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?

Wednesday Night Porn Club (?)

Wouldn’t it be cool?

Studying Kristen Bjorn’s “The Agony of Ecstasy”,

Taking notes in preparation for Wednesday Night porn club…

Agonizing over the display of your profound insight
And your goods…

“Fun facts about Brazilians…check.”

“Pubes neatly trimmed…check.”

"Notebook, external hard drive and magnums…"
"check, check and check."

Wouldn’t it be cool?

A counsel of horny but intellectually adventurous men watching “Black On Boys” flicks

Pointing out the subtle cultural references

Debating why some stereotypes are sexy and harmful

Watching “Short Bus”, fleshing out our interpretations
Imitating the great orgy at the end would also be awesome.

Instead of concluding the meeting with a weak pot luck,
We could get lucky in other ways…

Is it possible?

How far would we get before fidgeting with our belt buckles?

Are men capable of elaborating beyond, “Dude, he’s hot”?

Are men even interested in pornography outside of wanking material?

I’d love to find out…

Maybe it’s an impossible fantasy

Maybe I’m the only nut job who’d actually wait for his hand job

But I’d think it’ll be interesting...Enlightening, even

To deconstruct porn, sex and arousal and discuss the devices therein

Am I the only one who thinks this would be hot?

(For the record, Toddy English thinks the idea is neat!)

Text, Sex & Brainstorming

     I don't know what's slower; my reply or my M.P.H.  It occurred to me why legislation decided to make texting while driving an illegal practice; it turns your grammar into shit.  Stopping at a red light, I text to my friend, "I have a bad case of writer's block."
     The sky's a ticking time bomb and I need to get in and out of the laundromat before the storm hits.  Trying to remember whether the 24 hour wash was on Broadway or Franklin, bells and whistles goes off from my lap.  Carefully checking my phone, I read his message, "R U genuinely out of ideas or R U stuck thinking of ways 2 make your non-sexual thoughts erotic 4 your blog?"  What an asshole!
     It's quite challenging, pressing my key pad in a sequence of words and numbers while keeping my eyes on the road.  Suddenly, I hear a car horn blare from behind me as the Honda Accord swerves around my black Mustang.  Deep down, I worry if everyone thinks this way, "That's what U think of my creative process? LMAO!"  Between the lengthening time of my latest blog and a very important deadline approaching, I think I have a spot of performance anxiety.  My creative assembly is down for repairs.
     Quickly, he texts, "Relax.  Whip your cock out, go knuckle deep into your bum & don't stop until UR brilliant again."  Instanly, my very visual imagination began to project what it'll look like to see him masturbate.  He has a hot little body and a nice tool to match.  Making a mental note, I add, "Watch-him-masturbate-while-dressed" to my 'when we meet' list.  Sure, it'll take some Grey Goose and convincing, but I think he'll be up for it.
     Replying at the speed of molasses, I fumble with my phone, "It's hard enough 2 text N drive...I'll crash! LOL"
     "Stop being a pussy and pull that big, black dick out! LMGAO!"
     Conversing with him, I was feeling more clever, "My 1st car WAS a stick shift!"  He always says the weird shit I need to hear to stoke my creativity.  That's why writers need to stick together.
    By the grace of God, I made it to the laundromat in one piece.  Mulling over a few things in my mind, every idea was so mediocre.  Stuffing my comforter and sheets into the machine, his ringtone goes off in my pocket, "WELL?" 
     Confused, I text, "???"
     "Did U whip it out?"
     "LOL I'm in the laundromat now."
     I could almost here his voice scream as I read, "That's Hot!"  Instantly my head began to fill with crazy images...Bums looking aghast...The two middle-aged hookers whispering to each other and giggling...The twelve-year-old girl crying as her father yells, "Somebody do something!"  I never masturbated with  laundry detergent before, I wonder if it burns?  I'm sure it does.  "LOL I'm such an instigator.  Now do it."
    "I only jerk off in front of attractive audiences"
    "LIAR! I read UR blog!"
    "Just my luck, I'd bust right as the police haul me outta here...wait a minute...That IS kinda hot! LMAO!"
     All night, via text, we entertained ourselves with crazy, rhetorical foolishness.  He became Gay Hitler, supreme dictator of his naked mandingo army.  I read his latest post and imagined being a millionare master with sexual bondservants.  If anyone ever comes down with a case of writer's block, give Cogent Ascending a call!  (Warning: you may experience accidental public masturbation and pesky car accidents.)

