RECONfigured

 

A month ago, I went to (and VERY much enjoyed) a life-drawing class at the Dallas Eagle [see also: It Figures]. This time, I'm going to pose. 

The guys putting this together are Dan and Dave - this is an outreach program of their Salon Naturale events, which have ranged from underwater photography to fiction writing, with a LOT of drawing and reference photography for artwork. At one very complicated afternoon, we spent half the meeting time with some guys getting electro-stimulated, and other guys doing figure drawing - it's THAT kind of crowd - and then the other half of the session in the pool doing underwater photography. I thought I had done a blog post about the session, because I remember posting the video of me gagging slime out of Bolder's throat, but then I realized I just incorporated that bit of video, and a mention, into the post about the backyard pool party that was the same weekend, like it was literally a Saturday afternoon-into-evening pool party [see also: Remarkable], which is what ended up getting the blog post, because HOLY FUCK that was a night, and then a Sunday afternoon art/pool hang/electrostim tutorial with hot guys, underwater photography session. 

Sometimes I get so much happening in the course of short period of time, that I don't get an awesome event written up at all. Most of them I still have my notes - usually in the form of bursts of text messages to one of a few like-minded erudite perverts, so that I can get into that kind of dishy, "You totally won't believe who I fisted" sort of tone to the writing. There's just a way you can talk, to guys who get what you're into. Somebody who works for the Opera in logistics, and does gold and cloisonne enamel in his spare time, when he's not fucking a trench through the hottest sex parties. There are friends who are kinky-minded-vanilla, and get a thrill out of reading some of this stuff; and then, there are friends who are just as much freaks as I am. There are guys who I can talk to about things like tendons popping in your throat when you deepthroat a massive cock, and they will respond with something like, "Oh, yeah, I had that happen with this guy at IML one year.  I had a massive sore throat after - not like the kind you get from being sick, but like the kind you get from taking a karate chop to the larynx. Fuck, that hurt. Total vocal rest for a week." You know, friends who understand. 

Anyway. Back to the Salon. The Salon events aren't sexual - and like going to a Sisters' pool party - you wait for the bell to ring signaling the official event is finished and any shenanigans are not related to the event, and you watch the host to see when they take off their clothes. 

Oh... I forgot. All the Salon events are naked. Everybody, whatever we're doing, from the time the event starts. It's amazingly liberating. It's also an awesome way to connect together as creative gay men in a sex-aware, but not overtly fuck-oriented situation. If you want for the hot guy who did the flogging demos (while guys were taking pictures, of course) to give you a flogging, you can go to the garage. There's a good camera set up there. But if you want him to fuck you... the bell has to ring first. 

I'm not sure what relationship Dan and Dave have with the Eagle, but they go in and out the staff doors, and I just haven't ever asked for details. But having a figure drawing night at a gay bar, is so creative, and beautiful, and body-affirming, and it's one of those things that makes me glad to live in Dallas. There's definitely a strong creative community of interesting 'mos who hang out and do things like draw and dance and sculpt and sing. And then, you see 80% of the same crowd at a pool party, and you're trading deepthroat technique lessons with a new friend, sharing tips like you're Hints from Whoreloise. 

So, now that I'm in the "model group" - a Facebook Messenger chat, so that we can talk about it - I get this rush of creative ideas, and think, "how hot would it be to stylize the poses, to hold the belt up, to pop the belt and then hold it across out in front..." and then I get WAY over-excited and start rambling about how I'd love to do a pose with somebody else, where it can kind of tell a story of a spanking, or something like that - and then Dave reminds me that we're trying to keep it simple for now, and oh, gotcha, I back down a little. I mean, we continue chatting, but I reduce my art-direction. There's one beautiful boy whose birthday is on the night of the drawing session, and I'm really hoping that I can incorporate some spanking interwoven with the drawing sessions with him. He's the same amazing ass I spanked last weekend at a party - another event I haven't gotten around to writing up. Damn, it's tough having so much fun banging hot boys, that I don't get around to banging out the blog post. Suffice it to say, I've got beautiful video, and some remarkable fun story bits, and I'll be putting that one in soon. Anyway. The other model who's supposed to be taking the platform that night is Wes, whom I got to play with at the last figure drawing night [see also: It Figures] and whose pert perky ass I got to spank, and then finger, and then fuck, and fuck, and fuck, at a pool party for his birthday [see also: The Fraternity of Hands-Free Daddies]. So, I know that chances of me getting to smack ass are fair to good, and chances of being able to engage some other horny pervert in some shenanigans are fairly high. Yaay! 

