PLEASURE at WHAT PRICE?

Seems like GOOD SEX and BAD BOYS both have a price…
An Excerpt from my sizzling erotic Novel, The Price of Dick…
There’s nothing comparable to the knowledge that someone has prepared himself sexually for you completely. It’s an adrenalin surge all by itself. It saves time. No tentative, awkward questions to get in the way or impede the momentum of the heat of first encounter passion. In most male minds, foreplay is a test to see how far one can go in an initial encounter. Later it’s just a delaying technique to slow the way to what needs to get done. For a man, knowledge is as good as foreplay.
This time when they kissed, Dick’s new knowledge set a fire ablaze. He was ready to take it all the way with no more pseudo-protestations.
My camera would be busy under a frantic finger for the next fifteen minutes. A thousand shots. Almost a full card.
Mouths melded in a forceful plunge, noises like souls drowning, then resuscitating as they returned to the surface for air. Gasps of oxygen. Fingers splayed in blurred fury undoing the drawstrings of the swimsuits. A loud smack of hard flesh hitting a belly. There was an exclamation at the size and girth and color of the object of worship. Its head was a royal purple. The sexual fever generated by the two bodies refreshed the chlorine from their pores. The smell filled the room
Mike’s appetite for his ‘straight’ conquest was more than hunger. It was starvation. His mouth opened over the erection not to taste, but to consume. He took him in inch-by-inch, python-like, relaxing so his jaw could stretch to accommodate the width. When he made it to the base, lips grazing the light brown pubic curls, Dick lolled backward into the sofa, at a loss for words; the open O of his mouth exposing his tongue. Hapless fingers found the boy’s dark scalp and clutched the hair as he began to work the huge cock in with suction and warm, wet saliva.
My palms sweated on the camera. I wiped them on my shorts where my own zipper protruded. I had to keep moving and shooting. Climbing up on furniture for a better, more creative shot. Crawling beneath them for an inventive angle. I always hurt like I’d run a marathon after a shoot. It was, in fact, an endurance test in many ways.
The facade of the immutable straight guy was quickly crumbling at the hands of the youth eager to please him. They resembled two mangled bodies sprawled on the sofa. Tan lines demarcated target areas. Large, hair-covered thighs had been pushed upward and out so the boy could suck his sac unobstructed. He stroked him in unison with his sucking, his grip white-knuckled. The suckee was looking more helpless by the moment as the boy expertly coaxed his pleasure from him. His moans were half-formed exclamations and curses.
The lifeguard stood up, and with a sudden determination, peeled himself from the red swimsuit. His dick sprung out from a cleanly shaven crotch as if startled. It jittered with anticipation against his soft, untanned lower belly. He wasn’t large, but long, boyish balls dangled beneath his erection.
The larger man looked up at the bare boy, appraising what was being offered. His cock jerked against him, spreading a web-thin string of pre-cum from itself to his navel like colorless taffy. “You have a gorgeous ass,” Dick said, a telling smile accompanying the words.
It was the concession the younger man was waiting for. Some form of mutual, if limited, attraction.
Dick realized he’d given away some of his power and meant to correct it. “I mean you don’t have a set of tits or a wet hole I can stick my tongue in, but those sweet cheeks… ain’t gonna lie…” That’s as far as he would go with a compliment. There was obviously not going to be any act of oral reciprocation.
I heard my own sexually charged rasps as I moved around them to take more photos. Being a photographer by trade necessitated being part voyeur. I was as aroused as they were.
“You ever fuck a guy?” Mike’s gaze was as direct as the question he asked.
The larger man shook his head. “Nope.”
The not-as-large hand reached into the drawer of one of the end tables and brought out the sealed, silver wrapper of a condom. He knew where I stored everything in the house. He opened it, deftly grabbed the hunk’s hunk, stroked it to assure its firmness, and then attempted to roll it over him. The prophylactic was too small. It barely made it an inch before the lack of dimension stopped him.
“Oops.” The remark came from the man below, rich with self-applause.
BUY LINK:   http://www.amazon.com/Price-Dick-Dan-Skinner-ebook/dp/B00KIT5RKQ/

