On all these small occasions, between plastic smelling polarized power oriented stereotypes with ever repeating clichés, glimpses of the most hardcore born triggers flicker on and off for a microsecond in my mind. The small boy in latex suit looked at me with big brown eyes. He wanted so much to touch me, to squeeze my body, to lick my chest. Why not? He didn’t create any sexual tension in me, but can I let cows lick so why not dark boys in gigantic condoms?
After a while I grabbed his neck and started to give him a massage, one of my favorite things to do on other people. A type of activity done to master another being, regardless the person’s personality, few things wake me up more than this. One little man in a latex suit, a small joy boy to twist and bend, to force, to use in penetration of others, to let others penetrate. One little latex boy that screams between my hands.
He mourned and let his hands go for an exploration tour inside my pants… And at that moment it all ended. I can’t really see men in a more vivid love act than kissing and hugging. Men aren’t sexual in themselves and I can’t see them as more than as tools for creating impressions on other people.
I seek the ultimate relational experience with all people, one that takes me beyond every defined rule about how human beings should behave and communicate. I want the mere lust and naked feelings no matter how they appear. I want to tear apart and be divided. I want to fuck up everybody’s impressions and turn all adrenaline and dopamine to flood like spring flood in myself and in everyone I meet. I want to fall and let everything fall below the lowest of levels that once were written down by fear, greed and envy. I want to build and be built far higher than all borders made by fantasies. This isn’t really about dominance and conquering others. This isn’t about finding the ultimate dominant partner with the meanest fantasies and hardest torturing hands. It’s about communicating, interacting and giving birth to fantastic feelings in other people. It´s not about skillful whipping techniques or walking between dance floors and play areas with the coolest moves. It’s about mental and physical outtakes.
It’s about letting go of the last barriers.
Wonderful L suddenly drags me out from the Danish Manifest club to some adventures in the streets of Copenhagen. She is wrapped in a leather corset and I’m in a russian uniform with knee-high leather boots. I’m expecting trouble and fights anytime, but people just laughs and joins up in a Sieg Heil, not able to differ between modern russian uniforms and german second war gears. But still, a bit funny. I didn’t bother informing the origin of my suit.
Instead I followed L:s eager steps down to a discotheque in a cellar. As we entered a fantastic roar and screaming went through the place. Everyone wanted to dance with us, have a good laugh and shout. And all these wonderful gay guys that, in a raw manner had a go at me, something that did have a certain boost to my self-confidence.
A half hour later we were both pouring of sweat and went back to the Manifest club. What happened later is an issue that needs a chapter of its own.