I'm desperate to be touched.
I'm desperate for a rise in temperature.

     You've left me to dangle in the darkness.  Unclothed.  Exposed.  Spread apart and open.  Gaping.  I've made myself the utmost available for you.  The elements have their way with me as nature watches.  The coldness of the empty space surrounding me erects my every hair on end.
     Finding comfort in the clicking of your boots; each step is a gift.  Pacing...Walking...Tapping you toes, becomes evidence that you haven't left.  My availability isn't in vain.  My devotion is being observed. My offering has yet to parish.  Partake my Lord.  Please.

     Frostbitten chains numbs my flesh.  A cruel quarter moon blinds my eyes.  Your sudden stillness strikes my ears deaf.  Please.  Illuminate me with your touch.  Paint my body with the color of warmth.  Give my senses a message to translate into pleasure.  Anything.  Being apart from you is true torture.  I find agony in your absence.  Please draw yourself near to me.

     Your hand wrapping around my throat deprives me of air, yet gives me a second wind.  Your speechless breathing in my ears speak volumes.  Driving me to my knees made me stand up bone straight.  Your teeth sinking into my skin cures my hunger.  Whimpers and praise flow from the same mouth.  Curses and blessings dwell within the same strike.  Thank you for finding pleasure in my offering.

The above art is from a new friend.
The amazing photographer and artist:

I am deeply in love with his self portraits.
There's a palpable mood
There's an ethereal texture
I feel a dark, esoteric quality in his use of objects and effects
I am painfully infatuated with him.

An ugly brand of beautiful
I am inspired to the level of arousal.

Arousal by Contrast

      We can't take our eyes off ourselves.  My hand cupping your breast.  Your legs wrapped around my waist.  My arm draped across your  torso.  Your fingers in my mouth.  We are a work of living art.  Our lovemaking is a masterpiece I long to exhibit.
     Coal clashing against pearl.  Your ivory moon enveloped by midnight flesh.  Your precious, pretty, pink jewel smashed to bits by black steel.  This moment of polarity is profound.  This moment of polarity brings to mind that weapons and remedies can be one and the same.  Lions and lambs can find comfort in each others bosoms.  Together, honey and vinegar can bring pleasure to a palette.
     I wish I could frame each instance.  I wish I could take a snapshot of every position.  My black fingers gripping white ankles.  Your white fingers gripping my black neck.  Mine...Yours...Mine...Yours...Minds could be enlightened by our sex.  I truly believe that. 

     The above art is from the tremendously talented Kassandra!  The pictures I posted are just a tip of the iceberg!  She fancies bright colors and surrealism, her style captures a beautiful dreamworld. 

Experience her work:

Somnophilia: Abandon's Door

     Did he fail to close his door securely or is there a message hidden behind his ajar bedroom entrance?  Either case, an inescapable temptation calls me to find out the hard way.  I've wanted him for so long.  He's disturbed many nights of my rest.  So what, if I exact my revenge by awakening the sleeping giant in his trousers?
     The very barrier meant to keep people out of his chambers is charming me...seducing me to enter.  The dark, enigmatic space behind the barely closed door is very alluring.  What if I took a few steps within, to test my welcome?

All seem like foreign customs.
Reigns supreme in this moment.

     If I tread softly, hover meticulously, I could seamlessly blend my devouring with his dreams.  But would he appraise my service to be more valuable than his sleep?  Would the warmth of my mouth surpass the comfort of his slumber?  Could I handle the repercussions of being rejected?
     One risky step away from overstepping my bounds, a morsel of him would make it all worth it.  On the brink of becoming a trespasser, I'll trade his trust for his taste on my tongue.  Driven dangerously close to disturbing his peace, I achingly walk away.

I will have him.
But, not tonight.
I will dream a thirsty dream so you may rest
I feel a sweet sense of guilt for the things I'm going to do to you
Sleep well, my love...

?????: Josef Michel's Latest

It is a rare occasion
when I'm totally confused.
I can always find the erotic quality,
To understand what someone could find arousing...

Today marks the day I am stumped...

Before saying anything else,
I would like to present to you a series by Josef Michel.

It would be greatly appreciated if everyone could weigh in
and help me understand.
For those that find this arousing
I'd like to know why.
All judgment aside,
I truly want to grasp what makes this sexy.

