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A Moment of Truth
by Rob Corn

Slowly, I pull his throbbing cock from the depths of my throat, 
and with every pulse, a dwindling stream of his hot cum spills out. 

Him, exhausted. Me, grinning with satisfaction, 
gazing up at him from below, 
before seizing that overwhelmed moment to get off myself. 
His cock, semi-rigid, dangling in front of my face, 
a final drop of cum hanging on a thread. 

I come so hard that afterward, 
I inevitably collapse into myself, 
resting my head against him. 

A deep breath floods through me. 
A thought flares up: “Should I tell you the truth?” 
I smile. 

What would the truth be? In this moment? 

In this exact moment, the truth would be 
that I’ve come for the third time today. 
Or, to be precise, not even today— 
it’s the third time within six hours. 

Every two hours. Not a bad average. 
Number one knocked me out cold today, 
number two was a horny, willful accident, 
and number three was planned for good measure. 

Number three, whose taste still lingers in my mouth 
as I write these lines— 
an athletic ex-twink, late thirties, 
with a damn fine, firm, shaved cock 
and an unrelenting urge to be milked. 
Him, on his knees at the bed’s edge. 
Me, on my knees in front of it. 
Him, bent over me, gripping the stair railing for support. 
Poppers bottle in hand. 
One mouth, two free hands— 
the ending’s a given. Glorious! 
And it brings me back to my truth. 

Number one, oh my God! 
Not a boy, not yet a man. 
19, more like a fleeting dream of youth, 
taking every detour out to Potsdam, 
including a car-sharing ride with tinted back windows— 
worth the risk that no one’s waiting by the roadside. 

I can’t help but thinking of the scent of sweet, boiled milk. 
Pale skin, an unshaven reddish-blonde bush, 
that shy, uncertain, yet boldly curious gaze. 
An unbelievably gorgeous, bulging, rigid cock 
with full, hairy balls, 
a fire raging inside them the moment 
we both stripped off our sweatpants 
and took each other in. 

The roll of toilet paper he brought along 
and then forgot in the car— 
he didn’t need it. 

This insanely young guy, 
with the light fuzz on his face, 
gave me more than just his cum today. 
He sparked a memory in me— 
what it was like back then, for me. 
That rush when I did these things 
for the first time in my life, 
with men the age I am now. 

His reckless youthfulness, 
a true fountain of feelings for me. 

On the drive back from my 19-year-old Potsdam adventure 
to Berlin, I passed the sign for the Parforceheide rest stop. 
How often I’ve wanted to pull over here, 
to see if the cruising rumors about Parforceheide hold up. 
Today’s the day. 

Tuesday, early afternoon— 
not cruising rush hour, 
but prime hunting time 
for tradesmen or dads clocking off early. 
Lady Luck smiled on me: 
a nice, cut cock on a slightly shy mid-thirties guy 
standing in his work pants at the urinal. 
After a quick mating dance, 
the path led out of the restrooms, 
through a slit in the fence, 
into the woods. 

I couldn’t hold back. 
There, kneeling with my back against a tree in the snow, 
in front of this hairy little powerhouse 
with his mocha skin 
and that beautiful, firm, cut cock 
deep in my throat. 
I came the second I dared 
to pull my throbbing dick out of my pants. 
The level of horniness was perfected. 

I smile. 
My truth. 

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: ROBERT & RENE

I’m not quite sure when I discovered that I actually enjoy being nude.

Growing up there was always so much shame associated with nudity. Or sex. Or sexuality. It was something to never talk about, never in polite conversation, and often conversations around any of it were either reserved for raunchy boasting, or sleazy sneak peeks at the chapter on reproduction in middle school biology that our teacher would pretend did not exist and skip over. 

Fast forward years and I was doing a lot more advocacy around sexuality and sexual rights among my peers: other queer and questioning young people who had been told who we were and what we desired were wrong, were illegal, and were to never be talked about. We fought, the law changed, society started talking more about queerness. On a personal level, liberation around my sexuality led to liberation around my sexual wants, and you’d think what would automatically follow was unlearning the shame we were force fed around our bodies and nakedness. But nope, it’s never that easy to come by.

