely hand, she apologizes, "I'm...I'm sorry."
     He smiles, "Don't be."  I can't take my eyes off of him, I can't keep from deeply inhaling his essence.  I've never been more glad to file, I would've been dazed and confused working with him.  Slightly eavesdropping, I hear him, "The origins of man's heart is black.  Lust occurs very subliminally, by resisting touch, we attempt to nip sinful thoughts at the bud."  He has no idea that he's adding fuel to a forbidden flame.  Or does he?
     He goes on to explain, "I could shake your hands, feeling the softness of your skin.  Without knowing, my mind could start to travel and imagine your touch elsewhere."  I couldn't believe what I'm hearing, he seducing everyone within earshot in reverse.  Shame on him?  Bravo?
     The women in the office were moving differently; there's a little more motion in their hips...more swivel in their steps.  It was a very interesting moment.  I could see that I wasn't the only one that wanted him.  Filing documents into the appropriate accounts, I entertained thoughts of soiling his discipline.  My mind filled with images of cracking him open and taking a deep, deep whiff.  I imagined myself sodomizing his sacred flesh with my tongue.  He has no idea what he's doing to everyone in the room.  Or does he?
     I was shocked to hear, "Do you happen to have a man on staff who could show me?"  Have you ever tried to deflate an erection in thirty seconds?  Forcing myself to relax while adjusting the bulge throbbing in my pants, I prepare for my manager to walk in.
     She's glowing as she asks, "Do you have a moment?"
     "Sure," my best impersonation of cavalier proves believable.
     Walking the grounds with him, all of my sale tactics were tossed out of the window.  We talked religion and philosophy, I gave him a clue, "I'm equally as religious, but on the other side of the spectrum."
     "Excuse me?"
     "Let just say, after an encounter with my work, you'll either develop a better understanding of your own beliefs or walk away willing to try something new."
     Excitement kicks up in his voice, "That sounds interesting, I'd love to read your work."
     Putting up a wall, I refuse to shake his proverbial hand, "You'd have to find it on your own or it isn't meant for you."
     "Hmmm," I made him think...What: I have no clue.
     Returning to the office, I give him my business card with my cell phone number secretly scribbled on the back.  Extending his hand towards me, "Thank you for everything; it's been a pleasure."
     Grasping his soft hand, I smile, "likewise," he has no idea what's coursing through my mind.  Or does he? 


The above photography has beem lodged in my mind for months now...

A collaboration between photographer Joe Tally and Moroccan model River Viiperi
Erotically explicates what it means to be a male bride
Sensual...Sacred...Seasonally Ripened

I want to consummate our forbidden marriage
Unwrap the fine bridal linen to reveal his young flesh
I want to savor that precious moment
When the pristine is enlightened by darkness

My Ivory Spinx

Like an ivory coated Sphinx, he asks,
"What about bondage turns you on?"

Often, I talk before thinking,
but this time, I felt the weight of his question.
"I find it elegant"

His eyebrows raise,
my ego suggests that my response was a first for his ears,
"Elegant? In what way?"

Endorphins rushes through my body...
My brain starts to spark and simmer...
I savor the chance to converse in this way,
"I find it elegant,
because it's a celebration of our limb's range of motion.
A pleasurable means to apply pressure to our bodies boundaries"
My mind started to ramble all of my previous posts...

He looks confused... a good way...

Changing the subject,
we begin to talk about Sarah Palin
and whatever recent controversy she was wrapped in.

I joke,
"She's the only person who could equally be a presidential candidate
and a contestant of Dancing with the Stars!"

While laughing, my phone vibrates from my pocket.
My ivory sphinx texts from in front of me,
"I think I am the right guy to tie you up..."
"I appreciate your willingness to explore"

I can't wait to discover what dark treasures await for me
I look forward to praising him for granting me passage...

The above photography is from Scott Aitken...
Although his work comes off more acrobatic than masochist
I have a feeling this guy gets it...

He has a thing for twisting up dancers
(Don't we all?)

He pulls off the paper-thin balance between:
Frailty & Strength
Grace & Struggle

Experience his work:

Between Envy & Lust: God Damn Artists!

     Most people have a very difficult time translating their thoughts into speech.  The more complicated the thought, the tougher it is to find words to accurately express what happening between your ears.  Secondly, people have a hard time listening and accurately unscrambling the message to spell out the original thought of the speaker.  Even as I am typing this paragraph, my brain is overheating to find a way to write this so you can comprehend.

