Transformation Awaits

      In my journeys, I have made many beautiful discoveries, unearthed many treasures.  Exposing mysteries to The Sun, I was surprised to see these jewels fade...dissolve...spread into nothingness.  I'm learning, what sparkles in the dark proves to be universal in the day, hence less lustrous.  

     Shining light on the wicked and black, I found: there's no such thing as monsters.  These monstrosities are merely human, just a tad bit rearranged.  Pity.  A world full of monsters and Olympians proved to be great fodder for fantasy.  However, I am excited to fly away from fantasy to reach the heights of humanity.  When you think about it, we are quite wondrous.  We've created gods and devils in our own image.  Just imagine what we could find if we examine the original source.

     As a result of this newer understanding, there is a notable change happening.  I'm feeling less ominous.  I'm feeling much lighter, more spiritual.  I think I'm done with the profane (for now); lets play with the sacred.  I want to get out of the basement; let's play outside and enjoy the fresh air.  Who knows, I may even find some cool crawlspaces.

Tomorrow, transformation awaits...as usual. 

   

Black Faith

     How many have fallen from the fading wings of this feeling?  How many have fallen to deadly depths after achieving such tremendous heights?  While sailing the winds of passion...

"I'd swallow...

His Seed...

     His Roots...
          His Venom...
               His Truth...

"I'd open wide and take him...

So Deep...

     So Far...
          To the mountaintops...
               To the secret valleys of my soul...

     Coasting on what seems cosmic...kismet...simply crazy, caution is thrown to the same winds.  In the flight of ecstasy, a license lands in his lap.  Armor: disarmed.  Immunity: weakened.  Life: forfeited.  Strength: fading like the wings that carried me to oblivion.

How can trust, so black, be born from white, blinding light?

"Situla" by Exterface

Ursusagalmatophilia: Arousal by Teddy Bears

Today, I made a wonderful discovery today...

My longtime cyber-beau and fellow blogger

Toddy English

Divulged the the details of our journey to Folsom!

See what we're up to:

HERE

"In Love with Joshua" by Britta Leuermann

An Untitled Obscurity

     Your seductive salve renders my grip useless.  Sliding.  Slipping.  Further away from anything that makes sense.  My arms and legs become phantoms as my body washes away.  I can not tread.  I can not keep my head elevated.  I can not breath.

I accept my fate and swallow.

     Drowning in words that do not exist yet...yet existed before our time.  Recalling memories of never having a mind.  Blurring everything while blending into nothingness.  Where do I begin? 
     My lips kiss myself in you.  Your hand reaches so deep into me...you could touch yourself.  My tongue taps the roof of your mouth discovering the true name of God.  Your fist strikes fear into my heart...literally...figuratively...thankfully...
     Fear kept me delicately divided.  Anxiety gave me the strength to gather my scattered pieces.  Adrenaline pulled me away from the edge.  Self-preservation filled me with a subtle regret: I could've died this way...or finally started to live.

Desire by Bhanuwat Jittiyuthikarn

Downtown Sodom: Epilogue (So Many Monsters)

What if everyone took their pet monsters off their leash?

     Visiting Steamworks, I was in the middle of a feeding frenzy.  Correction: I was part of a feeding frenzy.  I entered into the bathhouse an attention glutton and I left with my belly full and content.  I imagine the same was true for the other fetishists on board.  The foot freaks had free and unlimited access to my feet.  The voyeurs got to watch me perform several sex acts.  Vorarephiliacs got a chance to nibble on my flesh.  In exchange for my satisfaction, I imagine, I aided in the fulfillment of others.  I find that quite beautiful.

     Watching men return to their lockers and pull up their slacks...button up their shirts...fasten their watches, I realized these are regular men.  No visible signs of perversity.  Sliding my glasses on my face, I also saw that no one would suspect my own dark needs.  Attending work the next day, the evidence of cock was cleansed from my lips.  Walking among the outside world, my stride is unbroken by yesterday's reaming.  Only a psychic could see the appetites returning...or someone with similar proclivities.

     Did I catch a glimpse of what lurks within the everyman?  The need to touch.  The need to feel.  The need to consume and be consumed.  To need to be destroyed.  The need to be built up.  I must admit, it is hard to see people the same since my trip to Downtown Sodom.

Our Fathers

Our Uncles

Our Bosses

Our Brothers

Have a membership to the same shadows...

