Category: Cock shots

I always buy a World Cup sticker album. I always start filling a World Cup sticker album. I pretty much never finish it. As this year’s tournament draws to a close, sadly without the involvement of Our Brave Boys, I thought I’d take a different approach…

(Of course, while stickers are fun, there are still better things to do while naked…)

I will kneel and I will watch as you kneel before me.

I will use your mouth and I will give you my mouth to be used.

I will take control and I will surrender it to you.

I am both men, because both men are me.

I am dominant. I am submissive.

I am a switch.

Bit of a placeholder this week, while I wait for some sort of inspiration to return. I recently had the following DM exchange with a good friend of mine:

Her: What are you wearing?

Me: Navy blue jumper. Red-and-white checked shirt. Blue jeans (501s). Tight navy boxers.

Her: Can you take a pic of your cock sticking through the button fly for me?

Me: Soft, semi-erect, or fully hard?

Her: Soft, then I can imagine how I could get it hard.

Deal.

I like zips. Zips are hot. They’re just mainly hot on the back of a dress, or the side of a tight black pencil skirt. On jeans, I’ve always preferred a button fly. It can be a little cruel on clumsy fingers, but then so can a bra clasp – overall, it feels like a fair exchange. And buttons are so satisfying. They give way with a pop, and as each one jumps free a little more skin is exposed. It’s the same with shirts, of course – the slow tease just works – but a button fly is more versatile, because it can also be ripped open (in a very manly way!) without the material being destroyed.

I took this photo because someone asked me to take it. I like this photo because…well, because someone asked me to take it! But also because it makes me think of grazed knees (yours), a heavy belt (mine), a tight skirt and bare legs (yours), a shirt almost translucent with sweat (mine), big dark eyes (yours), fingers squeezing metal buttons through denim holes (mine), a soft and eager tongue (yours), and tensed, trembling thighs, which buckle the moment you take my cock in your mouth.

I’m wearing those same button-fly jeans as I type this. Though not for long…

I was looking for photographic inspiration the other day, and the lovely Oleander Plume was kind enough to email me three suggestions for shots I could take. This was the third of them:

‘3. You’re in an office, sitting on top of your desk, leaning back on both hands, arms straight. Your jacket, shirt and pants are all open, and your erect cock is pointing up. You are looking to the side with a small smile on your face.’

As it happens, this was my last week in the job I came out to do in Poland, so on Wednesday night I sneaked into work after hours. Our floor is open-plan, and the only people with offices of their own are the company President, and the CFO. Apparently the President doesn’t lock his door when he leaves at night, which made it very easy to slip inside and take this week’s Sinful Sunday photo.

I left my jacket at home, and the small smile was sacrificed on the altar of anonymity, but otherwise I think this just about satisfies the brief…

However much one may wish to do so, as a human it is hard not to become a creature of habit. We buy our clothes at the same stores, eat at the same local restaurants, pick up the same bottle of wine from the same off-license on the same night each week. Routine is an easy and comforting cloak to wear, and that is true in a sexual context as well.

Nine times out of ten I masturbate in bed, lying on my (right-hand) side. I squeeze lube into my hand, wrap it round my cock, mentally select a fantasy, and a few minutes later I’m sprawled across the mattress with cum splashed across my stomach. It’s a routine: it’s not meant to be sexy!

The one time in ten? Always sexy. Maybe it’s in the toilets at work, after the hot secretary has brushed her arse against my crotch in the cramped, claustrophobic kitchenette. Maybe it’s on a train, facing my girlfriend in a half-empty carriage, each watching the other’s hand move frantically under the formica table between us, as we race to find out who can come first. Maybe it’s in an aeroplane toilet, or in a library, or on the beach when I’m 15 and have never felt so wonderfully alive.

Or maybe it’s just on my sofa one night, when I wasn’t planning to masturbate, but suddenly find myself unable to keep my hands off my cock, and unwilling to delay things for long enough to move into the bedroom. Yeah, that’s pretty hot too.

I’ve had sex in the sea, sex in a swimming pool, sex in the bath, and – surprise, surprise – sex in the shower too. I can do sex in water…but it’s not really my thing. There’s just a bit too much friction, and not quite enough of the sexy, silky lubrication that sends shivers all over my body. I took this photo just as the shower jets kicked into life and started shooting warm water at my naked torso. I thought of you kneeling in the cubicle doorway, close enough to feel the spray on your face; close enough to watch my cock get harder in my hand, and to want it – crave it – in your mouth. The thing is, I’d want that too. Sure, I’d make you watch me for a bit, your sopping wet cunt pulsing uncontrollably…mm, ok, so it would be more than just a bit…but when I really needed you to touch me, I’d drag you out of the shower and maybe – maybe – we’d make it halfway back to my room. There’s this rug, you see, right in the middle of my hallway. It would feel just soft enough against your knees. Not comfortable, perhaps, but you’d live. I’d be dripping wet and you…you would take me in your mouth, wrap your hand around me, press my cock to your cheek. Taste and smell my clean, fresh skin, then do your best to make me dirty all over again.

It’s not often I feel nervous about posting something, but this will be the first time for a while that I’ve put up a photo this explicit, and that’s brought with it mixed emotions. I’m aware that cock shots aren’t everyone’s cup of tea; this post does a good job of summing up some of their limitations, and I do understand most of the stronger objections to them. When I started this blog, I wasn’t really bothered by that: posting some of the pictures you’ll find in the archives made me feel more confident about my body, and tapped into an exhibitionistic urge that I hadn’t previously found an outlet for.

More recently, it’s had a greater impact on the choices I’ve made here (and on Twitter), as has the urge to focus more on writing (with mixed success). When I have posted photos for Sinful Sunday, they’ve tended to be more suggestive than explicit, and I’ve enjoyed responding to that need for greater creativity.

Today though…today, I wanted to use this photo. I’m in my 30s now, and while lots of things turn me on, a decade of sexual experience has created a split between controllable/manufactured arousal, and the sort of rush-of-blood-to-the-head, primal arousal that’s predominant when everything’s fresh and new. If that sounds world-weary, it’s not meant that way: it’s just that familiarity tends to dull the sharp edge of most activities/sensations, including sex. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and on balance I like having at least a *little* more control over my libido than I did when I was 21 – still, it does make me appreciate the things that buck the trend.

One of those is shaving my pubic hair; another is the feeling of being freshly-shaved. Both the act and its outcome leave me hyper-sensitive, flushed, and largely incapable of keeping my hands off my cock. I don’t do it very often: my hair doesn’t grow especially quickly, so I can afford to leave it a while before it gets untidy…and besides, it’s such an exciting feeling that I like to savour it, and to preserve the power it has. I use an electric shaver, and leave enough hair that it still feels soft over the skin, rather than spiky or stubbly. I’ve never asked someone else to do it for me, and no-one has ever volunteered; for now, it remains a personal ritual, and one that tends to result in a very quick, very intense orgasm, often followed soon after by another one. I haven’t thought too much about why it turns me on so much, and to be honest I don’t particularly want to – I’m happy just to enjoy it.

This photo was taken just after I’d shaved, and just before I masturbated. I hope you like it. If you don’t, I hope you understand why I posted it.

It was National Poetry Day this week, and the Sinful Sunday theme is Back To School. I loved English as a schoolboy for many reasons, one of which was the access it gave me to poetry in its many forms. One of those forms was haiku:

Coming? Going? Huh:
The thrill-seeker does both with
Total abandon