PICS
That's all for now.
Go here if you missed sex, fun and nakedness, or wait a day or so for a picture heavy update.
The FAQs:
Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
Since my ad is on SG:
I have been pretty swamped with orders. So much in fact that all my other activities (be it working on new items of clothing or debauchery) have come to a sudden screeching halt and I remain in my four walls, up to my eyeballs in fabric and ironing steam and racing sewing machines for about 16 hours a day, every day.
My only, and very welcome, distraction is shooting girls in my man's place since it's like he furnished and interior-designed it for the sole purpose of having SG sets produced in it.
Observe Sheena:
Dress by me.
Observe my ass:
Observe Fraise:
A few more of me in Manko's penis panties, shot at my place however:
Wish me luck that a crop from one of those is my new profile image in the future.
And yes, I realize I look romulan. I'm hoping my lovely wife Adria will endorse this. Actually, I look like a slightly unnerving lovechild of some romulan and Jeanne d'Arc:
I've been wanting to reenact that last image in a more contemporary way, however I'm having trouble obtaining a ray gun instead of the sword. If anyone has one, give me. 
I bought my first very own brand new notebook, and I'm pretty proud to say it wasn't sperm money that paid it. Sperm money is cool and very much appreciated, but getting cash for other work is something else entirely. Anyhow, I keep doing dumb shit with it just because I can, like making this my picture when I start it:
Ah yes, webcam. I realize I'm lame and like 20 years too late, but wow, technical achievements! What will they invent next, the combustion engine? A zeppelin? The internet?
My man, brother in law and I are enthused:
I found some pretty awesome snapshots of Eric and Horace from a few months ago:
It's like they're being katapulted onto the Kreuzberg from another dimension. Pewzing! PEW!
Pew. Levitation.
Oh, and here are my friend Zeynel and I at some super dumb "fetish" party after we stuck a hundred syringes into the "dominatrix", who had, prior to that, run around the entrire dungeon naked and giggling. (Yeah, I totally feared her wrath.)
Oh wait, I'll go find some pictures of the process itself ... wait... Ok, here:
It's ok that I work so much since quite simultaneously, Eric got his new super great absolute perfect dream job in which he crawls around expensive cars all day and makes them look luxurious. He spends 12 - 16 hours a day cleaning and washing and waxing and rubbing and using secret tinctures with ethereal ingredients until they shine in an otherworldly gleam to be presented at shows and whatnot.
It's sort of sensual and sexy, in a way. I need to get pictures.
But it means that currently, we are both working like donkeys and rarely see each other, which leads to terrible orgiastic occurances on weekends. I've just now left his lair and am sort of relieved actually, maybe due to the rugburn I received over half my face while I whimpered: "Stop, please, you're hurting me, please, please, nnnnghhhohgodohgodOHGOD!"
So what we learn is to not be fooled by pretty faces such as this one:
since they may deceive you into thinking they wouldn't be capable of fucking your ass before breakfast, then bringing you breakfast politely and fucking your ass again afterwards, then showering and leaving you a panting mess just to stick their cock down your throat upon return, eating your pussy in a way that makes you cry and pray to god, after a gracious and rather condescending pause provoking you by purposefully uttering sexist things like: "Girls shouldn't ride motorcycles." until you get into a defiant and stubborn discussion with him even though you know he doesn't even mean it, only to have him punish you horribly with asphyxiation and forced orgasms for "talking back", and at some point fucking you so hard you vomit afterwards.
All the while, you propped up in an easy access fuck position somewhere between couch and floor, he forces you to admit you love him lest he just stops ramming his cock inside you, which would be the worst thing imaginable since you are absolutely aware of the fact that he is by far more disciplined and in posession of far more self-control than you and would not allow you any penetration for weeks on end if he decided it an appropriate measure in regards to your impertinent behaviour.
He drives me crazy. He might be the only person more nasty, relentless and perversely power-trippy than I was with most boys, back when I wasn't so addicted to just one man.
