Why I Do What I Do…

“…so when i get the pictures, would it be totally narcissistic of me to masturbate to pictures of me masturbating?  i feel very funny masturbating to my own porn for some reason….it’s true…i totally masturbated to them saturday night and then ***** saw them and was so turned on we had phone sex…”

 

Still looks like porn to me.

So the debate continues regarding what my work is.  To me, it’s pornography, pure and simple – i make images of people being frankly sexual the objective being the arousal and release (if they so choose) of the viewer.  Simple.  Okay, I do like to think my approach to making my porn is more thoughtful and individualist than the mainstream, but I don’t think that separates what i do from Jenna Jameson and/or Ron Jeremy  in any respect (except  they actually make money with their porn).  Still, it’s always interesting hearing what other people call my work, though I rarely agree with what they tell me.  As I write this, I’m in a studio with two people each with a different take on my stuff.  One person identifies my work as “intimate erotica” while another describes it as “glamor photography” (definitely a first).  Both are interesting interpretations, but neither is accurate in my view.

For a long time, I’ve thought the issue people have with my work is they enjoy and respond to my work on a level they might not when confronted with mainstream porn; which is exactly what I aim for.  There’s no reason you can’t aesthetically and/or intellectually stimulate people while also getting them off.  The idea that the prurient and the aesthetic can’t co-exist is an idea I take no stock in.  Unfortunately, it’s an idea that’s firmly entrenched in most people’s minds…no matter what I say or do to dislodge it.

As I write this, not 10 feet away, a photo-shoot is going on where a bound and gagged model is having multiple forced orgasms for the camera.  The concept is “Damsel in Distress” for a pay site.  Not my thing, but I understand a lot of people dig it and it’s a huge commercial dollar.  I’ve never tried to shoot that style, but i totally respect the skill-set involved on both sides of the camera.  The audience skew for this sort of thing is definitely coming to it with prurient intent (a heightened sense of aesthetic or concept would probably put them off it).  DID imagery is built (sometimes even custom-built) to arouse the viewers:  get them up, get them off, which makes it porn by definition.  The work I do is equally intended to trigger arousal, to get people off — I know because it often does that for me personally when I look at my more intense images.  Nonetheless, I’m constantly told that what I do isn’t porn — can’t be porn simply because of the approach i take to creating it; because of my process…because there is a process to begin with.  Ironically, the process that some viewers use to separate my work from the mainstream of porn is totally connected to the reasons why I want my work classified as pornography:  Once it’s established that porn can come from someplace other than the mainstream,  from someplace equally creative, and prurient, then people with different desires can openly seek it out, ask for it, support it, demand it, create it themselves if need be.  As things stand socially, it’s pretty much impossible to insist on quality (or even customer satisfaction) from a product nobody will admit to using in the first place (but lots of people do).

It just occurred to me that even people in the mainstream of the mainstream porn industry, the people making some serious coin at it, tend to avoid calling their work pornography.  The last time I heard anyone from the mainstream discussing what they do, the term “adult industry” seemed to be the euphemism of choice.  I find myself wondering what their definition of porn is…And what they’d make of what I’m doing, as well as what they would call my work.  Anybody know any “adult performers” I can ask?

 

Slapped. (a true Story)

She slapped me again and Her eyes widened, staring into mine.  All i could do was sigh and thank Her…like i’d done after the last three slaps.  She smiled and we kissed.

“Mmm,”  She murmured.  “You’re a really good kisser.”

“i am. Miss?”

“Yes,”  she said.  “You are.”  She slapped me again,   then caressed the same spot with her cool open palm.  I shuddered and closed my eyes.

“Thank You, Miss.”  i said with a bashful smile.  “I hope i’m pleasing You.”

“Yes, you are.”  She slapped me again, smiling.  She shifted her position on my lap and instinctively I put my arms around her.  I regretted not asking permission first.  “Is it permitted for me to touch You this way?”  i asked.

“Of course,”  She told me.  “It’s fine.”

“May i kiss You again, Miss?”

“You may.”

I made a game of our kisses, gentle pecks on Her closed lips followed by pulling Her lower lip between mine, running tongues inside of each other’s mouths and then full, deep kisses…And then pulling away just far enough that i could rub noses with Her, which made her smile wider.

“I like that,”  she said each time i did it.  The last time, she slapped me for good measure.  I can’t even describe what it felt like to be slapped then caressed then kissed over and over by her…by this petite, naked angel who had fallen into my lap.  It was totally unreal.  “this must be what people feel like when they take drugs,”  i remember thinking to myself.  Her golden skin was soft to the touch.  I couldn’t help but be close to her, touch my stinging cheeks to her shoulders, greedily breathing in her scent, softly kissing her along her shoulders and collarbone.