Josef's work with Eli Floyd sent me to the gym...
This set with Matt McDermitt,
may send me to the psych ward

Warning: the following images can be disturbing (seriously)...

Twin Saviors: Fear & Power

You find it strangely jarring and erotic
Hearing a giant scream at the top of his lungs

Prying his hairy muscular legs apart
Bending them towards the heavens
You slay him with your repeated depth and force

He’s shaking on the verge of collapse
His vibrating baritone cries for continuance
His toes curl so tightly, a pain shoots to your feet, as well

You’re filled with twin saviors: fear and power

Can you escape his agony uncrushed?
Can you withstand being engulfed in his ecstasy?
Can you persist within the pressure of his pleasure?

Keep a strong grip on his hamstrings behind his knees
Stroke in pace with your rattling heart
Relax as he grips your throat in excitement

There’s a thin line
Between keeping a giant on a leash and being tethered to an anchor
Avoid drowning and be greatly awarded

You will be showered in pearls and praise
Your named will rock the Earth to its core
Just don't stop...

These are from Robert Greene's latest project:

Its an opportunity to see raw masculinity become delicate
Mollified sledgehammers
Beautiful behemoths
Jupiter opened wide
This collection should add to your understanding of manhood

Gay [gey] (Adjective) Having or showing a merry, lively mood; happy.

     Sitting on a plane heading to southern California, I had the pleasure of sitting next to Perry.  He was a cute, petite guy: curly brown hair and a 1000 watt smile.  To top it off, he was sweet as pie.  For the entire flight, we traded stories and laughed.  His goofy observations cracked me up!
     His energy level was off the charts, very enthusiastic and excitable.  He had a beautiful boyish grin framed by a lightly dusted goatee.  Every time he swatted my thigh, I found his touch playful and refreshing…but, of course, still arousing.

Of course, my inner thoughts began to chatter…
“He probably makes the sweetest faces.”
“I bet you, he’s squeaky clean…down there."
"I can see it now: pretty, pink and tight.”
“He has pretty feet; I can tell.  What are those?  A size eight?”

     Declining in altitude, I started to ask about his plans in San Diego; internally hoping we could hang out while I was there.  Smiling even brighter, he chirps, “I’m actually in town for a revival; Joel Olsteen‘s speaking!”  I was shocked!  I thought he was flaming; turns out he was on fire for Jesus!  Is my gaydar broken or what?
     Throughout the trip he was resting his hand on my shoulder.  While maintaining complete eye contact, he gave me his blue eyed, undivided attention.  Am I a pervert for thinking he was flirting?  Is it possible to be that innocent and na├»ve in this day and age?  My head was spinning as he handing me a flyer for ‘Christ Watch 2010’.
     This has me thinking.  The one thing that gay men and Christian Fundamentalists have in common is their ability to access their inner child.  Both eschewing the traditional ideas of masculinity, exuberance is embraced.  Homosexual men tend to define their own brand of manhood by sometimes returning to a state of innocence, before gender roles were assigned.  Christ says that the childlike shall gain access to Heaven.
     It's very uplifting to see adults that are impressionable and wondrous like children.  I hate that society suggests that men should be stiff and unimpressed.  It’s beautiful to see men comfortable enough to laugh without composure…to smile until their cheeks hurt…to watch cartoons…to wear bright colors.  Things shouldn’t be so serious.

However, let’s remember:
Acting happy and acting gay was once synonymous.
(And actually still is.)

The Bringer of Forbidden Light?

"Be of sober spirit, be on the alert.
Your adversary, The Devil, prowls about like a roaring lion,
seeking whom he may devour."
(1 Peter 5:8)