Although it can be pretty funny at times as well, especially when he tries to keep me from wanting to fuck him.
"No Temper," he says, "we have things to do." which is true, like shooting porn for private customers.
But he's half naked and filming me while I insert things into my pussy, so I touch him because he's hot.
And he grabs my wrists and tells me: "No." again, which I find even hotter and nestle up to him nearly purring, so he needs to counteract this by forcing me away with his upper body strength, of which there is plenty, until I'm lying on my back in bed with him over me, still holding my wrists, which I find hotter still.
So he gets exasperated and doesn't know whether to fuck me, slap me or laugh and says:
"No! And quit it with your fuck-voice, your fuck-breathing, your fuck-eyes, your fuck-mouth, your fuck-whimpering and your fuck-back-arching!" which I find incredibly hot, and he cries:
"Oh my god! ... must be unsexy... uhm, ok: Women's right to vote was the worst mistake of the past century! ... and, uh... No matter what, Kachelmann* is innocent!" and it's no use at all because then I have to laugh hysterically and funny men are sexy.
I have it so hard, I know.
(* Kachelmann is this TV weather dude who allegedly (or as I'd say, proven guiltily (<-- no idea whether that adverb-ified term exists) raped his girlfriend after a fight and it caused a huge ruckus and some super misogynist news coverage.)
The FAQs:
Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
Quick, because I'm tired - My life pretty much revolves around this at the moment:
^^ That image wasn't planned, by the way. The following were:
There has been tattooing, the man and I have matching Axolotl on our ankles (that made sense in some sort of context, never mind, they look outrageous and never grow up, that's reason enough to identify with them):
And mine poops stars!
The man is man enough to wear a pony on rollerskates:
and I need to add that No, I Did Not Force Him To Do Anything, this was a collaboration, a clash of juvenile silliness, indulgence and nonsense.
He discarded plenty of my brilliant ideas such as sloppy flying foals in precipitate delivery, diapers, Frankensteinpony or the infamous and rather bold looking hoofshaped rollerskate. I could, however, in painstaking work, convince him of the greatness of an epic battle with an octopus. I shall post photos once this endeavor is completed. *claps hands in glee*
I also added the tattoo on his chest.
I've shot some pictures:
Clothes, as always, by me, by the way.
A brain fart by my friend and I:
I'm working on a bunch more of those. Adria, Zak, he was watching some of your porn during that.
And I've been confronted by some peculiar and improbable jealousy which was, as everything is, inspiring:
Some of my favorite Amsterdam Activities with Nemesis and Benten have surfaced after my last post, I display them for the record:
More of that here.
And Horace being Action Wurst:
So much for now, I must proceed to... sleep. Something which I'm actually capable of doing these days, for what might be the first time in my life. It's because I sleep on boy chest. I look like ten years younger now that I've been experiencing something resembling regular and healthy sleep for a month.
The FAQs:
Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
I went to Amsterdam and things occured.
While I shot no sets, P_mod was great enough to shoot the clothes I make with me even though he could hardly walk from an injured ankle:
Not only was I picked up from the train station upon my return and practically showered with all that is breathtaking and awesome in and concerning my apartment, but my brand new Canon EOS 7D was waiting for me.
So I shot pictures of the man who makes it hard for me to breathe:
And had this all weekend after Amsterdam:
(^^ Turns out it's pretty rewarding to be so enamored by your new camera that you take it everywhere and shoot pictures nonstop of every little thing that happens.)
Annnnnd for good measure, some pictures of Horace face to complete what my life is about currently:
The FAQs:
Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
I can't even begin to tell you guys about this one man and how much I am obsessed with him. It's been a year now.
I keep doing stupid shit (case in point - last journal entry) just to distract myself from the fact that he is not in my life. And it's hurting me.
Things have... occured. He is sort of in my life, albeit a bit unconventionally. I am speaking of The Other from a year ago.
