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?"

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.

Between Lust & Envy: God Damned Athletes!!!!

No one inspires more blasphemy

No other group fills my heart with more contempt

I can write a thousand 'partialism' posts

I hate athletes!

Every Olympic game reminds me:

All men are NOT created equal!

     For a long time, I have found much comfort in the idea that most athletes were illiterate simpletons.  It's a relieving theory that these gods are actually on steroids, thus having a tiny micro-penis.  And if all disillusions fail, I can assume that they are big assholes who are terrible, bad people: wife beaters and dog kickers.  Desperately clinging to anything that debunks their superiority, I'm running out of hypotheses

     Scientifically speaking, the genetic package that gives athletes an advantage, also blesses them with symmetrical features and a mesomorphic build.  In other words; they are bred to be super sexy.  Furthermore, the constant training also increases brain function and sexual prowess.  Overall, they are possibly just better people...there is no God...

     Another disappointing truth, being buff and beautiful doesn't guarantee heathen-like behavior.  I've had the pleasure of hanging around some gorgeous Oakland Raiders and they're actually educated, fun, down-to-earth guys.  I was waiting for the arrogance, maybe some violent misogyny; no such luck.  Surprisingly conservative, these guys merely wanted to settle into a nice traditional family life. 

    

What does that mean for us?

     I believe that our current status, whether superior or inferior, is a composite of our lifestyle and choices leading up to today.  It isn't too late to change your diet.  Gym memberships are cheaper than ever.  Some benefit packages are starting to cover cosmetic surgery.  When you think about at it, we worship athletes because they are a high quality picture of health and discipline.  Hence, we could be like them by embodying those same qualities. 

If we get it together,

We could be in great shape

 Just before they all die of AIDS from fucking hundreds of groupies.

Prayerfully, Magic Johnson's stingy with the cure...

The envy inducing photos are from Rick Day's "Players" collection...

Wanna get rid of that pesky confidence?

Purchase The Calendar

Creative Conflict: Beauty vs. Art

     This is happening too often.  I search online for art that inspires me or supports the overall concept of my thoughts.  Maybe I'm old school, but I like my art painted or if it's photography, I appreciate photos with an artistic direction.  But lately, I've been coming across more and more glamour; more and more pieces of "art" which entire value is supported by the beauty of it's subject.  It's getting to me.

The difference between art and beauty:

One compels you to find out who's in front of the camera.

The other reminds you: there's someone on the other side of the lens.      

     I appreciate beautiful people, maybe more than most.  I praise circumferences, symmetry and luster.  I worship at the temple of flesh, muscle, bones, hair, teeth, cocks, breast, asses.  Although I'm constantly entranced by the human form; I am starting to miss one of the most important parts of the body: the soul.  Flipping through pages of people posing and pointing their best feature forward; I'm growing jaded.  Scrolling through several blogs, I'm growing weary of the laundry list of hot guys and girls.  I get it: they're beautiful.

Can't we do more with a six pack?

Aren't there other qualities to black skin beyond it's blackness?
Where's the creativity?

Should Beauty Take A Backseat?

     A fellow blogger, Cogent Ascending, recently wrote an article that really made me think.  In a post titled, "A Matter of Taste," he questions the maturity of his criteria for choosing bed mates.  Furthermore, he challenges his tendacy to limit the romantic possibilities of the intelligent, interesting men who lacks physical attractiveness.  The following quote is an abridged version of his article, you can find the full, unedited post on his self titled blog.

     In my slowly declining attempts to pursue other men on a romantic level, I come across certain people from time to time that are interesting or with whom there is a spark of chemistry.  If I am extremely lucky, and as happens only every once in a great while, these people pass what I think of as an internal litmus test for becoming potential bed mates. 

Clean Finger Nails

Good Clean Teeth

Sweet Smelling Breath

 A natural scent which compels me to explore further.

No Gut

 No Man Breasts

 More or less, someone who looks no less attractive physically than I do myself.

preferably, a man without a micro-penis.

     I have a practice of making the really intelligent and interesting ones who lack sorely in the looks department just friends.  I have been told this is an immature approach to seeking a romantic bond with another person, that looks will eventually fade even from the most attractive suitors and that in the end all that remains will be the conversations and that original chemical spark.

Is good sex only for the beautiful?

     Although the tired saying, "It's the insides that count", does ring true.  I think, the aforementioned attributes are actually indicators of something deeper, in spite of their vain delivery.  Have you ever stopped to think about why we're attracted to certain physical appearances?  Arousal is naturally occurring, but there are also mental impressions attached to certain characteristics.

     Manicured hands and nice teeth can be symbols of something beyond beauty.  When he flashes that pretty smile at him, his conscious minds says, "Look at those white, bright, sexy teeth!"  However, his subconscious mind could be saying, "Look at that commitment!  He looks like he bushes three times a day with regular trips to the dentist!"  He could also further assume that he tends to his other responsibilities equally as well.
      Not to underrate intelligence and other immaterial qualities, but isn't the physical body the proof in the pudding?  Could six-pack abs and well defined muscles be evidence of discipline?  Could great hair express his attention to detail?  If you think about, many of the features we praise and drool over are direct manifestations of health and virility.
     Should beauty be placed on the back burner?  I think not.  If we can become more conscious of why we find beautiful, I think it will shed new light on what we are really looking for in a partner.  By being aware of the deeper indications of our arousal, we can the discern the difference between eye candy and compatibility.