2 002 copy

LOVE IS LIKE PIXIE DUST…

An EXCERPT from Dan Skinner’s GAY YA Novel, “MEMORIZING YOU

Rosemary  was  good  to  her  word.  She  forgave  me,  and  we  were  friends   again.  Ryan  readily  embraced  her  into  our  select  group  with  open  arms.  It   was  nice  to  have  another  confidant  to  our  secret.  Another  accepting  soul.  What   was  so  intrinsically  stupendous  about  Rosemary’s  persona  was  how  normal  she   made  us  feel  by  being  so  normal  around  us.  It  wasn’t  like  she  was  hanging  with   gay  guys.  It  was  like  she  was  hanging  around  with  friends  who  happened  to  be   gay.  We  could  kiss  around  her  and  cuddle.  She’d  just  look  away  and  make  a   humorous  quip  about  razor-­‐‑burn,  or  how  she’d  never  really  been  into  gay  porn

She  began  jogging  with  us.  Went  shopping  for  new  school  clothes  with  us.   She  practically  chose  everything  the  two  of  us  would  wear  the  next  school  year.

I  quit  track  that  semester.  I  just  didn’t  have  time  with  the  work  schedule.  But   Rosemary  and  I’d  make  time  to  sit  in  and  watch  Ryan  during  practice  and  the   pre-­‐‑season  games.  It  was  like  watching  a  gladiator.  Those  were  her  words.  Not   mine.  But  I  agreed  one  hundred  percent.  When  he  moved  across  that  field,  he   was  an  imposing  figure.  He  looked  powerful.

It  took  her  a  month  to  ask  us  any  real  personal  questions.  I  couldn’t  answer   them.  Ryan  did  so,  unabashed.  She  lived  vicariously  through  his  stories  of  our   sexual  experiences.  She  wasn’t  one  bit  embarrassed  by  it  either.  Connor  had   conspicuously  gone  by  the  way-­‐‑side  with  her  after  the  birthday  party.  He’d  seen   us  sitting  together  on  the  bleachers,  watching  Ryan.  It  didn’t  appear  he  was   pleased.

The  three  of  us  studied  together.  What  I  wasn’t  good  at,  Rosemary  was.  She   was  a  whiz  at  math,  and  science,  and  sociology.  And  between  the  two  of  us,   Ryan’s  scholastics  got  better.  Mine  too.

She  loved  watching  us  workout.  Ryan’s  father  looked  at  us  like  we  were  the   Three  Stooges.  Like  he  couldn’t  figure  out  what  comedy  was  going  on  between   the  three  of  us.  But  it  worked  for  us.  When  she  was  there,  his  periodic  visits  to   check  in  on  us  got  fewer  and  fewer.  We’d  find  him  later  in  the  living  room,   passed  out  in  a  chair  with  The  Carol  Burnett  Show  on  in  the  background.  His  mom   was  indulging  in  another  late  night  cup  of  coffee  in  the  kitchen.  When  her  back   was  turned,  three  beers  disappeared  from  the  refrigerator  and  reappeared  in  our   hands  in  the  garden.

We  learned  that  Rosemary  was  not  unacquainted  with  the  wonder  of  weed.   She,  in  fact,  had  an  older  sister  whose  boyfriend  dealt,  and  we  occasionally   benefited  from  that  relationship.  Almost  every  weekend  of  September  that  year,   the  three  of  us  had  a  private  camping  party  at  the  back  of  Ryan’s  family’s  lot   where  the  tent  was  pitched  with  a  campfire.  Our  sleeping  bags  were  slung   together.  Ryan  and  me  and  then  her  at  my  back.

I’d  always  awake  with  her  arms  around  the  both  of  us.  Ryan  and  I  would   kiss  first.  She  would  kiss  us  both  last.  She’d  became  an  integral  part  of  my  and   Ryan’s  lives.

I’m  sure  our  school  couldn’t  figure  out  what  was  going  on  between  the  three   of  us  at  all.  The  speculation  had  to  be  insane  seeing  me  hold  hands  with   Rosemary  one  day,  and  then  she  holding  Ryan’s  the  next.  Then  seeing  us  all   together.  I  actually  think  Rosemary  took  delight  in  the  idea  that  two  men  found   her  attractive  and  that  the  three  of  us  were  all  close.  No  one  ever  said  anything   openly  to  our  faces,  and  we  were  never  privy  to  any  gossip,  but  we  knew  it  was   there.  You  could  see  it  in  the  eyes  of  those  passing  by.  I  know  what  I  would  have  thought.  I  still  get  a  private  chuckle  about  this.