In the summer of 2015, I had my first nude beach experience on Fire Island in New York. As a poor grad student studying in NYC an overnight on Fire Island would have ruined me financially, and frankly I had never even heard of it when my friend invited me to come along with his partner for a day trip. I remember them proudly introducing me to this cornerstone of the US East Coast gay experience. They showed me around, taking me from historic Cherry Grove to The Pines via the meat rack, which was also my first experience seeing cruising and sex out in nature, though mind you this was around noon so most of the woodland creatures were still napping from last night’s party. We went to this stretch of beach in The Pines and my friends took off all their clothes, all so casually, and sat down to soak some sun. I followed suit, surprisingly feeling no hesitation. I remember this afternoon very well because they made it seem so normal, so natural, to just want to be one with nature, let the sun glimmer on your skin as the waves licked your feet.

In the years that followed, I kept on seeking out nude beaches during my travels, but also at home. The first Covid summer in the Netherlands was a gorgeous one, and outdoor hangs were permitted, so I would go to these nude gatherings on the beach in the dunes of IJmuiden on the North Sea. The nude section was a bit of a trek from the main beach, but it was so refreshing to meet others who enjoyed being in the nude, who were comfortable in their skin. When the bars and clubs reopened, such hangouts faded out too, unfortunately. At times they resurface, like on that unseasonably warm sunny day in May, when some like-minded folks head down to Gaasperplas here in Amsterdam to read a book in the nude, and others head to Nieuwe Meer to soak some sun, take a dip, enjoy the views of naked men cruising in this wooded lakeside area, and perhaps partake in some if that’s the mood of the afternoon.

It’s quite commonplace to conflate nudity and sex, and that makes it challenging for some to enjoy nudism without the sexual connotations either arising from or being expected of it. Many a friend has shied away from going to a nude beach or a naked night at a bar (of which we have many now in Amsterdam) for this very reason, and more often than not it’s about unwanted sexual attention. It’s a tricky situation to navigate given that even today we have to remind people why consent is important, and especially the fact that nudity does not imply consent. Thankfully, the beaches and bar nights I am drawn to seem to be frequented by people who observe and respect consent very well. And personally speaking: sometimes I just want to soak up the sun, enjoy a drink and chat, and at other times I might want to explore and engage more. Sexual desire emerging from true comfort and ease, coupled with the excitement that comes from a good conversation, is for me the ultimate firestarter! 

As my comfort with being nude grows, so does my curiosity. For instance: this is only my second ever photoshoot in the nude! And I’m looking forward to going on a naked hike this summer. Nudity has become quite enjoyable: to break free and just be in your own element, love the feeling of the air, the sun, the water on every part of yourself. It’s a different kind of freedom, an acceptance, a comfort of being one with yourself. And that’s a journey I want to continue on for life. 

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: Uncutotter from the NL

I grew up in a small town in the East of France, close from the German border. I wouldn’t say it was a particularly homophobic area -at least not more than any other small town- but it deeply lacked of queer people.

Out of my whole childhood, I can only recall one gay couple around, a colleague of my mom and his husband.

It’s hard for queer kids, because you don’t even know what queer life can be. Most of us left to bigger towns.

I moved to Paris when I was 16. I wasn’t out -even to myself- before moving there, and have not been in the closet since then. For me, this city will forever be associated with the freedom to be yourself. I felt truly empowered to be there so young, navigating in anonymity of a big city.

After some years, I felt again that queer lives were not visible enough in the streets of Paris. The community is vibrant but mostly concentrated in our bars, cabarets and other associative venues. I decided to move to Berlin, one of the queerest cities in Europe in my opinion. It was the perfect decision for me, and I really feel at my place in this city. But it is definitely not perfect : in the last two years, I really felt that an increase in violence towards us queers, from street harassment to assaults.

This is a harsh reminder, that it’s not because our situation improved in the last decades -or at least in the West- that it will keep improving, or even that it will stay this way. I’ve been harassed or assaulted 6 times over the last 2 years. Gladly, these events did not made me want to hide, but rather to look more queer, more provocative, more like myself. If people have a problem with me existing, then I can just be worse.

