Quantum Touch: Cups

     It's interesting, what can be conjured from a lover during a scene.  Bending.  Striking.  Digging.  An adult can dissolve into a crying child.  A human being can transform into an animal.  A body, of flesh and blood, can open its gates and become the ocean.

It was a Friday morning...

She surprised me...

     Placing the first suction cup against her back, I turned the knob.  She snaps, "Ouch! Can't you do it any slower?"  Massaging her back with oil, kneading her skin and muscles, I warm her up before trying again.  Turning the knob slower this time, I watched the plastic case fill with her flesh.  Hissing, "Fuck," she slams her fist against the ottoman.

Her mouth may have been filled with curses.

Her fists may have been filled with her comforter.

But, the scent of her cunt filling the air

was all the permission I needed to apply the second cup.

     Twisting the knob clockwise, her speech was quick and punctual, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"  If I listened more than sniffed, I'd stop.  But, my nostrils filled with the musk of a masochist.  My instincts took over and continued to systematically work her body.
     Taking my time, I strategically fastened cup after cup, riddling her backside with several of these bizarre attachments.  Sucking.  Pulling.  Tightening.  It's interesting, what can be conjured from a lover during a scene.  After the third cup grasped at the flesh of her ass, something changed.  Suddenly, like a gust of wind, silence made its presence known: sacred... still... golden...
     Someone 5' 5" can tower over the tallest of men.  Soft curves and moist valleys can match the hardness of diamonds.  It was Friday morning and she revealed herself a goddess.  I swear, her humming voice made the temperature rise in Oakland that day.  All I could do was watch and praise the miracle before me.

"Zen" by Forbidden Light (Featuring Boistrous)

Folsom Street Fair 2011: The Process

     Weeks later, I am still processing my time at the Folsom Street Fair this year.  What is it about Folsom that makes me feel like I'm in my element?  Of which spirits did I fellowship?  I think I may have tasted a morsel of something significant.  Something clicked.  I feel compelled to pursue this harmony, discovering what it means for my life's purpose.
     Whether it was a cold breeze or warmth from the afternoon Sun, it felt so good on my bare hide.  Exposing myself in public...  Playing without fear of judgement...  It felt good to be surrounded by a community of people doing the same thing.

Its painful to think about this happening only once a year.

      I think I am realizing how much I need this.  Sex and Sun needs to continue sharing the atmosphere.  Public displays of fetish needs to be met with smiles and the lighting up of eyes.  Kinksters should go home with the thought in their head, "I am not alone."  What can I do to usher this kind of environment into reality?

That's where I always get stuck
I don't know.

     I think "Journals of an Intelsexual" shines a light on sex-positivity, broadening people's perception on sexuality and fetish; but what's next?  I am racking my brain trying to figure out my next steps.  I've taken a few shots into the dark, submitting applications to open positions within the sex industry and reaching out to kindred spirits.  I feel this to be a tremendous turning point in my life, both professional and personal.

All I can do is pray

This passion is weighing on my heart for a purpose

I await to see what surfaces

Photos courtesy of Boisterous & Tommysole

Quantum Touch: Brush II

He wants it so gentle...so soft...
I have to give it a little hard.

He wants it so smooth...so slick...
I take this opportunity to scrape and prick.

     I don't think I'm a sadist.  But, I do like the way his body alternates between relaxation and tension.  Bathing him in extravagance with sudden splashes of course boar bristles, he's so confused.  Although I'm barely touching him, he can feel that this brush is much more coarse...less flexible...cold.  He wants roses, but they also come with thorns.
     Switching brushes, one moment he's climbing the walls, the next, he's melting into my bed.  He likes it all.  Brushing the inside of his thighs with the tough brush, he got a much needed opportunity to make some noise.  Even church mice have a need to scream.  The softest men can appreciate a little edge.
     Turning him over, he points his tail upward.  Dangling.  The golden hairs on his balls are begging to be brushed.  At the slightest touch of the boar bristles, his hips jolts into the air.  He can't catch his breath.  A second swipe makes him shake uncontrollably.  After his sensual fit, he returns to his former position.  I like the way he readies himself for whatever I want to do next.