What they do with it is up to them

Something is being done

But, what

?

"Fellatio Fair" by Alessandro Bavari

Trichophilia: Three Roads to Paradise

Trichophilia

     At first sight, I slipped and fell into the deep chasm of fantasy.  I was instantly intrigued by his big...curly...splendorous mane. He made my fingers hungry to touch.  He made my nostrils thirsty to inhale the scent from his scalp.  I wanted to get lost in all of his kinks.  I wanted him to firmly tug at mine.

Dreams, oftentimes, are premonitions

      In the shade of the midnight hour, I found my hands caught in his living web.  Entangled by his limbs.  Tongue tied by his.  Trapped.  Bound by my own free will to stay static.  To savor every second, to mourn the passing of every minute while conceiving another hour of passion.

     With my fists full of hair, I couldn't keep my lips from his.  Pulling his glory backwards, I discovered a beautiful face.  Eyes closed.  Lips parted.  Eyebrows arched in agony.

What have I stumbled upon?

Hirsutophilia

     Time passes.  Life progresses.  This time, we are warmed by The Evening Sun piercing its way into his bedroom.  Apparently, mouths are also used to converse, to exchange ideas.  I was amazed to find that he travels the world boundlessly.  He frequents Brazil.  He speaks five tongues.  I am in awe of the man I didn't know until recently.

Giving me a taste of a German love song,

whispering it gently in my ear;

I feel the soft abrasion of his five o' clock shadow on my cheek. 

Alongside my sigh slips a confession.

     Demonstrating his stories of travels, he sails to the southern coasts of my ankles.  Sliding his stubble against my skin, I couldn't compose myself as he coasted up my legs.  Deliberately.  Patiently.  Thoroughly.  His face toured every area of my flesh.  His lips charted every erogenous zone.  My backside.  My inner thighs.  That spot above the right side of my pelvis.  Weaving together my moans, pants and whimpers; he composed an anthem to celebrate his new territory.

I've became a foreign native of my own body

A new land surrounds my former home

Where am I?

Acomoclitism

          He inspires me.  He propels me to secure my passport.  To take the world by its horns and turn it over.  Parting his globes, I was amazed to find the sweetest place on Earth.  Undiscovered.  Untouched.  Yet beautifully bare.  A pretty, pink paradise winks back at me.  Tipping him upside down, I struggle to squeeze my tongue inside.  My fingers upsets his balance.  Running my tongue through his passages, I'm thankful for the chance to lick at his entrance.  To lap at his closed door is blessing enough.

Some destinations are only reserved for future endeavors.

Some doors are only unlocked by the keys of time.

But I can say for certain,

I've tasted the sweet secret on the other side.

Perhaps I could be the first to plant his flag...

“Not’gon cut my garden, not’gon cut my hair” by Ian Cole

Sacred Submission

     When the words, "I submit to you," reaches your ears; do you envision me kneeling before you?  Bowing my head, humbly?  Kissing and licking your boots?  Has it ever occurred to you that submitting to the likes of yourself would require me to erect my posture?  Climb uphill?  Sprout wings? 

I rejoice in my servitude because

I find ascension in my subjection to you

My service thrusts me towards higher standards

     I believe we give too much thought to the prepositional understanding of submission.  Under.  Lower.  Smaller.  Fetishizing the act of reducing oneself, we create symbols of humiliation to secure these statuses of dominance and submission.  But what does that say about the Dom?  If I have to stoop so low, for someone to appear superior?  Its an indicator of a deficiency if I have to become a weak, dirty slut to bolster you.
     I give myself up to be risen; I relinquish my control to be empowered.  When the words, "I submit to you," spill from my lips, I begin to scale the ladder to your feet.  Evolution awaits within my slavery.  Blessings and success become fruit of your discipline.  For, when I'm with you, I'm in the company of a king.

Am I wearing a collar or is this your crown choking me?
Is that your palm spanking me or The Left Hand of God?

 

The above art is by the gorgeous genius 

Gonzalo Benard

These self portraits really spoke to me

because I felt perspective being challenged.

Is he dying or ascending?

Are the birds attacking him or making him one of their own?

How many angels have I mistaken for vultures?

and vice verse?

Twin Crushes: Fear & The Future

My Flesh: Thin Ice
My Mind: Eggshells
My Soul: Boundless

I fear that my integrity
may be crushed under the pressure of my ambition.

