Note: A year after having started this sensuous streak, and many months since abandoning it, take this last go at it as it stands – my first take on its makeshifty finale – as I’m letting go of it so as to get, at long last, to fully living it out.
The “Skill Seekers and Fantasy Finders” series now (over eight months overdue – ehem…) comes to a head, Men Alive!, and – in a return to form (if you’re just stopping in – dear God – forget reading further and, instead, please do begin here) – within this particular posting are 15 paragraphs of erotic prospect (more lightbulb instances/mere twinklings of insight) accompanied by parenthetical noteworthiness. As too-often products of our consumerist culture of fits of flash (and bits of balderdash), I hope you’ll appreciate the past few entries’ employment of clickbation and masturbation-worthy vintage shots of virile schlong and anatomically incorrect illustrations as titillating as each episode’s titular promises of ecstasy – reclaimed.
(Note: There’s no climactic fashion to top off a matter so bottomless. But my! How this Friday defloration of the unexplored has proved to be a seedbed-of-sorts for a multiplication of multi-faceted idea-connecting so, so fruitful! Include more on how escorting and coaching intersect in the mystery of mastery and the virtue in just that, and vice-versa.)
We old dogs with our lingering longings and wagging whatevers haven’t learned technical tricks in the weeks previous, yet we’ve been treated to not sticking too closely to scripts, allowing ourselves to individualize our respective experiences. And your comments are like love letters written, finding me mutually smitten, and the past months have frequently served as expressed postscripts to sensual sessions in this impressed way. And just as I refuse to merely keep a customer satisfied, I’ve mostly included crucial information through a meandering meaning-making of wisdom that comes in sidewise – even if you fruitfully pursued truth to bite into a beheld beauty that sometimes hurts us into wide wakefulness and deep aliveness when it’s so easy to be asleep and deadened to our very lostness as we pay deference to our differences. We queers, who are best off being beautifully rainbowed than located at our ends in an idolatry of golden calves in a silver coined denial of our selves.
(Note: These entries are replete with universal ruminations on our uncompleted lives as we seek to compete within ourselves to push past our wildest dreams in every one of these times in space. Something about how when a man wants to learn a new skill he essentially desires to be what it represents. How in a society that says if we have something, we can do what we love, and then be fulfilled, it’s the other way around – be something, so you’ll do those things, and you’ll have the actual experience of your more expansive self. How in our moments in time we choose chance, forgetting old stories to discover ourselves anew in a transitory instant. How sometimes we must be erratic to get to the ecstatic, and then focus fully on what we find here to bring the now forward. Something about how we are lovers of one another, as we navigate our way from social stigma, to inhabiting the enigma of our queerly becoming selves.)
And while what taught you was fraught with frilliness, you’ve sought substance in the silliness to subvert the self-censor and get in touch with our gayer natures that find us inhabiting seemingly opposed roles and playing with polarities to furiously birth creative expression in life at large. We are creatures who, foremost, of course, create – and just as “Man Alive!” is equal part experiment in self-expression and gift to tribe, so is our sexual expression – to the world! A window of opportunity to be realized by ourselves for all others. Let’s not tred the path of the automaton, alienated from the Source.
(Note: Include more about the meditative mediating gay men instinctively enact, with a nod to our social role in a society that demarcates us by our sexual orientation. And, from an American standpoint, how “manifest destiny” has us pushing westward when the answers are within our very selves. Use manifold dualities to encompass bisexuality, mentioning how men in that undefined in-between are better off getting in touch with their gayer natures. Also, mention that I have pages and pages of notes for entries in this forever-to-be-unfinished series – from honoring our elders, to the impact of the gay plague on our collective psyches, to this imploding the business in a fresh pecuniary perspective of the world’s oldest profession.)
