Thursday 24 October 2013

Shadow puppetry of the penis

...after nipping off to my bedroom to furiously rub one out following  some scintillating conversation with an incredibly gorgeous applicant for the spare room in our house, i couldn't help but notice and then fixate on, the shadow play upon my wall. i wish i could have held the camera still for the money shot, however i'm afraid my control doesn't stretch that far. i guess you had to be there...

Saturday 19 October 2013

a city doesn't always love you



As I navigate the adverse camber of a solitary existence
and traverse the frosty crags of glacial failings and loves lost
a slow perpetual degradation leads me to a familiar, far reaching understanding.. 




There are some things better left unsaid.
Some things the boy in me need never have seen, let alone known. 
Curiosity, as it turns out, has a hefty price tag of its own. 
Experience, it’s been told, keeps a dear school
whose classrooms fill to brim predominantly with fools. 




As surely as springs melt finds its way to shimmering sea
a fleeting glimpse at mirrors bevelled edge reveals 
....the fool in me.




all images taken in the Nederlands by bhp

Friday 11 October 2013

BH.Plugs....
Pablo Delgado


If you’ve ever spent a lazy afternoon wandering around the east end of London you would have no doubt marvelled at the prevalence of some high quality street art. Yes there is plenty of mindless dross and naff tags, but you don’t have to search far or wide to be rewarded.



You do however, need to look closely and most often down, if you want to spy some of the extraordinary work of Senor Delgado. A prolific paste-up artist brought to London’s grimy streets from the blazing colour and sunshine of Mexico.


If you want to appreciate his craft you need to get low to the ground, because Pablos creations are miniature in stature but epic in substance. Often satirical, symbolic and reflective of mankinds impact in and on the planet, his pieces quite joyously tread on the toes of surrealism, and dabble in the darker recesses. 



In a world where bigger is better, more is de rigueur, where gigabytes are giving way to terabytes, Delgado is seriously bucking the trend and reminding us all of our place in the world, as drops in the ocean, none more valuable than any other, pearls one and all.


When asked why he feels the need to make his creations so small his response was...
“It’s a mix of things. We need to be less. We are too many in the world and that small size is the opposite of the stupid necessities and immense resources that we use. And we need to be discreet”


For me, London is a better place for having this artist within its community. Not only does he reward the curiously observant with some colour and sunshine in an otherwise dreary landscape, but his tiny works promote much grander concepts.. his commentary as relevant to the individual as they are to the entire city.


                               And beyond.


all works by Pablo Delgado
review by bhp

Thursday 10 October 2013

choice butts #10


this is my xmas present..
only the big fella himself knows what i've done to deserve such finery..
only the big guy can answer prayers with this degree of precision..
so thank you in advance Santa, you have most definitely made my year..

now.. all i have to do is get to her.