The day before, the muscle pup says he's uncertain, and there's some shuffling of schedules. I ask for and get permission to bring some supplemental lights, and so I pack a bag with some fun things to hold or play with, and a little wooden bench that's fairly comfortable to sit on. I'm wearing a jock and a leather harness, jeans, a shirt that says "Daddy" on it, aviator shades, and a ball cap that says BRISKET that I won at on a prize wheel at the Beef Council's booth at the Texas State Fair. 

When I arrive, I carry my stuff in and tuck it in a corner, and see who all is here. I'm early. I head to the bar, and figure out how to get a light to stand up on a stanchion, and Wes and I experiment with ways to adjust the stage lighting and the supplemental lights. We talk about poses. The organizers are going around getting things set up, getting the stage positioned properly, getting out their supplies of pads and papers and media from charcoal to markers. Most of the artists bring their own kit, and that ranges from trois coleurs with Conte' crayons, to electronic media drawing on specialized tablets. Dan and Dave also bring extra materials to make it easy for someone who just shows up with an interest, to experiment and have a good drawing experience. I love this. I'll be taking them paper pads. 

 I find Dan and Dave and say hello, and I say hi and hug the necks of friends seated at the bar. I recognize a face I've never met in person, a guy who goes by Chunt. Chunt and I have shared some fascinating conversations; he's got a very specific fetish called macrophilia, where a lot of his fantasies and his artwork (and, occasionally his role play) involves his partner growing magically huge while brutally topping him. Some years ago, we were talking about writing fantasy porn, and he ended up crafting a forty-two page short story about this seemingly nice guy (that would be me) who picks up an innocent young man (that would be him) and does the hot sex with him while slowly and painfully (for him) growing to enormous size. There's a lot of medical terminology about the damage done as the massive member wrecks the poor boy's body, stretching out and excavating his throat and then his ass to make space for fucking. It's hot, up to a point - but I'll admit, his interest goes beyond what mine does. I'm into size differences - but I learned from an educational conversation, that I'm into what's called Plausible Size Difference - where a big tall normal human plays with a small-stature normal human. I enjoy towering a foot above my partner, and fucking a guy who barely comes up to my nipples makes me extra horny - but I don't want to tower over him by ten feet, and I don't want to rupture his esophagus and break his pelvis with my marauding massive dick. Well, not much, anyway. OK, so I kinda enjoy it when a tendon creaks or a joint pops as I'm pounding throat, or I pull out my cock with some minor blood on it from a rough second-hole fuck - but I don't want for an experience to end in an ambulance trip. Even for kinky freaks like me, there is a line between what turns me on to actually DO, and what turns me on to imagine. To me, that line represents the difference between being kinky, and being a psychopath. 

Chunt has come here tonight at my personal invitation - partly because I know he loves drawing and I want him to meet this group of artsy guys, and partly because I know he will get off on watching me on a stage, three feet taller than my normal six-one, looking down on him as he draws. I hug him and we talk, and smooth over the awkwardness of meeting in person someone you've only chatted online with. I've already had a conversation with him some about some possible fantasy scenarios that could be drawn out from the sketches and photos he will take tonight - there's plenty of ass-beating in the fantasies (for my benefit) and I tell him if he wants to draw in tiny dudes getting squished under my monstrous feet, he's welcome to. I ask him if he'll help me with undressing onstage - I'm not doing a strip tease, but I want to show the layers being taken off, particularly my big size 13 boots. And, I want the visual of him at my feet, serving me. Establishing dominance. He agrees. I ask if he wants me to "accidentally" step hard on one of his hands as he's removing the boot, but when he makes a suddenly pale and wide-eyed shocked face, I decide that just help unlacing and pulling off the boots is plenty. He's already told me more than a few times that he's scared of me. I like playing a little with his fear, but again - I'm also respecting him as a person, and taking it a little bit at a time. I pull the thick leather belt out of my belt loops and pop it - several guys have instant reactions to the little whip-crack thunderclap sound it makes, and then I put it back on. 

