Perfect Objects As They Appear In Nature

Let The Sun

I have always loved the out of doors. I went down into the canyon when I was just hitting puberty outside my backyard, only 12 or 14, and would sit in the grass, the brush, and strip.

My young erection would feel the sun, and I would bathe in the warm open air. The endless sky. My naked and erect sexual awakening drinking in the potential I didn't know I had.

I would go to the nude beaches when I was older, and lay out on the sand, listening to the surf, getting hard, looking at all the older nude and beautiful bodies of people who had done it before.

Lived out there, lived in the world, in nature.

We would make out on the sandy beach late at night. I would pull my swimming trunks off in the water in Mexico, rub up against my wife and enter her in the surf, hidden just as waist level. The clear and crystal blue water lapping around our organic and sexually charged bodies.

We would lay on the sand there, in the still heat, half naked, erect and wet. Sated from just having fucked. Open and available to god's gaze, to the cloud's rain that would gently pour over us.

I would sit out in my backyard and take off my clothes and lean back on the porch swing, almost (but not quite) hidden from the neighbors' windows on the second floor across, and on the other side, and drink a beer and slowly jerk off. I would ejaculate onto my warm sun-cooked stomach, every so slowly, enjoying the closed-eyed afternoon.

I would love to be outside, naked and relaxed, and being watched without being judged. I would love to be making love to you, slowly and kissed by sunlight and wind.

Teasing through our pubic hair, cooling our asses and wafting past our armpits.

I would love to be laying next to you, touching you. Being more alive than I have felt in months.

Overheard

Do you want to put your cock in my pussy?
Put your cock in my pussy.
Oh, yes does that feel good?
It feels good to have your cock in my pussy.
Yes, fuck me. Go in deep.
Oh. Deep.
Fuck, I love to feel you in my pussy.
Fuck that cunt.
Does it feel good? Yeah, you like it? I love it when you like it.
I want you to cum inside me.
Oh, I love cock.
Your cock is so hard.
Fuck it.
I haven't been fucked this good since high school.
I love cock.
Don't tell my husband I'm letting you do this.
Cum inside me.
Give me that cock. Jam it in my cunt.
I want your cum.
Fuck that cunt. Oh, fuck it like you want it.
I love that skin in my pussy.
Fuck that cock.
Fuck your cock with my pussy.
I want to jerk off your cock with my pussy.
Look at that.
Jerk off your cock.
Fuck that cum.
Your cock is so hard. It's gonna cum.
Cum inside me.
I want your fucking load. Spill your cum.
I'm jerking off your cock.
Shoot your cum.
Sperm all over me.
Put that cock in my ass.
I love cock.
Don't tell my husband.
Just cum in me.
My god, your cum is good.
Fucking cum in me.
Your cum tastes so good.
You came all over my pussy.
I love that cock in my cum.
My pussy's all fucked.
I'm all fucking cummy.
My pussy's full of your cum.
I love cum.
There's cum on me.
Give me that cock.
I love to fuck.
Smell your cum.
Smell my pussy full of your cum.

Dancing when wet

Coded into photography and into movies, into ads and onto t.v., are the sexual beings we call humans.

Even if they're safely integrated into a classical mode, of a musical from the '30s, perhaps, their bodies remain objects of desire and of lustful display.

Just more carefully positioned within a more culturally acceptable spectacle. Rather than, say a hand-held gonzo porn film.

Which is its own spectacle of attractions, a throwback to the old days of cinema in which films didn't have stories, only sensational events depicted for the amazement and visual satisfaction of the audience watching.

Giving the spectators what they want, a series of spectacular images and other stimuli ("stimuluses"?) that tease, excite and thrill.

The story is just an excuse to get to the "numbers." The bodies in motion and choreographed for the camera. A series of open displays of physical prowess and skill for our visual enjoyment.

To laugh with, to cheer, and to emulate in our dreams, when we get older.

And perhaps to masturbate over.

A Dream I Didn't Have

She was a dream I didn't have. She was the one that was the perfect fit for me.

In my head. In my future path that I was not to take.

I was involved in my first wife, the way married men are involved in them... after she has fallen out of love with you, or you suspect that you have fallen out of love with her. Life continues unabated, and the details become routine, typical, predicted and comfortable.

She had the perfect ass, and a smile that curved in little commas at the corners of her mouth. She knew I was married soon after we met, and yet there was a liquid electricity between us.