This is why I am superbly jealous of artists!

     Artists are endowed with the gift of translating their thoughts into something visual.  It's a lot easier for everyone to digest and the work of art lingers long enough for the dummies to catch up to its message's meaning.  I wish I could draw, photograph or sculpt something to represent the crazy shit in my head.  But, alas, something gets lost between my mind and the canvas.  If only I could hang my voice on the wall.
     Another reason why I give artists praise: their artistic messages has layers of meaning.  On the surface, you can digest the primary mood, but often times, there is something deeper in the details.  Much like our sentiments.  But the problem with us mere mortals: by the time our imagination is filtered through language...through tone...into the senses of the listener...into his interpretation...where was I, again?  Exactly.

Why do I find artists so sexy?

     One reason, artists are responsible for making mere men into gods.  Looking back at Zeus, Jesus Christ and Wonder Woman; these figures luster lies in the artwork.  If we didn't have a visual to tie in with the mythology we wouldn't be half as impressed. 
     Another reason, artists are notorious for extracting parts of the world that isn't so beautiful.  I can enjoy a perfect, polished world without being under the influence.  According to Ismael Alvarez, every guy is this seamlessly smooth pretty boy with dreamy eyes.  According to Tom of Finland, every man is mega-muscular and hung like Chuck Norris!  It's very tempted to leave this life behind and escape with Kake forever.
     Deep down, I want to be drawn.  I want someone of immense talent to capture my essence and add twelve inches, perfect skin and a six-pack.  Any takers?  I would hang it in my bathroom, just above my sink, and cancel my gym membership!  Hmmm, maybe it's a good thing I can't draw to save my life...

The art of above is from the uber-attractive, ultra-talent:

He channels his vivid imagination through homoerotic comics...
His art captures masculine glamour and beauty
I love the way everything is made precious...

Money Shots = Platinum Facials
Piss = Golden Elixer
Farts = Glittery Love Gas (?)

A Precious Pestilence

     Spreading my limbs, my instincts were telling me to close my legs and run.  I didn't listen.  Nine, straight-as-an-arrow inches of perfection was inserted.  Gently.  Firmly.  Painfully.  I soon found myself in a delicious delirium.  I kicked at Heaven's basement and Hell's ceiling warmed by backside.  Am I being fucked by a fallen angel or an ascending devil?  Am I experiencing a religious catharsis or devolving into a grunting caveman?
     I should have known.  Foreign forces began to flood my body.  Jealousy.  Greed.  A severe synergy of joy and depression filled my head.  I celebrated the erotic explosions while mourning the fact you can't fuck me forever.  Confusion at its finest.  Chaos contained by the quality of this moment.  After being bathed, rinsed and bathed again in our pearls and seed; I knew I've contracted something. 
     It started as mental fog, followed by blurry vision.  Suddenly, my equilibrium was thrown off balance.  Stumbling out of your chambers, my mind and body were disjointed.  The next day, I started to experience allergic reactions.  Your text messages made me short of breath.  Your voice deleted my short term memories.  What was I doing, again?  Where was I going?
     Hopefully, early detection would grant my condition: treatable.  There's no cure for this; but with the proper therapy and assistance, I could live a normal life with this sickness.  If I could keep this infection limited to my heart, I could rest easy knowing that it wouldn't spread into other areas of my life.  My brain's chemistry could regain balance.  My motor skills could strengthen.  The shaking could stop.  If I could abstain from those nine, straight-as-an-arrow inches of perfection...

Timophilia - Arousal From Wealth

     Watching Saturday morning cartoons as a kid, I was always more intrigued by the villains than the heroes.  Not just the lapdogs and minions, but I loved the evil boss characters.  One bad guy that always stoked my interest was Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget.  He was so powerful and enigmatic.  Never once showing his face, he still had the influence to command his subordinates to do his bidding.
     I imagine that the fictional character mirrors someone in real life.  Faceless.  Wealthy.  Omnipotent.  A well manicured malefactor who seeks to devour the world with his plutocratic greed.  I can't help but wonder; what does he smell like?  Does his physical appearance reflect the luster of his capital assets?  How does his greed and prestige manifest in the bedroom?  Is he an organized lover?  A lazy, pillow princess?  Authoritative?
     The filthy rich probably has a host of dirty fetishes.  The sheer boredom and overindulgence is enough to send a man to the nearest dungeon.  Millions of dollars of disposable income can purchase a lot of fun and vices.  Just think about it; how much trouble would you get into?  Speaking for myself, I would be settling out of many "crimes against humanity" charges just off my sexuality alone!  Every morning, I would be eating my western omlette off the naked torso of a new lover.  Don't ask where I'd get my coffee!
     Ah, the dreams of the impoverished.  This explains why rappers lose their mind after receiving their advance check.  Why V.I.P. sections around the world are full of jerks who want to spill their expensive liquors onto the floor as if they didn't spend they're entire paychecks on one bottle.  Unfortunately, this is also why many gold diggers are following the wrong men home to their Mama's house.
     The ironic aspect: the rich and powerful are the one's who so desperately want to be humiliated and rendered vulnerable.  These men and women want to be dominated and controlled.  Many dominatrixes are hired by incredibly rich and influential figures to tease, deny and inflict pain.  Perhaps, while we're searching to feel sovereign and decadent...royalty wants a chance to feel like dirty, powerless whores. 