I am so in love with him that words can't describe it, and everyone always says that about themselves, which makes it banal, insufficient and embarrassing to say, but I don't care, and I guess that sort of illustrates that it's true and I can't deny it or hide behind any other description.
He does things... I don't know, maybe I'll feel not just inclined, but able to attempt at illustrating in a short while. I'll try. Not now. He's too intense. I am a helpless mewling pile of wasting desperation and exhilerating bliss.
I went to Hamburg to fuck a very pretty boy. It was fun. The boys I sleep with are awesome, but feel shallow. I eat and purge and eat and purge beautiful boys until I get something of nourishment again. They fuck me until I bleed and I like it. I like that anyhow, but nowadays it serves to obliterate any conscious or coherent thought and numbs the diseased, infected, tumor-like craving for this one man.
He makes me so happy. He robs me of my senses. He makes me so, so incredibly unfathomably happy.
New images of my clothes:
Oh hey, I haven't posted FAQs in a while.
The FAQs:
Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
André just said my life is the krassest Tarantino Movie ever. That's a pretty nice compliment, akin to "She's the capitalist of sex" or "You're like Cartman if he was hot" by Zak.
After a few months of being sick, losing my laptop, Horace hurting his paw, nothing to do and endless bad luck in every single aspect of my miserable life, things are starting to look up again.
While being out to party thursday night, trying to forget that my friend and I lost a lawsuit concerning the shop I had 3 1/2 years ago and trying to not scratch my incredible new tattoo:
So while I was out partying, I suddenly feel this kick against my leg. I turn around, see this girl sitting alone with a surly expression and ask her: "What the hell, was that you?"
She tries to ignore me, so I lean a little closer and repeat: "Hey. Was that you?"
She gives me this look of I am piqued and in all actuality explains: "You stepped on my foot!"
What!
"Then get out of the club, you fucking cow! If you can't handle the place being packed then stay in your goddamn living room, bitch."
"Wah wah wah!"
"Is that so? Well, if you accidentaly kick me for something I didn't even realize happened because simultaneously, I'm sure about three people stepped on my feet and it's the nature of the club, then maybe I'll feel inclined to accidentally grab your hair to steady your head and punch your face in with my fist. Just saying."
I'm leaning very close to her, and for good measure blow a sudden blast of air into her face, like a hard P sound. She is so startled she squeaks and awkwardly hits my shoulder, so that obviously, I need to do as I said and grab her hair, push her head down so that she's lying on her side and give her a whack with my other hand.
It was only a slap though, one of those that don't even hurt, but are alarmingly loud. I didn't want to hurt her, just make her feel like an ass, and if I leave any marks I might get convicted for bodily harm and then they'll take my dog from me. And the degradation of it was far more fun than actual harm anyway. I don't like hurting girls.
Yay, cat fight!
Or at least half of one, she was squealing and yelling and I just walked away, my work there being done. Naturally, we just waited after that for security to peel me out of the place, I was able to have another whole beer before they finally did.
The great thing about remaining inert in situations when your opponent is about to do, or just has done something stupid is that you can just lean back and watch their own little demise enfold - she ranted and raved in hysterics while I was just like: "Dude, look at her. I don't know what Crazywoman is on about, sorry."
I didn't even have to discredit her, she did it all on her own.
I'm not even sure how the following began, it was probably some subconscious thing, a split second look the cop gave me or just the power dynamics of the situation, in any case I just immediately began using the informal form of addressing him (Du instead of Sie) and adding things like: "You know what I mean?" or "you understand that, right?" or "anyone would've thought the same, no?" when I realized it indeed made him feel more personally connected to me.
Or going: "Sure I'll follow you. I'll do anything you say." in a certain very obvious tone of voice.
I'm so good at saying terribly cheesy things, it's hilarious. So, so terrible. Even more so when they actually work. I mean... "Sure, officer." Really? Really? Oh my god.
... Really?
The cop is 6'5", around 30, shaved head, muscular looking and arresting me for bodily harm.