     I was shaking in my nine-year-old boots.  It sounded as if Pastor Eddy was breathing fire from the pulpit, "The Devil!  He'll show you visions that will stick in your mind!  He'll show you visions and play tunes for you that'll slowly, gently warp your spirit and the souls of your children!  He ain't that little red, horned man!  He's that movie director!  He's that record executive!  He's that entertainer teaching sin through a lullaby!"
     I feared I've already come into contact with this demonic material.  I've already listened to the siren's song.  His preaching pulled perverse, pornographic images to the forefront of my imagination.  I felt terrible because I knew there was no turning back.  My eyes and flesh has been deflowered, my mind was already seduced and twisted.
     As a kid, I couldn't keep my hands out of my Dad's stash of porn.  My vivid imagination did the rest of The Devil's work.  I wanted to be with God and His Holy Spirit.  I wanted a place in Heaven reserved for me.  I prayed for my purity back, for my brain to be cleansed of any unholy thoughts.  I asked God to remove all thoughts of orgies, cock sucking and homosexuality from my mind.  I begged for Him to cure me of my unclean appetites.
     I found Freddy Kruger to be hilarious.  The Boogie Man was too far fetched for me to fear.  But, I was terrified of Satan.  "What if he came disguised as an offer I couldn't refuse?"  I figured he wielded the power to turn people into pedophiles, murderers and monsters.  Furthermore, I was taught that he was the author and steward of everything wicked, evil and inconvenient.
     One day, while studying The Bible, I read some verses that had a strange/beautiful/devastating effect on me and my faith.

"The One forming light and creating darkness
Causing well-being and creating calamity;
I am The Lord who does all these"
(Isaiah 45:14)

     For reasons I'm still learning, I felt a great deal of relief when I read that scripture.  That verse upstarted my freedom, letting me know that God is a part of it all.  Parking tickets, warfare and (dare I say) assault are born from the same Father as bubble gum, blessings and love.  To this day, it still makes sense to me.  When you think about it, every victory means defeat for someone else.  Every blessing falls out of someone else's pocket.  Good and Evil has always been a package deal since the beginning of time.
     Maybe The Devil is a part of the grand scheme?  Maybe he serves a purpose just like everything else?  I've gained great strength through misfortune.  I've discovered truth while dwelling in darkness.  Hell, without him I wouldn't be the brilliant pervert I am today.  Maybe, Pastor Eddy was right!

The Craig's List Chronicles: Small Window

His beauty was unexpected

His girlfriend was away for the night
He has a small window of time
He chose me

Small talk was forbidden
Dropping trou at the door
I was directed to have a seat
To spread my thighs

Slick Mouth
Palms Made of Silk

He had no interest in me
But a deep fixation on my cock
As if his main purpose was to steal my seed
Which he accomplished very quickly

Sucking deeply
Milking me with his fist
I was drained to completion
Before I had a chance to see myself shoot
He was cleaning the remnants of my climax off his handsome face

His girlfriend was away for the night
He had a small window of time
I had to go
I want to know him so badly...

The above art is from my new photographer crush,

Joseph Bleu

I love his use of color and tone
And his use of golden, long legged models
His work reeks of elegance and privileged frailty.

An Untitled Exchange

     You used to make me nervous.  Uneasy.  Something about your presence tripped an ancient alarm buried in my bones.  The way your body stiffens at the sight of me...Your speech pattern stutters as your eyes follow me across the room...Your arms hanging awkwardly in the balance between desire and decency.  I used to get a bad feeling deep down in my I hunger for you.

I've developed a fetish for disarming one's instincts, namely my own.

     Some animals smell fear, some pick up the scent of blood; my nose is keen on curiosity.  You've been wanting to touch me since the 70's.  You've been stripping me naked with your imagination since sharing a locker room with my Daddy.  For decades, you've dreamed that I was designed to deliver a dose of powerful...primal...passionate...pleasure and pain.  Just like my music. 

Today, curiosity begats courage.

     A moment of eye contact translates the truth: I see you.  I've had hundreds of your kind leeching off of my dick...Encountered enough of you begging to be fucked harder...I've broken enough backs to see you coming a mile away.  Your offering winks at me from the seat of your pants, both your asshole and your wallet.  I'll accept both.  For, let's face it, I'm out of your league.  I'm young, black and're quite the opposite.
     You used to make me nervous.  Confused.  I'm no thug or savage.  I'm no machine or stud.  Yet, you beg me to fuck you heartlessly and brainlessly...Beg me to fuck you detached from mercy and sympathy...Beg me to fuck you like there's no tomorrow or yesterday...Until you gulp the next generation thirstily down your throat.  Ironically, my ancestors prayed for the day their babies would choke you.  Today, I'm impressed you can swallow them so smoothly.
     Your fingers reach down to touch your sore offering, you smile as if a dark debt's been paid.  Was it all that you've imagined?  Was my stroke strong enough to break through?  Was my dick long enough to reach your heart?  The tears in your eyes suggests that it was. 