Gokkun: Ejaculate or Elixer?

     Saturday night, I found myself laying naked on the king sized bed of a fully-dressed stranger.  Massaging my body for the second hour straight, his soft, skillful hands weaved the illusion that my skin was immaculate.  The way his hungry mouth feasted on my feet and toes made me moan aloud.  I'll travel far for this feeling.

Celebrated.

Praised.

Devoured.

I was Thanksgiving dinner.

     Kissing and sucking on every last morsel of my body, my arousal was primed.  His organized pattern of touch paired with his chaotic fits of passion gave my nervous system much to talk about.  I felt hypnotized.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't stop whimpering.  I couldn't stop shaking.  The way he would slam his face and tongue into my opened ass...I just hope the neighbors weren't light sleepers.
     I pulled at his tightly fastened belt, "When are you going to join me?"  Sweetly swatting my hand away, he returned to his haven between my thighs.  Spreading my legs apart, he began to bob and swirl his head as he inhaled my dick to completion.  Opening his jaws wide, I could feel the muscles in his throat grip the tip.  Messy, the way I like it, he pulled his mouth off letting his drool rain heavy.  Gripping my dick at the base, he began to smear our concoction all over his face.  He was consumed. Completely entranced.
     In the brief moment his mouth was free to speak, he said, "It's all about you and your pleasure.  I'm just glad to make you feel good."  Pumping his fist up and down, he started to forcefully suck at just the head.  My hips started to move.  I began to feel that tension.  Filling my loins, I felt the energy building.  Grunting, my seven-day load shot into his mouth, down his neck and onto my thigh.  He wouldn't stop sucking.  I couldn't stop grunting.

Hungrily, he lapped up every drop from my thigh

He used his fingers to greedily consume his pearl necklace 

Barely breathing, he gulped down my seed

I suppose he likes his milk fresh

     Normally the climax marks the end of the night, but his undressing proved it just the beginning, "Enjoy that strong erection while you still can, young man.  Once you get older..."  Taking off his pants, I got a chance to finally see his cock; it was a nice size but it was flaccid.  "I just get so frustrated," wrapping his hand around my still erect penis, "I have to pay fifteen dollars a pill to get this!"  Sucking my dick again, he managed to make me come again after a short while.  In a similar fashion, he gobbled up every drop.

     I came a total of four times that night.  He wasn't interested in any reciprocation.  He just wanted to give me pleasure.  For hours on end, he rotated from full body massages to body worship to oral. Milked completely dry...
     I felt so drained driving home.  Starting to think about his erectile dysfunction; I wondered if he was consuming me to regain some of his virility.  After all, you are what you eat.  Jumping on my computer, I found some interesting facts...

Semen is primarily composed of water, but has been shown to contain trace amounts of virtually every nutrient.  It has somewhat higher amounts of commonly deficient minerals such as potassium, magnesium and selenium...Hence the food energy found in the typical ejaculation...

In some cultures, semen is attributed with special properties of masculinity. Several tribes of Papua New Guinea, including the Sambia and the Etoro, believe that semen provides sexual maturation among the younger men of their tribe. To them, sperm possesses the manly nature of the tribal elders. In order to pass down their authority and powers, younger men of their next generation must fellate their elders and ingest their semen. This fellatio and seminophagia custom commences among prepubescent males and post-pubescents.

Wikipedia

Should we all swallow?