“Am I pleasing You, Miss?”  i asked again…a habit with me.  I think that subbing for me gives me an unconscious right to be “needy” — repeatedly asking for approval.  I kept wondering what I looked like to her.

“Your nose is so tiny,”  she said playfully.  “It’s cute.”

“Thank You, Miss.  Do You like anything else about me?”  I probably wouldn’t ask such a bold question if we’d been formally playing, but…well You know how it is.

She gave me a wry smile.  “Well…Hmm…”  I gave her a playful squeeze and a wry look of my own.

“Okay,”  she admitted…”Your eyes are really nice….And I like these cheeks.  Chubby.”  She rubbed them gently before the next slap.  My head lolled forward against my will.  I had to focus hard to keep my arms around Her.  She shifted her weight towards me and pushed me back onto the bed.  The people on the other side of the room getting ready for the photo shoot paid little attention.  She pushed Her weight into me, cupping my chest in Her hands and squeezing as She pushed a knee between my legs.

“How does that make you feel?”  She demanded.

I have no idea what I told Her, but i remember it making her smile.  I started to wish I didn’t have to take pictures so soon.  Next time I visit that won’t be the case.

 

Room 205 (A True Story)

I set my camera on the hotel room sofa and turned back to face Her.

“May I suck your cock, Miss?”  I asked hopefully.

“You may,” She replied with a tiny smile and a gleam in he eye.  I set my hands on the Divan She reclined on, legs parted casually, openly brandishing the long black cock She’d been wearing for a while now.  I looked down at it, smooth and tusk-like, took a deep breath, licked my lips.  I felt hungry.

“Do it properly,” She said quietly but sternly.  Her eyes shone like frozen steel, joining with Her words to bind me without her having to lift a finger.

“Yes, Miss.  I try my best to please You,”  I told Her softly, sinking deeper into my serving place.

“I Know you do.”  She said tenderly.  “Start slowly, at the tip.  Carefully.”

Gratefully I did as I was told, taking the fluted head of her cock between my lips.  Running my tongue around the ridge, I savored the sharp black taste of the rubber as She shifted Her hips to push it closer to me.  I let my lips go soft around the head as the wetness of my mouth made the tip slick and shiny.  I sighed with the pleasure of pleasing Her as She took a deep breath at the same time — me giving, She taking, our harmony perfect and natural.

I glanced upward, into Her eyes.  Her face was taken over with an absent, almost beatific expression, faintly smiling and in obvious bliss.  “How far can you take it?”  She asked me.

“I don’t know, Miss,” I replied, “but I’ll do my best to please You.”

“I know you will,” She said softly, pushing Her hips towards me again.  I plunged my head down,  covering most of Her cock with my mouth, breathing deeply through my nose to take in the scent of Her body, the trace of Her sex.  “Mmmmm,”  was all She could say, as I savored her pleasure, relishing being the reason for it.

I could feel the energy starting to glow in me — almost from under my skin:  The hot thril that comes from submitting totally and serving well.  I could feel a different charge radiating from Her — the excitement at this newfound power to Take, to Command, to be Served and Submitted to.  The ability to hold another person still and obedient…without ever touching them, much less tieing them in any physical way.  I could feel our twin energies, our twin selves staring to mix — to collapse into one bright glow, the light beginning to creep into the corner of my eyes….flashing…glowing…flying….

…And suddenly I was back at the beginning.  On my knees before Her.  Her small, think hand gently pulling the cock from my mouth, a think strand of saliva hanging between the head and my lower lip.  I gasped a tiny bit, lunged to catch it as it broke, my head still fuzzy.

“That’s enough for now,”  She said softly through that same smile.  “We shouldn’t go too far the first time.”

“Yes, Miss,”  I said, unable to conceal my disappointment.

“We will do this again,”  She promised.  “And I know you’ll do better next time.”

“Yes, Miss,” I nodded.

 

too dirty for the internet?

…or at least a part of it.

came home yesterday to find that not one, but two of my recent images were deleted from ModelMayhem.com.

Don’t get me wrong, it certainly doesn’t bother me to know I make images that push buttons…I consider that one of the more interesting parts of my job, and I wish I could manage it more often. What annoys me is how utterly stupid sites like MM (and DA too) tend to act when they’re censoring people’s work. This is what ModelMayhem posts in one’s mailbox when they censor an image:
“You had too much (or too little) of sump’n sump’n in the following photo. It has been removed from your portfolio.