That's love.

     Dropping the brushes, my fingertips on his skin makes him melt.  Human contact.  Rubbing my palms all over him quenching his thirst for affection.  Pressing my naked body against his naked body.  Kissing him deeply.  Wrapping my arms around him.  Pinning my erection between his cheeks.  Human contact: there's nothing like it.

Photographer: Forbidden Light/Model: Angelito

Quantum Touch: Brush

     Mein liebling likes the brush.  He wants it head to toe... ear to ear... cheek to cheek.  He wants me to take my time and stroke every inch of his skin.  Hunching his back as I slide up his calf, I continue towards his ass.  Feeling his voice vibrate through the mattress, I spend extra time caressing his naked backside.  Sliding across his ribs, he moans aloud as I briefly pass his nipples.  I make a mental note to return.

He's so sensitive

     Feeling every fiber, his body squirms so beautifully.  The slightest change in pressure changes the key of his whimper.  His responses varies greatly depending on which zone I was influencing.  His body was an instrument.

     His highest notes:

The tender flesh where his thighs meet with his seat.

His deepest notes:

His testicles

     Concentrating on his right knee, I loved looking up to find his erection rock-hard.  I love his inability to contain himself.  What would make most people giggle and fling their limbs, he relishes.  Interesting.  What reminds most people of crawling insects, reminds him that our nervous system is genius.  Avoiding direct stimulus to his cock, I revisited the truth that our entire bodies are sexual organs... that men can climax without casting pearls... that a little attention can go along way.

Mein liebling likes the brush.

Photographer: Forbidden Light/ Model: Angelito

Quantum Touch: Wortenburg Wheel

     Sharp, prickly points traveling across my skin. Certain parts of me can endure while others....not so much.  I, honestly, can not explain the feelings that run through my body and mind.  The simultaneous hatred and appreciation.  The paradox of pleasure and torture.  Throwing tantrums while throwing my legs further apart.  How can I want something that's so annoying...so badly?

I fucking hate this shit....but that doesn't mean I want you to stop.
I try to escape, wiggle out of your hold...while staying still.
Fuck!  Shit!  Motherfucker, that hurts!
Moaning...  Whimpering...  Exhaling, I surrender my body further under your control...

     Giving myself to the one I love, I want to flail my arms and punch.  Why so much pressure?  Why so fast?  Opening myself wider, I realize that I'm in a relationship with a sadistic asshole.  And, that's sexy.  Somehow.  I wish I could explain why I'd spend $9.99 for this Wortenburg Wheel while muttering curse words.  Why do I store a nuisance so neatly in my toy chest?

This is the epitome of a love/hate relationship!

Photos by Angelito/Model: Forbidden Light

Schlampe (Slut)

     We have a game we like to play.
     Sometimes, we play it because I've had a hard day at work.
     Other times, we play 'Schlampe' because she's been very bad.
     In either case, fun is had by all.

     Men like me have certain...idiosyncrasies.  Random bullshit regular women wouldn't put up with.  I like my DVDs in alphabetical order... I like to wake up to an egg white omelet and Jazz... Oh yeah, and I can't cum without a tongue jammed into my asshole.  I've tried speed dating.  I've tried eHarmony.  But, alas, no luck finding "the one".
     Sometimes, I order her from Amazon.com.  Other times, I've found her ad on Craig's List.  In either case, she always comes with stellar reviews.  She's a five-star schlampe from Eastern Europe and she's all mine.  A list of things I've always wanted to do grows lengthy in my head.
     I can't understand what she's saying, but her accent is so cute.  All I can recognize is, "Please, no refund."  She struggles to keep eye contact with me as she hands me a leash connected to her collar.  Forcing her to her knees, the lengthy list gives me a headache.  I want her to make me a drink as I hold her to the ground.  I want her to call me 'Daddy' in her native tongue as I pump my hips into her face.  I want her to do everything these American bitches don't want to!
     That cute outfit quickly becomes clutter on my living room floor.  Her ankles fit so beautiful into my palms.  She looks as me with this odd facial expression as I squeeze into her; as if she was saying with eyes, "How could you do this to me?"  I like that look.
     Hours go by...  Fucked.  Beaten.  Gagged.  She's been dragged throughout my house.  Maybe, I'm not so idiosyncratic.  Pushing me onto my back, she spreads my legs and sticks her tongue in my ass, as if she's done this a thousand times before.  Her voice mumbles inside of me, "American asshole." Question marks fill my head as she comes up for air, "You American assholes are all alike."  I didn't know whether she being a poet or a bitch...  In either case, I was cumming!
   
