Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
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.
Jessa did a spontaneous demonstration of her amazing hooping skills. Model: Jessa Ray Muse
So I thought I would use my Photoshop skills and have a little fun channeling my inner 13-year-old’s sexual fantasies. I was quite an avid reader and collector of Archie comics as a kid. I would not have admitted it back then but I loved them just as much as my Marvel comics–maybe even more once I started adolescence. So here are the results of my fantasizing. There’s something uniquely erotic for me about these re-imaginings. Maybe because it takes me back to a hornier, more hormonally-charged period of my life, or maybe it’s the playful and innocent sexiness of them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. If so, let me know, and I will do more of them–maybe even try corrupting the Marvel universe. Topless Gwen Stacy? Naked Sue Storm? Hmmmm…
Forest Nymphs on a Mossy Log. Models: Mandii Monarch, Frankie Bunny
Crouching Lion, Hidden Wolf. Models: Violet and Ava May
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
Jungle Beauty. Model: Mira
Mira of the Jungle
In the heart of emerald canopies, Where sunlight filters through verdant tapestries, There emerges Mira, a jungle nymph, Grace adorned in the rhythm of leaves.
Her silhouette, a dance of shadows, Amongst ancient trees, where secrets linger, A symphony of nature, she orchestrates, In the wild, Mira is the untamed singer.
Tresses entwined with vines, Her eyes, reflections of the moonlit night, A river’s whisper echoes in her laughter, Mira, the enchantress, bathed in twilight.
Skin kissed by the sun’s golden ardor, Her footsteps, a delicate rustle in the undergrowth, A panther’s gaze mirrors in her stare, Mira, the epitome of untamed growth.
She breathes the fragrance of blossoms, Wears the hues of butterflies in flight, Mira, a canvas painted by the wilderness, A masterpiece framed by the fading light.
In the heart of the jungle’s embrace, Mira, the beautiful, weaves her own grace, A symphony of life, a testament to nature’s art, In her presence, the jungle whispers its heart.
