Skanky Nerd Land

Sex, Science and Concept Art

Category: Diary

Through the Looking Glass

Dares came to visit me. It was not exactly out of the blue, but almost. I told her to meet me at the airport, and she did. Why did she trust I’d show up? I have no idea. Why wouldn’t I? We went to the beach with Lily, followed the rabbit through the thick pine forest and low scrub land, with its pretty flowers, to the strandslag. We lay in the sand, naked, hands between legs. I couldn’t tell where my body ended and hers started. Every time I shifted my weight, I felt the air, the sand, and everything around, move to accommodate me perfectly. She was a giver, I could tell, as she watched me. Lily teasingly accused me of drawing in all the attention, which I denied.

Through the Looking Glass by Salvador Dali

by Dali

“I thought the worst while waiting for you at the airport,” She told me, laughing. “After all, I’d met you only once… in Berghain.” She was right I suppose, there had been so many ways this encounter could have gone wrong. But we got each other. She was from a different world, we were born continents apart, and she could barely speak a word of English when I met her, and yet… we understood each other, on some crazy, deep, transcendent level.

Lily pulled out her notebook, having decided to condense the beauty of existence and the meaning of life into words and pictures. It was futile. Under regular circumstances, it would be futile; in this particular instance, it was physically impossible. An elephant might as well have tried to copy Monet. In the clouds, a painting unfolded. I saw Lady Liberty mounting her horse, leading a heard of centaurs to victory. The day had lasted forever, and we felt an eternal sunset dawn upon us. The sky turned into water, and twilight cast a glow under my skin. Beneath the flesh on my thighs, I saw the Carina nebula writhing, shifting, glowing. It was magic. 

As we meandered back home, we passed a square that had been around since the 1600. There was a barbecue going, and children played on the red brick streets. “It’s beautiful,” She told me. I had thought she would find the suburbia I lived in deathly boring, but nothing could be farther from the truth. “There’s nothing like this is São Paulo. I don’t ever want to go back.” For my part, I had never seen this area, and definitely not with the eyes I carried with me, at that moment in time.

Through the Looking Glass by Dali

by Dali

We made love that evening, three of us. Dares asked if Lily and I had ever hooked up before. No, we hadn’t. We were both takers, me more so than her… perhaps. It would not work. Dares was different. It was something I felt noticeably. Her gender, how that affected the image she chose, naturally, to project. She was easy to like, and took it upon herself to make sure everyone else had a good time, because she always did, regardless.

Lily and I laughed about it after. “Remember when I took out the vibrator and she said, ‘ oh good… I can take a break?'”

As she fell asleep, she pulled my arm across her breasts and turned on her side, back towards me. Hah, I was the big spoon, for once. She felt adorable in my arms.

I’ve tried to find a place to put this memory, tried not to think about it fading away. As memories do. Even ones that seem so powerful at the time.

Berghain Experience, Good Morning, Good Night

5 a.m. in the back of Panorama bar, I turn around and who do I see but the girl that used to sit behind me back in Primary 3, when we were 9 years old. The world is getting smaller, and I guess it was one of those nights filled with magic and mysticism conjured by shamans hiding in the sewers.

Dares was small, covered in tattoos, and athletic. Cross-fit and a lot of martial arts. I like women that are an extreme ideal of myself. We went to the black rooms and made out in the corridor. She was gorgeous. I think I’m in love – but you know how it goes. Of course you are in love, why wouldn’t you be? Everyone is in love. With the music with the magic, all of it. I will always remember pulling her pants down and shoving my face between her legs. She was lovely, so lovely.

Berghain experience

Inside Berghain By Emanuele Femia

Tim was on the dance floor in a body stocking made of lace. It was an amazing outfit. Claude was out, far, far away. We kissed. Dares, Tim, me, Claude, the drag queen in a kimono with her fan… Men, women and everyone in between danced in their underwear. It was steamy, hot, wet. Queer is commonplace, sex is everywhere, and no one has expectations.

Photos are not allowed. All moments are intense, memories recorded vividly, fiercely. Was it twelve hours or twelve days?

Yes, she said. It’s always an extreme experience. Every time you go, you change. Here, there are no inhibitions, only desires worn out on everybody’s skin.