Thanks for your cooperation.”

Seriously now, what the fuck is that? You can’t tell me straight up what about the image caused it to be censored? If you’re going to censor people’s work out of hand, at least act like you believe in what you’re doing. But that’s just the point: moderated sites don’t believe in what they’re doing, or else they’d do it openly or at least be able to explain/defend what they do; maybe even communicate with the individual being censored on some intelligent level. Instead they opt for the vaugest terms, offered after the fact and signed by “the helpdesk” or “the moderator.” I don’t know about you, but when I think I’m doing the right thing, I cheerfully put my name on it, nice and big for people to see…Aren’t you moderators proud of the job you do?

But we already know the answer, the moderators don’t even believe in what they’re doing; If they did, people like me wouldn’t even be allowed on their sites in the first place. The fact is that sites like MM and DA don’t just want me to post my porn early and often, they need me to do so…Because people like me drive these sites. Without perverts like me, MM would be nothing but 5′ 3″ wanabe models suffering from “Tyra Poisoning” and DA would be nothing but bad anime sketches and flowers. I guess the reason I still hang out here (and on MM) is that one of these days, the moderators will slip and admit it, and I can’t miss that.

 

plea.

 

Venus.

 

razor.

 

 

True Story

The first thing i noticed was how her skin smelled just the way it looked:  Darkly sweet with the hint of spice that i just couldn’t place.  Floating on top of her natural scent was that mixture of cigarette smoke and beauty product that has said “desire” to me since i started shooting women in the little studio at my old college.  I took a deep breath to savor the smell as she took my glasses between her thumb and forefinger.  She examined them gently a if they were some precious stone.  “Can you see without these?”  she asked.

“Only a little, Miss,”  i said softly, feeling out of breath as i held my eyes down.  “Only close up.”  Her soft, pale lips curled into a smile…the kind that usually says “I know a secret.”  She pulled the frames from my face and sent them on the dresser she was leaning against.  “Kneel,” she said, resting her hands on my shoulders.  As i sank to my knees, my eyes took in the length of her body, barely clad in black halter, boy shorts and patent leather boots.  As i settled to the floor, my gaze was met with the thick shaft of her cock, matte rubber and strapped securely in place.  i photographed her wearing it the second day in Tampa and was as awed by it’s beauty then too.  It was dauntingly wide at its base and gracefully tapered to a narrow tip sculpted to mimic an actual penis head.  I took another breath and scent of her skin gave way to the perfume of her sex.  Knowing she was as excited as i made me smile.  “Open,” she ordered, taking a handful of my hair in her hand.  I reached with my tongue to caress the rounded tip of her cock, savoring the dark taste as i glanced up at her.  She loosened her grip and looked down at me, her expression a mix of delight and affection.  I took the length of her cock into my moth, breathing in sharply and swirling my tongue around the shaft.

i don’t know if we were prepared for the intensity of the scene — what came next was a blur of hands.  Hers on my face and in my hair, coaxing, caressing, forcing, guiding me up and down along her cock.  Mine, holding onto her waist and thighs, fingertips running along the spot where her hips plunge to her mound, hoping to find a sensitive spot to add to her pleasure.  All this as i filled my mouth with her cock, slow then fast, the slow again, then fast, moaning and gasping.

i don’t know how long it lasted — minutes?  hours?  Suddenly i felt a shudder run the length of her body (did i make her come?  did i hurt her somehow?) as she grabbed my shoulders and pushed me backward against the foot of the hotel bed.  Not sure of where i was, i struggled to focus my eyes, remembering my glasses sitting on top of the dresser, miles away for all the good they were dong me.

I think she realized i needed to see her, needed to know where i was because she knelt down to me and brought her face close to mine.  She placed a hand over my heart, which was racing by now.

“Calm down, calm down,”  she said softly.  “You’re alright.  You’re safe.”

“i just want to please You, Miss,”  I (think I) said.

“And you do,” she whispered, taking me into her arms, pressing her cheek to my own.  “You are a beatufiul man.  So giving and bottomless.  You’re an amazing artist and an incredible person.  I love you,”  she said, her voice sinking to a throaty whisper.

“Thank You, Miss.”  I whispered back.  “Will You kiss me?  Please.”

I saw her eyes look up, seeking permission of Her Master to kiss me.  The touch of her lips to  mine is the last thing I can tell you about.  Every thing else is a blur.