Just a thought.

Th3 Magic Numb3r


     He wanted to watch.  He wanted to experience our erotic exchange from the outside.  Impressed by passion and surprised by long, limber legs; he sat back and watched us make love.  My ankles rested on Papa's shoulders as his eyes rested on our pumping hips.  I had to relax to take the last three inches of his boyfriend's cock as he slowly lowered his fist on his own.  I've never seen eyes smolder and savor.  Jealous.  Joyous.
       I've never been fucked so skillfully savage.  I've never felt my insides burn and blossom.  I've never let out such guttural cries!  All beneath his eyes...  Before I knew it, I was grunting...I was bawling...I was loving my pain and his envy.  As if he was impersonating me...sympathizing with my sensual struggle, I could hear him whimpering in the corner.
     Leaving his corner, his voice slithers sweetly towards my ears as he approaches us, "Just relax, that's a lot to take in," his touch graces my tightened face...


     Both of their heads are feasting at my bossom.  Four hands travel across my skin.  Two bodies begin to hover over mine.  I can't believe what's happening.  At this moment, they are both thirsty for my satisfaction...competing for my cries.  I'm swallowed, but by who?  I can feel the deep warmth of either's mouth.  Lips, tongues, fingers and palms dance at my loins; I'm the watchman this time.  Watching them take joy in my tower, my valleys..Witnessing them drink from me.  He is absolutely right, this is a lot to take in.

     Sitting on my face, I stab my tongue deep inside.  Hungrily, I want to devour him.  I want him to know how good this feels: the pleasure of being their platform.  Splitting his ass apart with my hands, I lap...dig...swirl...drag...suck.  Seeing him squirm, hearing him moan fuels my thirst.  I want him...and him.
     Pulling my legs up, he wants a closer look.  He wants a front row seat to Papa's point of penetration.  Hands on, he wants to every last inch into me.  While I can't see past his rear, I can feel his hands pressing my legs further up...further apart...further towards their limits.
     Grinding deeper into me, I can also feel a hand stroking my painfully throbbing dick.  Pumping in and out, teeth suddenly pierces my abdomen.  Palms slap at my chest.  My nipples are pinched hard.  They want it all.  I have to resist the urge to push Papa away, he's in too deep!  Too far inside!  I can't stop screaming as thirty fingers pull relentlessly at my trigger until I open fire...until he open fire...until he open fire...We're dead.

When the smoke cleared, I found myself changed.
Changed beneath two collapsed lovers...

I can get used to this... 

(Anti)Partialism: Deafness

He looks into me.
Leaning forward, he stares with an adorable, inquisitive expression.
Sweetly attentive, he nods while listening...
...or reading rather...

     Living next to a school for the deaf, I've been coming into contact with several men and women who are hearing impaired.  I drive more carefully, for my horn could be useless.  More often, I have to write down my dialogue to communicate.  But, of all changes, I didn't expect to find them so beautiful.
     There's something about having my lips read that makes a person more attractive.  Or maybe, its their quest to be understood me that resonates with me.  It could be the excitement that follows after "getting it", when my interpretation matches exactly what he is trying to say. It's a cute game of charades.
     Lately, I've been wondering what it would be like to have sex with someone deaf.  Through my imagination, I ponder the role of sound in sex.  How would he read my pleasure when words and moans run dry?  What silent stimulus am I missing out on due to my busy ears?  I'm very interested in what could happen.

What sounds would I make if I knew no one could hear me?
Louder? Higher? Nothing?
What would (s)he sound like cumming?
Afterall, (s)he's deaf not mute...

I have to know.