Male Evolution: Masculine + Feminine = Consummate?

     A couple days ago, I was having a intense conversation with my friend.  He is an avid collector of closeted, undercover gay men; he loves to find them on Craig's List and Adam4Adam and arrange strange hook-ups to see how far they will go to not get caught.  The topic of this discussion was a DL brother who has managed to steal his heart. 
     He was smitten with a fine black man from Harlem, who was a professional musician with a "heart of gold".  Furious, he couldn't restrain his volume, "Everyone should already know he's gay!  He's far too artistic to be straight!  C'mon, he gets along with women without trying to fuck them!  He's sensitive and emotional!  Just come out the closet already!"  The light bulb flashed over my head; could it be that bisexuals and homosexuals are the next step in evolution?
     He went on and on about the sure fire ways of knowing if a man is straight or gay.  Cleanliness.  Respectfulness.  Articulate.  Sympathetic.  There are a tons of great qualities that serve as red flags.  Furthermore, the women I know wouldn't touch a "perfect" man with a ten foot pole, because it screams "homosexual".  It seems they all have a heart wrenching tale about the "guy who had it all".
     Beyond watching football and loving to shop; there is a great deal more to masculinity and femininity.  The age old symbol, the yin and yang, perfectly displays the complementary characteristics and the balance achieved together.
    

The dark side is the feminine aspect:

Creative

Nurturing

Yielding

Openness

The lighter side is the masculine aspect:

Focused

Authoritative

Aggressive

Solid

     It is my belief that men and women that are bisexual or homosexual are more available to express the qualities from both sides of the spectrum.  Men allow themselves to be more nurturing and creative and women allow themselves to be more aggressive and firm.  To me, that makes a higher evolved person.  Having access to both The Yin and The Yang will make a person more adaptable, more independent and more understanding of how the world works. 

No wonder why everyone who has had a great impact on the world, turns out to be bi.

    

Intelsexualism: Creative Arousal

Have you ever read a book and fell in love with the unknown author?

Surveyed beautiful art and developed a crush on its creator?

Read the erotic thoughts of a blogger and wanted to help fulfill his/her fantasies?

     Lately, I've been feeling so charged by the creative endeavors of others.  Invisible jazz musicians, enigmatic writers and reclusive artists are stealing my heart left and right.  Is it healthy to feel so strongly towards people you've never seen?

     The interesting aspect of this form of excitement is that my intellectual arousal is reciprocating into creative inspiration.  For example, I fall in love with a blogger.  I become so enchanted with the point of view and interesting points that I start to feel some sexual tension.  Unable to contact the blogger in mind (the way I desire) my subconscious starts to lace my future posts with the sexy things I've read from my new crush.

     In another capacity, I've felt this way before.  As a musician, I've collaborated with other creative giants.  Speaking for myself, the intimacy and intuition involved with working artistically with others creates this chemistry.  Imagine becoming so in tune with someone, your improvisations becomes perfectly in synch with each other.  Then you remember, they're just playing their respective instruments; it isn't as flirtatious as it feels...or is it?  Sitting at the keyboards, some jam sessions gave me severe hard-ons!  To keep my secret, I had to stay seated until the chemistry wore off.

     I guess what I'm trying to say: don't stop.  Let's continue to fuel each other passions just by exercising our gifts.  Open up wider and give me deeper access.  Keep churning out jewel after jewel.  I'll gobble up every last pearl and, as a result, create something beautiful. 

This, my friends, is sex at a higher frequency.

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.

Sexuality: Is it Retroactive or Prospective?

When categorizing yourself or others' sexuality, which method is used?