The  only  one  appearing  to  not  appreciate  this  seeming  perverse-­‐‑relationship   was  Connor.  The   self-­‐‑ordained  sex  god  of  our  school  manifested  the  body   language  of  a  man  in  full-­‐‑blown  jealous  disgust  and  anger.  It  was  only  because  of   his  relationship  with  Ryan  on  the  team  that  he  seemed  to  be  able  to  control  his   tongue.  Ryan  had  no  difficulty  with  Connor.  He  rarely  paid  much  attention  to   him.  But  Connor  had  a  bone  up  his  butt  about  Ryan.  And  the  concurring  opinion   was  that  it  began  and  ended  with  Rosemary.

It  was  the  week  right  after  school  started  that  the  thing  with  Connor  came  to   a  strange  head.  Ryan  got  starting  quarterback.  Connor  was  second-­‐‑string.  It  was   unexpected.  Even  Ryan  didn’t  anticipate  it.  Connor  was  a  madman  on  the  field.   An  unbeatable  force.  A  lot  of  the  members  of  the  team  had  thought  it  had  been  a  misstep  on  the  coach’s  part.

But  they,  of  course,  had  been  Connor’s  friends.

Our  team  had  won  a  game  against  Southwest.  Or,  more  succinctly,  Ryan  had   won  the  game.  He’d  been  unstoppable.  The  crowd  cheered  his  name  and   number.  His  father  paced  the  bleachers,  letting  everyone  know  it  was  his  son  that   was  the  champion  of  the  game.  Rosemary  and  I  were  just  as  pumped.

I  met  him  in  the  locker  room  to  collect  his  gear.  I  knew  he  had  a  lot  of   celebration  to  still  go  through.  Connor  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  us  there.  I’d  only   touched  his  hand.  If  I’d  been  a  teammate,  it  would  have  meant  nothing.  But  I   wasn’t.  And  that  meant  a  hell  of  a  lot  more  in  Connor’s  eyes.  When  we  saw  him,  he  turned  away  quickly.  Was  out  of  the  room  in  a  flash.  I  grabbed  the  gear  and   began  the  walk  to  Ryan’s  dad’s  car.

I  heard  the  tromping  footfalls  behind  me  all  the  way  from  the  gymnasium.  I   knew  the  heavy  body  that  made  that  thudding  sound.  And  I  knew  it  was  trouble.   The  bad  feeling  permeated  the  early  autumn  air.  The  leaves  under  my  feet crunched  fast.  His  crunched  faster.  I  tried  to  move  steadily  ahead  of  him.  But  as  I  did,  he  compensated.

Just  as  I  reached  the  car,  hands  gripped  my  collar  and  spun  me  around.  No   surprise.  The  hostile  face  of  Connor  breathed  fire  into  mine.  Lines  much  older   than  he  owned  were  etched  in  his  flesh.  Flames  blew  out  the  whites  of  his  eyes.   Teeth  ground.  There  was  one  undeniable  truth  in  his  complexion.  He  did  not  like   me.  His  white  knuckles  glared  in  my  vision.  “I  got  something  to  say  to  you,   faggot.  Don’t  try  to  run  away  from  me.”  Spit  blasted  against  my  face.  “You  guys   think  you’re  fooling  all  of  us  hanging  around  with  Rosemary  and  all,  but  you   ain’t  fooling  nobody.  We’ve  seen  your  cutesy-­‐‑pie  heart  necklaces  and  the  way   you’re  always  together,  using  her  to  make  us  think  you’re  not.  But  we  know.  We   know.

“You’re  nothing  but  a  couple  of  queers.  And  I  don’t  know  who  alls  dick  you   guys  sucked  to  make  him  quarterback,  but  this  ain’t  gonna  stand.  Fairies  don’t   get  to  suck  their  way  to  the  top,  and  your  cock-­‐‑sucking  buddy  is  gonna  go  down.   You  hear that?’