I fear that my desires and dreams
will surpass my capacity, begetting debt.

I fear my limbs may snap beneath the weight of my dreams' flexibility.

Fear is my fuel.

My prayers run faster than the world spins
My farsighted eyes become blind to the present moment
My marathon motives prove too taxing for my virgin legs

The future baits me astray....

     I may come off as masochistic, but I am really a coward attempting to become refined.  Diamonds are created under pressure.  Oppression is the milk of warriors.  I'm searching for the strength that comes from finding peace within suffering.
     When Life strikes me, I fold under its mighty blow.  When the world wraps it's fingers around my throat, I writhe and whine from discomfort.  But, with each bout, I undoubtedly grow stronger.  With each pass through the flames, I become a bit purer.
     Through bondage and S&M, this principal has become abundantly clear to me.  In spite of being rendered a panicked and broken man...In spite of freezing into fetal position...In spite of naked forfeitures, I return to Life's boudoir with a little more endurance.

Thank you, Life, for training me.

Thank you, World, for not sparing the rod

I promise, one day I'll be powerful enough to return the favor...

Above images are from "Book A" by Vangelis Efthymiou

Downtown Sodom: The Partialist Party (So Many Parts)

Jaw breaking thick

Life threatening long

Was the infamous Forbidden Fruit black and purple?

     He was pinned between my missionary and our well-endowed friend's doggy-style; I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  He was taking it all in.  While plugged inside of me, Daddy gives him access...and I got a front row seat to watch the plunge happen.  Slowly disappearing, I witnessed his pink orifice struggle to stretch. 

The only thing opened wider than my legs

Was my eyes...

...maybe his hole.

     After Daddy's watery-eyed surrender, I wanted to give it a try...just the tip.  Not the black mamba attached, just the seductive plum swollen atop.  I was curious to see what I could take.

     Inserting himself into me this time, I began to shudder...not in a sexy fashion, but in such a way he immediately withdrew himself and asked, "Are you okay?"

     Catching my breath, "Now I am...I need a break."

This is the spirit of partialism.

     Cruising the bathhouse, there were so many beautiful parts...pieces that made me curious.  Calves to kiss.  Pectorals to grope.  A beautiful quality of this environment was the freedom to touch whomever I liked.  Run my fingers through anyone's hair.  Wrap my palms around anyone's throat.  Anything that tickled my fancy was available to me to fondle.

       Alternatively, the most savory features of myself was brought to my attention.  I felt several tugs on my afro.  Many hands caressed the circumference of my ass.  My waist was gripped to keep me in place.  I was surprised to find teeth sinking into my Devil's Horns.

     So many beautiful parts...so many admirers.  Once comfortable, I began to pull men aside and whisper my thoughts into their ears.  It was an intense feeling to finally express myself, "I love your fucking beard."

Praise, however perverse, is still praise.

"Birsa Symposium" by Alessandro Bavari

Downtown Sodom: The Black Cradle (So Many Eyes)

"Two Sodomites..." by Alessandro Bavari

With my feet and ankles tangled in a web of steel

Momentum becomes my lover...my tormentor...

Their whispers coat my skin

Their eyes fuel my flesh

Impaled on every downswing

Swinging backwards fills me with void 

I find stamina...I find satisfaction...

In a cradle of black leather.

     I never understood the saying, head over heels in love, because I was in the extreme opposite position...and I was deeply in love.  Wrapped in chains, my legs were almost behind my head as he fucked me in long and deep strokes.  Stroking.  Thrusting.  Pounding.  My body conforms to the details of his dick.  I felt every vein.  I felt every curve.  I damn near felt every pink and purple shade of his perfect cock.

     Silhouettes of voyeurs begin to swirl around us.  Hands begin to reach out.  I was being fucked in a sling for the first time before a hungry audience.  Daddy turns my insides into putty as a crowd of men circles around us. Watching them reach down to touch themselves...whisper back and forth with each other...licking their lips with their eyes focused on us...I felt charged by their mass arousal. 

     A voice shoots from the shadows, "Fuck that black pussy!"  The swarm starts to buzz: they're cheering for my Daddy, slapping his ass, wrapping their arms around his rocking body.  Suddenly, golden arms sprout from the unknown above my head.  Rubbing his hands up and down my sides, I can feel his erection bouncing on my shoulder.