I talk to Wes, and ask if he'd be willing to get tied up on the St. Andrew's Cross, maybe during one of the breaks, and he says yes. Hot damn, the night is getting a lot more fun! Then there's another model, Weston (NOT Wes) whom I haven't met before; I don't know if he was recruited tonight. He's a slim, furry otter with a beautiful dark auburn beard and liquid eyes that seem simultaneously brown and blue, although that may be an effect of the stage's lighting. We're going to do a five minute pose each, and then a ten minute pose each, and then a twenty minute pose each. We're going to go in order, Wes - Michael (me) - Weston. All this is fine. I like the addition of the shorter poses; it allows you to do more variety of gesture; it gives you a chance to strike a pose that you couldn't maintain for half an hour, and it allows the artists to warm up. 

A note on photos: the photos that include me, were taken by Chunt. The others, I took. The drawings were shared by the artists. 

Wes goes first. He seats himself backward on a barstool, so that his knees straddle the rear of the seat and his elbows are leaned on the backrest. His ass is on display; he's got a bar-legal thong (in Texas, you have to have at least a one-inch strap going down the crack of your ass covering your butthole. Yes, really.) so you can't view his sweet tight little pucker, but he arches his back like he's selling cake by the slice. Guys settle down to draw. I snap a few photos, but mostly just hang out and watch. Wes hasn't done a lot of life drawing modeling, but he's done modeling for photography, and he's familiar with how to work his angles and lines to catch the light. 

After Wes is finished, I take the stand. I go mostly dressed for this one, taking off my shirt and draping it over the back of a barstool and replacing the hat and shades. I whip the belt out again, and pop it, but I'm not able to make the amazing CRACK sound that it did earlier. I pop it a couple of times, laughing and commenting on how my props aren't working with me tonight - and then I hold a position with my arms in front of me, as if mid-belt-pop. I signal that I'm ready to pose, and the artists begin drawing. I focus on one spot, like the yoga concept of a drishti, and I become so still that my eyes black out, covering over the guys sitting in front of me with optical camouflage until I finally flick my eyes to one side. I love this state, this meditative place where I can be still and focused. I fix my attention on my breathing, and let myself dissolve. 

After my five minutes are up, it's Weston's turn, and he stands in a jock and athletic shoes in the center of the stage, looking slim and young. He's got fur all over his body, thick on his chest, but also covering his shoulders and back. Posing for drawing is new for him, but he takes to it readily, and I snap some photos as the artists in the bar get down to drawing. When his five minutes are up, we all get a break before the tens. 

When Dave calls the break, I nod to Wes and jerk my head toward the St. Andrew's Cross in the back corner of the bar. We go over there and figure out how to get him gently but firmly restrained, his arms stretched up with the conveniently placed chains and cuffs. These have been really well thought out; there are clips to shorten the chains, and the cuffs are lined with a soft furry fabric, so it's both easy and safe to strap him up. I have always said about kink: "I want you to start out as comfortable as possible. I'll MAKE you uncomfortable when I'm ready." 

I start hand-spanking Wes's beautiful ass. I'm not holding back as much

as I did at his birthday; he and I have gotten a little more acquainted, and he's ready to take it. I give him quite hard smacks on one ass cheek and then the other, alternating to spread the pain around. He gasps and moans and writhes. I had thought the guys might hear the noise and come investigate, but we have that corner all to ourselves. I keep spanking, then take my tingling warm hands and run them over his glowing ass and up his spine. Pull that energy up... remember, squeeze your asshole, compress the dantian, and feel the flaming heat from where I've hit you, and draw that current up your back, over the top of your head, down your throat, across your chest, back to your dantian again. Feel it throbbing in your prostate. I stroke the path as I'm talking about it; my hands are warm enough that he can feel the heat from them even when I don't actually make contact. Again and again I hit him, and pull the power up... and then, I unchain him, and it's time for his next pose. 

Wes remounts the same barstool for his ten minute pose, giving the artists a chance to continue working on that same drawing. The red light washes out most of the glow on the cheeks of his ass, but I can see a few blotchy spots where I've broken capillaries, and he'll probably have some spot marks for a day or two. I love how the red light makes his ass glow, like you can imagine it being a severe spanking. Again, I get some photos, then wander around. I step out on the patio and get some more THC. 

Then, it's my turn again. I walk up, and have Chunt help me unlace my boots. His hands are shaking, and the laces give him some difficulty, but we get them off after a few seconds. I take the belt out of my pants and lay it on the barstool, then remove the pants and drop them in a puddle on the stage next to my boots. I pick the belt up, and hold it in my upraised right hand, as if about to swing it... and I pose. 

