Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
Hold On While I Fix Your Head. Actually, heads were, in fact fixed a little on this shoot. Several days of close bonding and sharing put us all a little more right. Model: Ava May, Jemstarlight Moon
Sauna. Model: Eva
More from a photo shoot I did with this lovely Russian from St. Petersburg. Interesting story–a cautionary tale for you photographers. We had done about three hours of shooting, including some dance videos to some of my music, before going to the sauna. I checked what we had done up until then and everything looked great! I shot her while she was relaxing in the hot sauna and all was looking good. When we finished, however, all the photos and footage for the day was gone! Completely wiped out! I was devastated. I figured that maybe I had gotten too close to the heating element in the sauna and it gave off a powerful magnetic field that wiped out the memory card in my camera. But while I was face down on the ground, beating my fists against the floor in anguish, Eva was a real trooper and said, “There’s no use crying about it, we just have to shoot everything again.” So we did. And everything actually came out better the second time around! Model: Eva
This powerful fairy queen manifest her invisible queen’s court in the middle of the woods and conjures a beautiful lover from a pile of tree branches and dances seductively until she is tired of her and transforms fer back into a smoldering pile of ashes. Dancers: Angela, Christina Johnson Music: W.T. Rozar
French Parlor Noir. Model: Kay Ace
In a French parlor boudoir, where whispers waltz, Kay reclines on a chaise lounge, a dreamer’s vault. Silken shadows play on walls adorned with tales, As her mind pirouettes through ephemeral trails.
Lace curtains breathe in the evening’s mystique, Softly rustling secrets, the room’s mystique. Candles flicker, casting a warm amber glow, Igniting fantasies that only she can know.
A vintage mirror reflects her wistful gaze, Eyes painted with the hues of twilight’s haze. In the tapestry of time, she weaves her desire, A silent symphony, stoked by passion’s fire.
The scent of lavender lingers in the air, A fragrant sonnet, a romantic affair. Kay’s thoughts drift like petals on a breeze, Dancing with whimsy, lost in reverie.
Her fingers trace patterns on the plush fabric, A tactile sonnet, a touch of the graphic. In this sanctuary of longing and grace, She paints her dreams in an intimate space.
French whispers caress her wandering mind, Verses of love in a language refined. The chaise cradles her in an embrace so tender, As she surrenders to fantasies, wild and slender.
Oh, the tales she conjures in this private cocoon, In the parlor boudoir, where dreams softly swoon. Kay, the poet of her own clandestine lore, In the symphony of silence, she yearns for more.
Aurora Psilocybin. Model: Kay Ace. I once did Magic Truffles, and the view outside this window is more or less what I saw when I closed my eyes.
Crystal Nicole takes off her skirt and poses in a bikini amidst dramatic smoke and light.
Sunning Nude on a Big Boulder. Model: Jemstarlight Moon
Damnant Quod Non Intelligent
In shadows cast by the unlit corridors of knowing, They condemn what slips through fingers of comprehension, Words entwined in vines of uncertainty, Damnant Quod non intelligunt, the silent chant.
A labyrinth of misunderstood whispers, Confinement in the narrow alleys of judgment, Echoes reverberate in chambers of ignorance, The disoriented stumble on uneven ground.
Disaffection blooms in the garden of misapprehension, Petals of understanding fall, unclaimed, Faces etched with the weight of unspoken judgments, A disquieting tapestry woven with threads of conjecture.
Locked in the dungeon of shallow understanding, Truth stands as a specter, veiled and obscured, While minds strain against invisible tethers, Condemning the unfamiliar to the prison of dismissal.
In this landscape of fractured cognizance, They condemn the foreign, the uncharted, Yet beneath the surface of their certitudes, A sea of undiscovered worlds ebbs and flows.
Damnant Quod non intelligunt, a refrain of caution, For in the realm of the unknown lies the genesis, Of compassion untold, of bridges unbuilt, Where understanding might yet unfurl its wings.