The Road to Aretifism

The Sun has abandoned the sky.
The stir fry and brandy in our bellies has settled into drowsiness.
There's nothing on television.
This is my favorite part of evening.

     Stripped from our clothes, we're transfixed by the rhythm of our kisses...the tenderness of our touch...the sensation of nude flesh upon nude flesh.  I'm wearing only a pair of black briefs and black, sheer dress socks that are almost high enough to reach my knees.  Draping my legs across his lap, I've have no idea how long we've been kissing.  Trading affirmative moans, his "Hmmmmm," translates to, "I like this."  His "yeah," translates to, "Don't stop."
     Sliding our slippery tongues across each other, my deep sigh articulates the appreciation I have for this moment.  I typically don't like to make out for this long, but the way his strong arms wrap around me...the way his hands are massaging my back makes me want to reside in his mouth forever.  Drawing deeper and deeper into each other, our closeness strikes us blind.
     There's a reason why I do not remove my underwear.  Long after he's been naked and erect.  Long after serving his body from head to toe, there's a sweet reason behind remaining clothed.  My anticipation aches as his fingertips glides between my briefs and skin.  Teasing me, he knows that I love the feeling of satin dragging across my new found nudity.  Grabbing a handful of my ass, a whimper escapes from mouth into his.  Sliding my underwear from my hips, he slowly travels down my thighs, over my knees, before taking them off completely.
     Deeply inhaling my cock, his hands dances around my ankles and along my shins.  There is something incredibly sensuous about having my socks removed.  I gasp loudly as he slowly rolls the fabric off my right leg.  Stripping off my socks translates to me, "I want to see more of you."  I feel completely available to him.  I feel as delicate as the silk socks now on the floor.  This is my favorite part of the evening.

Beautiful Womb: The Story Between "Lust and Long Distance"

Distance is a beautiful womb
She mothers invention
She fosters innovation
Distance invokes a yearning that swims across seas

How can I translate my touch without traveling?

Distance is a beautiful womb
Destiny develops in her darkness
 Uncertainty is incubated into courage

There is a message that surpasses language that I long to express.
A tone so warm it can only be articulated internally.
A secret so hidden you'd have to witness it in person.
What stands between intimacy and distance?

     While writing, "Bedtime Stories: Lust and Long Distance", I received an unexpected epiphany.  I actually prefer long distance relationships.  I enjoy a great deal of convenience and creativity when there's a lot of space between me and my lover.  I love trading secrets with strangers.  Storing up stories to share later.  The anticipation of her/him/them arriving to visit me.  Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.
     Writing this piece for SEXIS magazine, I recollected all of the beautiful encounters I've had in my life.  The phone sex.  The thoughtful gifts.  The quasi, once-in-a-lifetime meetings that left my senses and headboard shattered.

As for the bedtime stories...
     There is a particular blogger that I have been reading erotica with; he may raise his hand if he'd like.  Thanks to him, my bookshelf is full of "Campus Buddies", "Letters to Penthouse" and other dirty, dirty books.  On one hand, its a great way to get the juices flowing.  On the other, I'm becoming quite the orator.  Maybe I'll gain the courage to start recording my readings.  That would be fun...

For all the details, read the full article:

For the second time, 
I've drawn from Exterface's erotic editorial, "Flamingo".
I honestly think they are one of the best!
They are one of the few photographers/artists that have a story to tell.
Continuity is very rare,
But they manage to continually come up with concept after concept...
I honor you, gentlemen!

View the full set:

Gokkun: Pop Quiz!

Frantically, his fist pumps faster.
His hips freezes along with his face.
He's going to blow...
A cocksucker's instincts kicks in
Quickly kneeling down to the site of white magic
He throws his mouth open, closing his eyes
Flinging his tongue out, he waits to be nursed
As if he was anticipating the first drop of rain after a long drought

Why is this a reflex?
What joy does he get from taking a money shot to the face?

(A) He has a wild fetish for semen. 
(B) He thinks he'll like him more is he swallows.
(C) Subconsciously, his shooting cum is a white, slimy seal of approval.
(D) He's a dumb tramp that plagiarizes porn.
(E) He swallows for nutritional reasons.
(F) All of the above.
(G) There isn't enough information to correctly answer the question.

