It occurred to me recently that I haven’t trimmed or shaved my bush for a long time now – longer than I’ve left it to grow untended for many years. I thought I’d try to get a photo of its current state for February Photo Fest, but predictably the full effect was somewhat lost on camera.
However, what did show up very clearly was the vein running down the side of my cock, and its smaller companions on the inside of my wrist. Proof that at this stage, the blood was definitely pumping…
Between Secret Cinema and After Pandora (not to mention our wedding), Liv and I have had plenty of opportunities to dress up and go out over the last couple of years. Some of those have been documented here or on Liv’s blog, others made it onto Twitter, and all of them at some stage involved a scene very much like the one in the photo below.
I find it hard to keep my hands off Liv at the best of times. When she’s dressed up to the nines and looking fuckable as hell, there will always come a point in the evening where I need to cop a feel. Happily she tends to respond in kind…
(This was inspired by a brilliant image that Liv found on Twitter, which we both really like)
Hotel rooms are far less fun without company, and the same is true – in spades – of hotel room mirrors. On Thursday night, I didn’t check in till gone 11pm, and was tired enough that the two mirrors either side of my lonely double bed didn’t feel like too much of a waste. Friday morning, on the other hand? Well, let’s just say that by Friday morning I’d woken up to the various possibilities I was missing out on…
As soon as I saw this rather austere sofa under the mirror in the middle of the chilly hall, I knew it would be perfect for all manner of erotic or downright filthy photos – many of which would require external assistance.
However, there was something about the combination of hard, unyielding floor and dusty old fabric that made sitting on the sofa itself feel almost unnecessary. Instead I wanted to spread myself out at its feet, and think about what I might be told to do next by whoever was sitting there. Think about all the ways I could offer my body and my services before they pulled me up next to them.
For a good while, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do February Photo Fest again this year. Even though I really enjoyed taking part last time, there’s no getting around the fact that it’s a big commitment – creatively, and in terms of time and organisation – especially for someone who spectacularly failed to finish his December Dick Fest calendar just a few weeks ago.
It was only when I started to see other people’s photos appear in my Twitter timeline, and when I suddenly got excited about all the great posts Liv has got lined up for the next few weeks, that I realised how much I’d miss it if I stayed on the sidelines. That coincided with an overnight trip to a quirky little hotel on the riverfront in Pisa, and a couple of photo opportunities that I simply couldn’t pass up…
“Will you please stop that? Premature ejaculation is no laughing matter, you arsehole.”
I glowered at Steve over the rim of my pint, aware that I was blushing furiously as he rocked back in his chair, a huge grin on his face. Still, it was good to get it off my chest. There are some things you can only tell your best mate – or your doctor, I guess, though I didn’t think this particular situation quite merited medical intervention. Not yet, anyway.
“I mean what’s wrong with me? I’m 32 years old, for fuck’s sake, not some trigger-happy 18-year-old. This has never happened before – even when I actually was a teenager.”
And it was true. Bar the odd mishap here and there – usually my first time with someone new, which everyone knows is a freebie anyway – I’ve always been proud of my staying power. I’m not one of those guys who just pounds away for hours on end, but I have enough self-control to hold back till I know we’ve both had a good time, and that’s served me well over the years.
Until I met Zoe.
I got my first mobile phone when I was 22 – and not by choice. I spent the last few months of my gap year between Oxford and Durham running the summer social programme at a language school; among other things, my role involved coordinating day trips, leading activities around Oxford, and contacting host families, so it was no surprise when my boss insisted on giving me a Samsung flip-phone to use for all official business.
Of course this was mid-2003 – as far as I was concerned, there wasn’t much else I could use it for. Twitter and Facebook didn’t exist, nor did mobile Email, IM functionality, live video streaming, and all the other apps we now take for granted. Web browsing was much quicker on an actual PC, my car stereo and bedroom HiFi played all the music I needed, and if I wanted to take a photo, I just used my camera. My new toy meant that I could text my friends, rather than calling them from a landline, but in those first few weeks, that was about the limit of its value.
And then I met someone.
Ok, it’s not technically our house – but for a short time yesterday afternoon, it was everything we needed in a home. Light, airy, just far enough from the prying eyes of passers-by, and surrounded by a natural vista so wonderful that it made us both giddy to look at.
Even better, with no-one looking in through the windows, we were able to strip off and wander around naked to our heart’s content – which is definitely something we both value in anywhere we end up staying.
Our dream Andes retreat needs a little work, it’s true, and I don’t know how much it would cost to take it off the hands of its current owners – but these are minor details. And even if we end up having to look elsewhere, one thing’s for sure: we certainly enjoyed every minute of the viewing.
This year, we don’t have time for a proper session. It’s Boxing Day and that means family time: a leisurely brunch, which starts and finishes at different points for different people; a damp, dreary walk in the park with my baby nephew; dinner around the kitchen table. Time just seems to slip away from us, till before we know it Liv has to pack her suitcase for the trip back to London, and two days of pre-honeymoon work.
I join her in the bedroom, after my shower – not to be helpful, but simply because I like spending time in her company, even when we’re not really doing anything.
Except soon, of course, we are.
Country walks are the best.
Especially in the middle of winter.
When the sky is slate-grey.
The trees are bare or fallen.
The wind whips across the open fields.
And no-one else is around.
(Thanks to Exposing 40 for the excellent photographic work this afternoon!)