     Curled into a swinging snatch, I couldn't see the man who was grabbing the base of my dick...Slamming me against my Daddy's hips...Massaging my shoulders and chest.  Pulling my legs even further back, I was surprised to find my toes in his mouth.

     His Spanish accent hisses over my head, "This is so fucking hot...Fuck that black pussy...You want his white babies?  All over your face?  I love your feet...so fucking hot."  His dirty mantra started to turn me on; he was in a deep zone.  In between swallowing my feet, he starts to speak louder, "He want your white babies, fuck that black pussy!"  Sloppily running his tongue across my soles, "All over his pretty face!"  This guy is proving to be quite the character.

"Three Voyeurs" by Alessandro Bavari

Downtown Sodom: Formicophilia (So Many Hands)

"The Angels of Lot" by Alessandro Bavari

     So many hands, touching me all at once.  Infinite fingertips, each with different approaches.... intentions...skill levels.  Some hands were strong gripping my muscles, others were soft caressing me with care.  Some roamed my entire body, others plugged their fingers directly into my asshole.  It was a gently jarring experience to have some many languages of touch whispering to me at once; overlapping.

Attempting to seduce me...

Attempting to reduce me...

Into a pliable, agreeable pair of opening legs, jaws and eyes.

  

     Swatting away the stabbing trespassers, I began to relax and allow them to cure their curiosities.  I could hear their thoughts buzzing around me: "Is he into nipple play?"  "How's his cock?  How does it taste?"  "How far will he let me go with his ass?"  "I've never pulled a black man's hair before...interesting."

     Reaching out and touching the bodies around me, I felt adored..I felt connected.  I was in the center of endless affection.  Out of the blue, my ass parts as a long tongue slides into me.  My spine stiffens as I position my hips to open further.  Biting someone's shoulder, I let out whimper as this stranger's tongue probes in and out.  Grabbing my ankles, the crowd gets excited.  Other mouths take the liberty of sucking my neck...my nipples...my cock.  Other tongues take the liberty of licking my face...inside my ears...all over my body.  My moans are becoming too loud for comfort.  Whomever's between my legs has a masterful mouth!

     Suddenly, I feel something warm spilling onto me...rolling down my skin.  This splash was followed by several more drops of white syrup.  Stroking myself with their cum, my pearls were cast along with theirs.  So many hands, rubbing me all at once.  The luster of my skin shines from the darkest shadows.  I was showered in foreign seed...and I loved it...and so did the man with the masterful mouth.

A Prologue to "Downtown Sodom"

     For almost a month, I've been trying to write about a singular occasion.  The 'backspace' key is worn out on my laptop, due to me typing...then deleting...typing...then deleting.  I've never had a subject this challenging to put into words.  My brain has been working overtime attempting to capture the chaos I experienced during my first visit to a bathhouse in Berkeley.

     My night was filled with bizarre characters, hot micro-connections and uncomfortable pleasures.  There were no introductions or farewells...no words...very little light.  Can poetry really capture the atmosphere of infinite foreplay and insatiable flesh?  Would words be able to translate the tension I felt being between caution and opportunity?  Hopefully, I can give this moment justice.

     Whenever I have difficulty, I always turn to my most twisted muse, Alessandro Bavari.  His art captures a disturbing space between fairy tales and fetish, which, oddly, takes on Biblical themes as a result.  Furthermore, his work is very dense with detail and layers; the second piece in this post is actually a close-up of the first picture.  Using his art work as inspiration, I'll be breaking my thoughts into different segments.  That night was so rich and eventful that it would be impossible for me to summarize into one piece.

     Warning: these entries are tangled with erotic and disconcerting material; please read with an open mind.  Feel free to make judgments, I am open to any questions or concerns regarding my take on public sex and other risky behaviors.  "Downtown Sodom" is my songbook dedicated to a night of random hedonism.

I: Formicophilia

II: The Black Cradle 

III: The Partialist Party

IV: Epilogue 

   

Voice

     My typically cheerful voice was replaced by a bizarre, whistling croak, "Thank you for calling, Lynnwood Suites."  My co-workers freeze into place.  The person on the other end of the phone hangs up.  I have some explaining to do.

