Good mornin, beautiful. That’s a nice cat stretch. Showin’ off your chastity belt for me? Your balls look nice and full. Come over here, let me see if you’ve leaked any during the night. Mmm yes, you’re quite sticky. Let me get you a pee pad so you can relieve yourself and I’ll just clean you up all once. Ah ah no protesting, I know what’s best. Be good, and I’ll let you suck me under the table while I eat breakfast. I’ll be right back.
Ever get the feeling sometimes they escape accidentally purpose?
A selection from Saude & MacMillian’s Behaviors of the Gay Male textbook, page 49:
Here, we see a young teen slut that has won the attention of a slightly older male. He drew him in with loud moans as he humped a pillow on this sofa, then once the male sat, he quickly crawled onto his lap to continue rubbing against his thigh. This older one has accepted the proposition and has pushed down his underwear to place a hand on his ass. This sends a signal to any other men that might be around that this slut is his. He begins the sexual courtship by kissing. If the kissing style pleases the slut, then the slut will hint this by placing his partner’s hand over his penis and beg him to pet it. This one might be too young to offer his virginity yet, but bouts of play like this give boys an idea of who they will let breed them when they are ready.
My sister was a ballet dancer until about age 12, when she lost interest and went over to cheer-leading. As her older brother, I never had any reason to go into her room…except to gaze at this poster on her wall. I don’t know what his name was, where he lived, even if he was still alive, but at that point in my young adult life it was the most captivating image I’ve ever seen.
It’s erotic, stimulating even, but it’s almost too sacred to sully by masturbating to it. The subject’s lack of body fat combined with the lighting reveals every curve and line of the male body. His legs are engorged from exercise, his arms mere branches of sinew, tendons, and bone. He’s posed himself impossibly on his toes. I always thought he looked more like a fairy in mid-landing than an actual mortal person striking a pose. I later learned that men rarely ever go on pointe, which only heightened my fascination with this photograph.
I came home from community college one day to find my mother and sister cleaning out her room. She was almost a teenager and done with pink, kittens, and polka dots. I checked in on them and nearly screamed when I saw the poster was gone. I was too chicken to ask where it went. I dreaded they had balled it up, folded and creased it beyond rescue, then shoved it into a garbage bag.
I waited impatiently until everyone had gone to bed that night before I snuck outside to the trash waiting on the curb. I lifted the lid on the can and nearly melted in relief. There it was. Rolled, sitting on top of plastic trash bags. The corner was torn and there were pushpin holes through the others. Thank god! I plucked it out, then stole back up into the house and up the stairs with my prize.
Years later, I ended up meeting and marrying a male ballet dancer. When he was gone on a tour of Europe, I found this poster in the back of a closet. I had it framed and hung in our living room. When my husband came home he saw the picture and smiled, “How did you know I was a fan of Stein?”
“Stein?” I asked, “Is he the dancer?”
“No, love, he’s the photographer. He’s one of my favorites.” He kissed me, “Thank you for the welcome home gift.”
I just went along with it. That was my poster and it always would be.
Dance by Vadim Stein
A Master pauses in worship to give thanks to the slave delivered into his hands. His last boy retired from the scene and moved away for a job. Borrowing from the club’s stable isn’t the same; a dom without a slave is only just a man. He can feel the heat of the aroused slave’s genitals on his forehead and nuzzles the curve of his ass. “Mine,” he murmurs, running his hands over the man’s taunt thighs. He recites a quote from the scripture once drilled into his head at Sunday School: “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own;you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.” He then crossed himself up, stood up, and went to the supply cabinet . Let the honoring begin.
Dear Diary…I had another wet dream over Fernando last night. It probably has something to do with the fact that I watched him masturbate through the keyhole. I want him in me so badly, but I don’t know how to ask..riding me hard into the cool silk sheets….His tendency to wear ill-fitting pants is driving me mad. Why does our help feel the need to dress like that? Is shamelessness a side effect of poverty? Sigh. It will be only be a matter of time before father requires that I return to my lessons and then perhaps I’ll only fantasize about other boys in my class… but oh Fernando, there will be no other man that makes my slit weep and…
“Holy crap, rich people are crazy.” He paused, then his eyes widened. “Holy crap, I’m Fernando!”
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[ed note – this post is in tribute to this clip from Firefly.]
“What the… you have them on backwards! God, you’re an idiot. This is why you’re not allowed to wear clothes. Maybe you’ve had too many blowjobs and you have more cum in your head than grey matter. Take them off. Take them off right now, and put them on your head so at least I don’t have to look you right now.”
Don’t just bounce up and down. Never just bounce up and down (unless he wants it). Learn to ride. You’ll love it. He’ll go crazy.
Oh yes.
Oh, wow! THAT is the size of your penis? You were being so evasive and shy about things I thought there was something wrong with it! Oh baby, it’s so big and rigid. Thank you for letting me blow you, I’m going to make your knees buckle.
“Look what I found tryin’ to steal supplies from the hockey equipment shed! What do you guys think? He didn’t put up a huge fight, so I’m thinkin’ maybe he wanted to be caught. Should we sell him or keep him? We haven’t had a team faggot in a while.”