Tuesday 1 October 2013

Foreign Bodies
part 3

Camille liked her wine. She didn’t savour it though. I melted into the armchair as she went about describing the wine, it’s body, palate and finish, as if in some past life she was a sommelier in a Michelin starred bistro. But she devoured it with far too much gusto. Fortunately her bar was well stocked. We spent some hours drinking the fine stuff, hours that rattled by, filled with the most stimulating conversation. We shared many interests. We discussed our travels (hers predominantly), distant cultures, geopolitics, the natural history of my homeland (which she was most interested in), immigration and the outlook for the new E.U entity. I can only imagine her husband would have been as intelligent and engaging in discussion as she. I imagined them sat in this very intimate space, dissecting the days news over a bottle or two of Bordeaux’s finest 89 vintage. Debating fiercely their own views before embracing their differences and retreating to the bedroom for some kind of dirty sex. Perhaps with Camille at the window sill offering up her behind. This is how I pictured her world. And I was intrigued.
Camille turned out a delicate platter of cheese and fruit to accompany the wine, but it didn’t help prevent me from getting quite drunk. A heady, rosy cheeked red wine drunk. Generally a good thing. But on this night instead of relaxing my inhibitions, for some reason it deepened them. Although I had had a skin-full, there was a piqued wariness that, for some reason I just couldn’t shake. Of course it didn’t stop me from enjoying the night, or the magnificent company Camille provided. Nor could it diminish the feeling of sexual tension in the room. Ever since the episode in the bath, Camille knew she had the ability to flick the on switch, and I in turn was well aware that despite my protest, the sexual prowess of this woman had infiltrated my conscious and ignited a carnal instinct. Almost effortlessly. With but a stroke of the hand. This could get messy.
Camille continued to quaff her vino and her impeccable English became less so. The pitched down hybrid language that she spoke was certainly no less attractive, just slightly more difficult to pick up. And my powers of concentration were waning. Although I fought the sensation for another topic or two, it was time for bed.
I suggested to Camille that I was terribly exhausted and in dire need of the bed. She agreed, saying that we were perhaps already past this point and overdue. I hadn’t detected the nuance in Camille’s statement or manner. As she devoured the last of her wine I removed the remnants of platter and my own empty glass to the kitchen. Camille told me not to concern myself with any cleaning. I fetched myself a glass of water and with as much panache as I could muster, staggered toward the bedroom. I pointed to the obviously unoccupied side of the room and it’s single bed, asking if that was mine for the night. Camille nodded a oui. I didn’t need any further information than this. I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into the heavenly comfort of a soft pillowed warmth that had escaped me for, what now seemed, a minor age. A blissful security swept through me as I curled into a ball. Instinct dictated that I face out, with my back to the wall so as to survey the scene. I couldn’t see Camille from where I lay, but I heard her make her way down the hall to the bathroom. In her absence the room was, for the first time, deathly quiet. I surveyed the scene with an edge gilded curiosity. There was actually very little that spoke of human habitation here. Nothing on the floor. Nothing on the walls. Against one wall, in the middle of the room was a chest of drawers, beside it, near the foot of my bed a wardrobe. There was nothing on top of the drawers other than a couple of books. No mirror, no make-up, brush, box of tricks, nothing. At the foot of Camille’s bed was a small table with the only light source, a lamp, perched on a lace doily at its centre. There was nothing on the table except what looked like, and after focussing intently was confirmed as, a spent condom. Obviously fresh, full, and undisposed of. A substantial horror penetrated my silent sanctuary and I curled tighter into a ball. As if on cue, Camille returned and latched the front door behind her. I listened to what sounded like the fumbling open of pill bottles in the kitchen and then the tap.
The lights went out, the only remaining light was that which illuminated the rubber full of some strangers army, on which I couldn't help but fixate. My corner of the room was bathed in an unsettling darkness. Camille breezed past me and into view. She stood at the drawers and began to undress. Her backlit form provided me a welcome distraction. She first removed her earrings and then proceeded to unzip her full length skirt, shimmying it over the now obvious curve of her hips. It fell in a pool at her feet and I couldn’t help but admire her bare legs as they kicked out at the cloth, consigning it to a corner by the wardrobe. Camille possessed an air of grace even in inebriation. Her attention then turned to the polka dot blouse and although I felt I shouldn’t, I found it impossible not to stare at her in a throaty anticipation. Her actions, all consuming, had the associated effect on my manhood. It grew rapidly. I remained tucked in my ball, but the tiredness I felt had evaporated. I was now experiencing other drunken sensations, drunk on my own fantasy, reminded of the many times I’d spied on my neighbours, through gauzy lace or cracks in the curtains, personal moments of theirs I’d infiltrated, as they readied for bed or perhaps the shower, occasionally I’d seen acts of self love, and marital fucking. But now, right here, my perversion played out in the very same space that I occupied, and I could scarcely believe my eyes.
Camille peeled away her blouse, revealing the outline of a curvaceous vixen, cupped and clad in a dark matching set of under garments. She moved to the wardrobe and fetched a hanger from inside and hooked the blouse on the wardrobe knob. She then turned to face me and, fearing I’d been busted staring, I half closed my eyes, not wanting the interaction but maintaining a devious blurry fix on Camille as she stripped. My heart was beating loudly in my ears as Camille reached around to unclip her bra. As it fell off her shoulders she revealed an ample chest which although once would have stood proud, now relaxed under the gloriously gentle yet persistent force of gravity, with beautifully natural effect. She possessed the kind of bosom that one could dive into and get lost in. Her nipples peaking splendidly within darkish, highball sized areolae. The kind of breasts that I just wanted to grab.
Camille hooked the bra over the same wardrobe knob and moved back to the drawers. Turning to face the lamp she then noticed the used rubber and swiftly leant over to brush it from view. It either landed in a bin out of sight, or on the carpet. 
Regardless, it was too late. 