     Retroactive Sexuality: Most people refer to a person's history to define one's sexuality.  This method is action oriented.  Tallying each encounter, we draw a conclusion to the person's sexual orientation and caliber.  For example, if I have slept with only men, then I am hereby deemed "gay".  If I had a period where I had a high volume of sexual partners, or if the sum total partners reach a high degree, I am hereby deemed "promiscuous".
     As much as I hate to say it, a person's history is a good indicator of many things.  Generally speaking, if my friends loaned someone money and he failed to pay them back, I may think twice before letting him borrow from me.  In the realm of the sexual, if I loved men in the past, its safe to say that particular preference will be carried into the future. 
     In spite of the practicality of this perspective, it is very important to note that we should not let a person's past determine his future.  If I was once promiscuous, its would be unfair for someone to stigmatize me as promiscuous for life.  Some phases are just that: phases, temporary stages.  Whores can become housewives effectively.

     Prospective Sexuality: This method would refer to the expected direction someone's sexuality is likely to take.  Have you ever witnessed a young boy playing with Barbies or double-dutching?  Actions are irrelevant; curiosities, fantasies and fixations determines orientation. For example, there was a period when I only have had heterosexual relationships, but I knew that there was a chance I could form same-sex relationships as well.  Even if I made it to the grave without having a single same-sex relation, I would be buried a bisexual man because my porn collection says otherwise. 
     The beautiful thing about this method is that it speaks more on the surveyor than the subject.  A straight man that constantly estimates other men to be bisexual or gay would be indicating that he himself could be a part of what he sees to be so prevalent.  Psychologically speaking, repressed aspects of identity resurfaces in the perception of others.  The mind has a way of subconsciously highlighting things we identify with. 

As a fun exercise: Pay attention to things that stand out most in a person.

     In my opinion, sexuality is a fluid rollercoaster filled with heights and valleys.  There are phases that will never return.  There are preferences that make up our identities, just as real as the skin coating our bones.  Generally speaking, a person's life isn't fully captured by the places traveled or activities performed, but also one's thoughts and ambitions.
       Sexuality differs for each person.  Believe it or not, there are men that have had a "gay phase".  Is he gay forever?  Is he bisexual due to his accumulative list of partners?  Who are we to judge?  Oh yes, that's right! We are to judge, for we are ultimately judging ourselves!

A saying comes to mind,

"Whenever you're pointing the finger at someone, there's three more pointing right back at you."

Intelsexualism: Erotic Examination

     No one has ever paid this much attention.  We talked about my sign, my signature and the "money line" in my palms.  We traded kisses in between statements about my desires, my plans and stress.  No one has ever cared to inspect the makings of my being.  Carefully uncovering every hidden talents and praising each one, my personality was expounded upon.  Unraveling my fears down to their sensitive roots. 

I admit, I want to be acknowledged...

I desperately want my value to be confirmed and redeemed... 

I long to be appraised in detail and fall in love with my sum total...

     The magnetism between our lips were constantly intercepted by compliments and questions.  Our loving gazes were constantly broken by book suggestions and passages read.  No one has ever looked this deeply into me...and liked what was found.  What I thought were demons actually turned out to be "wild oats".  My shortcomings were flipped into cute nuances. 

     It was a very intimate exchange of philosophies and paradigms.  I've never been so stimulated intellectually, spiritually and sexually simultaneously.  Analysis has never felt so good.  I never want it to stop.  Keep reading.  Keep reading to me.  Keep reading into me. 

Cross Contamination or All-Inclusivity?

     I have always hated the notion that some body parts are considered acceptable whilst others are considered dirty.  How is it possible to divide a person?  How do you reject an aspect of someone without rejecting wholly?  I believe that every appendage, limb and organ should receive attention and pleasure, equally.  That's true love in my book, when I am loved armpits and all!

     That's why I gravitate towards the taboo areas; (feet, assholes, scalps) because they're sadly understimulated.  Furthermore, whenever you re-introduce your lover to his/her body, the reactions are very interesting to say the least.  He becomes adorably embarrassed.  She laughs so hard she snorts.  It adds a fun dimension to the bedroom.