Being an open slut, showing my sex life is part of this. The beauty of being queer is to be out of the norms and to break them. Sex and kinks are political, and I think that exposing them is part of a cultural fight.

With the rise of fascism, I believe we need to learn how to support each other to remain free and proud. Tomorrow can still be better than yesterday, but we have to fight for it.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: THEO

I never thought I’d end up in a serious relationship with a christian man and center-
right-wing politician but that’s exactly what happened here in Brussels.

Funny how life truly works in mysterious ways.

I tend to be a free-spirited artist, who continuously try and deconstruct all the things I’ve
been taught as a kid, which I swallowed but always completely felt that they weren’t for
me.

There is nothing I fear more than the norm and traditional values. I radically escaped
those in my twenties —finding peace— allowing me to cultivate now a more nuanced
and curious perspective on them. But I still remain a dreamer, very left-wing, politically
furious about the current news and exploring queerness through daily efforts of pushing
boundaries for a more fluid world in gender looks and roles and in everything else.
But one night, as I was proposing on Grindr to draw people as nude models, I saw him.
Even though I drew 5 other men before him, there is something in his profile that felt so
familiar as if I already knew exactly how he would be and how he would behave.
I treated him differently by omitting the drawing part and proposed to meet for a
massage directly.

I gave him my address in Sablons, told him to climb 3 floors and opened the door almost
naked just wearing my loose linen underwear. I didn’t speak much, but stared a lot. I
liked what I saw. He was indeed exactly how I thought he’d be. He nervously asked many
questions about myself in a row until I cut him and suggested to get to the massage.
He started massaging my back, as we agreed. It wasn’t great. But then I massaged his. I
loved his body. The smell, the hairiness, the slight chubbiness too but positive manliness
overall. I went everywhere, from the back to the arms, then legs to the feet, and finally
the ass cheeks. I laid my body on his and started to lick his ear. He started to softly moan.
From this moment we both knew we’d go beyond a simple back massage, and we did.
I’ve been dating this man for 8 months now and we are radically opposite. He has a
mathematical, economic and liberal perspective of the world and I still catch myself
dreaming of a people revolution from the bottom up where we destroy all city roads and
grow food on every street.

Funny how I date the very same thing I strongly parted with.

I wonder how long it will last.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: ANGELO

Seven years ago, our paths crossed unexpectedly on an ordinary day that fate turned into something extraordinary. That day, a spark lit up our hearts, marking the beginning of a connection that was immediate, deep, and sincere.

Very quickly, the decision to live together felt like the most natural step. We built a little nest, a haven of tenderness and closeness, where each day became a page in a story of simple, genuine happiness.

Over the years, our relationship has flourished, nourished by shared experiences. Together, we’ve discovered the world, hand in hand, exploring vibrant cities and peaceful beaches. Each journey has been an adventure, a way to deepen our bond and create unforgettable memories.

Our shared passion for gastronomy has also shaped our story. From preparing exotic dishes at home to discovering refined restaurants, every meal has become a moment of joy and connection. This passion has allowed us to embrace other cultures, meet wonderful people, and enrich our daily life.

Humor and joy are at the heart of our relationship. Laughing together—whether it’s in front of a funny movie or during a game night—has always been essential. Even the simplest moments turn into cherished memories. And in the more difficult times, we’ve remained united, supportive, and strong.

Today, a new chapter begins: we’ve chosen to get married. This marriage is more than a commitment—it’s a celebration of the love we’ve patiently built, and the beginning of a new adventure. We dream of a day surrounded by our family and friends, all gathered to honor this unique bond that unites us.

We still have so many dreams to fulfill: starting a family, continuing to travel, discovering new passions, and expanding our circle of friends. Every day is an opportunity to nurture our love, deepen our connection, and fully embrace life as a couple.

