magnificent caring loving

He was magnificent, caring  loving, he’d open me with his tongue and fingers, and I’d do the same for him, and then we’d go for it turn by turn, couldn’t stop. The first sign that things were moving onto another dimension was on Ron’s side.

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I’d take a breather, still inside him, and he’d clench hold me, quite lightly, sort of milking me while I played with his nipples and he played with my balls or put a finger inside me. We’d keep this up as long as we could – sort of nirvana plateau, ecstasy – and then he’d suddenly go into spasm, incredible feelings for me, and he’d be out his mind; and then I’d start thrusting again, and so on. So he tried that on me, alternating long,  slow thrusting – and, Jesus, was he a master! – with long, still passages, when he’d hardly move, and I’d lightly grip him and get myself flickering, and then it would go out of control, and I’d be coming and coming; and then eventually it would kind of fuse into a huge, generalized sensation, my whole body shaking and contracting, as he drove into me, and we’d shout the rooftops down – and then start all over again. (that’s the good thing about that stuff – and no hangover in the morning, just more of the same. Aren’t we lucky, mate! You’ve obviously had the same experience. The secret is surrender, stillness and patience; loving yourself as well as the other. Your word, intimacy. Creating something.
Cheers – JEREMY

20 lithographies pour un livre que j’ai lu

20 lithographies pour un livre que j’ai lu”, Jean Genet, Roland Caillaux, 1945 75 yeras ago it was virtually impossible to look at pornographic images of men masturbating or having sex. So in 1945 when “20 Lithographies pour un livre que j’ai lu” was published it was pioneering.  Erotic pictures and beautiful poetry, how French! … Read more20 lithographies pour un livre que j’ai lu

Understanding Un chant d’amour

Jean Genet‘s only film, which he directed in 1950. Because of its explicit (though artistically presented) homosexual content, the 26-minute movie was long banned and even disowned by Genet later in his life. The plot is set in a French prison, where a prison guard takes voyeuristic pleasure in observing the prisoners perform masturbatory sexual acts. In two adjacent cells, there is an older Algerian-looking man and a handsome convict in his twenties. The older man is in love with the younger one, rubbing himself against the wall and sharing his cigarette smoke with his beloved through a straw. The prison guard, apparently jealous of the prisoner’s relationship, enters the older convict’s cell, beats him, and makes him suck on his gun in an unmistakably sexual fashion. However, the inmate drifts off into a fantasy where he and his object of desire roam the countryside. In the final scene, it becomes clear that the guard’s power is no match for the intensity of attraction between the prisoners, even though their relationship is not consummated. Genet does not use dialogue in his film, but focuses instead on close-ups of bodies, on faces, armpits, and penises. The film’s highly sexualized atmosphere has been recognized as a formative factor for works such as the films of Andy Warhol. if you like the film, please leave a comment below. Credits do not list any characters or actors, some of whom remain unknown. If you have any info please leave a reply below

un chant d’amour

Bravo’ (nickname; real name unknown) as the Older Prisoner was a Tunisian from nefta who was a barber with a big family to support

Lucien Sénémaud (real name) as the Younger Prisoner. He was introduced to Jean Genet by Jean Cocteau with whom he had served in the French army. Genet fell passionately in love with 18-year-old Lucien Sénémaud, about whom he wrote, “His beauty harpooned me.” The two men formed a passionate, and volatile, couple; He was a married man whose wife supported him in appearing in the film.

Java André Reybaz plays the Guard. Reybaz had a long career spanning forty years, which mostly consisted of numerous French television appearances.

Coco Le Martiniquais … Second dancing prisoner (uncredited)

Set Genet had an extensive prison set built amidst the ground floor restaurant of Nico’s Rose Rouge (the famous nightclub was in the basement). Exteriors were shot, on the sly, at both the Fresnes and La Santé prisons, where Genet had served most of the cumulative four years of his adult incarceration. The forest sequence was shot near Fontainebleu at Milly-la-Forêt, on Cocteau’s property. There is some controversy over the extent of Cocteau’s presence: Edmund White believes it was minimal, while Jonas Mekas says that Nico told him it was extensive. No one, however, doubts that the film is unquestionably Genet’s own creation. Genet’s rough cut ran 45 minutes, but he gradually trimmed it into its taut final running time of 25 minutes. (Source)

Banned When in 1966 distributor Sol Landau attempted to exhibit the film in Berkeley, California, he was informed by a member of the local police special investigations department that were he to continue screening it the film “would be confiscated and the person responsible arrested.” Landau responded by instituting the case of Landau v. Fording (1966) in which he sought to show Genet’s work without police harassment. The Alameda County Superior Court watched the film twice and declared that it “explicitly and vividly revealed acts of masturbation, oral copulation, the infamous crime against nature [a euphemism for sodomy], voyeurism, nudity, sadism, masochism and sex…” The court rejected Landau’s suit, further condemning the film as “cheap pornography calculated to promote homosexuality, perversion and morbid sex practices.” He was similarly rebuffed in the District Court of Appeal of California, which accepted that Genet was a major writer but cited this as a lesser work of an early period and declared that in the end it was “nothing more than hard-core pornography and should be banned.” When the case reached the U.S. Supreme Court, the decision was confirmed once more, in a 5-4 per curiam decision in which the justices simply stated that Un Chant d’amour was obscene and offered no further explanation. —Jonathon Green and Nicholas J Karolides, The Encyclopedia of Censorship.

THE FISHERMAN OF LE SUQUET

A secret accord
a gentleman’s agreement was worked out between
my mouth and the cock of an 18 year old fisherman although
it is stilled tucked away in his blue shorts.
Time air and the landscape around him
Were dimming stretched out on the sand
But I could detect between his limbs
The spread limbs of his legs was shuddering
The sand retained his footprints but registered the
Heft and weight of a penis excited by
The troubling evening heat
Every grain go lighter

FISHERMAN OF LE SUQUET wanking tecnique

– What’s your name?

– And yours?

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Since that night, I’ve loved the malicious child
light, fanciful, vigorous
whose approaching body makes water shiver
along with the sky, the rocks, the houses
the boys, the girls
and the page on which I write.

My patience is a medal upon your lapel.

A golden dust floats all around him. Makes him
distant from me.

His eyes: amidst the thistles, the blackthorns
and vaporous autumn dress.

His hands illuminate objects. Obscuring them more.
Animating them and killing them.

 

The big toe of his left foot with the ingrown nail
sometimes searches my nostril
sometimes my mouth.
It’s enormous, but then the foot
and leg could follow.

FISHERMAN OF LE SUQUET naked

You want to fish in the thawing of snows
in my ponds of rings held in
Ah, to plunge your naked arms
in my beautiful eyes
which two steel rows of black lashes protect
beneath a sky of storm and high pines
wet fisherman covered with blonde scales
in your eyes, my wicker fingers
and pale hands see
the saddest fish in the world
flee from the bank where I crumble my bread.

Aspen. At the summit of yourself, balanced
alone, your rosy heel hangs from the branches
the rising sun. Aspen, your murmur
shivers on my teeth. Your broken fingers
comb the azure and rend the bark
making you soft and fringed with snow
Oh Aspen. Construct this torso
wounded deep but soothed by the plume.
My lips force him
to blossom.

When the sun illumes the heather
on your beautiful calves, your slopes, I go
slowly by the rocks where you spoke to me
blond spahi, on your knees in the light.
A serpent awakes to the voice of the dead.
Beneath my burst foot partridges take flight.
At sunset I will see the seekers of gold
labor beneath the crazed moon.
The breakers of tombs draw straws.

What a shadow at your feet, your shiny shoes!
Your frozen feet in my pools of tears
your carmelite feet, dusty and bare
splashed with sky, your blessed feet
will mark my white shoulders this evening
(forests that the moon fills with wolves)
Oh my fisherman in the shadows of my willows
executioner covered with stars and nails
held up by the white arm of the jetty.

FISHERMAN OF LE SUQUET hung

On the green tree, erect — bowing your brow
(animal of love, golden tree with two heads)
above its foliage — hot beast entwined
you hang by a single foot
a slow waltz sounds in the azure
from the harmonica, but do your eyes see
an astonishing dawn from the mizen-mast?
Oh naked fisherman with a subtle heart
come down from the tree, fear
my singing leaves.

Farewell Queen of the Sky, farewell
my Flower of skin, carved in my palm.
Oh my silence, inhabited by a phantom
your eyes, your fingers, silence.
Your pallor. Silence
these waves on the steps again
where your foot always brings the night.
A clear angelus rings beneath its arch.
Farewell sun, escaping from my heart
on an atrocious and nocturnal gait.
fisherman erectGo supplely on paths of embers
where treasures of night
are buried beneath your feet.
Peace is with you. In the nettles, the rushes
the blackthorns, the forests
your step sets measures
of darkness.
And each of your feet, each step of jasmine
buries me in a porcelain tomb.
You obscure the world.

naked fishermenThe treasures of this night: Ireland and its revolts
muskrats fleeing in the moors, an arch of light
the wine arisen from your stomach
the wedding in the valley
a hanged man swinging
from the apple tree in bloom
and finally, that region
where your breeches
protected by a hawthorn in bloom
are approached from the heart
in the throat.

naked erection fishingFrom all parts, pilgrims descend.
They skirt your haunches where the sun sets
sadly climbing the wooded slopes of your thighs
where even day is dark.

Through grassy moors
under your unbuckled belt
we arrive near him
our mouths dry, our feet
and shoulders beat.
In its radiance, even Time is veiled
with a crepe above
from which the sun, the moon
and the stars, your eyes
can shine.
Time is somber at his feet.
Nothing flowers here
except strange violet flowers
from rough bulbs.
To our heart bring our hands
and to our teeth bring fists.


