porn for friday - what are you waiting for?

salacious sunday - the psalms

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
    Why are you so far from helping me, and from the words of my groaning?

~The Psalms 22: 1-2

porn for friday - Sockerdricka

ignorance II

"What the hell do I want to go to a place like Mombasa?"

"I'm sort of scared about going out there, but the wife is really nervous. I just see myself in a pot of boiling water with all these natives dancing around me."

-Mel Lastman, (former) Mayor of Toronto

strange days.

It has been a strange month. Winter has not been able to wrap it's cold arms around this city. The snow that fell as the new year unfolded with the turn of the calendar page, has all but melted leaving behind patches of brown tinted grass. Like a sleeping cat that does not like to be woken, the lawn is slowly turning green. It just does't seem right. At this time of year, the world should be monotones of white, grey, ash and brown. Now colour has grudgingly made an appearance.


It's not even cold. I remember January as the desolate month. The frigid month. After all the excesses of Christmas has been packed away for another year. After the reality of our carelessness and reckless over-indulgence has set in as evident by the expected rise in health club memberships and suicides. After all the credit cards come calling and the number preceding the decimal point in your bank statement seems to be missing a digit or two - January is forsaken and somber. Like a drunk who has just woken up from his last bender. Days so cold when plumes of steam belch from car exhaust pipes to hang like shrouds in the air so brittle I feel I could reach out and snap it. Some call it global warming, some call it a natural cycle. It's difficult to argue with either. But between the pestilences, the wars, the poverty and famines. Earthquakes, floods, volcanic eruptions and disease. There is an impending sensation that things are building up to a climax. Strange days indeed. 

salacious sunday - trois

The fruit of the spirit is love, joy and peace.

~Galatians, 5:22

ignorance

The question is, in a society run by sex due to porn how do we raise up our sons to respect women when women are viewed as objects of lust? How do we teach our daughters to respect themselves when their views of themselves are physical and if they do not look a certain way and submit to men and their fantasies?
-Brandy Creekmore (How pornography harms society)

spit or swallow

We must forever question

our values

our morals

our purpose

our beginning

the end?

or is this the start of a new adventure

Which direction should we set our sails

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Your patience will be rewarded

god forbid IV

Campinas, Brazil - Day 54

It's raining. Humidity levels are approaching 100% saturation. In the grayness of the morning the red rooftops have taken on a flat hue. The balcony's in the building across from here weep dark gray tears against the concrete. My skin is clammy. My hair curls against my cheek and my forehead. The time between myself and The First can now be measured in hours. I am jittery with anxiety. My body ticks like a grandfather clock. Thoughts jump from room to room, bouncing off walls in the recessions of my mind. To hold her, to breathe in deeply her scent, to run my hands across her bare back, to caress her face, to kiss her lips, to squeeze her breasts until she gasps into my ear.

12 steps - 7. humble (bubbles)

Humbly ask to forgive my shortcomings.

I stood over her. Tufts of bubbles covered her like a blanket, white against her white skin. In the silence of the bathroom where candles made shadows sway, the bubbles crackled and  popped. Hot bath water lapped gently against her sides and  between her legs. My senses were assaulted by the scent of the bath, a rich aroma of lavender, heady and sweet. She curled her toes and stretched out one long slippery leg
"Yes?", she softly inquired. She fluffed up bubbles against her breasts. One pink nipple peeked out cheekily like a pixie amidst a wild English garden.
She stuck her tongue out at me. "Can I help you?"
So I pissed on her.
She squealed in dismay. But was there a note of lust that I detected? Hidden like a subliminal message in the sound of her alarm. Or was it delight. The warm stream poked jagged holes into the bubbles and splashed against her belly. Rivulets ran down her sides and snaked down the crack between her thighs. She moaned slightly. She fingered her cunt, rubbing my piss into the soft flesh. She squeezed a tit, pinching a nipple. She writhed and squirmed and the soiled water lapped at her glistening breasts. 
She sat up and water poured down her naked body. Bubbles slid off her almost in indignation at the rude assault. Her body glistened in the subdued light. She continued to finger her cunt as she brought her head close to my cock. A pink tongue playing peek-a-boo from between full lips....