She had a boyfriend as well, and I didn't ask about those details, because I didn't want to be the one to give her love advice, or be the shoulder in which she would cry onto. I didn't want to be sympathetic to her plight.

I wanted to fuck her. I thought about it in a way I had not thought about such things since I was single and less attached. She laughed at my jokes, and seemed so goddamned comfortable with me. There was no sexual tension or awkwardness, which made the idea of being naked with her so absolutely powerful and all consuming.

I think I could have lived with her forever.

Her ass was the kind of ass you would kill another man for, and throw it all away. In jeans, not too large, perfectly shaped at the crease that disappeared between her legs. Her tits weren't very big, but they were there, hanging lower than a 30-something woman might have expected to enjoy. I thought about enjoying them, her smiling down at me as I caressed them, in the sunlight, talking about music, or Tom Wolfe, or Christopher Nolan.

I imagined making coffee for her. Spilling it on her and licking it off. I imagined helping her shave her pussy. Her licking my cock. Shopping for jewelry and me trying it on for her. Getting sloppy drunk on home-made margaritas on Oscar night.

I found myself making every excuse and opportunity to be with her, always in social situations, at block parties for July 4th, at the school parade during Spring Break. We even went out with them and one other couple to a late-night club in San Francisco, and I tried to end up sitting next to her in the cramped booths, and getting as many drinks into her as possible.

What would she do when drunk? When I bumped into her in the hallway to the bathrooms?

All the harmless flirting came to nothing. While she was a breath of dreamy fresh air, a blast of cool sunlight from another planet every week or 2, my life rolled along daily and minute by minute, slowly distracting and demanding my time, my energy, and my responsibility.

She was the dream I had over and continuously. She was the open door that was never close enough to walk through. She was the one who smiled upon my heart and never gave me the opportunity to act on something that she awoke in me. I had the key in my hand, and I would have offered to open her heart,...

...and she knew it. I think she knew it. Her hand moved up to her collar more than once, and her fingers considered the touch, physically and emotionally.

A dream I never had and one that never quite died.

The Older Woman Down The Street

She offered to only give me a friendly blowjob. That wouldn't do much harm, would it?

I'd seen her every time I walked up the street to drop off the mail. She smiled, a matronly i'm-single smile that let me know she saw my jeans, my bulge since I'd just been jerking off at home before rushing out.

Her dress was long but tight around her back. She saw me looking at her body. Turned and paused to let me look. Appreciate her a moment there on the street.

I made small talk the third time I saw her, and she invited me in for a cup of tea. I shouldn't.

Inside on the porch, open to the back walk and with birds overhead and unseen open windows beyond, she put her hand on my chest. I touched her collar and spread it open an inch. Saw her bra strap.

I pushed it aside.

She was expecting someone in an hour, a client. I had to get going as well. She put her hand on my cock, feeling my erection through my pants and offered me a friendly blowjob. She unzipped me and pulled it out. Licked the head and with years of experience behind her placed it in her mouth and softly but firmly sucked it, moving it in and out with a velvet touch and hand on my shaft, harder than it had ever been.

She pushed my pants down my thighs and let my cock and balls out. Looked up at me and loved my cock with her mouth. She mmmmed. My breath skipped a beat and I began to spasm. She knew it was coming and held on with her lips, her mouth, her tongue along the bottom of my cockhead and sucked out the tablespoon of my load as it oozed into her tight mouth.

She sucked it gone, my cock still slick with her saliva.

She stood up and kissed me, and I tasted my cum on her. Her tongue teased my lips, entered my mouth.

"Next time you will lick me, and I'll cum on you."

She smiled, straightened her dress and bra, and told me to get out.

Close-ups On The Internet

These guys who get so horny while blogging about sex on the internet...


They post pictures of their own cocks.

To put a visual on the person behind the words.

Moving In Stereo

In 1982's "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" Judge Rheinhold peeks at Phoebe Cates swimming in a pool and fantasizes that she takes off her top and walks towards her, while The Cars' "Moving In Stereo" plays powerfully and seductively over...



He gets caught jerking off moments later by her in the bathroom, and I'm sure he wasn't the only one. I caught the film everytime it played on cable through the '80s, just to see this vision of high-school-age loveliness from Phoebe. She haunted my sex dreams for a decade, and I've probably spilled a pint of semen over her. I can't hear "Moving In Stereo" without thinking of her open arms, her red bikini, and those flowers with the sprinkler spray in the background.