     My philosophy of love: include as much of the body as possible.  If your mouth is free, why not fill it with fingers?  If your feet are free, why not impersonate a Thai masseuse?  Sex is all about exploration.  Its a beautiful opportunity to learn about the human body and those precious nerve endings.  Next time you get a chance, spare a little love for the forgotten parts...

These beautiful examples of all-inclusivity are courtesy of french photographer, Laurent Benaim:

http://www.laurentbenaim.com/

I will definitely be doing an article about this chick later...

What Is It With Black Men and Feet? We Have Answers!

The following is an article written for M.A.L.E.  It was an invitation to discuss the estranged relationship between black men and their feet.  The gentlemen weighed in and I think we found a valid explaination to the great mystery.

     I am a big foot hedonist, I love to worship feet and when the praise is reciprocated I lose my mind. I get extensive pedicures just for another chance to have them touched. I truly believe that feet are a great symbol of availability and exposure; thus, I get very turned on when I see men barefoot, wearing sandals or even having their ankles exhibited.

     One of life's great mysteries has always been black men and their feet! For some odd reason, they're hidden at every cost. The thought of having them exposed, touched or treated is considered terribly taboo in the black community. Why? Black men's reputations has been tarnished over wearing a pair of sandals in public. (shout out to Jay-Z) I have seen black men walk around pools with their toes bunched up. I have seen thousand degree days and brothas were still rocking Timberlands. Even in the bedroom, some refuse to remove those tacky ass tube socks!

One brother in particular, NudeinDC, wrote a very good comment regarding the matter...

"I don't consider myself as a feet-lover, but still can appreciate the added vulnerability of someone who's barefoot. And yes, sometimes tube socks can have the opposite effect.

Maybe that's the answer though... Maybe brothers feel the same sense of vulnerability and anything coming off as vulnerable is considered too feminine."

     It all made sense, black men's relationship with their feet is indicative to his pervading defenses.  There is an unwritten code that any sign of vulnerability is strictly prohibited.  Smiling, acts of kindness and even wearing sandals can make you a target.  Whether the domain is on the streets, the work place or at home, black men have been conditioned to maintain a steely veneer; from head to toe. 
     In addition, vulnerabilty is considered to be a feminine trait.  Enough said.  Being raised in a misogynous society, especially in the African American culture, the last thing men want is to be placed in the position of a woman.  According to Toddy English, the black man's 'foot shame' develops from having an aversion to all things feminine.  Even men with well-maintenanced feet will keep them hidden out of fear that it'll be a confirmation of femininity, to the point of assumptive homosexuality.

"I told a female--online (who never met me)--that I liked wearing sandals. She automatically asked me if I was gay because, and I quote, 'Most straight men don't wear sandals.'"

     Fun fact: neurologists have found that the genitals and feet occupy adjacent areas in the somatosensory contex.  Thus, the wiring tends to get crossed, resulting in the sexualization of feet.  This can explains both foot fetishes and modesty, in the brain, genitials and feet overlap thus sharing the same stimulus.  This overlapping also occurs within the social arena, which could explain why its acceptable for woman to display their feet and men it isn't.  Woman are encouraged to exhibit their bodies, where men are taught not to.  On the other hand, some gay black men that are open with their sexuality have no problem wearing sandals or recieving pedicures.
     Overall, I would attribute the veiling of black men's feet to his repression of his feminine side and sexuality.  Due to our history and living environments, we are bred to be hard and unwaivering.  I think that when black men can embrace their receptive/nurturing side, the foot shame would dissolve.  Unless, of course...

"Their feet (the average str8 black man) are CRUSTY and RUSTY! They often have fungus which discolor their toe-nails which they DONT BOTHER TO CUT OR TRIM. Many of them have never removed their cuticles since BIRTH! Wouldn't YOU keep your socks on, too !"

- Corey      

Sonic Scoptophilia

     Hand in hand, we entered a place simply known as "The Hot Tubs".  Not knowing what to expect, we simply wanted to relax and maybe fool around a bit.  After paying for a couple hours, we were sent to room number five.  Before entering our assigned room, I noticed the close proximity between the doors going down the hallway.

