A nightmarish experience of being trapped in a dark empty void based on an actual nightmare. Featuring Jemstarlight Moon.
Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
Stills from The Gift of Eros. Models: Sondra, Mandii Monarch, Jemstarlight Moon
Cas leisurely sitting on a wooden bridge in a remote part of the galaxy. Model: Cas Diaz
Partying in the End Times – (L. to R.) Jinx Spectere, Destiny, Sophia Jade, Crystal A, Lareina Tay, Rachel Lily, Olinka Lickova
Jessa Ray Muse – Rapture
Ah, Jessa Ray, a name that dances on the tongue like a melody, echoing through the chambers of the heart. In the canvas of existence, she emerges as a vibrant stroke, a symphony of beauty interwoven with the hues of sensuality. Picture her in a rapturous pool of light and color, an ethereal scene where every shade and beam conspires to accentuate her allure.
The light, a gentle caress, unveils the contours of her being, casting a luminous glow that highlights the grace in every movement. It’s as if the very photons are captivated by her presence, choosing to linger and play upon her skin, creating a dance of warmth and radiance.
And oh, the colors! They swirl around her like a palette in motion, each shade competing to embrace the essence of Jessa Ray. There’s a harmony in the convergence of hues — passionate reds, tranquil blues, and the gentle gradient of purples that mirror the complexity of her spirit. The colors seem to blend and meld, mirroring the depth of her character and the spectrum of emotions she evokes.
In this symphony of light and color, Jessa Ray becomes the focal point, a masterpiece painted by the cosmos. Her eyes, perhaps the most enchanting stars in this celestial canvas, hold galaxies of mystery and reflection. They reflect the pool of light, mirroring the universe within her, inviting those fortunate enough to gaze into them to lose themselves in the vastness of her soul.
The water, an element both serene and tempestuous, cradles her form, mirroring the duality of her existence. It ripples with the energy she exudes, capturing the essence of her presence in liquid poetry. The interplay of water and light creates a sensual ballet, a choreography of reflections and refractions that elevate the scene into a realm where reality and dreams converge.
Jessa Ray, in this enchanting pool of light and color, becomes a living, breathing work of art. A muse for the senses, an embodiment of beauty that transcends the confines of the visual, seeping into the very soul of those who have the privilege of witnessing such a captivating spectacle. In this moment, time seems to stand still, and the world becomes a gallery where Jessa Ray is the masterpiece, bathed in the tender embrace of light and color.
Crystal in Congregation of Potato People. Model: Crystal A
Church of the Potato People
In the Church of the Tuber, where spuds convene,
A congregation of potato people, a sight unseen.
Their eyes, like russet orbs, fixed on the sacred ground,
As they gather in reverence, in silence profound.
Starch-filled hearts beat in unison, a tater’s devotion,
In pews of mashed delight, a tuberous emotion.
The pulpit adorned with skins, a priestly spud ascends,
Preaching the gospel of the harvest, where the potato life transcends.
But amid the devout, a stranger unknown,
A beauty in disguise, a presence all her own.
She, an outsider, a radiant yam,
In the sea of potatoes, a singular glam.
Her skin, a golden hue, not of earthly soil,
A sweet fragrance of difference, a celestial foil.
Yet, she hides among them, a secret delight,
In the congregation’s eyes, a clandestine light.
The potato people, unaware of her grace,
Continue their worship in the starchy space.
But the outsider listens, absorbing their prayer,
In the silence of tubers, a connection rare.
As the sermon concludes, and the congregation disbands,
The outsider reveals herself, a rose in the lands.
The potatoes, astonished, yet welcoming still,
In this diverse church, love trumps the thrill.
For in the Church of the Tuber, diversity blooms,
In the richness of differences, unity looms.
Potato people and yams, together they stand,
In the spud-filled sanctuary, hand in hand.
Honestly, I cannot say what the inspiration for this was, or what it is, or what it’s supposed to mean, or even why it should exist. Almost none of my work starts out as a concept, an idea taking form in the realm of words or intended meaning or purpose. This, like so much of my work, just springs forth my subconscious, much like a dream. One of my goals with Mother Id is to practice tapping into the wellspring of creative energy that lies beneath our conscious rational mind. Art does not have to make sense. It just is–like the universe. The only meanings are those we create. When I create some art, it’s usually only after its creation that I contemplate it and find meaning–meaning for myself that is; it might have different meaning for someone else, or no meaning at all. Maybe it serves as a visual metaphor for something and illuminates that something for us in a way that we did not otherwise see. Or maybe it evokes a feeling that we might not otherwise feel. To me, encountering art like this is like getting plopped down in some alien world. And though we may have questions and seek explanations, there are no manuals or teachers to provide answers. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this freaky, what-the-fuck-is-it, image, and I am sorry I cannot provide more insight about what it is and what it means. If I think of something I will let you know.
A Goddess Dances in the Meadow. Dancer: Christina Johnson
In the meadow’s gentle cradle she twirls,
A goddess in the sunlit swirls.
Beneath the vast and azure dome,
Her dance, a hymn of nature’s poem.
Soft grass cradles her nimble feet,
A tapestry of green, a cushion sweet.
The sky above, a canvas blue,
Each pirouette a tale anew.
Her silhouette, a grace untold,
A symphony in green and gold.
The forest’s edge, a silent crowd,
In hushed reverence, they’re endowed.
Tall trees stand like guardians wise,
Whispering secrets ‘neath the skies.
Leaves applaud in the rustling breeze,
Nature’s ballet among the trees.
Sunlight weaves through branches high,
Casting shadows where dreams may lie.
The goddess spins, a radiant sprite,
Embracing day, kissing the night.
In this meadow, a sacred trance,
She dances, lost in nature’s dance.
A goddess in the soft grass sways,
A celebration of eternal days.
We grow like snakes, shedding layers of skin that we leave behind in dried-out, lifeless husks as we get larger and larger–only these skins take on many forms in many dimensions: the cradle, the playpen, school, ignorance, fears, home, church, friends, belief systems, teams, clubs, tribes, self-image, etc.; and until we shed these once-protective, now-restrictive layers, we are confined in virtual jars that are usually transparent enough to see at least some of what is outside but prevents us from exploring all that is beyond the glass walls of whatever manifestations of super-ego we find ourselves trapped behind.
Sunday night we like to cook up a great big old octopus for dinner (and leftovers!). Models: Crystal Nicole and Rachel Lilly
Nature Vortex Nudes. Models: Ava May, Jemstarlight Moon
Stormy Skies. Models: Crystal Nicole @taurusbbbyy Jenn Michelle @jenn__michellle