Sunday 8 September 2013

Foreign Bodies
part 2


Camille ushered me to the bathroom, which was communal to the 3 flats on the level. It was an overly large vacuous space, polished white and black tiles on the floor, multiple chrome heated towel racks, with a large ornate venetian cut glass mirror positioned above two deep porcelain basins. All fittings were polished chrome. In the corner of the room was the bathtub. One of those beautiful, deep, wrought iron claw-foot jobs, the sort that would easily accommodate an amorous couple. In the opposite corner was the loo, with a flush chain that reached up into the ceiling. Last light spilled through exterior shutters and gave the room a regal, golden glow. I could well have been dreaming. Camille ran the bath and told me to take as much time as I wished, she would be down the hall. I studied myself in the mirror and drifted away from any self-conscious thoughts as the water steamed and bubbled behind me. This would feel so good.
I realised I hadn’t a towel and ventured back down the hall asking Camille if she would kindly lend me one, which she did. I closed the bathroom door behind me, searching for a latch of some sort, that didn’t exist. Strange! The bath rose wonderfully and beckoned me in. I removed my clothes and left them in a pool on the cool tiles, vowing to wash them at the earliest opportunity, my wardrobe wasn’t extensive.
There’s few explicitly luxurious feelings that can match that first foray of toes and feet into a hot bath. The sensations, multiplied over the period of time since my last bath, made my skin crawl and itch. The water was hot. The hardest part of getting into a bath for this man, is the dipping of the balls. Allowing them to hit the steaming pond is a trial unto itself. Once in though, they regulate quickly, radiating warmth and a low density euphoria. Inside the bath, I felt the world of my troubles steadily dissipate and, after some minutes vanish completely. In this place, I needn’t be bothered, I needn’t have concern, I was safe. If I wasn’t so enthralled in my situation I might have shed a few tears. Of equal parts elation and despair.
I began to scrub the streets from my body, stripping back to the pale white skin for which I have my mother to thank. And then without warning, Camille walked through the door. She carried with her a chair, and in the other hand an ashtray. I was startled and brought my knees to my chest. Camille spoke in her intoxicating tones, asking me not to mind her presence. She placed the chair at the foot of the bath and returned to close the door. I wasn’t sure what to do. Camille perched herself on the chair and pleaded with me to carry on. She removed an oversized Stuyvesant from its packet and rolled it with expert fingers before placing it between her lips. Not for the first time did I notice that Camille wasn’t an unattractive woman, with very appealing features. I continued with my bathing, albeit a little shyly. I concentrated on lathering my legs and feet. I wasn’t watching, but I could hear Camille drawing deeply on her cigarette, and exhaling with just as much purpose. I felt as if under a spotlight, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I soaped my way up my legs before inevitably landing at their apex. I massaged the suds into my crevices, my balls and cock. I felt Camille’s gaze as it followed my hands. She then queried whether all my fellow countrymen were like me. In what way? Tall, long hair, rugged looking. I told her how diverse my homeland was and gave her a snapshot of society there. She spoke very little other than to affirm her understanding. She smoked and watched my hands, occasionally smiling. At this point I became very comfortable with her presence. I didn’t know what, if anything was happening, but I didn’t object. I soaped my torso and arms, paying special attention to my pits and then my nails. Camille then offered to wash my hair for me. I declined, my locks were not to be wet, let alone shampooed. She protested that I must shampoo my hair but I wouldn’t budge. She stood up and approached the side of the bath. I told her again the hair was not for washing. She offered then to at least wash my back, the parts I couldn’t reach. I was a touch dubious of her intentions but wasn’t prepared to pass up a back scrub. I succumbed. Camille knelt by my side and soaped a sponge. She put one hand on my shoulder and swept warm sudsy water up my back. She didn’t scrub as much as stroke. She spent considerable time on each shoulder, leaning into me to reach my far side. In close I could smell the alcohol on her person, even over the cigarettes. But it wasn’t offensive. On the contrary, I was finding her attentions somewhat arousing and panicked a little when a rush of blood flooded into my cock. I wasn’t expecting it, however Camille was pushing some buttons. I tried to hide the fact. Camille carried on with her sponging and I couldn’t hold back my hard-on. This wasn’t lost on Camille. I could only see her out of the corner of my eye, but I knew she was watching my struggle. She expelled a breathy smile, audibly. You shouldn’t be ashamed she said, meltingly with accent. I was a little, I was hard as and unable to hide it. Camille continued to swab my back and neck, it felt good, deliriously so. Camille then let her hand slip off my shoulder, tracing down over my rib cage and tummy she them wrapped her hand around the head of my dick, squeezing. I startled and pushed her hand away. My cock jolted. You shouldn’t be ashamed she repeated, before returning to her seat, you have a beautiful cock. I wasn’t prepared for any of this. My naivety and inexperience painted me red in the cheeks. I tucked myself into a ball. Camille looked me in the eye. In her pupils I saw an inky black darkness, the bottomless depths of her recent sorrow, complete and confounding, without escape. Through her eyes poured the essence and soul of the confident and accomplished woman who once was, not long ago. But she that sat before me now, looking right through me, was just a shell. I did feel ashamed. If you don’t mind I’d like to get out now. She didn’t mind, she remained silent, motioned to a towel and removed herself and the chair from the room. The ashtray remained precariously balanced on the edge of the bath.

My hard-on deflated slowly as I dried myself, returning to the mirror to ask myself what the fuck was going on. I had no answer. This is where despair had delivered me, into the hands of despair.
I cleaned out the bath and tentatively returned to Camille's apartment. She was in the kitchen. Would you like a drink. As if nothing had happened. Yes please. Beer, wine, whiskey. Wine would be nice. I retreated to the bedroom and fished through my pack for clean clothes. I felt suitably refreshed, although a tad unnerved.