     The room was minimalist at best.  A twin sized bed, a shower and the hot tub occupied the same suite, at the rear of the room was a small sauna.  Quickly disrobing and showering, we submerge our bodies into the steaming hot water.  I feel my feet being massaged, my thumbs kneads circles into the flesh surrounding me.  Our natures rises with the temperature.

     "Shhh," beneath the pulsating hum of the jets, an undercurrent of piques my interest.

     "You gotta be kidding me"

     I smile, "Sounds like we've been beat to it," turning the jets off, we hear a couple in the room next door grunting and singing praises.  The walls were paper thin, I could hear the rhythmic slapping of their skin, the muffled cries.  Hearing them having sex gave me a rock hard erection.  I wanted to create music of my own.

     Touching each other, I cold feel our neighbor's sexual energy flood our room.  Possessed by it, we begin to wildly kiss and grope.  Using my fingers skillfully, I suddenly hear a loud scream come from a different direction!  A woman from another room takes center stage as her lover apparently, "Fuck! Fuck me hard!"  Hearing two different couples going at it overwhelmed me with stimulation.  Although they were in different rooms, their rhythms and sounds were in harmony.  I felt like we were all in the same room, building off of each other.    

     Sitting up on the edge of the tub, I soon began to moan as well.  The slippery, warmth sliding up and down made me grip the walls.  Kicking on leg up, the accessibility was well taken advantage of.  Inspired by the symphony of screams and moans, I began to whimper and whine a song of my own.  The pitch of voice trembled as my body thoroughly enjoyed what was happening.  The tight grip on my inner thighs.  The suckling at the tip.  I am panting, gasping, sizzling, "Baby...Yes."

     Joining the sonic collective, I overheard a deep tenor voice exhale, "Oh God!"  Sensually staccato, his low pitch climbed higher as he climaxes.  Filling my ears with the sound of his orgasm, I found my palms pressing against temples as I crammed in the last inch.  It was my turn the sing the orgasmic chorus...

What Do You Get When You Cross Envy & Lust?

     Overall, I am truly pleased with myself; I do consider myself to blessed in the looks and personality department. In spite of my own approval, I can't help but examine the features I could use some improvement on. Staring at myself in the mirror; my legs could be thicker, my afro could be bigger, my waist could be smaller...yadda, yadda, yadda, the list goes on. I definitely have a wishlist of attributes that I long to accomplish. These are the first things I start working on as soon as I enter the gym.
     Walking along the harbor today, I caught a beautiful glimpse of a terrible revelation. In one eyeful, I realized that I am, and has always been, attracted to men that had the qualities from my wishlist. I saw a tall, golden gentleman with beefy, muscular calves and strong thighs and hamstrings. As he jogged past me, his big curly afro waved in the wind. I couldn't keep my neck from turning with him as his gorgeous body blessed my sight. He was everything I wanted and everything I wanted to be. In that instant, I realized that there was a connecting point between lust and envy for me. I was mad at God and praised Him simultaneously. My stomach tied into a knot as an erection unraveled and stood straight up. Goddamn.
     Is that why opposites attract? Because the grass is always greener, thus, we date who we wish to be? That may be the case for me. With men, on some instinctive level, I assume I'll become more like them if I hang around them. Maybe I'll be more like them if I touch enough of them, worship enough of them, ingest enough of them. I have discovered that I am seeking another brand of procreation.
     Analyzing my attraction to women, I saw the same thing. However, I am attracted to women who have the features I would want to pass on to my children. Paying attention to my thought patterns, I saw that I was calculating the combination of our features.

Does: My Chicken Legs + Her Cankles = Muscular Calves for my son?

Does: My Crooked Teeth + Her Pretty Smile = Straight Teeth for my daughter?