“Hey,  sweetie!”  It  was  Rosemary’s  voice.  Oddly  lilting.  Strangely  menacing.

Connor  shifted  to  look  at  her.  His  face  crumpled  in  the  next  second  as  I  saw   the toe  of  her  boot  catch  his  crotch  straight  on.  He  tried  to  keep  to  his  feet,  but   couldn’t.  His  knees  struck  the  asphalt  of  the  parking  lot.  Air  expulsed.

She  kicked  him  again.  Then,  she  pushed  him  to  the  ground.  It  all  happened   in  a matter  of  seconds.

“You  bigoted  piece  of  pig-­‐‑shit!”  she  screamed,  kneeling  beside  him.  Her  face   was  next  to  his,  looking  like  a  devil  Halloween  mask.  If  the  devil  was  a  girl.

Veins  had  popped  in  relief  all  over  his  face.  Big  and  blue  and  pulsating.  He   was gagging,  sucking  air.  She  smacked  him  in  the  face  with  the  back  of  her  hand.  The welt  was  the  perfect  shape  of  her  fingers.

“You  wanna  play  that  queer  game,  buddy?  Do  you?  Do  you  really?”  She   was  centimeters  from  his  face.  “Here’s  what  we’ll  do  if  you  want  to  play  that   game.  You  open  your  ugly,  sick  mouth  of  yours  again,  I  will  tell  everyone  I  left   you  because  you  got  drunk  and  I  caught  you  offering  to  give  my  guys  both  a   blow  job.  How’s  that  sound?  And  I’ll  be  graphic.  They  will  believe.”

She  grabbed  his  jaw.  “Do  you  want  to  play  that  game?”

He  turned  to  his  side,  out  of  her  grasp,  an  earlier  dinner  of  burger  and  fries   spewed  suddenly  from  his  mouth.  He  shook  his  head  repeatedly.  He  muttered   unintelligible  words.

“Good,”  she  said,  standing  up.  “I’m  glad  we  can  say  we  mutually  broke  up   because  it  just  wasn’t  working.”

I  threw  the  gear  in  the  car  and  we  left  him  there.  Rosemary  walked  like  a   triumphant  crusader.

If  one  ever  has  had  a  doubt  about  what  true  friendship  meant,  if  there  was   ever an  uncertainty  to  how  a  friend  should  stand  against  the  odds  for  another,  all   anyone  had  to  do  was  witness  an  episode  of  courage  like  this.

I  was  speechless.  For  fifteen  minutes,  I  was  speechless.  We  sat  at  the  end  of   the  bleachers,  away  from  all  the  activities  while  I  tried  to  absorb  what  had  just   transpired.  Rosemary  bummed  a  cigarette  off  a  passerby,  and  we  shared  a   smoke.  Her  fingers  shook  as  she  handed  it  to  me.  I  could  only  imagine  the   adrenalin  surge  coursing  through  her  veins.

Finally,  I  said,  “Okay.  Wow.  You’re  Wonder  Woman.  Why  did  I  not  know   this?”

“I’m  not  Wonder  Woman.  I  just  don’t  understand  that  Neanderthal  attitude.   The  world  has  enough  troubles  and  lies  and  pain.”   She  reached  over  and   touched  my  leg.  The  cigarette  jittered  in  her  fingers.  “Why  people  would  try  to   hurt  people  who  can  actually  find  love  in  this  mess  makes  no  sense  to  me  at  all.  You  have  to  be  pretty  sub-­‐‑human  to  be  against  what  we’re  all  looking  for  in  life.   That’s  something  to  bust  your  knuckles  for.”

My  eyes  saw  her  beauty.  Completely.  “You’re  very  special,  girl.”

“You  made  me  believe,  David,”  she  said,  voice  just  a  shadow.  “You  guys   found  love  inside  all  these  obstacles.  That  gives  hope  to  all  of  us  with  far  less  to   overcome.  Do  you  know  how  powerful  that  is?”

“So  why  did  you  break  up  with  Connor?”  I  knew  I  was  prying.  But  I  had  to   know  why.

