Is sex beautiful? Is beauty sexual?
Is there an opposition between a tranquil highland landscape and a wetness dripping from in between the trembling thighs?
Is a hard penis pushing against the stretched fabric of suit trousers so in contradiction with the business agreement that is being negotiated? Is the intellect so untolerant to the fast hammering heardbeat, do our sexual instincts so despise the obsessive and imperious logic of our brain?
Is a naked body so different than a clothed one? Do clothes hide or, on the contrary, reveal? Or: neither? What arouses you more, the veins on her hand holding a pen, the movement of his larynx as he swallows, or the skin from which their pubic hair grows? When do you suddenly feel your nipples touch the texture of your shirt? They are always touching...
Do you strip bare when having sex or put on an animal mask to hide you?
How uncomfortable do you feel when your thoughts wonder to what's behind this skirt while you should mourn a lost one on a funeral? Is sex so not serious?
You dream of rape? Or are you just lazy and scared of breaking the thin barrier between work, excersise, and your sexuality?
Put on your make-up. Sex is not natural, becouse there is no nature. It died long ago. There is only culture. Sex is culture.
Personal: Male, Poland, mid-twenties. Self-proclaimed musician, writer, philosopher.
(None of these images are mine. If they're yours and you want them removed, simply send me the url and I'll remove the post)My favourite erotica site: