Ursusagalmatophilia: Arousal by Teddy Bears

Today, I made a wonderful discovery today...

My longtime cyber-beau and fellow blogger

Toddy English

Divulged the the details of our journey to Folsom!

See what we're up to:

HERE

"In Love with Joshua" by Britta Leuermann

An Untitled Obscurity

     Your seductive salve renders my grip useless.  Sliding.  Slipping.  Further away from anything that makes sense.  My arms and legs become phantoms as my body washes away.  I can not tread.  I can not keep my head elevated.  I can not breath.

I accept my fate and swallow.

     Drowning in words that do not exist yet...yet existed before our time.  Recalling memories of never having a mind.  Blurring everything while blending into nothingness.  Where do I begin? 
     My lips kiss myself in you.  Your hand reaches so deep into me...you could touch yourself.  My tongue taps the roof of your mouth discovering the true name of God.  Your fist strikes fear into my heart...literally...figuratively...thankfully...
     Fear kept me delicately divided.  Anxiety gave me the strength to gather my scattered pieces.  Adrenaline pulled me away from the edge.  Self-preservation filled me with a subtle regret: I could've died this way...or finally started to live.

Desire by Bhanuwat Jittiyuthikarn

Downtown Sodom: Epilogue (So Many Monsters)

What if everyone took their pet monsters off their leash?

     Visiting Steamworks, I was in the middle of a feeding frenzy.  Correction: I was part of a feeding frenzy.  I entered into the bathhouse an attention glutton and I left with my belly full and content.  I imagine the same was true for the other fetishists on board.  The foot freaks had free and unlimited access to my feet.  The voyeurs got to watch me perform several sex acts.  Vorarephiliacs got a chance to nibble on my flesh.  In exchange for my satisfaction, I imagine, I aided in the fulfillment of others.  I find that quite beautiful.

     Watching men return to their lockers and pull up their slacks...button up their shirts...fasten their watches, I realized these are regular men.  No visible signs of perversity.  Sliding my glasses on my face, I also saw that no one would suspect my own dark needs.  Attending work the next day, the evidence of cock was cleansed from my lips.  Walking among the outside world, my stride is unbroken by yesterday's reaming.  Only a psychic could see the appetites returning...or someone with similar proclivities.

     Did I catch a glimpse of what lurks within the everyman?  The need to touch.  The need to feel.  The need to consume and be consumed.  To need to be destroyed.  The need to be built up.  I must admit, it is hard to see people the same since my trip to Downtown Sodom.

Our Fathers

Our Uncles

Our Bosses

Our Brothers

Have a membership to the same shadows...

What they do with it is up to them

Something is being done

But, what

?

"Fellatio Fair" by Alessandro Bavari

Trichophilia: Three Roads to Paradise

Trichophilia

     At first sight, I slipped and fell into the deep chasm of fantasy.  I was instantly intrigued by his big...curly...splendorous mane. He made my fingers hungry to touch.  He made my nostrils thirsty to inhale the scent from his scalp.  I wanted to get lost in all of his kinks.  I wanted him to firmly tug at mine.

Dreams, oftentimes, are premonitions

      In the shade of the midnight hour, I found my hands caught in his living web.  Entangled by his limbs.  Tongue tied by his.  Trapped.  Bound by my own free will to stay static.  To savor every second, to mourn the passing of every minute while conceiving another hour of passion.

     With my fists full of hair, I couldn't keep my lips from his.  Pulling his glory backwards, I discovered a beautiful face.  Eyes closed.  Lips parted.  Eyebrows arched in agony.

What have I stumbled upon?

Hirsutophilia

     Time passes.  Life progresses.  This time, we are warmed by The Evening Sun piercing its way into his bedroom.  Apparently, mouths are also used to converse, to exchange ideas.  I was amazed to find that he travels the world boundlessly.  He frequents Brazil.  He speaks five tongues.  I am in awe of the man I didn't know until recently.

Giving me a taste of a German love song,

whispering it gently in my ear;

I feel the soft abrasion of his five o' clock shadow on my cheek. 

Alongside my sigh slips a confession.

     Demonstrating his stories of travels, he sails to the southern coasts of my ankles.  Sliding his stubble against my skin, I couldn't compose myself as he coasted up my legs.  Deliberately.  Patiently.  Thoroughly.  His face toured every area of my flesh.  His lips charted every erogenous zone.  My backside.  My inner thighs.  That spot above the right side of my pelvis.  Weaving together my moans, pants and whimpers; he composed an anthem to celebrate his new territory.

I've became a foreign native of my own body

A new land surrounds my former home

Where am I?

Acomoclitism

          He inspires me.  He propels me to secure my passport.  To take the world by its horns and turn it over.  Parting his globes, I was amazed to find the sweetest place on Earth.  Undiscovered.  Untouched.  Yet beautifully bare.  A pretty, pink paradise winks back at me.  Tipping him upside down, I struggle to squeeze my tongue inside.  My fingers upsets his balance.  Running my tongue through his passages, I'm thankful for the chance to lick at his entrance.  To lap at his closed door is blessing enough.

