Turning Twenty-Nine

     Every year around my birthday, I sink into depression as I take inventory of my life.  Where have I been?  Where am I going?  The answer that followed whenever they asked a nine-year-old Forbidden Light, "What do you want to be when your grow up?"  I came out of my psychological cave with a great deal of gratitude.  I must say, I am rather content with my life.

This is new for me.

     Being someone who thrives under the internal pressures of envy and fear, I feel like a fish flopping happily outside of water.  Its a great feeling to know that I wouldn't have done anything differently.  It's a greater feeling to feel that all of my desires are within my reach.  Fantasies.  Professional Opportunities.  Love.  Evolution.  Everything is ripe for the picking.  I expected to feel the opposite as I drew closer to thirty.

     This birthday has also allowed me to be very thankful for all of the extraordinary people in my life.  Readers.  Friends.  Family.  Reading some many revelations disguised as birthday wishes, I was overwhelmed by the love and empowerment I had access to.  There are so many who are very supportive and inspiring in their own rite.  Artists.  Writers.  Fellow freaks and queers.  Lovers.

I must say, I am pretty damn lucky!  

Fetish #229190: Arousal by Weighlessness

     I lost my balance but did not fall.  Tipping over, I remain upright.  He has me.  Wrapping my limbs around him, my legs are impressed by the firm torso bearing my weight.  The ground become irrelevant.  Falling became folklore.  Weightless.  Suspended.  Damn, his hand feels good holding my ass up.

His palms are the perfect platform.

     Kissing him.  Sucking his neck.  Fondling the big, thick cock throbbing within his jeans.  He was so much bigger.  Taller.  More muscular.  Enough girth to give me lockjaw.  My brown skin got lost in his beautiful black.  My 180 pounds disappeared in his arms.  My reservations falling apart in his lap, I see why he calls me 'baby'...and why 'Daddy' sounds so-fucking-good whispered into his ear.

Weightlessness feels wonderfully new.

'Ultimate Bondage' by Sergei Bizjaev

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

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

    

Device

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.

Toast

     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