December 2011
1 post
I want to know how you’ll react. Will you resist until the last moment and then relax into the inevitability? Will you be eagerly giggly until the sharpness of that first sting is more pronounced than anticipated, then look concernedly crestfallen? Are you the one who’s already there, goading (in a good way), ass raised, the opposite of reticent? Do you want to be coerced, to push just...
November 2011
1 post
i want to describe in graphic detail the ways in which I want to ravage your body and have you describe in graphic detail the pleasure you derive from being the object of that base lust
June 2010
1 post
interviewer: You have put yourself in a category of people who like lunatic porn star sex. Do you feel that desire beginning to wane now that you’re in your 60s?
John Waters: No.
(via at 20:45)
May 2010
2 posts
here’s what happened
when you’re single the word “hi” seems too full of expectant vulnerability to be uttered.
here’s what happened
we chatted. it was easy. she laughed. the predisposition to change from mere communication to a quest for approbation, a desire to conquer the willing, commenced before it was acknowledged.
here’s what happened
there was a group and then there was just us. the...
purchase
i posit that intimacy is not indicated by penetration even though that is is what usually symbolizes unity, but instead by what it is which provides the purchase. While looking down at you, biceps tensed in support, our bodies in contact in only two places, it is actually the other one, the hand pressed down on your wrist which makes me feel closer to you. when behind you, buried (to borrow the...
March 2010
1 post
photos i’d like to take:
she’s sitting on the ground, naked, with her legs spread wide, pulling his head hard toward her crotch. He is trying to find a middle ground between mobility, alleviating the discomfort of craning his neck at 90 degrees as he lies face down, and not wishing to seem to resist the closeness. I want to see, in the tenseness of the muscles of her arms, her fingers...
January 2010
1 post
there is a fine line between the feverish trusting exploratory careless strength of being with a newfound lover and the tender but tepid well worn touching of being with a partner. I havent found it yet.
November 2009
2 posts
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.
October 2009
6 posts
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.
September 2009
1 post
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.
August 2009
2 posts
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).
a friend (who’s in a New Relationship) last night: “we’re tender with each other at all times except when in the bedroom”
April 2009
1 post
there is a moment when the light touch of fingers and nails drawing figures of eight across her back loses the pent curious zeal of lust and starts to feel like a chore. I’m not sure if the the lacking is communicated through fingertips, I couldnt tell you how one touch differs from another. that moment, though, that id-like signifier that that the joy of the beginning has ended, always...
March 2009
2 posts
this is how sunday afternoon should fade into night… the sweet tart taste of champagne and orange, full bodied deep brown black coffee, molten chocolate cake too early in the afternoon, the lightheaded pleasure of 3 drinks in at 3.30, skin on skin, arms wrapped around, the soft caress of hands in hair. Warm air on bodies, blankets with the kiss of mohair tangled in limbs, the strewn trail of...
the ice coaxed her nipple high, and i kissed it, then bit it, and she gasped and later said - there is a perfect moment when the heat of your lips and the pain overcomes the numbing cold and i am flooded with the warm blood rush of want….
February 2009
1 post
in the name of novelty, we contort ourselves in excruciating poses, but there is some wonderful moment when the pain of discomfort becomes the pleasure of a muscle straining to elicit greater contact.
January 2009
2 posts
i’m trying out words which imply monogomous commitment, to see how they feel in my mouth. I still find that words which describe the joy of discovering what brings a smile to an unfamiliar set of lips roll more easily from my tongue.
internally contradictory:
the greatest compliment should not be to enumerate all those little quirks which i love, but to ask questions about all those things of which i am curious. dont let me spell out the things i know, let me marvel at your depth and hint at my attentive observation by asking about the things i dont - it’s finding out about the unknowns that turns me on, they are what...
November 2008
5 posts
she paused to relish her curiosity, i think, or form a thesis to test, before bending to run her tongue along the mix of menses and cum at the end of my cock, and, realizing there was nothing to fear, returned with wonderful and wanton ardor…
Tension is erotic. The G rating in so much of what I see is due to its lax, limpid passivity. From Playboy and Penthouse as well as the artful nudes of today, it is the lack of tension which diminishes the salacious. Give me Eros, that tense little fucker, with his fear that his aim may be poor, his step trepidatious in pursuit, muscles attached to wings stretched taut, the string of the bow a...
she lay with her legs akimbo. there was such femininity in the way that she was splayed… at the same time nurturingly maternal and wantonly vulnerable. It asked for trust, it was an invitation to be depraved.
I will regret the naif exuberance of this tomorrow - but does it feel a little as though we were living in a depressed miasma, that a million people could march in the streets against a war and be told by the powers that be that they didn’t give a fuck, so we all sort of gave up, fell into a torpor? That there was a horrible dissonance between the abuses that we knew did matter and the...
To sully this day with either the profane or my appalling writing (or both) seems sacrilegious, but at the same time i feel a little like 11/4/08 was the perfect date - months of planning, the ideal outcome. I want to make out with America, I want to puff my chest out and tell my friends how good this feels.
