Several times I’ve felt as though I was in the presence of something transcendent.  Of course all men are in their own way universal.  But on the very rare occasion I’ve felt something particularly special.  This was one of those occasions.

From the moment I walked in, he felt like a pure embodiment of sex, of the fleeting but timeless meaning of male sex: pure, elegant, simple and straightforward.  More than anything, he seemed playful and amused.

Everything about him was immediate and available.  Touching, holding him was perfectly linked to photographing him.  Everything he did was with a slight smile and the distance of an amiable anonymity.


Allure is one word for him.  In fact “intoxicating” is a word I’d use if it didn’t feel silly.  But it only feels silly now: standing close to him, smelling the sunwarmth of his skin, his maleness—it was intoxicating.

There was a hint of the devilish in his presence, and I loved that.  He spread his legs and asked me to arrange him for the camera.  Everything hung perfectly already, of course, but of course I took great pains in adjusting and finessing.


It didn’t occur to me to ask the questions I usually ask. At one point, I did say something like “You share this with everyone, don’t you?” I meant, of course, that the experience of him and his physical presence is something all men should have freely.

And of course he said yes, he gives himself to everyone. I promise you: if you meet him, he is yours completely while you’re together.


I knelt in front of him, between his legs.  He pushed his hips forward, letting his heavy genitals hang for me.  This wasn’t artifice on his part, nor was it posing.  This is what he is, and for the few minutes that I had with him I felt the sexuality of Dionysus alive and real.  And honestly, I was drunk for the rest of the day.  Maleness, the root of spirituality.


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