I’m a photographer myself, an artist. I take photos of naked guys, sometimes I have sex with
them, sometimes we take photos of the sex itself. But few do sex for a living. We all have
something in common, we get naked, we have sex, we have our picture taken, but where
they turn the camera off, I keep it on. I sell it, monetise it, market it.
It makes me think, what am I, who am I? When I turn myself into this persona, this product,
what’s left for me? Do you know me, really know me? Do I even know myself? Does it
matter?
Sometimes, it can be challenging, to know the difference between me and what is perceived
as me, but I like what I do. I like being in control, dominating the camera, having the
audience on the edge of their seat. Making them crave for more, showing them glimpses of
truth, turning my cheek, fucking the camera.
I like showing my hard cock, my gaping hole, fucking bitches and being a bitch that gets
fucked. Looking directly into the camera when I reach climax, making you part of it.
During the summer I leave Barcelona, it’s just too hot. The city smells of hot pavement, urine
and fried chicken, and the metro is either boiling or freezing. Most of my friends are away,
anyway. There are lots of hot men to fuck, but they are always busy because they’re all
visiting. Life is simple in my hometown, where the house is close to the sea, the sea is close
to the bar, and the bar is close to the supermarket. The only problem is that fucking is
complicated, to say the least. Everyone’s visiting with their family, nobody can host and only
a handful will have their face on their profile.
It was the 10th of July that day, I took a train in the morning. I did my sudoku, looked out the
window and saw tourists come up and down with their colourful umbrellas and their pale
skins.
I met you in an old, modernist building in the centre of Barcelona. Beautiful apartment.
Clearly, a gay couple lived there, and thank God there was aircon. I’ve done this a lot, you
see, getting naked, but it’s always fun to see what happens, what reactions I get. I’m a
canvas and you fill me with yourself. Your vision, your emotions, your trauma, your desires
and projections. I’m nude, but you’re naked.
We started solo, but he was there, looking, silent, anticipating.
Shortly after, I was fully naked and the tension of being looked at in a room with two other
men made me hard, and he was immediately drawn to me.
He touched me, you looked. We kissed.
We fucked on the living room’s floor, on the purple velvet carpet. He had soft lips and
beautiful brown eyes. The type of gaze that still holds innocence and true love.
I felt admired, revered, even. He liked every inch of my body and you could see it too.
Little talking was necessary, we spoke with our fingertips. His lips around the tip of my cock,
then his throat. He couldn’t get enough, he was latched, enamoured of my cock.
I turned him on his back, looking up at me. I slid it in gently, he could feel my throbbing cock
pushing his insides, pressing against his spot. His body felt a rush of shiver. Pleasure was
coming in waves, each time more intense, like a summer storm.
We looked, you and I. We were making something magical, the camera was loving it.
He was just taking commands. “Do this, move there, turn that way. No, that way.
Actually, go back to what you were doing before. Do you wanna cum?”
I had been horny for several days. Being in my hometown can be challenging for fucking,
like I said, and I don’t always want to masturbate, so the result was that I hadn’t cum in
about three days and my dick was craving some tight boy pussy.
The stop-and-go of taking photos helped me not cum accidentally, but in the end, I couldn’t
keep it in anymore and I came inside his tight hole. It was awesome and it gave him a sense
of conquest, of culmination. It was like he had been baptized by a stallion.
Time was running out, we had a lot to talk about, he had many books by gay photographers,
and homoerotica wasn’t short in his house, but you had to go, and so did I.
I took a quick shower, you turned the camera off, red turned black, and once again, I was alone.