     I know that envy and hate typically goes hand and hand, but maybe I have my wires crossed. Does anyone else feel this way?

Intelsexualism: Emotional/Cognitive Sterility

     There are several reason why pornography is so popular and successful.  For one, since the beginning of time, people have been fixated on the private parts of other's bodies and life.  We're especially piqued towards the beautiful ones; everyone wants to see and measure what's within their garments and witness how it's used.  There is a particular reason I believe to be the most pivotal in all sex-related industries; prostitution, massages, toys and so forth.  Emotional and Cognitive Sterility.

     In pornography, the participants are reduced to the the bare basics.  They are driven by desire and their only language is wanton moaning; there is no preliminary or subsequent discussions about the arrangements.  There are no expectations or intentions concerning the sexual activity.  There is only fucking.  On top of seeing beautiful and clean-as-a-whistle models go at it, we also get to enjoy a moment where there is truly no strings attached.  We pay to see god and goddess fuck like primitive hedonists.

     By no means am I an advocate against porn; I truly love it!  But I think some aspects of the glamour goes unnoticed as the average viewer enjoys some quality time with film and Jergens.  Sex between two or more people, regardless of understanding, is riddled with unspoken messages, expectations and interpretations.  Matter of fact, if you think about it, even masturbation has it's share of messages; there's just less chatter.

     But honesty, who wants to deal with the pressure of symbolic strokes; if he jackhammers, does that mean he doesn't care?  Who wants to get a headache from translating oral; if she looks me in the eyes, is she looking for approval or something else?  When I decide to plant me seed inside of someone, I don't necessarily want my hopes, dreams and devotion to be buried with it.  We are forever chasing the perfect scenario where sex is just sex...Primal...Passionate...Pleasurable.  But are we chasing a phantom?

     My personal belief is that sex is our confessional for our frustrations, ambitions and curiosities. My question would be, what does this desire say about our experience with life? 

     On one hand, we long for mind numbing sex without repercussions because our lives have far too many strings attached.  Everything we say, do, think and wear is constantly being translated into assumptions and summuries.  "Oh, he drives a Focus." "He dresses like a prep." "He's studying philosophy."  No wonder I am driven to have hot, stiff, non-commital sex.  I am judged everywhere and in every way.

     On the other hand, we seek this out because society holds us to our every decision with great vengeance, in spite of our everchanging preferences.  We are bombarded with credit ratings, marital law and legally binding contracts.  Why bring that same permanence to our boudoir?  I, for one, love the opportunity to live in the moment without the risk of it effecting me forever.  We engage in sex to drop a heavy load (pardon the pun) not to pick up baggage.
     Where am I going with this? I think we should acknowledge this desire we have to be noncommittal at times.  When being open and clear about this desired arrangement, we can attract an ideal situation.  Freaks of a feather flock together, you could find yourself amongst the gods; who knows?  Also with this acknowledgement comes deliverance from unfair judgements and commitments we place on ourselves.  With the freedom to be flexible and beyond judgement, the world will follow your lead.

P.S.- Keep it safe, kids.    

  

Intelsexualism: Torn Between Omnisexuality & Asexuality

     Have you ever masturbated to the pornography playing in your head?  Beyond anything you've ever seen, you begin to use your imagination to knit together newly constructed arrangements and participants.  Before you know it, you've become accustomed to visuals that the pornography industry cannot support.  Ultimately, the outside world becomes bland in comparison.  This is the darkside of the intelsexual: delving deep into every possible dimension, it becomes hard to settle for only three.

     Recently, I have come into contact with several other intelsexuals, people that get off from the psychology and machanics of sexuality.  Exchanging our different perspectives on the driving forces of arousal, I started to realize that we are often torn between two paradigms.  With the blessing and curse of an analytical nature, I noticed that while the intellectual can see the appeal in everything, nothing actually appeals to him.  Through an universal sense of sympathy, the intelsexual can sensually tap into a given sexual scenario, however, in the context of reality, these people are understimulated.  The mind seperates from the flesh.  Touch becomes trivial.  Sensations are dulled.