Friday 6 September 2013

choice butts #9...


It’s as if you never left 
muscle memory brings me back 
recollection guides me in 
the taste and scent far reaching
reunion of flesh
 a buckling of will
pretty thing by the window sill


Tuesday 3 September 2013

high rotation...

Settle
by
Disclosure
More delicious summer sounds from the SE corner of the UK. These brothers sometimes border on the cheesey side of house music (only sometimes), but their deeper and funkier shit has been carving up the dancefloors and debasing the festival crowds for the last couple of months. This album is a superb party starter if you wanna move the masses. As for me, well it hasn't left my car stereo since June.
They know where it's at. Lap it up!

Sunday 25 August 2013

Foreign Bodies
part 1

Things don’t always pan out the way you want them to. This much I have learnt over the years. Sometimes life throws a few lemons in your direction. It’s during moments like these, that knowing how to make tarts comes in handy.
From time to time I wonder how I got to where I am, and, from what on earth some of my perversions were born out of. Having no formulaic method to guide me, I became an explorer. Travel and adventure was bred into me and encouraged by very open minded parents, all four of them, and their rather left field groups of acquaintances. By the age of 13, I’d visited multiple countries in 3 continents other than my own. I guess I got lucky with my parents 2nd marriages, they chose wonderful folks from other lands, for this I’m eternally grateful.
I left home at a young age and worked. Like a dog. Ethic has never been an issue with my bloodline, it’s what we do.
At the relatively tender age of 21, I’d saved a substantial amount of money working 100+ hour weeks, whilst indulging for the remaining hours. Sleep was something you did when you were dead. Somehow I made it out of that chapter alive, some of my friends didn’t, fearing a similar fate I had the presence of mind to gather my life and cram it into a backpack with a 57litre capacity. I bought a one way ticket to Amsterdam and kissed my mother goodbye. It was the single most influential decision of my life. The ripple effect still resonates to this very day, years later.
Many months were spent riding a bicycle, and after that was stolen, hitching around Europe taking in the sites from Rotterdam to Istanbul, and most in between. Strange things happened. I was party to many amazing events. Some mind-bending, others mind-boggling. Over the course of these many months, I became a man. A wide-eyed, experimental, solitary man. Never quite comfortable in his own skin, there was far too much that I didn’t and would never understand to make that sort of judgement call. I ploughed on. Working wherever I could, doing whatever was asked whenever the opportunity arose, for whoever was kind enough to recognise in me the immediacy of my need to live and learn. These folk became willing accomplices in the formation of the person that stands naked before you now. Many nameless faces whom I reflect on occasionally, not just for posterity, with gratitude.
One such face burns brightly in my memory for a variety of reasons. Not least of all because she followed up on my teenage fascinations and reinforced in me the sublime pleasures of the infinitely seductive world of the voyeur/exhibitionist. This story is about her. Her name was Camille.
I’d been sleeping rough, in a seaside town on the coast of France. I had no money and spent my days in and around the ferry terminal waiting for my friend to arrive with our car so that we could head east. He left me waiting for 3 weeks. In retrospect, those 3 weeks further carved out my creative side, but I wasn’t about to thank him, still haven’t. Once all the vehicles had left the last daily ferry, I would retreat to the train station where I’d been told by the police to spend my nights. I’d previously slept in the park, however they deemed that too dangerous, they would take me to the train station with all the other lost souls and wayward minds, deposit me there tell me not to head back to the park, or I'd risk arrest. So I sat on the same station bench each evening and wrote. Whatever was in my head, I put on paper. Much of what I wrote was tainted with rage, directed mainly toward my friend, if not him, it ventured inward. I also wrote what I observed and of my experiences passed. I managed to write over the course of one night, a children’s book, which I’ll one day publish after it’s been adequately illustrated. It was an interesting time to say the least.
One afternoon as I sat on my bench scribbling, I was approached by a woman, in her late forties I guessed, who spoke to me in French. I apologised for the fact that I couldn’t understand and she immediately altered her speak so that I could. She asked me if I would join her for a coffee. Without hesitation I accepted the offer. She was well dressed, reasonably fit and had a lovely smile. The only oddity with regards her appearance was the fact that she wore dark sunglasses, inside the station. I couldn’t see her eyes, but that didn’t bother me. She beckoned me to follow her and we sat at a leafy table in the station cafe. Very civilised. She asked what I would like, a flat white, and proceeded to order coffee and cake. (If there’s a more delicious sounding language than French then please send me to that country, I’ll leave tomorrow).
She introduced herself. We spoke for some time. She asked if I was a writer, she’d seen me for a few days on end now, furiously penning my notebook. I told her I wasn’t, just a recorder of things. She was a print journalist it turned out, and an extremely interesting conversationalist. She told me how her husband of 20 years had recently died in a tragic accident, and how she was struggling to overcome his sudden departure. She told me how she had turned to alcohol to suppress the extreme hurt and longing that puddled and bubbled inside her. We discussed that openly. She admitted to having been in variously continuous states of drunkenness for some months now. And I empathised. She told me I seemed beyond my years, an old soul, and yet I found her way with words beguiling. It was the best cake I had ever eaten.
After a second coffee the shadows in the station drew long, like something out of a Drysdale landscape. Camille, having learned of my predicament, asked if I would like to come to her house, offering a bath, warm food and a bed. It wasn’t something I was in any place to refuse, so I gladly accepted her invitation, and we left the station to the nightly freakshow.
Camille paid for a taxi to her apartment. It seemed a well to do area and a lovely building. I could pinpoint it on a map to this day. We ascended a couple of flights to the third floor and she guided me into a small but perfectly ordered, if a little sparse, one bedroom flat. I noted immediately the double sliding doors that separated the bedroom from the living room, and was relieved to see two single beds either side of the bedroom. There was little in the way of furnishings throughout the apartment. A small dining table with two chairs tucked in the corner, two large leather armchairs dominated the space. There was no television, only a sound system. The adjoining kitchen was immaculately clean but well stocked. The fridge laden with wine, beer and cheese. I was suitably impressed. For an alcoholic, I thought, this woman still had lashings of pride to keep her house in such a state.
But things aren’t always as they seem.

Tuesday 13 August 2013



He lets her work him till he feels like he might explode, then pulls her up from where she lay, and, without missing a beat pulls her still soaked pussy back onto his dick. 
She’s murmuring something but he can’t quite discern the words, so he says 
“I want to hear you come. I want to hear you say it”.  
Then she says so he can hear 
“Shhhh.. Just. Fuck. Me. Slowly’ 


choice cuts #23..

Into My Arms
by
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

I don't believe in an interventionist God
But I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Oh not to touch a hair on your head
Leave you as you are
If he felt he had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms


Having recently returned from a 6 week eastern European adventure I find myself pining for a little familiarity. However, I was lucky enough on route to catch Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds in concert in front of about 18,000 punters. With a massive sound system at his disposal the maestro delivered a stellar 2hour set that covered the full spectrum of his bands genius. It was, put lightly, a spiritual experience. His rendition of Into My Arms left me swaying and swooning. When an artist such as Cave takes you in his arms you’re in for the ride of your life. Not only does he have the voice to reduce humble folk to rubble, but his stage presence and energy is otherworldly and electric. If there’s another band out there that can so readily deliver their catalogue, I’d like to hear them named.

Until then... “make her journey bright and pure that she will keep returning always and evermore

Kyiv streetscene

Wednesday 12 June 2013

high rotation...

Summer
album by
I Heart Sharks
As the long wait for summer continues in these, weatherwise godforsaken isles, it's left to music to convey the much needed feeling of sun on ones back. This trio aren't brand new as such, but in my opinion require more notice/recognition. This debut album was released a year and a half back and recently made it's way back into my car. A track or so in and I'm lead to a rediscovering and deeper appreciation of the sound these lads punch out. Indie meets electronica in thumping style. A collaboration between young Germans and a Brit, which doesn't happen very often. They hail from Berlin, where I was lucky enough to witness their incredible live show. Great stuff. 
Highly recommended if you enjoy bands such as 'We Have Band'..'Bloc Party'.. 'Metronomy'.. 'Presets'.. etc.

Wednesday 5 June 2013

15 
entirely useless facts you didn't need to know about me and never asked


I’m a vinyl junkie. When everyone else was discarding their rekkids to embrace technology I was pawing through the endless boxes at garage sales, boot fairs and 2nd hand shops back-cataloguing and discovering rare and hidden gems. I still can’t resist a dusty box.

I use pears transparent soap. It’s the scent that I’m addicted to ever since childhood.

I like to eat hot curries.. traditionally so, and preferably in far flung eastern destinations. I’ve scolded my taste buds on numerous occasions, but got high in the process.

I wear exclusively one brand of jox.. intimissimi. Super comfy.. and I like the way they present my package. Plus they come in lots of quirky designs.

My shower curtain is adorned with a rubber duck pattern.

I prefer the aisle seat by the exit. Extra leg room with a good view of the hostesses bums.

Tunnels unnerve me.

I’m almost entirely ambidextrous. The product of a lefty growing up in a right-handed world.

Size 34 strides, long in the leg.

I masturbate regularly, but refrain from unloading more often than not. It turns me on.

Vibra-ribbed condoms are my rubber of choice.

I eat red velvet cake once a week from a tiny independent cake shop where they make them on the premises and close up when they run out. Die for it.