And you may come to me to revisit the past as we veer forward into the future to get us patient – in the present – where fears abound and desires abandoned are again encountered. Yes, we locate ourselves in the center of our (Us!) selves as we enter one (Yes! Us!) another for an hour or two, an afternoon or two days standing on either side of an overnight, a weekend or a stretch that expands beyond – in my sylvan haven or your sky-high hotel room some distant locale away from the so-called “Center of the Universe.” And I encourage you to do what I’m doing with you – noticing each feature, every gesture as though for the first time. And from the birth mark on your cheek to your hanging onto a notion of hungness as my rock solid Internet seven transmogrify to a half-hard, real-time five as we inch closer to salty ecstasy in the hugeness of this sultry second. And I invite you to include experiences past and companions remembered – fantasies unrealized, and fetishes fixated on – into the bedroom with me as we re-frame a regressive instance that has stirred up old shames, re-form these perceptions, and reinforce a passion evident on your honeymoon while wholly here, now.
(Note: The sweetness is in the completeness! Emphasize beginner’s mind, the ability to connect seemingly disparate dots to come to new conclusions, and – above all – the importance of presence. I also love the idea of referencing “spilt milk” in a “guilty gullet” or how “from his mysterious post he loves my posterior most.” Hastily written, tastily bitten. That doesn’t really make sense. Hmm…)
Rhapsodic, we neck one another, and I indulge in the bulge – even when it’s hidden – then, engorged in its emancipated gorgeousness, I throat – then pull into you, locking lips, as you spasmodically empty your balls onto your belly with your load hitting my chin and chest. And, animal passions having abated, I towel out your tummy button while you comment how you’d had a preconceived notion of a one-size-fits-all motion on my privy part, as though I’d be hard at work instead of as curious and unruly as you. Unhinged on the fringe, I inhabit the riddled middle of distinction, and I encourage you to consider where I’m coming from, as you ask me about client trends and when I first had sex. And while you came wanting something specific, I gave you what was underneath it – what you needed – in your seeking to be desirous and desirable, loving and lovely (in accepting your inherent love-ability, loveableness) I ask you what you were like as a child as I intuitively, intelligently strip you of pretense and – now that you are ready – teach you how to fulfill my needs and cater to my fantasies. So you take our time together with you in a space of sent gifts and blog thoughts, texted quotations and emailed selfies.
(Note: Conveniently – sneakily – share a link to my Amazon Wish List and encourage contributions.)
So are you here to be instantly set free or do we get to know one another over time in an unfolding of this amatory panorama? Are you here for a literal fantasy or skill, or the lateral ways in which they are implemented? – a way of being in the world of attentiveness to the moment, inquisitive about what we can do with one another, hungry for more, More, MORE! in the epiphanous peripheral in the middle of the moment we’re in? So we momentarily toy with the trite (“Yeah, like that!”) and contrived (*whips*) to boyishly buoy ourselves in a relationship with elation – revelation! – mission-driven with visions of grandeur. We are be-ers and seers – dreamers and doers! – in a landscape of stagnation. And from a pessimist at failures past, you dub yourself a Debbie-Go-Downer as I give you the go-ahead to give head with abandon, as you provide pleasure to my peter in wide-legged leisure, seeking satisfaction for its own sake, finding salvation in salivated acceptance.
(Note: Something about going from a fantasy to a reality of excitement through temperance. Talking about fears to try out desires. Timing our pulsations in a way that tames our impulse as we go from “wowness” to oneness with weird words and kissed wounds. Feasting and fucking, beasting and bucking… How it’s not fallacious to assume that performing fellatio is a nod to acknowledged unanimity.)
And I employ your senses to enjoy you as the sensuous person you are and can be out there in a sensationalized world from my little box above Midtown West as we look out on lower Manhattan – an iconic vista awash in details awaiting utterances of shock! Because it’s in not determining, but in delighting, that we allow fantasies to expand ourselves to greater versions of our very selves as our mannish actions ultimately lead us to the world of wonder within these selves as we discover our capacity for reliable rapacity. And you “hehe!” after I sigh, “Sometimes I stick my ass in the air and hope for the best!” as you experience a second coming out as a man who doesn’t demand love-struckness from another so like him, but – rather – situates himself in relationship to everyone as I stick my dick in your hole as though I were connecting us to all of queermankind.