     There is a lighter side to this dichotomy.  From my personal experiences, I have realized that simple things like word usage, sweaty palms and preference begin to bear much more meaning.  What turns one's temperature up while cooling another's down?  What's hiding behind that particular sexual hang up?  What will it take to convince you to betray your own code of conduct?  When the world reduces to grey matter, there is a signature burst of color within each individual's passions and fears.  That becomes an intelsexual's primary source of erotica.

     When the flexibilty of flesh has been tested to its limits...Every position and angle has been analyzed and documented...When sex has been intermixed with every concievable emotion; something happens.  Several of my peers have expressed an appreciation of the natural randomization of creation.  Fingerprints become sexy.  Breathing becomes intriguing.  I've gotten lost in the pores of my lover's skin.

      Beginning to find arousal in everything: does that make you a pervert or born again?

Power Switch

     Just beneath the surface, there is an underground business that is booming in the dark.  The wealthy and powerful attend regularly to get their fix.  Unlike the typical vices, (i.e. sex, drugs, mayhem) this scene is much darker and the exchange is much more meaningful.  There will be little gratification, but each member will walk away satisfied.  I am speaking of the dark chamber of a professional dominatrix.

     It's funny, how those in power long to become powerless as the disenfranchised can only dream of a life under control.  Authoritative figures like police officers, politicians and executive CEOs come in to be gagged, bound and denied.  Alternatively, your local librarian may be the bitch dressed in latex and leather screaming commands.  It is indeed a twisted world we live in.  Or is it?

     I earnestly believe that we all want to feel small and vulnerable.  (Unless you already are, then you would want to be superior and dominant)  We all want to be cradled in the palms of a giant(ess) and trust that (s)he doesn't squeeze too hard.  Doesn't that epitomizes 'love'?  Edge play, bondage and other BDSM symbolizes the relationships we already experience.  The only difference is: the chains are tangible, you are aware of your restrictions and you're consenting.  Love doesn't offer such luxuries! 

     There is an arousing energy within the movement from being fearless to scared shitless!  There is an intoxication that comes from being persistently denied before feeling the first touch of tenderness.  A kiss becomes a blessing, a kind word becomes worship and sexual contact is converted into an opening emotional-spiritual floodgate.  In the realm of darkness and brutality, a mere embrace becomes your mother's womb.  When you think of it that way, her chamber isn't much different than the real world outside.

     This is why linebackers long to be delicate bottoms.  This is why kings envy jesters in secret.  This is why Whitney Houston fell in love with Bobby.  Those in control of their domain wants to be dominated once in a while.  This is why I find sexuality and fetish so beautiful, it is our way of reciprocating our stress and confusion to find balance.

Intellectual Chronophilia

     I've been there.  I've felt the rush of having my every word hung on.  So pristine and fresh, young lips gobble up every last pearl of wisdom; never wasting a drop.  I'm excited by the undivided attention.  The new found relevance of my perspective makes me erect.  I wonder what else I can introduce to this youth?  The clean slate...the ripening cherry...the eagerness to be penetrated by the truth makes me fall in love.  There's so much I want to expose.  There's so much I want to express.  I'm going to explode...

     I've been there.  I stared into the eyes of the mature and saw my future reflection.  Hand in hand, I was guided through this minefield called "life".  The experience...the definition only time can craft...the opportunity to be fed and nurtured into manhood.  I hunger for knowledge.  I thirst for attention.  I'm yearning for the touch of my mentor's hand.

      Assuming the role of teacher or student, there is an intellectual stimulation that broadens into the erotic. Whenever I see May/December relationship, I can't help but see the appeal in the age differential.  The older party facilitates and fosters the younger party; alternatively, the cub allows himself to feasted upon. 

      

The most beautiful thing is alternating between the teacher and the pet 

     .