“Five  minutes  or  five  years  version?”  she  asked,  a  sarcastic  edge  to  her  voice.  “Okay,  five  minutes.  I  experienced  my  first  love  with  you.  You  made  me  see   myself  differently.  Made  me  want  to  be  something  different.  I  was  transported   from  the  boring  life  I  lived  to  the  one  I  imagined  with  you.  I  would  have  given   everything  because  you  became  my  everything.  It  was  a  revelation  about  myself,   David.  We  all  define  it  differently  in  our  own  heads.  But  it’s  a  rapturous  moment   to  know  how  wonderfully  strong  our  feeling  can  become  for  someone  other  than   ourselves.  How  we  can  become  entwined  with  another.”  She  stood.  “Can  we   walk?”

We  walked  out  into  the  football  field  that  was  still  full  of  chucks  and  holes   from  the  game.  She  suddenly  dropped,  sat  yoga-­‐‑style,  and  pulled  me  down  to   join  her.

“When  what  happened  with  us  happened,  I  felt  like  shit.  Lower  than  shit…”   I  deemed  it  necessary  in  interject  my  apology  again.

She  waved  it  away.  “We  know  why.  There’s  no  apology  needed  there.  It’s   just  one  of  those  things  that  pushes  us  from  here  to  there.  And  it  pushed  me  into   thinking  I  needed  to  prove  something  about  myself.  My  value,  I  guess.  I  don’t   know  what.  But  Connor  came  along,  and  people  made  me  feel  like  he  was   important,  and  that  I’d  be  something  better  and  different  if  I  was  with  him.  Except…that  I  wasn’t.  I  was  a  number  to  him  like  someone  waiting  in  line  at  the   delicatessen  to  buy  some  Pastrami.”

Her  eyes  twinkled.  She  searched  for  my  hand  and  found  it.  “The  night  of   Ryan’s  party  when  I  heard  you  two  in  the  garden,  I  learned  more  about  myself  in   five  minutes  than  I’ve  ever  known.  Love  doesn’t  happen  because  you  find  the   right  bricks  and  cement  to  build  it.  Love  really  is…pure  magic.  It  comes  from”— she  gestured  toward  the  heavens—”out  there.  And  it  falls  like  pixie  dust   wherever  it  wants.  And  when  it  does…you  can  fly.”

BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DUXS4Z2

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LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE

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(I opened my email this morning and this was the first thing I saw. I cried. Still am, Wow!)
I want to personally thank you and Dirk for your Misadventure books. Recently my husband and I have endured a series of misfortunes, the last being the loss of his job. We were struggling and both of us being past our middle-aged prime worried about how we could start our lives over. I fell into a depression filled with anxiety. I worried about everything. I couldn’t tell you how long it’d been since I laughed, or even smiled. Then someone told me about your books; about how you had to start life all over again and how it ended up with you meeting this precocious young man who changed your perspective and brought joy back to you. I thought – 99 Cents – I’ll give it a shot. Dan (Doc) I did something I never thought would happen again: I laughed until tears streamed down my face. I belly-laughed. It was a wonderful feeling to know that was still left inside me. I ended up buying all the books and reading them to my husband just so I could see his wonderful smile again. These books are not simply comedy – they’re inspirational. .You’ve proved… no matter what happens to you, starting again is always a great thing. Thank you again!

Marge P.

 

ONE DEFIANT RESISTING HOMOSEXUAL’S RANT

I’ve been a nice guy all my fucking life… ALL my fucking life…I’ve been the good guy, the guy who turned the other cheek, who bore the brunt of every bad deed done to me with a smile, saying this will make me stronger; not bitter.

 

Fuck all of that. Fuck it all. I’m done with being the motherfucking football of homophobic, Bible-thumping, illiterate Neanderthals. I grew up with these nutjobs… they were my parents and my parent’s friends and I know how they think and this shit ain’t gonna get any better by turning the other cheek and letting them have their way. That’s what they want because they honestly think we liberals are “all pussies”…and we already know what their Commander-in-Chief said you should do with those.