My staple is rice. You can keep your bread and potatoes.

I once got the shaft of my cock pierced in the backroom of a bar in Guatemala. It was sterile, I’m not that stupid, just stupid enough to have it done full-stop. But the girl who did it was damn hot and I loved the way she nonchalantly handled my meat.. and yes, I was riotously drunk.

Taxidermy evokes in me, childlike fascination. 

Saturday 18 May 2013

Role Play
The Abduction
part 9 finale

I raked at the tacky rivulets, dragging them over her collarbone, up the porcelain finery of her neck and through her already matted locks. I’d made quite the mess.
“What will your flatmates think?” I queried..
‘Nothing.. won’t be the first time I’ve come home covered and stinking of spunk’
I squat down behind her and saddle in close, aligning my still rigid and drooling cock against her spine.
“Is that right”
‘You’re not the only guy to have his way with me you know’
I wasn't surprised, no, just a tad taken aback.
“I see” I reached around and cupped her supple breasts, massaging the slippery film into them further.
“Tell me about it” I rolled her cheeky, hardened nipples between thumbs and forefingers, before clamping down with pulsing pinches. With no room to manoeuvre, C had little choice but to endure, although she did protest and squirm. I reassessed her threshold for pain and dabbled in the upper limits, and beyond. Pinch and twist.
“Tell me about it”
With as much composure as she could muster she began to tell me of a time she’d hooked up with a hot young stud whilst at a party.  She told of how she’d spotted him and knew instantly, albeit through booze addled insight, that he’d be fucking her that night.
As she regaled me with her evenings exploits I found myself turning rather green with envy, an uncomfortable streak of jealousy took over as she spoke.
‘He grabbed my arse while we kissed... and I pretty much turned to putty. I was his’.
I pulled C deeper into me with one arm around her waist, and began fingering the weeping heat of her cunt with next to no finesse. I found myself lapsing in and out of my own reality.. torn between an overwhelming and insatiable lust for the woman I held in my hands and an iniquitous urge to debase the gamine creature who now taunted my manhood with her cock-hungry revelations.
I came around deeper into her story, she was being poked and prodded by a group of young men, 8 hands grabbed and squeezed and slapped, 4 cocks jammed and probed and spat.
Her recollections had my cock at boiling point.
“Such a little slut ”.. I’d heard enough. I reefed her lissom form and pressed her face down, arse up once again. She carried on with the nights events, goading me. I feel sure she knew exactly to what effect, pausing for breath just as I pressed home my ever more enraged dick. Her story now guided my fucking, like the little puppet master she had me on a string. She managed to carry on speaking as best she could.. Her story jolting as the wind was taken out of her.
‘Those young boys don’t fuck around. It’s straight in and pump. I had both hands full and my mouth stuffed.. and they fucked me’.
And I fucked her harder.
‘I felt him swell inside me, so fucking thick I squealed. He pulled out and sprayed his shot up my tummy’
I fucked her with febrile intent.
‘And then the next cock was inside me, while the first stuffed my mouth full with a rubbery taste of the sea.. I sucked him clean’.
My muscle fibres twitched and pinged as the prolonged intensity of my pendulum thrusts began to redline.
‘They fucked me sober. I don’t know how many loads each put on me.. I lost track of time’. 
And I had run out of it. “Arrrgghhhh fuucckk”
‘Ohhh god, don’t stop’
I gave her my everything.
A screaming silence strangled the words from both our mouths. The fuse was lit. Somewhere in the middle of our beings the connection gelled. And with earth shattering effect, we became one.
I couldn't tell you how long it lasted, nor how I managed to survive it. I stayed there inside C as the orgasmic oceans subsided. We breathed in unison, gasping, disbelieving.
I recovered first, although I could have stayed there plugged into C’s energy source for hours on end.
Extricating my still swollen cock was a sobering experience and one which again took the wind from me. As I lurched back I noticed the cold grey light of dawn out above the pine tops. I noticed a clarity in the trees that hadn't been there all night. A mild panic set in.
“It’s time to go”
‘What?’.. C didn't seem to notice, or didn't care.
“It’s getting light, we need to bail”
‘Fuck’... it dawned on her.
I fumbled at the locks around her ankles and wrists, still not fully present to the task.
‘Shit’
Finally freed of her constraints she flayed out on the mattress and looked up to the brightening sky. I set about packing things away willy-nilly, searching the space for any remnants of our interlude. I retrieved all articles of clothing and the sweats I’d brought with me for us both. C hadn't said a word nor yet attempted to move.
“We gotta go”
‘I know’ she said, ‘I know’.
I kissed her open mouth, softly. It felt more appropriate now, and amazing. Her lips were so willing and mouth so warm.
“Put these on”... I offered her the fresh clean sweats, planting them on her naked heaving chest.. something comfortable for the return trip, and let her be. I continued with my own hurried dressing while scouring the scene.
“C’mon get dressed “... C was dragging her heels and I didn't fancy meeting any forestry workers in this state. She did so and without saying a word made her way to the passenger’s seat in the car. I packed the last bits of kit and rolled the mattress, chucking everything in the back poste-haste. I paced around the clearing with the camp light in search of anything I may have missed before outing the diminished blue glow and effectively closing out our dirty little escapade, consigning it to memory only.
Satisfied I’d missed nothing I jumped behind the wheel. I looked into C.
“You OK?”
‘Yeah’..... Smiling cheekily she reached out, resting her hand on mine and squeezed. A never more reassuring moment have I felt.
