Red Handed

     The thought crossed my mind, “Hmmm, that’s strange.”  The computer lab at my job was locked and the blinds were closed.  Completely shutdown.  A couple of hours ago, I had given a young man access to our business center.  Seeing that the lights were off, a few scenarios started to sprout from my creative mind.  (1) We’ve been had and our computers and printers were stolen.  (2) He had some company that required some privacy.  (3) Our facility was vandalized.
     Unlocking the door with my master key, I saw his right hand maneuver the mouse with lightning speed.  His shadowy figure sprung up from in front of the illuminating computer screen.  Quickly putting on his coat, he adjusting his baggy jeans.  With zero eye contact, he exited the room as I turned the lights back on.  Maybe because I haven’t had my morning jolt of caffeine yet…  Or, maybe because I had a thousand files piled on my desk… The thought of  him using the computer to view pornography and masturbate didn’t cross my mind!  I was shocked by the stupidity of the both of us.
     I began to remember.  There was a time I didn’t have a PC of my own…  When I so sexually repressed, I’d spend hours at the public library…  When I’d wear black sweatpants to camouflage the several loads soaking my thigh.  I could relate to the man storming past me.  I used to be him, a pervert in sexual poverty.
     We were very different, however.  I liked being in broad daylight, viewing porn from a small, minimized window.  I preferred to have people around.  I’d have an excel spreadsheet, or something productive-looking, with a tiny glimpse of flesh in the corner of my monitor.  In between data entry, I’d scroll down slowly past his pectorals… Past his abs… To the erection and the mouth hovering over it.  Squeezing my own hard dick, I got off repeatedly as the elderly looked up ancient periodicals on microfiche.
     For shits and giggles, I had to know.  What kind of porn was he jerking off to?  Opening the web browser, I checked the history log and found his shame right on the surface.  I was disappointed.  His taste in porn was rather…rudimentary.  Big breasts.  Big asses.  Girls gone wild.  I found myself wishing that I had discovered something juicier.  Something that would’ve changed the way I looked at him.  But, alas, he was pretty softcore.
     Later in the day, he returned to my office to retrieve the ID he exchanged for the business center key.  Working hard to reduce the stack of files, multi-tasking, I handed him his driver’s license while recommending, “Remember to clear your history next time.”
     His voice spoke in the key of inexperience, “Ummm…Okay.”

All Images are from 'All Jacked Up'

Mojitoe Salad

1 Cucumber
1 Mango
1 Cantaloupe
2 Kiwi
Mint + Cilantro
Olive Oil
3 Shots of Rum

      I am hurled in to a trance.  Toes.  Soles.  Heels.  The objects of my fixation erased everything above her ankles.  If it weren't for her giggles filling the air, I would've forgot she was there.  Her feet, coated in olive oil, honey and mint leaves captured my attention.  I just want to consume.  Sink my teeth into the ball of her foot... Wrap my lips around her big toe...

I've been looking forward to this all day.

     Eating the cantaloupe and mangoes from between her toes, licking the smashed kiwi from the sticky-sweet soles of her tiny feet; I was in hog heaven.  Slurping.  Lapping.  Gnawing.  Taking her entire foot into my mouth, I sucked the acidic juice from her skin.  I prepared a recipe of indulgence, something to satisfy my sweet-tooth and my fetish.  Now, here we are.

Photos by Miriam Weisbard



A technological threesome

     The warmth of my hands/ the reliability of its motion.  The sensual improvisations of our moans/ the saw-toothed buzz of the running motor. The smile spreading across your face/ the settings switching from low to max power.

What is this device?

     Numbing, yet introducing new sensations.  Freezing our jaws open, yet frying my circuits. Little did I know, I'd still feel it bouncing off my bones, sending sensations stuttering through my skin.

What is this device?

     Vibrations faster than any human limb can execute without bursting into flames.  Suction stronger than our four lungs could ever produce.  Buttons.  Switches.  Knobs.  We discovered we had all of this circuitry and components just beneath our flesh.  This technology handed us the greatest orgasms we've ever experienced.


     To commemorate our special day, she purchased a bottle of Amaro Averna.  Italian.  Thick.  Sweet.  64% Proof.  Toasting 365 days of love, labor and evolution, the syrupy digestive coats my mouth, filling my palette with touches of fruit and herbs.  I was instantly warmed.
     We found ourselves nude, listening to Miles Davis' "Kind of Blue", dancing to his nocturnal tempo.  Kissing.  Embracing.  Whispering love notes into each others' ear.  She chimes, "You like the Averna?"  I moan as I nod my head, "Yes".  I was intoxicated early by the combination of liquor, jazz and love.  Her voice breaks my trance, "Follow me."
     "Blue in Green" plays as she leads me to the bed.  She positions me to sit on all fours.  My hips involuntarily wind to the music, her stroking palms encourage me to turn my tail upward.  It starts with few quick laps of her tongue.  Deeper, circular motions wet my asshole.  The rhythmic plunging of her tongue in and out of me made my chest rattle with moans.

My life changed
The moment she took a big sip of Averna...