The Story Behind: "From Hung to Humiliated"

This transaction...
Includes, but is not limited to, your sex, strength and beauty
I may want to sodomize your wounds...
I may want to milk your spirit...

Welcome to the power of purchase.
Or...perhaps, you've arrived to the purchase of power.

     I just published an article for SEXIS magazine and I think I owe my dear friend a night on the town.  This piece tells his story of shame and pride...of truth and deeper truth.  Ultimately, beyond the kinky cuckholding and the Marine muscle; this is story is about the top man being penetrated unexpectedly.  Learning: there is truly more than one way to be fucked.  Shame on the simple for believing it can only be done via erection. 

Dominance can be a revolving door.

     In sex work, more is require than having a hot body and loose morals.  Preparations must be made for an exchange of psychological porportions.  Sure, you may walk away with a clean bill of health, but what of your soul?  Has the necessary precautions been made to ensure your mind survives, in one piece?  " From Hung to Humiliated" is the account of an alpha male made unwittingly vulnerable.

If he were on his back
Maybe, face down and ass up
He would've been ready...

But, that would've been too kind...

Check out my newest article for SEXIS magazine:

Stigmatophilia: Arousal From Tattoos

It's about that time again.

For the last three years, 
I've been kicking off my birthday
With a trip to the tattoo parlor.
This year, I want to do something really elaborate.
Something unique and huge.
Something that snakes around my body.

I have a thing for circular tattoos
There's something about a perfect roundness...
Dots, circles and spheres really catches my eye

I've been looking at these guys for inspiration

Any Suggestions?

Plush Planning: My Journey to Folsom 2010

     Life is grand.  Occasionally, something comes along that nudges my fantasies into reality.  Something comes along that beautifully confirms: God loves freaks.  Stars become perfectly aligned.  The right people come in at the right time.  Fantasy and fate becomes one and the same.

I am a believer:
My attendance at the 2010 Folsom Street Fair
is appointed by The Divine.

     It all started with a post from Toddy English.  He had a run in with a teddy bear fetishist who weirded him out.  This gentleman, of whom I'd love to interview, not only kept a plethora of plush but also wanted Toddy to join the festivities.  He wanted him to make love to his bear while he watches.  Have a threesome with his king sized bear named "Robbie".  (I wish he would've followed through!)
     I found myself intrigued.  Reading how they met in the first place, I had a suspicion that the plushie had something else in mind. Let's put it this way: Is there anyone who resembles a human teddy bear more than Toddy English?  Suddenly, my head began to fill with the image of him wearing a get up that would be a cross between lingerie and a bear costume....a cross between adorable and sexy...
     I have always fantasized about dressing up like bear; wearing nothing but a pair of briefs, boots and an over-sized teddy bear head.  Soon, my fantasizing evolved into planning.  One day, while riding the subway, I noticed a guy with a cool hat; it had little stuffed devil horns at the top.  "Nice hat," I complemented, "Where'd you get it?"
     "I made it."
     "Seriously?"  My mind exploded with possibilities!  Talking about his business where he makes cuddly costumes and pajamas, he mentions that he had always wanted to do something for the Folsom Street Fair. Right then and there, I started to tell him about my idea/fantasy/destiny.  He can make me a pair of briefs from the same fabric used with stuffed animals; complete with tail and a grizzly bulge.  He even offered to do the same treatment for sleeves and boots.  All I need is the mascot head and I'm set! 
     I am sorely excited.  I have talked a certain friend into being my co-conspiring companion to the Street Fair and the clubs afterward.  I look forward to documenting what it looks like to have two black men dressed as bear fetishists amongst regular people.  I want to eat at Denny's...go grocery shopping...make a deposit at the bank

I can see the photos in my head already!

I am a big fan of Exterface Studios!
Their photos are always high quality, colorful and artistic
The models are masculine but flexible

These photos are taken from the collection:

Reverse Frotteurism: Mr. Jay's Measurements

     Mr. Jay's fine men's clothing has had my eye for a few months now.  Sitting within my jogging path, habitually, I've been slowing down and window shopping.  Their attire catches my eye because their suits are more professional than religious, while maintaining it's blackness.  One time in particular, a suit slows my run to a crawl, a wool three-piece suit with a perfect balanced pattern of brown and navy blue, with a little orange.
     Entering the store for the first time, I merely wanted to check prices and inquire about their tailoring.  I hate when shops sell suits without a tailor on-site.  I hate, even more, when a merchant considers cuffing my pants a complete tailoring service.  Design and style play a small role compared to the way a suit fits.
     Upon entering, I was greeted by an older black man.  He struck me as elegant.  Coordinated from head to toe in sand and autumn, he was impressively overdressed.  Before I could ask about their tailoring, his weathered voice asserts, "What sized jacket you wear?"
     "I'm not sure, I-"
     Interrupting me, "You look like a forty four.  Take your hoodie off and see how this fits you."
     In the middle of working out, I was dressed in sweats, "I just wanted to get some rates, I'm not prepared to try anything on."
     He asserts, "It doesn't matter, lets see what size you wear," feeling disobedient for hesitating, I unzip my jacket.  He smiles, "What's your waist size? You look like a thirty, maybe thirty-one; looks good."
     Not knowing whether to say 'thank you' or not, I opted to stay quiet.  Handing me a test jacket, I put it on, "Yeah, your sleeves are 44, but you have higher hips," demonstrating, he grabs my hips.  The quizzical look on my face lead him to clarify, "Meaning: you'll need longer sleeves and a shorter jacket."
     Manhandling me while eyeballing my measurements, "You have a nice X-figure: broad shoulders, small waist, full seat.  I could make you look real sharp; are you dressing for Easter Sunday?"
     "No sir, it would be for work."
     "Oh!  Yeah, you'd need a more fitted look; professional is fitted, church is looser.  I'd give you the three pieces for $350 and I'll give you a full tailor free of charge.  How that sound?"
     "That sounds good."
     "Alright, son, come back tomorrow.  Make sure you wash up good, the tailoring could get personal."

I'm unsure of what just happened
I'm both aroused and confused
I'll just keep an open mind...

"Running From D" by Toddy English

On occasion, everyone has had some less-than-stellar sex before. For example: you're just laying there—while he's humping on you—and you're wondering what flavor smoothie you'd rather be having: benign bad, not horrible, just uneventful.


Have you ever experienced a sexual encounter so horrifically horrendous that you seriously considered being lobotomized in order to forget it ever happened? Sexual instances where you're literally convinced that you should consider relocating to a monastery in Tibet? Nearly one year ago, I was the unwitting victim of a bad sexual encounter of that magnitude. It was so heinously bad that I took my own personal vow of celibacy for the following six months. Chile, it was really that BAD.

A Letter from "Fashionably Concerned"

Dear Vogue Men,
I've been a long time subscriber and while I love your pictorials and articles I can't help but notice you've lost your way. Sure, we all want to be fashionable and with the times, but how does the clothing you promote shield us from the elements?  Scarves and jackets are supposed to keep us warm.  Swimwear and summer attire should be designed to protect us from harmful UV rays; I understand if you want to wear less to allow your body to breathe, but thongs?
The creative staff should feature more clothing and accessories that actually serve a purpose.  For example, the current line of Movado watches are so elaborate, I can't tell what time it is! I nearly killed myself while playing basketball in the Dolce & Gabana gym shoes presented by your magazine; the shoes didn't last a day on the court!
I fear that I may not renew my subscription because you guys are more focused on "high fashion" and being impressive than informing your readers on the latest ways to protect our bodies from the hazardous aspects of the environment.
Signed...Fashionably Concerned
 How would you respond to that?

     As retarded as "Fashionably Concerned" sounds, I hear the same sentiment when it comes to sex.  Just as clothing has NOTHING to do with clothing oneself, sex has absolutely little to do with procreation or "getting off". I would think that this wouldn't be a hard concept to grasp...but you'd be amazed.  
     People think that men and women put themselves in risky positions, develop odd fetishes and add "wear & tear" to their bodies just for an orgasm.  Although, the orgasm is a beautiful bonus, is it so hard to see that there is so much more involved?  

Wouldn't we just pay prostitutes instead of maxing out our cards out at the mall?

     Case and point: I have a toy chest full of masturbatory technology, lubrication that'll turn sandpaper into silk and an imagination that would put a thousand porn studios out of business.  If sex was just about getting off, I would live happily ever after with my Beyonce hand puppet.  But there are a nexus of needs that would go unmet.  Without getting too deep into human connection, reinforcement and stimulation; I would like to submit that sex is more than just pleasure, its another medium in which we express and confirm our identities.  Much like clothing.

Can't we just acknowledge ourselves as
Extravagant, under-stimulated human beings?

Our dining has little to do with sustenance
Our exercises has little to with illness prevention
Everything we do has nothing to do with its intended purpose
Sex Included
I wouldn't have it any other way!



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