Our story is a journey of love, discovery, and sharing. And this is just the beginning.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: LOIC & DAMIEN

In 2016, I remember walking in Berlin and stumbling upon a little bookshop. Inside, I found books filled with pictures of naked men, and I distinctly recall the feeling of, “Oh, I want to be part of this.”
But I told myself it wasn’t for me. I judged myself—my body, my desire—as if it were a perversion, convinced I wasn’t sexy enough.
Looking back, I think I’ve always wanted to meet myself, to truly know who I am on every level: emotionally, socially, physically, and spiritually.

In the end, the hardest part was meeting myself on the level of my body.
Maybe it’s because we can never fully see ourselves. We’re always inverted in a mirror, distorted by a camera, transformed by light. I’ve pieced together a sense of myself from my reactions to situations, the way I take up space in a room, how I sit on a chair—but I’ve never truly seen myself beyond those fleeting experiences.

People’s comments have also shaped my perception:
“I think you are this…”
“The first time I saw you, I thought you were…”
“You’re really the type of person who…”
I liked that “you,” but I also hated that “you.”

I’ve always responded to those observations with curiosity: “Really? Tell me more!”—because I genuinely wanted to know. I didn’t know myself. (Do I now?)
But what “they” see is ultimately a reflection of themselves, a projection. Nothing is truly real.

I handed over the question of my identity to others, piecing together their observations to build a version of myself, a knowledge of “I.”
But that version was made of projections and beliefs—chalk drawings that could easily turn to dust.

It took me a long time to dismantle those visions, brick by brick. I began listening to myself, slowly figuring out who “I” am from my own point of view.
Much of what I’ve discovered is stored in my body: in my reactions, my movements, my emotions, and my desires.

The first step was realizing that I didn’t really love myself—because I wasn’t treating myself well.
How could I? How do I give myself the love I deserve?

Then I started listening:
I want to feel strong.
I want to feel healthy.
I want to sleep.
I want to fuck.
I want to eat, dance, cry, rest, pee…

In 2024, I met a guy at the gym who photographs naked men. I thought, “This is the right time.”
I’ve always wanted to be photographed naked, sexy, and in action. To connect with that part of myself—the erotic side. To give it space, to prove it exists, to honor its desires.
To say: it deserves to be seen. Shameless, wild, and free.

Through this, I’ve been reclaiming the missing pieces of myself, fully filling my body with my own essence.
Finally, I am wholly made of me.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: HUGO

I’ve been living in Berlin for 2.5 years, though originally, I’m from Russia. I absolutely love the city and the way it treats everyone with fairness and respect. This inclusivity means a lot to me, as I barely experienced anything like it in my hometown.

I was born in a small town, and at the age of 16, I made the decision to leave my parents and move to Moscow to pursue an education. Looking back, it was the right choice. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to live a normal, authentic life there as a queer person.

In my family, topics like sexuality, relationships, and emotions were never openly discussed. I never had a meaningful “father-son” conversation, which, now that I reflect on it, I realize is an essential part of raising a boy. Unfortunately, my stepdad didn’t take much interest in my feelings or how I was growing up. My mom wasn’t much different in that regard. It’s not that they were bad parents—they simply repeated the way they had been raised themselves, without the tools or vision to do things differently.

At my current age, I’m still exploring my sexuality, learning what excites me, and discovering the boundaries of my desires. I’ve realized that I can’t feel turned on just by a naked body or watching porn. For me, connection and trust are fundamental aspects of intimacy and sex.

I also have a complicated relationship with my body, which is why I push myself so hard at the gym. As a teenager, I was a skinny boy who was frequently bullied at school, and, deep inside, a part of me still carries those scars. Taking pictures of my body and sharing them with others has become a way for me to reclaim my confidence and ground myself in the present.

The process of shooting for this project was incredibly relaxed. I simply acted naturally, doing what felt right and being myself. While it wasn’t something entirely new to me, it served as a beautiful reminder of the many facets of human sexuality and the simplicity of its expression.

When I felt stuck or unsure, Chris stepped in and guided me on how to adjust my perspective and pose in ways that highlighted my best angles. This kind of direction was both helpful and crucial, especially since we didn’t know each other well at first—it was a great way to break the ice and build trust.

Moments like these remind me of the importance of connection and mutual understanding, which are central not only in art but also in life and relationships. 

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: IVAN