A Misogynist Rant...

     She was the mother of falsehood.  Her words were a device invented to detract me from her true feelings.  It was frustrating to unravel the deceit coating every gesture...every conversation...every gift.  Her constant diversions left my love fatigued.
     Unfortunately, I learned she isn't the only woman with a forked-tongue.  She isn't the only woman with an ulterior set of hands.  For a period, I started to hate women.  It seemed they were all trapped inside an unnecessary defense system.
     I admit, exiting a long-term relationship has left my perspective skewed.  Consequentially, I started to find comfort in the arms of men because I craved the directness.  Men are more straight forward.  I need this.
     Now that I've recovered from my previous relationship, I'm open to dating women again.  I'm finding that I am more attracted to women who exhibit masculine traits because they tend to be more blunt and aggressive.  There seems to be more of a separation between their emotions and...everything else.
     Are all women evil?  Perhaps.  However, I'm learning that it all depends on perspective.  I was focusing solely on the perfumed masks and pussy politics.  Now that my sight is clearer, I can see the vulnerable pearl dwelling within the tough shell...and the need to protect it.  Writing this, I'm realizing that the same is true for men.  Maybe we're all evil...I feel a little evil for posting this...

     The photography is by Sacha Federowsky.  The art strikes me as darkly feminine.  I enjoyed the gritty, esoteric styling of the portfolio.

This collection is called:

Erotophonophilia: Arousal by Murder

Irrational.  Inconsolable.  Interesting.  

     You had to get inside me...one way or another.  Curiosity lead your fists more than hatred.  You struck fear into your own heart, envisioning this pretty face wrapped around your erection.  Cursing your nostrils, my scent was translated as beautiful before you could rationalize.  Grabbing my arms, thrusting me to the floor; internally, you noted how soft my skin was.
     Is there another knife in your trousers?  Or are you getting aroused as you command your friends, "Hold him down!"  My shirt: removed.  My arms: held over my head.  My endurance: turns you on.  In your fucked up, twisted mind, my screams, the grunts and heavy breathing of your gang...reminds you of the secret stash under your mattress.
     This would've worked out much differently if we were alone.  You would've chosen another method to teach me a lesson.  Your blade wouldn't make you so envious.  But, alas, you'd be next if they knew.  Your blood would soak the pavement if they realized the truth.  You hate fags because you hate yourself.  You hate this fag in particular because I was too damn pretty for your comfort.

You may have destroyed my body, 
But my spirit will accompany you.
Ultimately, I've always been more curious about you.

     I'll hand you the lube when you are "checking your e-mail".  I'll sit on the edge of my seat when your girlfriends' fingers get too wondrous.  I'll rejoice in your accelerated heart rate and sweating...as Craig's List gets more and more tempting.  When you finally answer that ad, I wonder if he'd look like me.  You had to get inside of me...one way or another.

When I stumbled upon his/their work,
My mind was instantly filled with fiction and narrative.

The art is rich with color and inertia
Full of untold stories and forgotten folktales

This artist inspired me to write something "out there"
I'm inspired to the extent of fear and bravery


There's this barrier
I can't explain it...

It makes it hard for me to accept compliments
It deflects love
It blocks my sense of inclusion

My soul feels plastic
My experiences feel second-hand
My life is comprehended, not lived

There's this barrier
Although I'm writing, I fail to grasp its nature...

It's made me into a love junkie
An attention glutton
An envy-driven lust demon

This barrier is loosening its grip
The Sun is finally warming my skin
The Love is connecting and sinking in

One day, I'll fuck life bareback...Once I find trust...

This beautiful photography is from Nectarios Karolos Papazacharias'

I'm still searching for the language
to describe where this art is taking me.
There is an underlying feeling I know all too well.

Viscera: Mars & Venus


The following material can be considered disturbing...

I've been in a very odd mood these days...
If you are interested:

Seriously, this post isn't for the faint at heart.

Partialism: Mouth

What better offering than the mouth?
Licking.  Kissing.  Sucking.  Biting.
A synergy of stimuli composing an ecstatic experience.
Breathing.  Humming.  Drooling.  Swallowing.
Allow my tongue to remind you
...of the spaces between...
...of the surfaces behind...
...of the many ways to get inside of you...

