Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
The Mad Hatter. Costume created by Autumn Huse. Photographed at Muses in Wonderland. Model: Autumn Huse
Jessa did a spontaneous demonstration of her amazing hooping skills. Model: Jessa Ray Muse
The first time I heard the word “Id” was in one of my all-time favorite movies, “Forbidden Planet,” where the ancient, long-extinct, inhabitants of the faraway planet (the “Krell”), had developed a massive machine that could physically manifest one’s psychic energy into all kinds of wonderful things. But, when it tapped into that dark, subconscious part of our mind called the Id, the Krell machine manifested super-powerful, uncontrollable, scary monsters. Quite a cool and intriguing concept for my 13-year-old mind!
In addition to introducing me to the concept of the “Id” (and inspiring a lifelong love of science fiction), the movie also fired up another part of my brain–the libido (though I did not learn the word until much later). The barefoot, half-naked, Anne Francis, skinny-dipping in her idyllic garden, sent my young hormones raging. I thought I would have a little fun here and give a one-frame cameo to the lovely Lareina Tay. After all, if Dr. Morbius, alone on the planet for all those years with just his daughter, could manifest a living, breathing, pet tiger for her, is there any doubt that he would manifest some pets of his own?
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.
Forest Nymphs on a Mossy Log. Models: Mandii Monarch, Frankie Bunny
A group of goddesses in a heavenly garden. Models: Stevie Raquel, Jemstarlight Moon, Mira
Olinka loves to play around and be tied up in the cage. For more from this set go to “Erotic” page. Model: Olinka Lickova
The Cage
In the shadowed realm of fractured thoughts, where echoes of sanity dance on the edge, there she dwells, a captive spirit, imprisoned within the labyrinth of her mind.
Her days are woven with threads of confusion, a tapestry of dreams unraveling, a kaleidoscope of memories, shattered, a mosaic of emotions, fragmented.
A solitary figure in the theater of her soul, she plays the lead in a drama untold, each scene scripted by the whims of delusion, a tragic tale spun by the loom of illusion.
Behind the bars of unseen walls, she paces through corridors of uncertainty, the echoes of her footsteps lost in the silence, a phantom in a spectral dance of despair.
The windows of her mind are stained, painted with hues of desolation, shattered panes casting fractured reflections, a distorted gallery of her own creation.
In the chambers where thoughts should flow, a dam holds back the river of reason, its waters dammed by the debris of despair, a reservoir of tears unshed.
She gazes through the bars at a world unknown, a distant realm where clarity resides, but the key to freedom eludes her grasp, lost in the recesses of a tortured psyche.
The chains that bind are made of whispers, the haunting echoes of a troubled past, and though she longs for the solace of release, the door to liberation remains locked.
A prisoner of the mind’s cruel design, she yearns for an escape from this inner cage, where the boundaries of reality blur and fade, and the bars are forged from the shadows of the self.
Nature Vortex Nudes. Models: Ava May, Jemstarlight Moon
Dancing in the Attic of Subconscious Mind where little makes sense and access to the conscious is denied. Model: Starla