(Note: In this hole-shafting and soul-shifting, you end a haphazard search for love as I happen inside of you. And I give homo-spurred homework that finds you accepting what’s within versus attaching to what is, really, without.)
And to your chorus of shrieked “Eureka!”s, we go from stultified to satisfied, adamant solely in simply being in this radical space of repetitive belongingness. You are my rebellious pleasure-provider, my wayward wayfinder, stricken with fear to get to awe-struckness, and I am the intermediary between you and divine desire. And in this awakened state, I exclaim, “If it’s okay to be uncertain in life, it’s certainly fine to be awkard in bed!” as we giggle at the idiosyncrasies that make our experience uniquely part and parcel of the perfect whole. And you experience your curiosity as your birthright, as you taste the formerly forbidden, to come upon knowing enough to know what is essential, what is worthwhile, and refusing what is fruitless.
(Note: In this vast expanse a man can bear witness to where the outside world would end and the mind would send his inward wondrousness into infinity, with an affinity for boundary-blurring as he bends the bounds of my body. How clients only learn by being humble with me, as vulnerable, venerated equals, and my most gracious moments are in teaching skills step by step or enacting literal fantasies. A humbled man accepts the individual moment and unique connection, and doesn’t destroy it in making it out to be a compensatory act. Cryptic. And I’m far from over this overly flowery prose. Simplify. Play with redundancy to provoke revelation.)
As for me, I continue to acquire new skills and utilize them to explore fantasies that expand my sense of who I am in relation to all that is. In experiencing myself as less an expert than a man with a widening lens that allows me to extract from various sources to intuitively be along the journey with you as sweaty entwined heaps of humanness – apart from some perfect service, in the imperfectness of sexual expression. I tell you that I put out what I’m picking up, and that we all want to be appreciated – seen. And I see you, and all is well. Your fantasy was to seek a sexpert and you confronted a real man who is your vulnerable equal. A man who has fallen from social graces into his sacred truths and who hopes you will teach and give realness in doing in accordance with who you are – showing up to yourself, aligning who you are with all that you do – so that the day-to-day is one of self-cultivation and expansion.
(Note: Something about uncovering the unknown of man’s connection to the multiverse via lovemaking – the erotic/cosmic.)
You myriad men who married when my age, who come for experienced realness in remembering the You forgotten along the way. You comers who go at it to get inside yourselves, pure-spirited, as I hold space for this spirit-healing as you face a fate of the constancy within the change. You come to find that your husband sees me on the side as well within the parameters of your unspoken agreement, which collapses this assimilationism inherent in anti-promiscuity posturing. You are not alone.
(Note: I’m dedicated to this delicate fostering of this flowering, to a fulfillment of self-forgiveness as fingers touch and such. You spit on my slit and then split me open, holding onto my hips before flipping me over to slip it in again. You withhold, and I say, “Don’t give it a choice!” – and then squeeze you ‘til you squirt.)
You many men whose first time this is with another guy, and are shocked to realize there’s little to learn, as you have an innate know-how as you come alive on my cock. One by one, you illuminate the aloneness we all know in this stated wakefulness, and the interconnectivity dependent upon it. You demonstrate to me how not so all alone we are in our very aloneness as we commune as individuals consolidating in our isolation. And we experience fantasy as infatuation to understand what is underneath the surface as we lie over the covers, overcome by an attention, undivided, that renders one another more and more fascinating, layered. No, you are not alone.
(Note: When sloppy in the sack, something is inevitably disjointed within the man, so I point him within – or elsewhere. Unromantic conversations to lit wicks, in this incandescent transcendence we discuss anal health and oral finesse. From sucking up to me in slurps and slaps, your goal is for me to be in the other hole, but my role is to slow you down. And you succumb to my instruction as I whistle, “Take it down to the bristles.”)