I stuck the van in gear and executed a perfect 7 point turn, in the process noticing a glint of what looked like a Polaroid by one of the trees. I stalled long enough to make certain that it was, before rolling silently away from the scene. A present, I figured, to some lucky punter who happened across it.
As we bounced along the forest track I tried to gather my thoughts. C hadn't uttered a word, but the warmth of her hand on my leg spoke volumes.
We reached the asphalt road and drove away from the forest without notice. We’d done it. A massive sense of relief swept over me, not a single thing had gone wrong. I smiled unwittingly as the motorway approached and the first rays of sunlight broke the horizon.
‘Fuck... you got any sunnies’
“I do”..... I offered C my only pair, smiling as I did so.
‘What’re you smiling about?’... she quipped.
“Just the fact we got away with it”
‘Yeah.. you did well’
“Don’t sound so enthused”
‘No.. I mean it. You did fucking well babe. Seriously. I’m still reeling’
“Really?”
‘Yeah’... that smile again, destroyer of snowflakes. ‘Really’.
An overbearing sense of well being infiltrated the smallest of spaces in all my thoughts. Flashbacks of the nights pleasure points replayed before my eyes as if I’d gorged on mushroom tea, and my heart thumped against my chest. Lost for words, I drove, for quite some miles.
‘You took Viagra right?’... C broke the blissful silence.
“I did”.. no reason to lie about it. “ Didn't know if I could perform in such a way. I couldn't let you down”
‘Hmm’
“It’s my first abduction”... I laughed at the thought, C laughed with me.
“I wanted to make sure it was good for you”
‘Oh you’re so sweet’... a sarcastic dagger..  C’s hand wandered further up and inside my thigh, coming to rest on the bulge in my pants. The warmth and attention had an instant effect.
‘You should start up a business’.. she reached inside, pulling out my semi-erect prick. She handled it with such affection that before long it was bolt upright and pulsing again, matched by the beating in my chest. I looked around, concerned that other drivers may catch a view. Thankfully the early hour meant there was little traffic on the road.. But then, it was too late now anyway.
C looked at me with a renewed desire, stroking all the while. She undid here seatbelt and leaned over.. ‘Can I suck it?’
“I think you should”... checking my mirrors.
She went about delivering the most heavenly blowjob I've ever received. Her hand and mouth worked me with deft aplomb. She took the lions share of my cock deep, and what felt like another surging load was brought out of me with a delicate but savage effect. It was the fact that I managed to stay on the road that surprised me the most. C stayed right there with cock in mouth as the very last of my seed found its way into her accepting warmth and the rock hard ridges of blood began to retreat, drained once and for all. She lapped away, diligently cleaning off any remaining pearls before sitting up and smiling at me once more.
‘That nice?’ she queried, as if searching for approval.
“Ah, yeah.. you didn’t notice?”
‘Just making sure’
“Thanks”
‘I owed you that atleast’
“For what?...”
‘I lost track of how many times you made me come’
“What... you serious?”
‘Deadly.. you pushed the right buttons.. hard’
A renewed excitement filtered through me at the very thought of her orgasmic declaration. There can be no better reward than knowing this. My cheeks flushed.
“I couldn't tell.. I was hoping”
‘I kept it quiet.. didn't want you to stop trying.. but you did good’ as she patted my retreating fat.
Overwhelmed with a sense of achievement I drove on.. forward, faster.. into the golden warm glow.
The rest of the journey was spent filling time with relatively inane conversation. What made it pleasant was the effortless way in which it rollicked along. No pretense, just a goofy honesty.
Contrary to what they say, time didn't fly by. But every minute of that return journey was filled, with something. Even the silences were delicious. Delicious because they were filled with recollection.
We arrived in C’s street.
‘Fuck it... back to the real world’
“Hmm” I felt a preemptive nostalgia creeping in. Was this it?
I pulled into C’s drive, applied the handbrake and turned to face the girl I’d come to admire in the woman I’d just abducted for sex.
She took off the sunglasses and searched my soul with a crystalline gaze, before planting an awkwardly generous kiss firmly on my lips.
‘Thanks alot’ she offered.. I had little to offer back.
She popped the door and stepped out, turning back to throw me a life line..
‘We’ll chat soon’
“Sure thing” is all I could muster, stupidly.
I watched as she walked up the drive, admiring the way her butt crack ate the loose terry towelling sweat pants.. a final defiant showing of what I had, but couldn’t have. That was it.
And then she turned around and started back with purpose.. I wound down my window.
She stuck her hand through the window, clicking her fingers and motioning..
‘Photos!’
“What about them?”
‘Their mine’
“No way”
‘Give’em to me’
“Oh c’mon.. That’s my wank fodder”
‘You keep the knickers... the photos are mine’ she pointed to the stripey bundle in the corner of the dash. It wasn't a fair trade at all.. but I’ll take whatever I can get, and knickers are especially appealing and an excellent masturbation tool.
“Fair enough”
I gathered the photos together and handed them to her.. against my better judgement.
She bent over and leaned in through the window, close enough for me to take in the heady scent of our collective fucking. A perfume of sweat and come and carnal lust. Worth bottling.
‘Do you really think I’m the type of girl who’d get wankered at a party and go home with 4 strange guys for a fuckfest?’ she accompanied this question with a piercing glare.
“After tonight... I couldn't doubt anything you told me” with a hesitant grin.
She scanned my face for signs of weakness or disbelieving.
Then without warning open mouth kissed me.. briefly, but fully.
‘Then make it so’.
She squeezed my cheeks with one hand then traced the contour of my lips as she stood up, before slipping silently up the drive and into the deepest corner of recent memory. Not looking back, and not needing to. Because as of now, she knew exactly what cogs she’d set in motion. And how my addled mind buzzed anew.