Survive my teeth
 Stretch my jaws to the limit
Slide across the ribs on the roof of my mouth
Find shelter in my throat

Appreciate this brief moment in Heaven

Forbidden Moon: The Wicked 1

With God shinning from your distorted reflection
You have been demonized by those that keep the day
Your natural symmetry has been deemed crooked
The sum total of an equation forbidden to solve
The 1 you represent is considered taboo...wicked...

I find shelter north of your bosom
Nectar within the blossom blooming down south
Yet, my limbs are torn apart, as far as the east is from west
By a tower designed to pierce my darkest recesses

I understand their fear as I fade...dissolve...cease to exist
My strength...size...shade...becomes meaningless
My complications...qualities...kingdom...collapses into a single kernel
My legs...jaws...mind...has been blown open
The 1 you represent happens to include all that I am

The freedom, both disintegrating and unifying
Destroys the dedication to dominance and passivity
Passion and receptivity resounds from our throbbing wounds
Assertion and surrender brings rhythm to our clashing erections

There is no top...our love is bottomless...versatility is an understatement...

The 1 you represent drives us to co-exist

Occupying peaks and valley simultaneously together
Feeding while swallowing at the same time without choking
We both speak while listening without interrupting each other
It's noisy...It's messy...It's crazy...but, above all, it's harmony...

I understand their fear...

     The Wicked 1 is about my encounter with a woman who's equally masculine and feminine; furthermore, she enjoys the use of all three sexual outlets.  Loving her has opened my eyes to a morsel of the universal truth.  The fact that androgyny and the inter-sexed has been demonized by western religion reveals a hidden venom.  Not only does it illustrate a disinterest in sexual liberty, but also a diabolical desire to divide men from women.  I think its important to merge!
     Gonzalo Bernard's work, featured above, represents this all- important convergence.  While maintaining his gender, his art showcases the ability and beauty of embracing both masculine and feminine.  It's a sublime experience.

An Interview w/ Gonzalo Benard

     Nails.  Guts.  Whiskers.  Mud.  Forgotten byproducts of life are bought to light once again.  Organic materials are reintroduced as a artistic medium.  Removing color and polish from his art, photographer Gonzalo Benard reunites us with the structures that supports our beauty and our lives.  Bone.  Bark.  Blood.  Birds.  His work reconnects the human condition with our larger ecology.
     I recently had the pleasure of having a conversation with Mr. Benard, I was very surprised to find him very inviting and giving of himself.  After gushing about how inspired I was by his work, he became interested in seeing what I'd come up with if he sent me some images; the result was PLEASE

To experience more of his work, purchase his book:

With his permission,
I am able to indulge my readers with a text of our conversations...


Moonstruck: What the Fuck?

     If I saw this smile pasted on the face of a child, I would assume she was up to mischief.  I would assume something terrible was done or in preparation.  Pretty.  Pristine.  Her smile compels me to keep an watchful eye on her.

Her smile gives me cause to worry

     When it’s playtime, she breaks out her latest batch of ‘pervertibles’; household items that are used for perverse purposes. Withdrawing these items one by one, my adrenaline starts to rush. I’m gonna get it.

Bamboo Skewers
Ping Pong Paddle

     Assuming the position, I lie on my stomach and arch my ass upward.  Curiosity and fear creates a crazy cocktail.  Beginning with the small skewers, she threw off my expectation by start softly and off beat.  Gradually, her strikes grew harder and faster; as did my yelps.  I love the contradiction between my cries and welcoming body language.  No matter the pain, I should ready and eager to receive another one.
     I sounded like a puppy begging for the attention if his master.  Whimpering, clawing at the mattress; I wanted to run away.  I wanted to use our safe word, “Yellow”, but I also wanted to see this to the end.  At the tail end of this torture, I knew there was treasure.
     After an anatomical tour with rulers, she returned to her bag of tricks.  Pulling out a purple silk scarf, I was confused by her arsenal.  Rubbing my thighs and ass with the satin, I looked back to see her smiling.  She was being so gentile…so soft.  Speaking in baby talk, “I love my boy.”  My mind took a u-turn. I started to imagine this moment being a trap to lower my anticipation, a decoy, a "pump-fake".
     She was being so gentile…so soft, I started to expect the worst. Showering me with affection, she gushes, “You know how much your Mama loves you?”  My mind started to fill with giant, sharp, blunt objects. Painful, traumatic abuse to counteract with this moment of smoothness.