Some destinations are only reserved for future endeavors.

Some doors are only unlocked by the keys of time.

But I can say for certain,

I've tasted the sweet secret on the other side.

Perhaps I could be the first to plant his flag...

“Not’gon cut my garden, not’gon cut my hair” by Ian Cole

Sacred Submission

     When the words, "I submit to you," reaches your ears; do you envision me kneeling before you?  Bowing my head, humbly?  Kissing and licking your boots?  Has it ever occurred to you that submitting to the likes of yourself would require me to erect my posture?  Climb uphill?  Sprout wings? 

I rejoice in my servitude because

I find ascension in my subjection to you

My service thrusts me towards higher standards

     I believe we give too much thought to the prepositional understanding of submission.  Under.  Lower.  Smaller.  Fetishizing the act of reducing oneself, we create symbols of humiliation to secure these statuses of dominance and submission.  But what does that say about the Dom?  If I have to stoop so low, for someone to appear superior?  Its an indicator of a deficiency if I have to become a weak, dirty slut to bolster you.
     I give myself up to be risen; I relinquish my control to be empowered.  When the words, "I submit to you," spill from my lips, I begin to scale the ladder to your feet.  Evolution awaits within my slavery.  Blessings and success become fruit of your discipline.  For, when I'm with you, I'm in the company of a king.

Am I wearing a collar or is this your crown choking me?
Is that your palm spanking me or The Left Hand of God?

 

The above art is by the gorgeous genius 

Gonzalo Benard

These self portraits really spoke to me

because I felt perspective being challenged.

Is he dying or ascending?

Are the birds attacking him or making him one of their own?

How many angels have I mistaken for vultures?

and vice verse?

Twin Crushes: Fear & The Future

My Flesh: Thin Ice
My Mind: Eggshells
My Soul: Boundless

I fear that my integrity
may be crushed under the pressure of my ambition.

I fear that my desires and dreams
will surpass my capacity, begetting debt.

I fear my limbs may snap beneath the weight of my dreams' flexibility.

Fear is my fuel.

My prayers run faster than the world spins
My farsighted eyes become blind to the present moment
My marathon motives prove too taxing for my virgin legs

The future baits me astray....

     I may come off as masochistic, but I am really a coward attempting to become refined.  Diamonds are created under pressure.  Oppression is the milk of warriors.  I'm searching for the strength that comes from finding peace within suffering.
     When Life strikes me, I fold under its mighty blow.  When the world wraps it's fingers around my throat, I writhe and whine from discomfort.  But, with each bout, I undoubtedly grow stronger.  With each pass through the flames, I become a bit purer.
     Through bondage and S&M, this principal has become abundantly clear to me.  In spite of being rendered a panicked and broken man...In spite of freezing into fetal position...In spite of naked forfeitures, I return to Life's boudoir with a little more endurance.

Thank you, Life, for training me.

Thank you, World, for not sparing the rod

I promise, one day I'll be powerful enough to return the favor...

Above images are from "Book A" by Vangelis Efthymiou

Downtown Sodom: The Partialist Party (So Many Parts)

Jaw breaking thick

Life threatening long

Was the infamous Forbidden Fruit black and purple?

     He was pinned between my missionary and our well-endowed friend's doggy-style; I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  He was taking it all in.  While plugged inside of me, Daddy gives him access...and I got a front row seat to watch the plunge happen.  Slowly disappearing, I witnessed his pink orifice struggle to stretch. 

The only thing opened wider than my legs

Was my eyes...

...maybe his hole.

     After Daddy's watery-eyed surrender, I wanted to give it a try...just the tip.  Not the black mamba attached, just the seductive plum swollen atop.  I was curious to see what I could take.

     Inserting himself into me this time, I began to shudder...not in a sexy fashion, but in such a way he immediately withdrew himself and asked, "Are you okay?"

     Catching my breath, "Now I am...I need a break."

This is the spirit of partialism.

     Cruising the bathhouse, there were so many beautiful parts...pieces that made me curious.  Calves to kiss.  Pectorals to grope.  A beautiful quality of this environment was the freedom to touch whomever I liked.  Run my fingers through anyone's hair.  Wrap my palms around anyone's throat.  Anything that tickled my fancy was available to me to fondle.

       Alternatively, the most savory features of myself was brought to my attention.  I felt several tugs on my afro.  Many hands caressed the circumference of my ass.  My waist was gripped to keep me in place.  I was surprised to find teeth sinking into my Devil's Horns.

     So many beautiful parts...so many admirers.  Once comfortable, I began to pull men aside and whisper my thoughts into their ears.  It was an intense feeling to finally express myself, "I love your fucking beard."

Praise, however perverse, is still praise.

"Birsa Symposium" by Alessandro Bavari