What is loving you? I am afraid to see this water spill
between my poor fingers. I don’t dare swallow you.
My mouth holds the shape of a vain column.
Lightly it descends in an autumn fog.
I arrive in love like one enters the water.
Palms forward, blinded, my sobs held back
swell with air, your presence in myself
and your presence is heavy, eternal.
I love you.

(from the wisdom of the magnificent man who was Jean Genet, probably best known in more recent times for his beautiful film, Un Chant D’amour, he was also a thief, vagabond, prostitute, novelist, playwright, poet, essayist, and political activist)

fisherman erection

True Love by J. O. Brian

true love 3

Every time I sense you,
I sense everything…
I sense your mind with tranquility and strength.
Your tranquility generates a utopia within this nightmare of a world.
Your strength carries my fragile soul for eternity.
Simultaneously, your tranquility and strength shape a universal connection within my thoughts.
Through this connection of eternal chemistry, I sense you, despite the distance apart.

I sense your mind the way my mind derives thought: natural and frequently.
Your mind hypnotizes my imagination.
Every time I hear you,

true love 4I hear everything…
I hear your voice illuminating the exquisite trail to your love.
Your rugged words utter from splendor lips with intensity.
Your words vibrate my earlobes with a glee of restraint.
Your faint soul speaks softly amongst the night.
Contained by darkness I pursue your voice, despite the sound.

I hear your voice the way my voice echoes in return: thunderous and fraught.
Your voice revives my day.
Every time I observe you,
I observe everything…
I observe your truthful eyes of masculine sugar.
Your visions and imaginings remain hopeful.
Your hope dominates humanity, capturing the strongest of rivals before rendering them helpless.
Inside an apparition, I observe your reflection against a mirror, as dreams sustain me.
In this lilac hallucination of sorrows past, I chase you, despite where you take me.
I observe your eyes the way my eyes foresee our truth: rapt within a world of impossibilities.

true love 1 (2)

Your eyes melt my heart.
Every time I smell you,
I smell everything…
I smell your discrete scent of manhood.
Most men strive for your scent inside their individual essence.
I yearn to inhale your scent through both nostrils and exhale in the midst of fulfillment.
Your scent ensures that fleeting thoughts of danger cannot dwell while you stand guard.
Surrounded by this scent of sour pleasure and fruitful inducement, I linger for you, despite the wait.
I smell your scent the way I smell love: unpredictable in the mildest of behaviors.
Your smell enriches my sanity.

true love 11

Every time I touch you,
I touch everything…
Your muscles radiate longer than a thousand suns.
I cherish your physique as every vein rasps onto me.
I rest amidst your weight while you shadow my deepest fear amongst your strength.
You arid tears bleeding through my skin, excruciating without your sheltering supremacy.

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Your muscles induce so much of my temptations that I romance you, despite the opinions of others.
I touch your muscles the way I touch your heart: affectionate with passion.
Your warm skin entangles my flesh.
Every time I experience you,
I experience everything…
I experience your character that ensures love.
Your essence harbors the strongest of storms, riding the waves of bereavement until the wilting winds weaken.
My tongue traces every element of your body, creating your portrait with saliva.
You enmesh my body– as I lay beneath you– and love expands throughout the cosmos.
Your guardian core completes me; I feel warm sensations, despite my role with nature.
I experience your soul the way you experience mine: deliberate and firm.

true love daddy bear

Your soul secures my survival.
Every time I remember you,
I remember everything…
Your mind hypnotizes my imagination.
Your voice revives my day.
Your eyes melt my heart.
Your smell enriches my sanity.
Your warm skin entangles my flesh.
Your soul secures my survival.
Can my heart persist to exist contained by this inferno of absentmindedness?
Every storm is extreme, while every gale is severe.
Flashes of lightning harness every moment spent embracing your arms.
Each shining bolt depicts a remembrance of you.

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Mammoth sounding thunder incorporates horrified nightmares that continue to elude my love.
These rumbles are instruments that turn the pages of Leviticus in the sorrow of consequence.
Sorrow drenched rain encompasses the sensation of my touching your body as you return the favor.
Every raindrop is thinner than my own tears, which are equal to the flood.
The eye of the cyclone is identical to the eyes of my love; both vanish without my blessing.
For you, my devotion is no fabrication.
Without your vigor and refuge, the hurricane is treacherous.
This hurricane symbolizes two constant struggles that devour my strength.

Every wind stream changes my direction in this misplaced planet of captivity.
Typhoons create sounds that resemble Satan’s desire to exploit my lust.
A bottomless cliff produces the fantasy of life after death; I am intrigued to join the undead.
I cannot return; behind me is the existence of human race of deceit.
An impulsive burst of vengeance leaves my corpse in ruins.
Each extremity symbolizes affection with the man I have dreamt of in lilac dreams.
My blood flees in rejoice to the prison of deception that no longer relics a love-filled life.
Hallucinations of sorrows past collide with a scene of unfamiliarity.
Two contrasting sides of a spectrum unite under one influence; separate walls crumble into opportunity.
I wander amongst those with crushed ambitions until our final passageways converge…
You intertwine my soul and we love eternally, linking the hourglass of sand that never fades.