     We have a game we like to play
     Today, she was the 'schlampe'
     Tomorrow, I may be the one who's been very bad
     In either case, I hope she wears that outfit again.

Photography by Forbidden Light/ Model: Boistrous

Quantum Touch

     Exploring the gulf between nearness and arrival.  Hairs stand on end.  Juices flow.  Almost touching, his body jumps at the mere anticipation of contact.  Erections swell.  Breaths thicken.  He can't stay quiet.  Its something about closing the space between my fingertips and his skin...  His instincts sets his skin on fire as phantom caresses crawl across his flesh.

Remarkable.

The same way light too dim for my eyes to register

can be just as blinding as staring into The Sun.

A touch so soft it's barely felt,

can be just as intense as nerve-numbing pain.

In other words, he's wants it so gentle it hurts.

Photography by Forbidden Light/ Model: Angelito

Ap(art): Oxford Brown

     The first stroke from his roller was followed by concern, "I don't know about this, bro.  Looks like shit...literally."  I had the idea of painting some walls in my bedroom a dark shade of brown.  I wanted a room that felt womb-like.  I wanted my future victims to feel swallowed alive.  Watching my friend spread a thin layer of brown paint across the eggshell wall, I also grew concerned that it wouldn't turn out like I've visioned in my head.

     It took us two days to get the high-gloss Oxford brown up, and I love it.  The way it interacts with light... The way it effects my mood... Nodding his head, impressed, "Yeah, man... This is kind of sexy. I like it."  I couldn't wait to see naked flesh against these walls.  Too bad the paint was still wet.  And,Tim and I are platonic.

'Oxford Brown' by Forbidden Light

Queer Heterosexuality

      "I can not believe this is happening between a man and woman."  This thought swells in my mind every time I'm with her.  My hard, black cock dangles from between my thighs.  At the same instance, her small white wrist does the same as her fist makes it that much deeper inside.  Heterosexuality is redefined for me with every thrust.  Masculinity and power becomes disassociated, as I keep my manhood intact as she takes control.  Who says men can't moan in the fifth octave?
     I thought I would only find total worship in the company of men.  But, she loves my asshole.  She loves my toes.  The soles of my feet.  All the nooks and crannies that make my voice whistle.  Furthermore, she finds my cocksucking adorable...
     I love that we can relax the fixed, traditional dynamics of heterosexual relations....and just play!  She can peg me with her strap-on without being feminizing me.  She can tightly grip my hips without adding bass to her voice.  We can be ourselves: two queer people making a connection.

How beautiful?

     Queer heterosexuality interests me.  The idea that dykes and fags can become comfortable enough to connect and explore one another.  The idea that men and women can relate beyond the old in-and-out... relating beyond the old me-Tarzan-you-Jane... After my handful of experiences, I can never return to my former understanding.  I need a woman who isn't afraid to put her foot up my ass.......literally.

"Forbidden's First Pair of Stockings" by Boistrous

Somnophilia: Snooze

Photography by Angelito

     I can't recall what I was dreaming about..something involving spears, penguins and Aretha Franklin.  The alarm clock failed at its function; more annoying that awakening.  However, I couldn't hit the snooze on his touch.  Firm and hungry, I woke up with his hands wrapped around my ankles.  My dreams of The Queen of Soul was interrupted by his tongue raking against my soles.  I remember being unsure.  Uncertain whether I was actually awake or if my dreams jumped to another station.

     In the brief moments where my flesh wasn't between his teeth, he said, "You're going to be late for work."  Gnawing at my legs.  Sticking his nose inside my briefs.  Sucking at the stiff bulge begging to be released from the black cotton, his voice vibrated at my crotch, "I'd hate to see you rushing out of here. Do you see what time it is?"