Wednesday 8 May 2013

Desires foundation
it's sub-base
Scent
this is where it starts for me
and where it ends
owned and possessed
Olfactory
predisposed
a predetermined wanting
Need
a reflex
hair-triggered
Lust
trapped and overwhelmed
in your passing
body fragrant
Musk

paris street art - artist unknown
mots - moi
Just read..

The Rosie Project
by
Graeme Simsion

Very rarely can I devour a book in a single sitting... unless it's a decent wine list or similar.. It just isn't like me to sit and read for hours on end. Then I picked up The Rosie Project. Currently doing the bestseller thing I believe, it's a comedy romance, and I'm deadly serious when I say that's a genre I'm not all that into. But, the peculiarity of this first person narrative, presented through the Asperger's tinted view of Don Tillman, is eye-opening, heart warming, totally absorbing, and bloody hilarious. I even shed a tear or 2.. (at one point only, maybe two).
Discard your strict life schedule and dive in. I'm sure you won't be disappointed.

Saturday 23 March 2013




















I hadn't seen her in months. 
Long winter months that harboured and fueled a tangibly violent urge to fuck, in both of us. 
When I arrived she was clad only in briefs and brassiere. 
Our mouths collide. 
Without the room or need for speak she bent herself over the nearest sofa, face down, and pulled aside the flimsy cloth. 
An immediate desire, invitation enough. 
I return her warmth with rock. 
Reefing on her precious little tits I barrel into her on a maddened crusade. 
Not one of mutual bliss, but in search of a savagely shared ecstasy. 
Sometimes, it's all about the knowing.

Saturday 9 March 2013

choice cuts #22...

The Golden Path
by
the chemical bros & the flaming lips

Sometimes I lay in bed wondering what could have been if I'd chosen certain other paths in life, if I'd reacted differently in certain situations, if I'd tried more completely, or behaved more honestly, or loved more openly, more deeply. I lay awake sometimes and apologise into thin air. This song runs through the temporal lobe at such times, and finds me wanting. 
.................
the late winter sky tonight offers a clarity unobtainable to the meddled state of my mind
a solitary thought pushed out upon frosty breath mingles with the stars, a last gasp attempt to find
a truth to my answer, an answer in my truth
a way in which to justify this conscience subdued.

art: Lena V
words: bhp

Saturday 23 February 2013

choice butts #8...

At night
He would scour the endlessly open cityscape
His telephoto lens reaching right into unsuspecting dreams
He paused
One hand on the shutter
The other on his piece
It was moments like these that made his job worthwhile
t-ksht..
...t-ksht

Sunday 10 February 2013



I imagine the dark pink wetness of you and recall a taste, quite different from any other.   
I catch your naked thigh as you brush past, on route to the bedroom, and hold you here. 
Deftly searching your warmth, my fingers find what they're looking for. 
The essence of you. 
Your silky venom.


 I drag my hand down your thigh, and bring your trail to my lips. 
Ah yes.. it’s you I've missed.   
I gaze intently as you peel away. 
A gaze alone that tears strips.. 
Tears strips off your nakedness.


We’ve waited far too long for this.