     I can't tell them that I've spent my weekend screaming my head off; instead, I shrug, "I'm coming down with something."  Remaining wide-eyed; I imagine them recollecting their personal bouts with the flu or a cold, I'm sure none of them have ever sounded like this.  My voice sounds damaged, warped and mid-pubescent.

     With every word I attempt to speak, I am reminded.  The leather belt wrapping around my thigh, making me yelp with its sting.  Her thick, eternally erect strap-on carrying my voice to higher registers.  Her brutal, rhythmic thrusts making me shoot off with percussive profanity.  Damn!  Shit!  Fuck!  A part of me begs for her to cum deep inside of me to end the madness.  The other part of me slaps the former part for thinking something so stupid.

     How do you explain that?  How do you convince human resources to use a sick day because you've been fucked too hard, for too long?  I could pass this off as Strep Throat, but the marks around my neck are a dead giveaway for a good time.  A hangover would get more understanding.  My manager approaches me with kid gloves, "I have a project for you, we have to take inventory."  In other words, "You're scaring away customers, let's find you something to do in the back!"

    

Timophilia: Mario Sorrenti

No poetry...No thoughts...Just greed

I love this...

Wait, one more thing,
I want globs of money and jewels and cool status symbols...

...and naked chicks to deep throat random luxury items...

The Prize

I want to win a race for you

Strengthen my stride

Broaden my endurance

Reach the peak of my potential

Find your reflection in the gloss of my coat

The luster in my eyes

The sheen of my skin

Know that its your light bouncing off my body

Your shine gives me splendor

Testing the supremacy of our love

I leap without bounds

I dash beyond time

I relish the obstacles

Ushering the message of your stewardship

I want to bring home an award with your name on it

Pin medal after medal to your chest

Lace your walls with trophies and accolades

Just to symbolize the prize you've made of me

Simply put, you make me better...and the world should know.

The Eye of the Beholder

I

     Her sentence was shattered by heavy breathing, "If I...would've known...I would've got a pedicure."  Pulling her toes from my mouth, I suggest she relax by rubbing her ankles.  She doesn't want me to stop, but she's ashamed of the callouses...the chipped paint on her toenails...the toughness of her heels.
     Attempting to soothe her, "Shhhh," I take her foot into my mouth, weaving my tongue between each toe.  Tightly gripping the arms of my chair, her spine stiffens as she lets out a gasp.  She tilts her head back, partly to focus on the pleasure, partly to avoid eye contact.
     Slowly running my tongue from her heel, across the sole and back to her toes; I actually like her callouses.  I'm learning so much about her, the thick skin on the side of her big toes reveal that she walks pigeon toed.  People who walk pigeon toed tend to be bashful.  Her roughness on backside of her foot tells me that she spends a lot of time on her feet at work.  Sinking my teeth into the ball of her foot, her loud exhale is evidence: she needs this.
     Apologizing, she still hasn't fully relaxed, "I'm so sorry...I came over...right after work."
     "It's okay...I love the sweat," flashing her a smile, I wonder what it'll take to convince her: she's perfect.  It excites me to see her vulnerable in this way.  Her body's temperature is rising, her breathing is making her breast dance...she's loosens her hold on the furniture...
    

II

     He's been fucking me for hours.  My knees are glued to my forehead and I'm seeing stars.  He's so thick, sex with him is a mixture of lust and adjustment.  I want more of him, but not that much.  I want him to have his way with me, but run it past me first.  I normally consider my moans and whimpers sexy, but today I sound like I'm being stabbed by a butter knife.
     Mind of matter, I keep my back arched upwards...meeting his trusts with my hips.  He hisses, "This shit is fucking beautiful.  I wish you could fuck yourself, so you can see this."  I'm was so delirious, I didn't notice the iPhone until I heard the camera soundbite.  "That's pretty!"
     Withdrawing from me, he lays down next to me to show me the picture.  I felt betrayed by what I saw.  I looked like I was in labor!  I had blemishes where The Sun don't shine!  My hair was all over the place!  "Please delete this," I asked, too worn out to raise my voice.
     "How come? You're beautiful."
     "No, I ain't."
     "Well, I've been seeing you from this angle for a year and I love it."  How do you argue with that?  It was jarring for me because I've never seen that side of myself.  A realization humbles me instantly.  He finds, what I consider, the worst side of me beautiful.  He saw my twisted face and contorted body and sincerely called it "pretty".
     After asking myself for forgiveness, I request, "Could you e-mail me a copy?"