I am standing in front of him just a little too close, looking up at him with large eyes just a little too long, and I can tell he's trying to figure out whether I mean it or want to catch him off guard to headbutt him and run or something.
I don't. There's no need to. This guy can't even hold my stare while I'm, say, moistening my lips or doing things like kicking his leg to illustrate what had happened previously and then saying: "I'm sorry... does it hurt a lot?"
At some point he was apparently suffering from the cold, since I had to step up close to him and say: "Oh... you're shivering. I know that's my fault since you constantly need to get your notepad out..." and slowly pull up the zipper of his jacket while looking at him in a way that makes him need that face while getting a blow job.
He needed my phone number for... uh. Further questions and... uh, stuff.
God, I am laughing madly while typing this. I myself can't believe I did that.
Yes, he is disregarding his work ethics and writing me text messages. I saw him shortly but am thinking I need to repeat it to really do everything anyone has always wanted to with a police officer. Like anal penetration or making him like drinking my piss and such.
Poor boy.
6'5" and arresting me for bodily harm. And he is so succeptible to my charms he lets himself be manipulated into letting me go and obscuring the facts so that surely nothing will come of it. (Even if that weren't the case, I have enough friends who are witnesses. Even though they were at home at the time...)
However at least I learned that the bitch who demanded the cops come for such a Kinderkacke as what happened (I was actually embarrassed a little) does not live in Berlin, which is a shame.
I'm going to have to tell you guys about this photographer who threatened to sue me. It happened a few months ago, but I just remembered. What an ass he was, it's sort of funny.
I can't even begin to tell you guys about this one man and how much I am obsessed with him. It's been a year now.
I keep doing stupid shit (case in point - this journal entry) just to distract myself from the fact that he is not in my life. And it's hurting me.
Ah well.
New pictures:
By Elena:
By me, clothes pictures:
By me, stuff:
I'm still not feeling too hot though.
But a little too tired to exlain all the details and everything that has happened. I'm just sick, have been ever since I got a belly ache that one day in New York a few weeks ago, and every time I hope it gets better there is an immediate decline and I'm in the emergency room.
Spacevirus Hamsterflu.
Spacevirus Hamsterflu sucks ass.
(And by the way - what you guys have done to my set is outrageous. 800 comments? Really? That's leagues better than any of my sets has ever done. It`s pretty incredible. Thank you.
)Oh wow.
I've gotten some reactions on my set that really surprised me, and what some people understood this set to mean was absolutely not my intention.
I am neither bashing members in general, who ultimately pay us for our sets, and neither the girls who show vulva in their set.
All ladies on this site know exactly what it's like to receive random and unsolicited messages by members who demand something of them, for them alone.
If it's not to show their vag, which isn't a requirement but a beautiful bonus in a set, then it's to show their asshole. If it's not their asshole, then could you please send private pictures to my email adress hornyslob38846@slobmail.com?
All I want is your pussy close up. Pentrated. Just fingers, ok? Or actually, make it that huge dildo I'll totally send you. Make it those three dildos I'll totally send you, you have three holes, right?
And while you're at it, how about if you lick your finger and make me think it's pussy goo, I'll totally not reimburse you, because I feel entitled! You're some internet porn whore, and I paid someplace to see you! You do as I demand!
The set was shot in march of this year, pretty much right after a slight drama occured about the increasement of godawful tags such as the ones repeated in the set:
Another Cuntless SG, Meat Curtains, Show Pussy, No Vag No Love.
(And right when they were banned due to them being inappropriate, degrading, offensive and just plain stupid.)
The latter especially implying that a set without the so rightfully demanded vag pictures is worthless in and of itself. That the girl that shot this set with her beauty and perhaps personality or even a message in mind is worthless in and of herself.
I am not going into the "what SG really is" because I have no clue what SG "really is" and am in zero position to judge it. All I know is that naked tits and ass is required, all else you better be grateful for.
So, I'm not too pleased about my set being in MR. That was certainly not my intent.