You multiple wannabe bottoms who blossom before me – at first resist me as I coach you as I go back and forth into you – until I whisper in your ear, “I’m a total bottom – I have no desire to conquer you – trust me. Submit.” And slide my fully roused 5-1/2 to a slightly saluted half-inch less inside you. Then I reach around you in a grab-bag of possibility as you grow in my hand in a free-flow that demands that we nurture our so-called fallen natures in a garden-variety of delight. I love my neighbor as myself as I do unto you what I enjoy having done to myself. Yes, you are not alone.
(Note: When I coach the young buck tops/mongrels when they fuck – big ones think they’re small, and small think they’re bigger as they sample “Simply Adam” to hairs standing on arms and toes curling as a slow poke quickens to thickened thrusting.)
Skill seekers and fantasy finders seek me out to find themselves. Indeed, to be sought after, and found. From the somewhat unoriginality of a given skillset to the often forced free-for-all of fantasies. There is knowledge to be uncovered in the losing of ourselves to one another to love the life the whole of mankind is living… and each man in turn. Unified in joyous jejunity, a hint of your tongue hits the tint of my taint and genitalia to cleanse my cavities with yours, rendering it a generative capacity – uncontained and uncontaminated. And I jack you to ejaculation or hold onto you firmly so you hold it in in a frustrated leave-taking. And I tell you that when fantasies become a reality, the desire continues in enlarging itself and your definition of who you are to realize that you already are what you have come to know. The part of you that was unrealized is now bigger than what it was when you arrived, and you can take this with you and explore further in your own life!
(Note: Atoms/Adam’s. Discourse. I mediate between spirit and matter, the seen and the unseen to get a man to give into himself, not painstaking striving from the taste-making machinery of consumer culture to yank it to what he reliably knows. Not feeling worthy is feeling separate from one’s life, from others. Addicted or dependent… Workaholism in Manhattan… Him: “You say that to all your clients.” Me: “I only say it when it’s true.” Deficiency – shame – enoughness. Shared shame/same pain – Me: “If you only knew how unalone you are in your aloneness.”)
What is notable in going from the conclusion that one was under an illusion of not having access to the skills or the reality of life’s unfolding not being fascinating enough, is when an explicit showing – of _____ – elicits an internal knowing of ________. Year and year of yearning, I hope these entries – and our visits – prove a sort of seedbed for “fruitful multiplication” (REWORD) – as you struggle to straddle seemingly opposed worlds without and within, away from some ready-made steady lay of sensual potential.
(Note: Don’t post this. Seriously, Adam.)
And as a man in real time “AH… AH… AHA!”s with ______ – trying to or not to use his teeth – I find myself having gone from middle American grounded “Amen!”s to skyscraped Amor as I write this – my most fabulously accomplished failure – as I draft it roughed to made-ready as I’m perpetually in process as a creator and mediator of _____ and _______ opening my partners and I up to potentiality in aligning myself with all that I do.
(Note: Any unfinished business will find me fearlessly – freely – fully soulful.)
• crazy quasi-hippy – happy
• curiosity gives, passion takes – reword
• revolution – time has come
(END in ITALICS with INSPIRATION LINKS to The Art of Loving and The Conquest of Happiness and a note on brainpickings.org being indispensable and requisite re-reading… The Joy of Gay Sex-inspired illustrations.)
Easygoing – hardcoming
Get it up, on, and over with
Whole-hearted loner with a half-hard boner – hermit in my hermitage
Free of fucking and full of firsts
Conduit – onto it
Pride and purpose in humbly helping
Prefaces his preferences
A damn leafless figment
Competition is within conformity – SHARING
Love and moneymaking
Come with me, passionately, and we will suffer together (nod toward compassion)
Epiphanous periphery in an infinitude of affinities?)
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