Are You Being Served?

I went into an adult bookstore for the first time in must be 20 years last week. They've changed. Now that the internet has killed the video (star) they don't even have DVDs or movies.

It's all lingerie, toys and lube.  Leather cuffs and things to put in your vagina. It was easy to walk around and it was better lit than I remember from my teen years.

And the clerk was a 30-something slightly goth girl that was pretty cute, even as this was not an entry level position for her. And no more cracks about positions.  She was clearly confident and could have handled herself if I got out of line.

But I'm notoriously shy when I walk into places like that. I'm not looking for conversation, not even with a pretty girl.

She directed me to the masturbation aids and I made my selection.  She gave me a discount.  And that evening I thought of her while I came into my hand.

Work For Hire

I got an email from a female reader who had been reading the blog about a year and a half ago.  It was an offer.

This was when I was first getting up the nerve and the courage to post an occasional video of me masturbating, couple years ago.  Hell, that was the best illustration of what this blog is about - what turns me on and how it works on my libido.  She was a part-time photographer and enjoyed the fact I was willing to expose myself, not only photographically but emotionally.

She sent one of those casual not-serious invitations, "hey if you ever want to pose for me let me know."

We stayed in touch but since she's in the San Francisco bay area it wasn't really easy to get together. But late last year I was up there to visit friends and I had let her know my schedule. I might be free to meet, even for coffee. This was not a hook-up. Although a boy can dream.

She was free on a Saturday afteroon but she told me she wasn't in sex - she, really, just wanted to photograph me nude. She liked shooting friends nude but always had a hard time finding models.  I'm not the Adonis type but I was willing and that counted for a lot. Her visual style was very spontaneous/ low-lighting/ real-people, without that porn-star tease pout shit.

I said I was game for an hour.

I met her at her apartment and she had a small studio set up in her garage. I was nervous as hell at first, still not convinced this wouldn't turn into something less high-minded. But she was serious.  She did want to see my cock hard, just take some shots for her personal portfolio.

The side window was open to let in some sun and, having seen my videos of my masturbating, she told me to touch myself like that. "Pretend I'm not here. Just enjoy how you feel when you're horny."

I stripped. I asked her if she wanted me to start with underwear on and she said only if I felt comfortable doing that.  So I just took them off.  Soon the exhibitionist in me took over and I got harder as she watched and began to photograph.

She'd seen me naked before. I'd seen her naked (in pix online). I leaned on the foam couch. Against the wall.  I decided to forget she was there and to seduce her hand-held camera.  To see that as my subject, to look into the lens and make eye contact with it. She told me to enjoy myself, to play, not to jerk off - she wasn't interested in pumping-fist. She captured an aroused male, eyes closed, hand on my stomach, cock cradled, light dappling. Legs relaxed.

I playfully offered myself to her but she only smiled. She touched me a couple times to let me know she appreciated me, just testing I guess, even as she said, "No, now..."  The curtain was open but the view across the way didn't face in. She didn't give me a blow-job.

After about 20 minutes of standing, relaxed yet on display, not quite sure what she was getting - or wanting to get - I was getting close to coming.

"I could come," I told her. "I'm pretty hot."   She said, "Okay, but go slow."

I slowly stroked myself, holding my cock with an open palm so I didn't block her view.  As I got closer I went even slower, almost in freeze-frame, until I couldn't stop myself and my ejaculate oozed in thick spurts onto myself without me moving.  The sun came down over me.

She got the shots.  She got a few more.  I asked her if these were going to be anywhere where I could see them but she said, no, they were for her own personal use.

To this day I haven't seen them.  As far as I know she hasn't posted them.

So I'm available for private parties.

Fetish Art

It was the late '70s and Alien just came out. The conceptual artist H. R. Giger did most of the organic and wet design and, in the seductive way in which art eats itself, I was drawn to his urgent paintings and to Brain Salad Surgery to Necronomicon, his coffee-table book.

(That I should have a coffee table that had such attention-getting art in full view.)

As a teen who should not have had access to such imagery it fueled my imagination beyond what my hormones could handle. The objectification - as well as the alienating - aspect of his female figures underlined a dread and disgust that was as attractive as it was messy.  Oils, fluids, bones where flesh should be, metallic clits and phalluses ("phalli"?) that were urgent, potent, painful-looking and fucking hot.

These images and the unspoken - unspeakable! - power of his imagination are still with me.  News of his passing made me remember my uncharted teenage libido.

This is fetish art, hiding behind horror and SF, made mainstream by the film and progressive rock album covers. Giger was not interested in faces, he was interested in texture. That his paintings were in sepia or black and white to hide the realism only made me look closer and longer.

Where Can I Find You On Social?

I've been camming a lot lately. You know, showing my cock on the internet, live, to other people, who invariably, are showing me their cock as well.

Beats jacking off by myself by a mile.

I used to expose myself (figuratively) on this blog at least once a week. Confessing, telling you my deep secrets behind the veil of anonymity.

Without having to face you at work or across the dinner table, I could be honest. Tell you what turned me on. What I had done I may not have been proud of.  What dark kinky thoughts got my dick hard and my motor running.

It was a distinct form of intimacy.  Perhaps I felt I couldn't share such thoughts with most of my closest friends. (Indeed I couldn't.  I was more likely to talk about the latest Transformers movie than what I thought was the best way to suck pussy.)

Here I could tell you how horny I was, hell that I was horny every fucking day. That even though I was faithful to my wife, I still had adulterous thoughts every time a coed walked by in her yoga pants.

I could even show you my dick.

Now I've found a new way to get intimate.  Go on one of a dozen cam sites - Chaturbate, myfreecams, pornhubpersonals (when it works) -while they're watching right now.  There is a certain permanence (as much as the internet can guarantee "permanence") in writing my thoughts, this weekly/month diary that lives on for people to find it. (One of these days I'll tell you which posts are the most popular - it may surprise you.)  But to take down my pants in front of a camera and get hard and start jerking--

--now that's getting intimate with some strangers, and still no need to be cautious.

I get plenty of feedback, "nice cock," "show your face," "shoot on your stomach," etc. and so on. I feel fine showing my face too. I love to watch real people doing themselves. I'm hooked on it. 

The only problem is, it's mostly guys on there.  Hey, we all need attention.  Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr.  Anything to get some traction. Or should I say, friction.

I'm convinced the only people who care about all those cock shots are other guys.