 

We’re dealing with people who cannot be reasoned with. There’s no chance of a  “rational” conversation with an individual who slobbers every time their troll at the NRA says “it’s time to grab your guns because the liberal scourge is coming to take your rights away!” Their favorite conspiracy theorist is promoting a real-life civil war where they have a “final solution’ for anyone they deem different than them.

 

Don’t fool yourself into thinking this is all a flight of fancy in their fevered imagination. They’ve been dreaming about this for years… for FUCKING years. I know. I grew up in the middle of them. I heard their conversations. I know what they think. I know their hatred. And it has no limits. Their lives are so empty because of their “God” and their “pseudo-Christianity” that their unhappiness has spilled into their heart to fill where good things should be with nothing but boiling hatred. And they want to make the world as unhappy as they are. Their only joy is the idea that they will actually and finally be able to vent their self-repressed anger on the world with honest-to-goodness bloodshed.

 

So get a grip folks. Being a nice guy in a world of these people is like walking naked with an open wound in crocodile-infested swamp water. They’re just chomping to eat you alive.

 

I’ve experienced their vitriol in some form almost every day of my life since I ran away from my Evangelical home. I am gay. I am a gay photographer and gay author. They hunt people like us down on the internet just for the sport of trying to ruin our businesses and our lives and terrorize us. I have to block at least fifty of them a day on twitter. I have to guard my Facebook account and read every profile carefully of anyone who friends me looking for the religious fanatic, the Tea party radical, the homo-hating Republican to make sure they don’t infect my social life with their repressed rage.

 

They are not like us. We don’t go hunting for them in social media. We don’t purposely try to make their lives miserable. We don’t pointedly stalk people different than us. They do. Get that through your heads. They do. They stalk the liberals, the homosexuals, the atheists… WHY? Because they want to ruin your lives and businesses and bring you down into their own squalid misery….

 

So if you are thinking of sitting back passively and watching all of this like it’s a reality show…. got news for you…. this is as real as it fucking gets… They are out to win… and winning for them includes that gun in their hand and the freedom to use it as they please….

 

If order and law isn’t restored in this government…then the crazies will own it…and you will see something that has never been seen before… an Asylum of crazies running rampant over good, law-abiding, turn-the-other cheek people like I was…

 

So FUCKING resist… vote these motherfuckers out… make sure they never get back in… we have laws to keep things in balance… that’s why there are stop and go lights at every intersection… without them…every thing would be a wreck!!….

RainbowFist

Mentoring the Musenerd

The one role I never anticipated having in my life is that of a Mentor. I’ve never been a parent so the obligation didn’t seem to ever be slated for me. That. of course, changed when I took on my young apprentice/muse, Dirk. And then I realized something strange: it’s not a role assigned to you. It’s one you fall into because of age, experience and acquired wisdom – knowledge gained by living a normal periled life and surviving it.
I can remember – (way back when) – I was his age, and the trauma I felt when things went wrong. In the disastrous blinding heat of the moment you think you’ll never survive; nothing will ever be right again, and all is ruined. That’s, of course, until a few years later when something similar happens again and you calm your heartbeat, take a deep breath and realize… yep…been here, done that…made it through. Mentoring can only be done by those of us who have “made it through”. And that’s how we can help those younger than us when they hit the same turbulence.
The extraordinary thing I learned about mentoring is that it is another lesson for us. A retrospective lesson. At least it has been for me.
I’m still a very flawed individual in spite of having made it through many calamities. I find I still have the same impetuous “young” temper, impatience and intolerance for things that defy what I’d like to have in my life. But NOW, I have the realization that I can step back and teach myself new lessons: like patience, acceptance and perseverance. To never give up; never give in.
When my life came apart a few years ago I had to start over. That’s a hard lesson. To not have money; to give up things.. to do without other things; to reduce your lifestyle to the basics because of the drastic transition.  At first, I was angry as hell. I like nice things like everyone. The American way is designed to make us keep wanting nice things. We want to add to our life…not subtract from it. And the more I subtracted,(and it was A LOT), the more inwardly bitter I became.
Luckily I had a friend, a trainer who was a Buddhist. And though I’m not religious in the least I do believe every religion has something valuable to teach us. And what my young Buddhist friend taught me was to believe that every challenge was a test; every roadblock was a guide to the path we were actually supposed to be on.
I could no longer afford to go to restaurants. I was overweight anyway and a diet was in order. I had to give up Netflix and trips to the movie theater. It was time to buckle down and write those books I’d been putting off for years. I no longer had a home – traveling broadened my abilities to tell stories; be self-sufficient, even become fearless in approaching situations I was unaccustomed to. I could no longer afford the luxury of relaxing with the wine I enjoyed – exercise was a substitute to burn off the excess energy…and get back in shape. Being poor made me richer in the things that would round out my character and help me complete the things I’d always wanted to do. I have twelve books to show for that. I’m in the best shape I’ve been in for over fifteen years. For every single thing I had given up I’d been pushed in another direction… and it made me a better person. I can swear to that – honestly.
I don’t think I could have been as effective a mentor as I am right now at this very moment if I hadn’t sacrificed so much. Now I can actually say with complete conviction… be patient…it will all work out.. if it doesn’t work out…move in another direction. Don’t get upset; don’t complain and trust that you have what it takes to make it through… that’s what will make you a better person…
butterfly