Her sexual persona in the film was a cross between innocence and knowing, while Jennifer Jason Leigh's (who would become a sexual fantasy as well) was troubled and tawdry in its desperation. "Fast Times..." defined a certain kind of teen comedy in which the treatment of sex was open, but, if you remember, deadly serious when people got down to "moving in stereo." In a way it was much more effective than the pie-fights we get nowadays.



The casual sex talk between girls about sex (compared to the empty bragging of the boys) all tinged with anxiety was a revelation to my hormones. So was that bathing suit with the flat front panel.



Kevin Kline married Phoebe Cates in the late '80s and I consider him one lucky bastard. She hasn't been in many movies since her initial rush of stardom (I sat through "Private School" twice for her). But what I remember still continues to inspire. And while the boobs and the music are all great, it's that smile that completes the package.

Wired

Watching porn is a private activity, at least it is for me. I just can't get to the point where I want to share it with my wife; our sex life is between ourselves - those blonde, shaved, fake-boob bimbos make her insecure and that huge-cock wrestler guy makes me nervous.

My porn tickles something personal and private. I like to meditate on it (vide the "mediation" videos I've posted). There's a peace and a mental/physical zone I've written about before - guys in the thrall of exterior sexual excitation are very quiet, preoccupied and almost meek. Quite different than what apparently happens at bachelorette parties when the girls have all had one too many tequilas and are taking turns blowing the stripper.

This has changed for me over the years. I watch it online now, never in public, because I don't "have to." If it's on at a party, I'll do my best to ignore it. (The girls don't like it if you stare.)

But I used to get my fix in one of those adult bookstores. You know, with other men all around you or in the next booth, or in an adult movie theatre. With guys across the aisle or just behind you (hopefully not too close behind you).

Some of my horniest times were in the old movie palaces downtown, converted to porno houses in the '70s and '80s before video closed them down for good by 1990.

My response to porn had a lot to do with who was watching me watching.

Walking into an adult theatre was a kind of social contract - you were admitting to being expected to behave yourself in a certain way, and while not getting in the way of anyone else's enjoyment, and also to not judge of anyone was caught being ... overly enthusiastic.

Adult bookstores were filled with slightly sweaty, semi-erect men, rather politely fingering the issues and the boxes. Carefully weighing the narrative diagetic promise of various set-ups, acts, and bodily attributes as they gingerly passed each other in the hallway towards the quarter slots in back, when taking it home simply wouldn't work, financially or physically.

Now the porn's out of the bricks-and-mortars and anonymous on the net. We've fallen into a social network of forums, posts and hyperlinks, but we're not in the same room with anyone else anymore. There was a daring and dangerous element to risk being seen going into the Pussycat theatre downtown. What if someone knew you? Or what if it burned down or got raided and you were on the news? (I had a different idea of free speech after Paul Reubens enjoyed his film in 1991.)

Now, online, does anyone know we were there?

I recently installed the Google desktop search on my computer, a fine and amazing tool, but for that it searches for terms anywhere on your computer, no matter where - no matter where - they may be. Like your old internet history, or in files that you not only rewrote over but that you deleted! So if you type in something you may not want someone else who uses your computer to know you're interested in (like Google), like say "red pussy hair," there it turns up over 100 times, in old emails, postings, even drafts I've since erased.

I can't retrieve it but Google desktop can?

Every dark and misguided action or post done at 2 am half drunk is available. Every horny email and response. I don't know how Google is finding or indexing my entire computer or my every thought and action but I don't really want that stuff to be found. I deleted it for a reason.

I don't have control of who I'm sharing with. I used to know exactly who saw me. In my younger years, I could take a certain amount of comfort in looking the guy who'd seen me pull out my cock and jerk off in the next row over in the eye - he'd smile and we had an understanding between each other (and he had his cock in his hand too, jerking off to Serena up there). No judgment. We were here for the same reason.

Sure I like to be watched. But I like to know who's watching.

No, After You

It seems like it's always the same. The woman tells the guy, "Fuck me, fuck me harder" and he pulls out his hard big dick and rams into her, and pushes her against the sofa or counter.

He fucks the shit out of her, and she moans, she screams. "I love your cock, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" and she shivers in orgasm.

Moments later, the man squirts his load as well, all is well, everyone's happy.