Without going into too much detail, I was experiencing difficulties with my upload thing / internet connection, asked for help, got it swiftly, was thankful, explained I needed it to go through staff review only, and then there apparently were troubles. Somewhere. Along the way.
And even though I intellectually know that MR can be a great thing, it's Not For Me, and all pros and cons and ancient discussion and beaten horses aside, the way I feel is that I am unwillingly advertising myself with no chance of ever being reimbursed for my naked ass on display for all the world to see.
My sets are simply not popular with a vast majority members. Which is one of the reasons I have never had a personally rewarding experience using MR.
I am not counting on SG buying this set. This is no problem at all, SG is great and I like being here and don't feel passionately about their business decisions.
But if I am rejected, I want it to be discreetely done by staff only, whose assessment I basically trust, or more to the point - have no objections to, and not fucking phantom member Bob The Slob who savors his feeble position of power by hitting Not For Me because he deems me unworthy of being his wank material due to the fact that "I look like a man".
Coincidentally, the set theme fits this dilemna quite well.
No Vag No Love
I show my cookie.
Believe it or not, the fact that I am wearing my ancient pink faded Pussy Deluxe Schluepfer is a complete coincidende.
Shot by Turbulence.
Please excuse my bad attitude toward the whole MR debacle. I honestly love what we did and find it hilarious and overdue, but at the moment, I am sulking and what I cynically and childishly want to say is: Please don't even comment, because the higher the comment count, the harder it will be for me to delete it after three months.
Ok, ok, fine. I didn't really mean that, I guess.
EDIT: Guys, I'm reading your comments and you're making me weak. Thank you.
On to something else:
Horace babycakes furface is now on me:
Thanks, Justin.
See, in german I can now say: "Watn los, ich hab doch eh staendig Horace am Hals." and it'll be a semi clever joke.
I can also say that it hurt so tremendously in the end that I can metaphorically claim I've actually given birth to him.
Maybe saying that only works in german slang without sounding too odd.
I masturbated for a few hours throughout that session.
The first two hours were a picnic, but when the pain started I began to slip my hand into my pants, which proved to not only be a surprisingly effective pain relief, but about three hours of absolute bliss.
When you're being tattooed by a boy who looks like this:
and who you've been fucking for five months, and who then has you lie on the black leather seat in his studio and, in a very unrelenting way, bends your head to the side and you feel a lot of his body weight on you while he's inflicting pain to your neck with nothing much you can or want to do about it - that's pretty hot. I liked it.
I really needed to pull myself together in order to avoid coming. I didn't want any sudden spastic movements to ruin his work.
As the pain increased with time, masturbating turned from enjoyment to necessity with decreasing sexual pleasure. I continued for as long as I could since the endorphin release would soothe the pain regardless, and it was still a distraction that in it's effect shouldn't be underestimated.
At least, every time I stopped, it immediately hurt like a motherfucker, so I really really quickly resumed my activities.
Near the end, despite first lidocaine and at some point two morphine pills, the pain grew so excruciatingly unbearable that all I could do was make unintelligible sounds like: "Nnnhhhggggraaaaahhh!", involuntarily slap his hands away and pant.
To his repeated question whether we should stop I replied: "No. More. Finish."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Dude, look at me when you say that."
"Continue or I'll hit you!"
Justin was incredible. Not that it was even necessary, but he is so calm and secure and makes you feel so much at ease. He's quick, precise and professional.
Even though my crush has ceased a while ago, I am really grateful to have him as a buddy, he's a valuable human being.
Some new pictures real quick:
by this guy.
by Turbulence
Jackets up there and neck brace in this image by me.
Stellaris and I, all shot by me:
More stories in next entry. I need to go pack my bags.
I'm leaving for New York tomorrow to stay at Charlie's place, shoot pictures with her, maybe see Daria, see tmronin and maybe shoot with him, probably see TheFuckOffKid, see ZakSmith and listen to him repeat everything I say in his Cartman voice, and see Adria, who I spontaneously feel like taking a bath with at the moment.
Jealous?