Snooze

     I open my mouth wide to get some air.  All I can see is his abdomen as his morning wood crams itself down my throat.  Gasping.  Sucking.  Breathing around his thick cock sounds ironically like I'm snoring.  Choking.  Slurping.  I feel like he's leaning all of his weight into my face as he pumps his hips.  Prying my mouth open with his fingers, getting his dick in there good and deep, "What time does your office open, again? Nine? You really should be getting up, baby."

     Getting out of bed.  Brushing my teeth.  Showering.  Jumping on the BART.  This all feel impossible without busting a nut.  Eating breakfast.  Putting on my tie.  Signing in at work.  None of that seems feasible without spilling this load.  Stroking my cock.  Pinching the head.  It's 7:45 a.m.  Salivating.  Scheduling my next breath on his out-swing.  If only I could schedule this orgasm.  The sooner, the better.

Snooze

Love Spell

Peppermint Oil

Sage

St. John's Wort

     Those pretty eyes of his glare in my direction, "Are you casting a love spell on me?"  Swishing around the flavors of Fernet Branca, Alice Coltrane and every rumor he's heard about me, skepticism and arousal becomes the cocktail of the night.

     Pouring him another shot, "What if I was? Would you stop?"  Taking the small glass from my hand, his head snaps backward to gulp down my bitter potion.  He's committed.  Doing the research.  Reading the testimonials of both favorable and....

"Forbidden Light is a monster.

He is the worst person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

- Toddy English

     Emptying the contents down his throat, "I'm not scared of you."  Whether to green pastures or the slaughter house, he is committed to see where this thing goes.  But, he isn't the only one embarking on a new journey.  I've learned that a new companion can make a beaten path fresh again.  I am equally aroused, yet suspicious.

Ginseng

Quinine

Echinacea

     More drunken, the bitterness from his cup translates into his gaze, "You aren't the only one with love spells."  I know this to be true.  He doesn't know how often I recollect his hands gripping onto my legs.  How the sensation of his teeth sinking into my soles stains my every dream.  I'm not the only one.

     Every night with him, I become more and more aware of how magical sex can be.  I've spoken in tongues, came into paper so I could set my prayer on fire.  I've channeled his aunt and gave him advice as his tongue plugged by asshole.  He cries in his sleep and I dream to comfort him.

Absinthe

Bay Leaves

Wormwood

     Swishing the flavors of Fernet Branca, Alice Coltrane and every rumor I've heard about him.  I realize that the tables have turned.  The hypnotist has been transfixed.  Intoxicated.  My vision doubling.  I squint to find his true location, "Are you casting a love spell on me?"

'The Fernet Fairy' by Forbidden Light

Mojitoe Salad

1 Cucumber

1 Mango

1 Cantaloupe

2 Kiwi

Mint + Cilantro

Honey

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

    

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 moment.to life.

"Angelito" photographed by Forbidden Light

Ap(art): "Stalk"

     Flesh made from blood and ghosts, hair stolen from golden stallions.  Mama told me about them.  I was warned to stay away, but I can help but lean closer.  I want to see them....  smell them... taste their language as it echoes through the depths of our homeland.

     In spite of their proud, upright stance, the air reeks of their pungent fear.  A second thought follows every step of their stride.  Watching them turn their head like night owls, observant yet oblivious; they have no clue how close I am to them.  How can eyes that shine so brilliantly be so blind?

     Treading deeper into Mama's womb, they're now walking in darkness.  The branches and leaves block The Sun.  The winged ones are feasting on their bodies.  I could have their lives if my curiosity turned hungry. I could free the bloody ghosts from their skin.  I could adorn my home with their golden stallion mane.  I am close enough to taste the pink of their lips, snatching the red from their cheeks, but I'll let Mama deal with them.  I was warned to stay away.

"Stalk" by MimWeisbard / Model: Forbidden Light

"Photo-Apotemnophilia" by Forbidden Light

Divided by glare, I'm lost in the shine.