I snapped!

     I screamed, “You’re scaring me!” I twist body away from her.
     Concerned, she asks, “Why? What am I doing?”
     Sounding like a big bitch, “You’re trying to trick me!”
     Trying to calm me down, hushing me, “I can’t be gentile? Must everything pleasant be met with something tragic?” Holding me in her arms, I felt like crying. It took me a while to return.

Was this the treasure I sought to find?
What the fuck happened?

     The only model I'm really into, Sasha Marini, always manages to be in high-concept pieces.  In "Rape", photographed by Roger Nicotera, we find Sasha in a real Roman jail.  Even in the midst of dirty mattresses and subterranean grit, Sasha shines like a morsel of gold.

View the rest of this spread:

Baptism by Bondage: Part II

[The Prologue]
[Part I]

Bound to the heavens above
Dangling by my arms
My limbs went numb
My wrists are crushed by the weight of my body

A painful parable

     Transforming me into a human chandelier, inertia became his favorite sex toy.  Using my swinging skull to slide across his big cock.  With my jaws opened wide, he swung me back and forth: I was the epitome of objectification.  It was an honor.  Every round, I forced his erection further and further into my throat, sometimes blocking my airways.  Feeling his veins graze my lips...Tasting him...Sucking him...Truly felt like a privilege. 

Thank God for the gift of rhythm
In between beats, I'd take a deep breath in preparation of the big plunge
After enough practice,
I was able to steal a breath from around the giant lodged in my esophagus

     Withdrawing himself from my jaws, I was left to dangle alone.  By this point, my arms had become fading phantoms.  Essentially, I was levitating in mid air.  Apart from my senses and my body, I was in a transcendental state.  The sounds of the chains cascading from above hypnotized me.
     Suddenly, a symphony flooded the room.  A sensuous instrumental began to play from a stereo in his room.  The classical music reminded me of wisps of smoke lifting from incense.  Wrapping his body around me from behind, he began to dance with me.  His gyrating hips made my floating body swirl.  I could feel his erection sliding up and down the sides of my torso.  Tenderness.  Elegance.  Romance.

At that moment
I swear to God, he had achieved telepathy.
I could hear him whispering in my mind,
"The way you are now, powerless, is still worthy."
"I'm not that the only one that sees you beyond your body and is pleased."
"Although you're the sacrifice, this is my offering to you."
"The way you are, powerless, is fruitful."

Powerful sentiments filled my mind and spirit

     Us dancing felt incredibly maternal.  I felt incubated.  Being bound and rocking to his movements, I felt reinstalled into my mother's womb.  I was being programmed to believe that I was perfect, even as a hanging piece of meat.  Detaching me from the suspension bar gave me new limbs; oddly, I had to learn how to use them.  My elbows remained locked.  My leather mitts remained Heavenward.  Freedom felt foreign.

I was born again....

Andromimetophilia: Love of Women Dressed Like Men

     She doesn't like to be referred to as 'she'.  If I forget to call her "Mistyr" or "Syr" there's a paddle with my name on it.  (S)he is a new lover of mine and I am falling head over heels in love with her...err..hym(?)  As a bisexual man, she's is giving me the complete package.  She's soft, pretty and petite yet hardcore, handsome and a giant in bed.  But the one thing I love the most: she's simple and direct.
     Letting her fuck me with a strap-on was an incredible, yet surreal experience.  Seeing her breast bounce really aroused me, because it was such a stark contrast to the black cock pumping inside of me.  Fucking me like a gentleman, she also cradled me in her arms like a nursing mother.  Even when she delivered harder blows to my ass, it was somehow with a mothers' love.  Sweetly confusing. 
     Speaking for myself, I didn't feel less masculine.  Grabbing her hips, pressing her dildo deeper into me, I felt like I was exploring a passive side of my manhood.  Or maybe, I was accessing the feminine side of my manhood?  Aren't we all a composite of both masculine and feminine qualities?  What does it mean to be a man these days, anyways?
     Supposedly, allowing yourself to be fucked is a feminine thing to do.  I'm not so sure...I release a lot of aggression and visceral energy on the bottom.  I feel like a tribesman letting out a war cry.  Sometimes, I feel more manly receiving than on top when I'm being concerned and considerate.  I see why the yin and yang is a circle.