 What do you think?

Everyday's An Orgy

     When is the spring equinox?  Is Venus in retrograde or something?  Has aphrodisiacs found their way into the Bay Area's water supply?  Whatever is going on, I've been receiving numerous invitations to attend orgies! I turned down a gangbang last Sunday.  I still might go to the Thursday black men's circle jerk.  I'm definitely hitting the sex club/gym this Saturday.

What's happening?
Maybe God is answering my prayers?

     After my wonderful night at Queericulum, I have been looking forward to having more public, group sexual experiences.  This anticipation has, in effect, caused several shifts in my life.  Due to the possibility of being seen naked more often by many people at once, I've been hitting the gym nonstop.  My grooming and hygiene now borderlines obsessive compulsive disorder.  I've been buying nicer furniture for my apartment, wanting to host someday.  In an attempt to avoid rejection and increase my sex appeal to a larger audience, my quality of life has gotten much better.  Healthier.  Happier.  Hotter.

The inevitability of an orgy has triggered an evolution.

Agalmatophilia: Stillness & Silence

Patience.  Don't you dare move.  Wait until I get to you.  I prefer my flesh frozen, yet warm to the touch.  Don't blink.  Don't shift your eyes.  Keep flexing those muscles while holding your breath.  Don't you fucking move until I tell you to.  Your body is under my authority.

Shhhhhh...Silence.  Do not sully your beauty by talking.  Your vocabulary is hereby reduced to moaning and climatic shouts.  I would remove your tongue if it didn't have other pleasurable uses.  I would gag you if I didn't have plans for your mouth.  Keep those masculine jaws tightly clinched.  Keep pouting those sexy lips. 

Opinions are prohibited.

Don't you dare move.  I bind you to my computer screen.  Stay perfectly still on this page as I examine your body...analyze your parts...survey your strength...understand your beauty.  Don't you fucking move until I hit 'play'.  With the power of my index finger, I decide whether I want more of you. 

     Reviewing the photographic work of Jannis Tsipoulanis, I felt a surge of power.  In an erotic epiphany, I realized, "He's posing for me, for my amusement and arousal."  The product he's marketing dissolves in his nudity and sex appeal, hence, his primary purpose is to feed my optical appetites.  At this point, I haven't the faintest idea of what he's selling or where I should go to purchase it.

The bondage of beauty is double sided.

Dunce: Brains & Rosebuds

     When I watch porn, I think a lot of about what kind of person the performers could be.  "I bet, he'd be interesting to talk to."  "He looks like a total asshole."  "Awww, he's a sweetheart; just look at how he takes that dick."  I know, not the best judge of character, but I can't help but wonder about the man inside of the sex machine.
      Recently, I was watching Tim Tales and he was having a sexy exchange with Ben Armstrong.  I fell instantly in love with the smooth, cute boy with piercings and one of the best tattoos I've ever seen.  "I bet he plays an instrument.  He's probably using the money he makes in porn to pay for studio time."  He was so small, but rugged, with the prettiest feet.
     In the middle of the film, Tim starts to finger fuck him until...two fingers turned into three...then four...then "the silent duck"!  I thought he was so adorable until he started to get fisted!  I started to think about all the tragic things that could've happened to him.  I wondered about his status and cringed as Tim forgot to wear gloves, which is common practice with fisting.  My opinion quickly shifted from positive to negative.
     Why?  Does extreme rectal stretching somehow kill brain cells?  If not, then why is it so hard for me to imagine an intelligent person who likes to be fisted.  Is this extreme sex act reserved for the bottom of the barrel?  Is it possible to be a brilliant, beautiful person while taking incredibly large objects in the ass?  It's a shame I can't find the answer.  For some reason, I've been programmed to feel its impossible to have both a brain and a rosebud.

I love Tim Tales!
It's more reality than amatuer
It's a website ran by a real life couple from Berlin!

I originally didn't like fisting, but this clip is changing my mind!

Check out the full length video:

Singaporean Food Porn!

My raging envy of the Singaporean continues
I ran across this hilarious & bizarre website

In their own words:

Take the mundane, the everyday, the uninspiring
Fill it with life, energy and colour,
All tropical shiny-eyed optimism,
Like an everyday Broadway musical.

This is my SUPERHYPERREAL world,



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