Splendor and oil slices me in half.

To be amputated by light...

...is to have an encounter with God.

     The prefix 'photo' means light and 'apotemnophilia' is the clinical term for those whom desire to be amputated.  This fabricated term seems appropriate for my recent photographic experiment.  In the tradition of my favorite photographer, Gonzalo Benard, I've been practicing the art of self-portraiture.  Using items present in my household, I've been having so much fun constructing visual statements.

     Slathering on a thick layer of Castor oil, I wanted to see what would happen if I stood right next to my light source.  No flash.  No digital effects.  The light reflecting from my heavily oiled body wiped out a segment of my body!  I fell in love with the amputating effect!

     Frontally facing the bright light created an illusion that my waist was very small while maintaining muscular backside.  Using a tripod and a timer, I simply faced the light pointed my ass towards the camera. (LOL) I would love the opportunity to continue this glare experiment with other models with different skin tones and body types.

     Another aspect to this experiment with light & oil, I also smeared some oil onto the lens of the camera and had fun hiding behind the blur.  The result struck an accord with me, because I've always felt more aroused by creative censoring than hardcore images bearing everything.  Creating fully exposed silhouettes, I had some material that was subtly erotic (and fit for Facebook!)

Two Miles with Aaron

     The two miles between my home and the lake was more challenging than I expected.  Shoulders burning...  Shoes betraying every step...  Constantly switch arms to give the other a break.  Tonight was the night I took custody of Aaron and I was compelled to capture him.

Aaron, Chandra Garsson's first sculpture,

is more than just a piece heavy with symbols,

but a symbol of heaviness.

     A baby stroller, coated in dust and paint, carrying a myriad of baby limbs.  Sitting in the center, the handsome head of an adult man.  Its handle is anointed with a crown of crayons.  Dangling at the top of this haunting piece is an infant's garment: delicate and dirty.  I thought, "At one point, I was small enough to fit into this shirt."

     The two miles between my home and the lake was more challenging than I expected.  Four wheels evolved beyond their purpose to roll.  Seven lifeless arms reminds me that mine aren't any different.  Shifting and expressive eyes giving this sculpture soul.  More reason to find this piece haunting. 

     Lugging him to the park at 2 o'clock in the morning, I had the idea to shoot him at night.  Leaving my wallet and cell phone at home, the spirit of caution weighed heavily on the atmosphere.  My camera was the loudest thing happening.  If it weren't for the distant streetlights, I'd be totally blind.  Police cars continually crept passed as I carried this baby carriage around the dark lake.

Risk is fertile ground for brilliance.

      The two miles between my home and the lake was more challenging than I expected.  The more inconvenient Aaron became, the more I realized what he symbolized.  I realized that he wasn't the first child I've had to lug around.  I believe Aaron represents the burdensome blessing of an artist.  Novels collecting dust.  Recordings stuck in my fucking head.  Forgotten images that will never see the light of day.  These children haunt my ever waking moment.  Walking with Aaron in my fatigued arms opened my eyes to my own weightless burdens.

    
I, too, am disturbed by dense dreams.
However, I keep marching towards my dreams of density.

Sculpture by Chandra Garsson/ Photographer: Forbidden Light

"The King of Sorrows" by Chandra Garsson

I've acquired a sculpture

crafted by the genius hands of

Chandra Garsson

     Masks have always interested me.  Masquerade Balls.  Halloween Costumes.  Bank Robberies.  A person reveals more about themselves with their selected masks, than by exposing the face given to them at birth.  A face of flesh and blood indicates where a person origin... A mask indicates where a person desires...

     When I was gifted "The King of Sorrows", it struck a chord with me.  I was deeply moved, because it had translated an unnamed aspect of my identity.  The twisted and disfigured face...  The precious and valuable tears...  This sculpture instantly became a symbol of my hidden nature and the fruit I bear.
     It is my attempt, to bear my stench, noise, ugly, pungency and pain to illustrate how beautiful the result can be.  It is also my attempt to have works of art that cries on my behalf.  Having this piece on my nightstand will be a profound reminder of this truth.  I feel charmed already.