Being with her has me thinking a lot about gender:

What's the difference between being gender flexible and gender queer?
 Are gender roles mainly defined by "who's on top"?
What are some fun ways to play with my gender identity?
What kind of man am I?

The above photography is from Michael Angelo's:

This particular set
(Featuring the oddball beauty Jonathan Kroppman)
Really illustrates that masculinity can be pervasive
Even with make-up, he's still gritty and gamy

But does the masculine have a monopoly on edge?

Baptism by Bondage (Part I)

     A week before meeting with my Ivory Sphinx, he gave me a homework assignment. Simply put, he tells me to, “Send me a fantasy, tell me what you’ve come to expect.” Initially, I was excited. Whenever I get a chance to use my writing as an aphrodisiac, even foreplay; I dive in head first. I write fantasies for a living, I inhabit erotic thoughts and scenes. However, sitting at my laptop, typing then backspacing, typing then backspacing…for some reason, I couldn’t write a word. I was creatively impotent. My genius was flaccid.
     I’ve come to realize that my instincts wouldn’t let me form a plot that could influence the future. A part of my creativity was deactivated in regards to this man. The one and only intention I had been to be totally submissive. Whether it lead to being a servant, slave or punching bag; I wanted to be a silent conductor of his energy.

My instincts were correct
Construction of even a single idea would be futile
What he had in store surpassed my capacity to imagine…
…by far…

     I found myself standing nude and blindfolded, with my hands on head. Pacing around me, I would gather the occasional sensation of him sniffing me, groping my muscles and twisting my nipples. Bending me backwards by pulling my hair, I found balance in my fear of him. I feared that he would find my devotion flawed, my offering blemished.

This combination of fear, forfeit and freedom
Left me transfixed

     Sliding a pair of leather mitts over my hands, he then pinned my fists behind my back. Gear was also strapped around my ankles; the leather…his touch…the chemistry made my ankles highly erogenous. Pressing my face into his chest, I couldn’t breathe. Suckling on his nipples, his bosom was all the air I needed. Sliding my face down his hairy, course torso, I was sent to my knees.

I was face to face to the jeans imprisoning my paradise
Gnawing at the denim, I wanted to free the beauty bulging within
Reduced to a helpless, whimpering puppy
I consumed all I could from his closed fly.

      Oddly, I felt a sense of gratitude as he declined me from my knees to completely prostrate.  To my delight, I was face down upon the altar of his bare feet.  Savoring the opportunity, I ran my tongue between his toes.  In that moment, I felt like Mary Magdalene anointing the feet of Jesus with oil.  Kissing and licking his feet filled me with joy.

Hog tied
Flat on my stomach
I felt truly free...
He detached me from my body
In this realm, in which he sent me
His feet wasn't soaked in my saliva
but my spirit..

(To be continued...)

A Prologue to "Baptism by Bondage"

Because of this experience:
For the rest of my life
I am incapable of feeling unloved
It is an impossibility to feel isolated

I didn’t know clarity and perspective had a scent,
Until I smelled it on my skin.
His immortal touch will linger forever on my body
Even in stillness, our dance is eternal

     Our sex felt wildly religious.  I seriously wanted to dump the contents of my wallet onto his floor and run laps around his bedroom.  I wanted to grab my cellphone and quit my job to become his full time devotee.  This life altering night illustrated that sex and The Holy Ghost are, not only closely related, but conducive to each other.
     I had to break this session into literary segments because there was so much stimuli to sort out and grapple with.  It is really important that I give this tremendous moment justice.  By writing this, I am attempting to label the ethereal.  I am attempting to identify to nameless phantoms.  I am attempting to define the obscure niches of the human experience.

Please note:
Anything I write
Will most certainly pale in comparison to the actual experience...
The set the tone for this series,
I will be using photos from Didio's "Redemption"
It resonates with me as "Baptism by Bondage"

[Part I]
[Part II]



Related Posts with Thumbnails