It was lovely to see them again. Really lovely. Usually you meet people and have these amazing experiences with them, and they disappear. So when they don’t, it means something. Like holding onto a thread of magic.

PortraitPro Before and After

PortraitPro Before and After

Just thought I’d post this before heading out to Queeristan. Anything could happen. I hope to return with all my faculties intact. Anyway, both photos were taken a couple of years apart and I didn’t wear any makeup in either It was edited in Portrait Pro which generates a 3D model of your face, allowing you to re-light it in some really creative ways . To be honest, it’s one of those “What I think I am” vs. “What I really am”… No that’s not true. I feel like the MiM Mobile Girl all of the time.


That Old Pubic Hair Debate

The Great Wall of Vagina

The Great Wall of Vagina – Panel 1

I’m starting to think men don’t really care so much about women waxing, as women care about other women waxing. Wild or groomed, as long as it doesn’t smell bad, I’m all for my partner’s grooming choices. I wonder where the belief that women wax for men, came from, because most women do it for themselves.

For the record, I’m now permanently, completely, freed of hair in my nether regions thanks to the technology that is “Intense Pulse Light” . This fact, along with the other fact that I’m somewhat obsessive about my physical conditioning, has often been met with derision. It means I must be mentally strait-jacketed within some “heteronormative structure”.

Although, doesn’t the assertion that women only get waxes for men reinforce the structure even more? Suggesting that anything females do to change their appearance can only be done either to please men or to make a statement about the perversity and prevalence of the male gaze?

Some women find the experience of getting a Brazilian shameful, likening it to rape. I can’t say I particularly looked forward to my sessions (I can tolerate quite a lot of pain for some gain, but don’t find it pleasurable. Yes, bondage, no, masochism). Though, I had a great rapport with the young lady that served me and her perspective on her trade has definitely left me with a positive experience of why people go to her. To get their hair removed, for themselves.

Interestingly, over half her clientele are men, and not all of whom are gay. The worries of getting a boyzillian are plentiful, more than I’ve ever had to consider, certainly.

Boyzillian Q & A

Tentacle Art Porn

cthulhu japanese girl soon Tentacle Art Porn

Striking resemblance…

Yuji Moriguchi octopus tentacles girl

Yuji Moriguchi

Dani and I threw a party, that was how we met K. We hung out in front of my Mac googling Yuji Moriguchi. Sharing a boner over tentacle art porn is definitely a good way to get to know someone, I can highly recommend it. Although the possibilities of it going south immediately are pretty high. There’s so much of it though, so I suppose lots of people must like it. It’s like when hardcore can’t get any more hardcore, and then you throw in Cthulhu.

Yuji Moriguchi tentacle art porn

Yuji Moriguchi

Foot Fetish

I like brown feet. Slender, elegant brown feet that look like they spend most of their time in clean socks and comfortable sneakers. Dark, deep red polish would tip me over the edge. Pretty white feet are nice. A pair of them in dainty sandals or colourful wedges will send me into a haze of wistful longing. Tracing their contours, from the curl under the toes to the gentle slopes of ball and heel. But feet that particular shade of golden brown, now…

I’ve always wondered about foot fetishes. Apparently, many people have them. I guess, like all fetishes, they come in varying levels of extremity. I’ve never been comfortable admitting mine, because what comes to my mind when I think ‘foot fetish’, is all manner of extreme sexual perversion, which I don’t find sexy at all.

When I was little, I used to wish I had my sister’s feet. Her’s were just the sort I liked. I thought, then, ‘if I had feet like hers, I would be more attractive’.

For me, the fetish ends here. I could gaze at them, maybe fantasise about touching their soft soles, imagine the sensations they experience as they walk on floor boards that are recently sanded. So, does this qualify?

Anaïs Nin’s Understudy

I once fancied myself one of those literary diarists, believing my love affairs and sexual liaisons had a higher calling, beyond themselves. Very soon, it was uncertain where my torments originated. The lover, the diary, or from within?

Thinking in words gave shape to sensations and longings, most half felt, all best forgotten. But the blank pages of the diary demanded to be filled, by a life yet to be lived. It took me a while to realise that this repository of knowledge, this book, with its meticulous records of my most intimate thoughts, was prone to abusing me.

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