I want to photograph you (naked, on my bed) in this diffuse, counterintuitively warm, fall light. muted light shafts from windows, humid steam heat, sprawled stretching, comfortable grinning.

there is a way she offers herself which is more a challenge than mere passive proffering - hands spreading her ass or pulling my hand to her breast - it is an invitation, but one made only once, and which is contingent on the method of acceptance, the zest with which it’s grasped.

i find myself shaking you violently to try and wake me from this lethargy

I always think I am pushing until i see that smile of self satisfied encouragement, then I wonder if I am, instead, being drawn along…

I remember thinking “we communicated through touch” implied some light as a feather divining of her cogitations, as if through mere contact I would be able to read her thoughts, but now I realize that it’s far more human than that - I push, explore, sate and you express pleasure or displeasure, and we learn about each other…..

undress for me, slowly, feeling the revelation of each layer, each garment. I want to watch you shimmy self-consciously. Stand before me and turn; bend, revealing yourself to me. I want to have your flesh at my fingertips

sex begets the desire for sex, and I’m there. It returns like an old friend, seemingly uneeded in its absence and then one of the exigencies of life in its re-acquaintance. I want to collect bodies whose minds I respect for their ability to become lost in the debased.

I love that moment when it changes. I’ll try to predict / precipitate the moment, and am always wrong, for this moment is different to the last, different to the next. for some the moment is tender - nails softly down the back; for some the moment is torrid -  held bent hair pulled skin slapped. This time the moment was as I touched her ass, prompted the descent to vulnerability.

I feel Fall like the apotheosis of sunday dusk, too heavy with introspection for the intimacy that this grey sky craves. The only comfort is in the cruel clinical affection of rope wrapped, methodical knots, touch removed by the length of a cane.

I thought I’d create a place to put the images I had posted to bend me over (the wonderful site created by Sarah Christine).