October 2008
3 posts
happiness lies on a continuum between so many different extremes… work and repose, the base and the chaste (pain and comfort, solitude and dependence, passivity and action, danger and safety, trust and caution). That is the pursuit of agon, the struggle to find that place of equilibrium amongst these competing desires, none of which are ideal as an absolute. I would never claim to have found...
You say “you can do anything to me, you can do anything to my body” and I realize that i want to do everything I can to have you continue to feel exactly that.
I am going to hell.
rustedshut:
& the immense fucking temptationto just click on that little word & IM him and relive fuckings and suckings and imagine potential pressing-of-the-flesh—it is weaker every day but still strong at night, after a day of driving a stick shift and feeling bass beat up through my lower body. I can imagine what I could write to him, and what pictures he will ask for, and what he...
September 2008
8 posts
is there anything better than long languorous sex on a rainy sunday ?
i love that when we are together i dont feel the weighty expectation of what “we” could, or should, be
but instead the lightheaded joy of discovering the possibilities of us
i am constantly questioning our relationship
you constantly have the right answers
Words
I could try to seduce you with this patter of pornographic platitudes but sometimes i worry that words can begin to feel hollow. How do I convey a look that imparts warmth and self assuredness with mere words ? how can I allow you to hear a voice that is soft yet strong, feel a sound which has an almost tangible basso ? how will you know the feel of my hand on your lower back as I lead...
it’s an unusual perspective for me - her feet on either side of my head, then as she knelt, red amongst the hair, that tendon from thigh to groin appears, there is detail which is at once intensely fascinating yet only generically comprehensible then that wonderful smell of sex. Suddenly it all changes, i am trapped but my neck strains up to reach her, my nose is lost in wetness even as my...
the thing that attracted me was not her lithe, limber form, the clear blue eyes … it was the need for affirmation she exuded. It was the prelude to trust, a supplication for comfort, for strength. I was happy to provide it, partly because she made the process so easy, partly because it felt good to provide the affirmation, to feel strong, to feel trusted. I wanted to help. The ultimate expression...
do all men see you as quite so on display as you seem to me ? do other men see that decolletage, mere flesh on so many others, as illicit, provocative and sexual on you; the ass and thighs revealed by heels as an invitation, imagined and accepted, each word, each glance as a flirtation ?
Fuck it was fun. We laughed a hell of a lot … at our bodies, with our bodies, never nervous or reserved, never serious enough to be “passionate” or “intense” … discovering the vagaries of our beautiful vulgarity … There was the poor stage management of “Left … Right … down a bit … Yes just right there … No back up a bit again...
August 2008
15 posts
there is that moment as I look up at her, legs spread over my hips, and see this dichotomy of connectedness … her eyes closed as she chases that thought, that image, that feeling which will push her over the edge, lost in another world …. yet, as I look along my body, along me, inside her, there is infinte connection, that place of immeasurable contact, the source of (i’m sure)...
i like blemishes - pallid clear expanses make me think of automatons. I want to see signs of a life well lived, of accidents and too much fun, i want to hear the stories behind bruises, i want to find out how that scar came about. It’s the imperfections which create beauty. Is there any cuter word than freckle ?
The shrill scream, with the ring of the unhinged, was designed to incite the anger she felt represented a passion we lacked. It worked, I was angry, and held her hands together above her head and pushed her down against the bed. Even as my antipathy reached a pinnacle this fury seemed to prove to her that i cared and acted as an aphrodisiac, and she smiled and became more lustful than docile.
I am always amazed, as i kiss the bruises the next morning, not that they have appeared, as i could not forget bringing my hand down on her or pushing her against the dresser, but that she felt real pleasure in their creation. It seems so other worldly, that night of lust, a mere 7 hours ago.
there is a way that we lie, both on our sides, you the inside spoon, but with my weight slightly on you, my arm under your head, my other arm around you, between your breasts, enveloping you, which creates a self fulfilling sense of provision of protection, strength, comfort. Primal ideals reflected from me to you, happiness impenetrable by the outside world.
i am awed and intoxicated by the power your vulnerability grants me…
I’ve read that a mans masturbatory fodder is a scrapbook of scenes based in reality which he flips through in a sequence which is increasingly debased (true in this case), while a woman seduces herself with convoluted scenes plucked from the ether - do you think this is correct ?
guys - why are we so lacking imagination that we cannot escape the confines of actuality
women - could you...
I need to create some new footage. I’ve seen this rerun too many times:
I steady my cock with my hand as she lined the coke along it before taking the rolled 50 and snorting, then slowly licking off any remains, and sucking it to make sure. “turn around” as I pull on a rubber and cover it in lube, push a ky covered finger into her perfectly presented posterior, and then replace it, slowly, with my...
she couldnt wear her bikini because the large purple bruises on the back of her upper thigh showed. Instead, she wore a great light blue diaphanous sun dress, which she looked wonderful in and which, as an added bonus, provided much better protection from the sun
i love the days I have a post coital grin and the answer to the question “the last time i … ?” is found by looking at my watch, not my calendar.