This one is twice as long, and I'm still wound up from spanking Wes; my cock is half-hard in the jock, and I can feel the tingle of my hand where I struck him, that hand now curled around the belt in my grip. With the higher keyed-up energy from the spanking, I'm not able to dissolve into meditation quite so readily, and so I begin doing a sixty-one point meditation, moving the focus of my attention through point after point, grounding myself in my body. It's an awesome technique, especially for times when you're anxious or stressed. 

The artist who drew this gave me the drawing at the end of the night - thank you for a beautiful memento of this experience! I love being in art.

Then Weston takes his ten-minute pose, his arms hugged around his torso as he lies on the stage, and some of the artists get amazing foreshortened drawings of him. Foreshortening is always such a neat thing in drawing, because it makes us consider carefully how things are arranged. 

art by Joey Chabolla

After the ten minute poses, it's time for another break. I haven't had anything to drink yet, and I get some water and quench my thirst, hit the bathroom, and get another THC-enhanced visit to the patio. I talk with Wes about doing a two-person pose; we had been advised against it at the start, but now Dan and Dave seem amenable, and so Wes and I go through some logistics, trying out options of how we can sit together for a long pose. We settle on a pose balanced on a barstool and the bench I brought, so that we're leaning into one another. I like the angles and the dynamic arrangement of masses, and it's nice that we're able to relax somewhat against each other's bodies. Then, Dan comes up and asks if I'll tie Weston up for his pose - and he's got a couple of red handkerchiefs to accomplish the bondage. Once I figure out that he wants me to be in the pose WITH him, I ask if we can use my belt - and that works out fine, so we plan it. Wes is going to do a twenty-minute pose in a cotton robe, and then I'm going to have Wes join me for my twenty-minute pose, and then I'm going to join Weston for his. We're all agreed, and then the next round starts. 

Wes looks elegant in his reclining pose, his long legs giving a beautiful diagonal to the image. I get several photos, and sit for a bit and visit with Chunt as he draws. 

When his time is finished, he gets off the stage and stretches, and we arrange the barstools again and settle into our two-figure pose. I sit down, he sits down facing me, and leans into me... and I smack my hand hard on his ass and leave it there, like it's proclaiming territory. 

It's surprisingly intimate, sitting in front of a group of people wrapped up with another person; I can feel him breathe, and after a bit, I match my breathing to his, which is calming for both of us. We talk just a little, murmuring thoughts about what's falling asleep or where we need to wiggle. He shifts his torso, arching and flexing his back to work out a stiff spot, and then he wiggles his ass side to side, as if inviting another smack. 

What else could I do? I mean, LOOK AT IT. So I smack it, hard, and then freeze into the pose again. I can feel the tingling sting of the slap vibrating in my palm, and I know he feels it just the same in his ass cheek, especially tenderized as it is from his time on the cross. Over the course of the twenty minutes, I give him four more smacks - it's like a very slow-motion spanking. It keeps the energy high. He... keeps wiggling that ass. He's asking for it, I tell you. ASKING FOR IT. 

Art by J.

I'm delighted looking at the images that the artists share. The gesture is strong, with a lot of curves and angles, diagonal lines and powerful massing. It makes some beautiful art.

art by Joey Chabolla

Then, it's time for Weston's twenty-minute pose, the last of the night. We arrange ourselves on the stage, and the time starts. I'm conscious of not wanting to put him in a position that will cause nerve or joint damage, so I've got his arms bound behind him lightly at the wrist with my belt, and I'm holding the tail of the belt. We look into one another's eyes - which is an intense thing to do for twenty minutes. It's kind of funny; we have a little conversation, conveyed by a raised eyebrow, a curled lip, a shift in posture or a tug on the belt. 

When the timer is up, I ask him if it's OK if I smack his ass. He says yes, so I lay a single firm smack on his right cheek. 

One artist looks at the black-and-white digital drawing that J did, and says, "It's like you're a kinky Disney story." 

Art by J.

art by Joey Chabolla

I love Joey's sensitive and dynamic pencil renderings. He drew me in a suspension rope tie at another of the Salon events; that was an awesome day. There are more drawings from Salon stuff, plus just random hot guys, and he's working on a gay tarot which is BEAUTIFUL. 

Thank you to the other models for agreeing to let me write about this, and to the artists who've let me illustrate this post with their awesome images. And a HUGE thank you to Dan and Dave and the Eagle, for making this kind of creative, sexy event a reality.