It doesn't always work like that in real life. We know. Too often, women aren't as easy to please (by just smashing into their privates). They complain when men don't romance them, don't talk about feelings.

They think men aren't paying attention to the niceties. They aren't "satisfying in bed."

That means the men don't get them off, they don't bring them to orgasm.

Guys, it is in your best interest to change that behavior. If you want to make a woman happy, you can not worry too much about your own orgasm; don't worry, it's coming, it's coming quicker than you expect. Sometimes too quick.

You need to let them get theirs too.



That means you need to learn how to lick pussy. It's good, and good for you. Pussy smells funky and earthy, sexy and dirty, like fresh flowers and like perfume on a hot bun. When she's bucking under your face, it's one hell of a turn on. Love puss fuck flower, fucking your tongue.



You need to finger her, and lick her tits. If it takes you 10 minutes, if it takes you an hour. This foreplay is so inticingly erotic that your cock's gonna feel like it's a rod that's gonna break right off - you're gonna explode 9 seconds after you finally slip inside her pussy, still quivering from orgasming with your tongue.



You can use your fingers and you can use your dick. Let the precum ooze out of your cock and lubricate her clitoris and labia. She loves seeing it tease out and feel it on her, warm and sticky. Your commitment. Your oozing proof. Thick and mucus kiss.

You haven't come yet, you have more baby, this dribble is for you.

And keep licking. I like to taste myself when I'm still hard, still horny, because I taste her on there, and the slick slime is for my dick, moments away from pumping into her. Play with her, roll her over and finger her asshole if she'll let you. See what she gets off on - don't interview her, merely observe.

Buy a dildo. Smile and and tell her it's not serious. No pressure, no pumping, no shit I hope I cum.

That moment of so close but not quite there is so delicious. A warm boil and see how long it lasts.

And she loves how it feels on her too.

She loves you for putting her right there. She loves to think that you're there, boiling as well. Dribbiling precum onto her down your shaft. Which she'll lick off for you.

She just doesn't want you to put her there, and then you explode a gallon of sperm into her, and she's left stranded.



If you can let her go first, you then have all the time in the world. And enjoy all that time, use it wisely.

(Awesome cunnilingus pictures courtesy of Garm's Kiss.)

Teen No Experience

I was walking through a high school last week to talk with someone who worked during the day as a middle-school administrator.

The halls were dotted with teenagers, young and barely adult.

They looked at me, what are you doing here, with your visitor badge during times that parents aren't usually visiting. I was definitely out of place, and I felt the sneer of teenage condescension and the judging gazes of jocks and cheerleaders.

It's been years since I was in high school, and even though I was past all that, had a whole life lived between then and now I still felt shamed or inferior to them, at least to the beautiful and hip ones. I was not one of the beautiful and hip ones. My teen years were awkward, tentative and tinged with insecurity.

Yet their experiences are so limited at this point - they have all the arrogance and cock to know they are about to inherit the world, and have yet to learn how to have a proper orgasm. Their sexual explorations to this point probably consist of handjobs on the couch during "Lost," finger-gropes in the back seat of mom's SUV, and clumsy premature ejaculations after school on the silk covers.

They don't yet have tits, their asses are barely there, haven't been lived in - and they don't know how to think outside their erections.

These late teens (for our purposes all 18 + one week old) are fucking machines, not yet oiled or broken in. There will be a world of mistakes, laughs, heartbreaks and pity-fucks in their sexual histories. Me, out of place walking the linoleum halls, felt the sexual kinky rush of having been full of hormones then and unable to contain, discover or practice with it all.

I walked these halls, snickering at the parents, unable to visualize them naked, let alone putting cock to pussy, let alone them wanting to.

These kids had no idea what I knew - that I had been married and divorced, had a handful of careers, made art and tried to fuck every time like I meant it. There'd been pussy and cock, and a 1000 orgasms and 1400 ejaculations. I've lasted all night, or cum in 20 seconds, licked assholes and fingered her to screaming, I've blown and been blown.

My cock is hard, soft, hairy and waiting. Your pussy is firm, wet, dry and throbbing. They're just playing. I've lived it, we all do as we collect notches.

These beautiful teens, full of potential, full of hope, full of curiousity, will discover that the script they have in their head isn't being followed. The other characters in the play will surprise, delight or disappoint them.

They will walk down the hallways and see someone else with potential, someone who hasn't made the mistakes they made. Are making.

If they're lucky, they'll still remember those mistakes fondly.