     I was instantly warmed.  The syrupy digestive left her mouth flowing into me.  I could feel the thick, herbal liquor slowly rolling down the walls of my rectum.  Stinging sweetly, the flow reversed as she began to suck at the Averna.  Toasting 365 days of love, labor and evolution, she manages to give me, yet another, new experience.
     Both us became drunken as she drank shot after shot from me.  My legs wouldn't stop trembling.  My voice was raspy from crying.  Realities and dreams began to blur as the booze grabbed hold of my mind.  Shot after shot, my skin tingled and my insides burned beautifully from the alcohol.  Introducing a feast of fresh sensations, I madly chanted repeatedly, "I love you, baby."

Heirophilia: The Sea of Sodom

       One hundred and forty-four thousand spirits beaming into Heaven boils down to that handful of people I've been wanting to fuck.  For so long, I wanted to see their flesh unclothed.  My tongue longs to taste the salt of his seed...sugar from her lips and walls.  The weight of these mysteries on my mind tether me to this Earth...too heavy for the Heavenbound to be raptured.
     The Sea of Sodom washes upon the shores of Canaan, bathing its beaches with impure ambitions.  My most carnal desires are unlocked by prophecy.  The promise of unyielding judgment inspires me to forfeit all control; abandon all caution.  The potential of my lusts going unfulfilled intoxicates me.

I am not alone

     The Wine of God's Wrath crashes to the pavement, soaking the naked backsides of faggots and whores.  Intersections and alleys are filled with mass debauchery.  Trembling toes point to the seven stars prophesied by David.  Spurting cum paints the blood red moon white again.  The candlesticks... The cups...  The swords... Are all swiped from the altar to provide a clean surface to fuck upon recklessly.
     Bodies, so many bodies, writhe and copulate.  Pleasures upon pleasures feeds my gluttonous eyes. My body empathizes with the orgasms of my neighbors, shuddering with them.  Dancing.  Moaning.  Laughing.  Bathing in the dark waters of Sodom, I realize, "We've been raptured into Heaven."  Abundant pleasure.  Freedom from fear.  Total extravagance.  This is Heaven.

"Major Arcana" by Jak Flash

Beautiful Womb II: Abstand

     The cute reading glasses.  The pearl-adorned kurta.  The brown curls mangled by a good afternoon nap.  I miss your hazel gaze greeting me as I return home from work.  Working on your laptop.  Sipping on a glass of Orangina.  The light filling your face upon my arrival gave me a second wind.  The beverage... The laptop... The glasses... The kurta...soon found themselves on the floor as did my suit and tie.

Distance is a beautiful womb
Birthing new jewels every day.

     Dark chocolate hitting my tongue fills my heart with longing.  Licking avocado from my fingers makes my pants especially uncomfortable.  Yo-Yo Ma sounds off-key without your toes in my mouth.  Your daily absence has been a daily reminder: I have a heart.  And, this heart twists and throbs whenever I make dinner for one.
     Poetry fills my head as your side of the bed grows colder.  My senses sharpen as I struggle to find your fading scent on the pair of briefs you've left for me.  I appreciate affection much deeper, knowing that it could escape me at any moment.  I take nothing for granted: The warmth on my sheets... The stench of sweat and arousal... With the knowledge that it could all fade, I truly have learned how to savor.

Distance is a beautiful womb
Bringing each life.

"Angelito" photographed by Forbidden Light

The Power of Percussion

     My response was unexpected.  Sitting in the front row of an performance of experimental music.  I was totally captivated by the drummer, 1/3 of the trio.  The piano and saxophone were muted by my desire for the percussionist.  His face tightened with intensity, he played with so much tension.  His focus appeared to be painfully sharp.  Out of nowhere, I wanted nothing more than to make him cum.
     Ironically, when he wasn't playing I did not find him attractive.  But the moment he picked up his sticks or mallets, returning the beautiful agony to his face, my blood began to circulate towards my crotch again.  Witnessing his body struggle to harness his gift of chaotic rhythm, as if he was pinned beneath the weight of a passion almost too heavy... I had a visceral response to drop to my knees and offer this man some release.
     Getting deeper into their set, my mind started to imagine his naked thigh muscles tightening.  His fist pumping.  His head jerking backwards.  His mouth twisting into polygonal shapes.  Spurts of semen shooting off like liquid fireworks.  Hearing his cymbals clash, I swear I could taste the thick consistency sitting in my mouth.

I have been thinking about this experience ever since.

     My theory is that my subconscious mind responded reflexively.  His tension.  His intensity.  His rhythm.  His body rocking accordingly.  My desire to satisfy was triggered by his performance.  I began to remember several renditions of the same song played on my body.  Beats pounded in my bedroom.  Snares replaced by skin and bones.
     After his performance, I got a chance to shake his hand.  If he only knew where he took me.  My body responded to him in a series of head nods, dance moves and erections.  His songs awakened the rhythms lying dormant between my jaws...between my legs...on my lap.   He made me revisit the best sex I've ever had.

Does he knows the power he wields as a percussionist? 

Harry Belafonte...if he could take a fist.

     Have you ever ingested so much pornography your stomach felt full?  I have recently inherited a near-comprehensive library of vintage hardcore gay magazines...and getting through it have become my second job.  Its a labor of love.  Everyday, I devote a little time to inspecting and organizing every image.
     Flipping through the collection of "Knights of the Night", an adults-only periodical from the 80s, I fell in love.  He reminded me of Harry Belafonte, if he could take a fist...  Fred Williamson, if he had a penchant for white cock.  If I had a pornographic forefather, it would be this guy.  I love seeing retro black men in gay porn, its a beautiful thing.

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