Wanna see MORE HOT GUYS?

STORY IN A NUTSHELL
Thanks to every one pledging their contributions to our Patreon for the next photo shoots… This has been a process.. But a necessary one. Since I haven’t been able to do as many shoots as I used to without a permanent residence I’ve been living mainly on my writers income..which as most of you writers know in the past few months continues to diminish. I kept hoping to make enough to start up the photography again…but no go… and Dirk had been hoping for the two of us to work together…and possibly get a studio/apartment by the time he was out of school. No go again. On top of that his mom gave him an ulitimatum that if we didn’t have anything going, he would have to take the job with a studio his Grandmama lined up for him in Houston. (Yes.. he went into a panic.) So we decided to try the Patreon thingie… we figured if we didn’t ask for much, but just enough so we could get the shoots kickstarted again..we had a chance… so that’s the deal…. If you’d like to help you can contribute as little or as much as you like… every bit helps us closer to the goal… we’d like to be able to start shooting again next month… smoochers…

UPDATE on MORE SEXINESS

063abecause we’re new to the Patreon site we didn’t word it clearly enough to let folks know that when we ask for contributions it will only be toward the ONE Photo/Art Project we are working toward (at a time) and NOT a recurring monthly billing like some of the art students and Youtubers do… so you can contribute without getting caught in the same cycle. Also… because we are NOT working toward goals of making this our income like them…you can contribute as little as a dollar or as much as whatever… with more people adding just a little bit at a time… we can still get to our goal and start shooting again… So please join us… we want to make this work.. smoochers..

The main reason Dirk and I started the Patreon fund to finance our shoots is because we want to do something different… MORE intense… MORE passionate… More graphically engaging with the shoots. We want to be able to pay the guys a bit (we’re all poor) and feed them and provide them with a few beers and maybe a pizza for their hard work…

But We’re looking to do something to push past the barriers of what we’ve done. I want to let the guys be themselves in these erotic settings… to be able to fully express themselves and make that passion sizzle thru the photo so that it almost burns your screen up. We want to try new things… maybe a bit of cosplay… graphic story telling….

I’ve wanted to do a graphic story of a young, sweet-faced and innocent looking. almost sad hustler being picked up off the street by a man whose initial intention was simply to engage in some wild. quick sex… to show how from the sex something else happens… they fall for each other… hard… and when the hustler goes to leave… just as he walks out the door… he pulls him back for a kiss that isn’t bought… it’s real…

I want to solicit your suggestions for shoots… authors have vivid imaginations and we can provide the beautiful bodies to make those visions come to life. I really want to push the envelope with the new stuff… classy…but hot AND a tad more graphic…

I’d like to be able to do one or two shoots a month if we can get the financing for that. We’re not asking people for life savings, but with so many friends who enjoy my work, if you gave us what you’d spend on a Starbucks or a meal at Rally’s… the cumulative effect would get us there quite easily…

We’ve got so many great plans.. but we need to get the ball rolling… if ya wanna help… here’s the place…

we love ya and thank ya and hope to give ya some really hawt and wonderful stuff..

The Patreon Friends donation site:  https://www.patreon.com/DanSkinnerArt