The striking male body resembles a reclined Adonis. Ripped muscle, inherent strength, colorful tattoos. The models in Michael Stokes’ photographs are the epitome of beautiful men – and then you notice that the perfect model is an amputee; the lower part of his leg is missing. I did a double take and realized that model is perfect in every way.

Michael Stokes’ photographs of war veterans are breathtaking and I highly recommend his coffee table books. You can even check Michael Stokes’ homepage. Enjoy!


Luke and the Sunflower seed

His name was Luke. He was so beautiful. His skin was velvety soft and darker than the night. He would moisten his lips with his tongue, the rare pink against his dark lips enough to make me sigh and beckon me closer.

We met on an outmoded train bound for Rostock in former Eastern Germany. I was on an adventure with a couple of friends, to practice German or so we told our parents and the see the remnants of Eastern Germany a decade after the fall of the Berlin Wall.

This final stretch was long. Outside the landscape blurred to nuances of green, cut with grey high-rises and in between, the evidence of people building new, Western housing. Inside, the open compartments were dreary, the fabric on the seat threadbare and everything in a brown/beige color scheme.

Luke was travelling with a friend, shorter than himself. They sat across from each other by the window and spoke that round African French that I couldn’t get my head around. They were rambunctious, laughing, and animated, so that none of us three, blonde girls, sitting across the aisle, could keep our eyes away.

On the table between them, they had a bag of sunflower seeds. Luke offered us some. We giggled our way through language, finding out that none of us spoke the same ones, but for me, it didn’t matter. I was completely smitten. I wanted to touch Luke’s skin so much so that my fingers tingled. And there he was, beckoning me closer with his dark eyes and that pink tongue.

I sat down beside him, immediately feeling the heat from his body. Our smiles wide to begin with as he showed me how to remove the pesky coat from the sunflower seeds. I wanted those deft fingers touching me instead of the sunflower seeds, preferably flicking my clit. He held a seed up to my mouth. I took the seed and sucked his finger, tasting his dark skin.

Our smiles were gone, replaced by countenances of need and want. His hand gripped my hip and I let his finger go.

‘Avec moi,’ he breathed and stood abruptly, showing me the arousal, bulging in his jeans.

I told my friends that I would be back in a little while and accepted the large hand, Luke held out for me. We jolted down the aisle, me in front of him, feeling his hardness. I touched it, making him groan, which in turn made my knees weak with lust.

We found a closed compartment. Luke locked the door, and I closed the curtains towards the aisle, his hands already stroking my arms and my hips.

‘I need to see all of you,’ I told him, even though he didn’t understand English. I yanked at his clothes,

‘Off, off!’

‘Une tigresse,’ he smiled and shed his clothes.

I reciprocated.

The sight of him, naked, in front of me, his hand supporting his erection made my jaw drop. In that moment, I wished for a camera or at least photographic memory. He was majestic. My very pale fingertips ran over his ebony skin. I moved closer to kiss his chest, his free hand clutching my ass.

I trailed my kisses further down to his shaft, the memory of which still makes me quiver. That was what a cock should always look like. Tall, proud, and ready to pounce. I kissed the very tip before licking the length. Anticipation made us both breathe heavily. I pushed him back on the seat, already on my knees between his legs.

‘Non, en haut, maintenant, tigresse.’ The words were desperate demands. Luke picked me up, spreading my legs. My moisture leaked down my thighs. His voice deep and round.

‘Lentement,’ I didn’t know, if he was telling me or himself, but by the strength of his arms, he lowered me on to his cock ever so slowly. My core was burning with sensation, stretching to accommodate him. Every nerve screaming, until he was completely sheathed.

Luke moistened his lips again and swirled his tongue around my nipple. The current of pleasure made me rock my hips, moving him in and out. The sum of sensations almost too much.

And then, Luke used his dexterous fingers to flick my clit. I screamed at the assault and he drowned the sound with a hungry kiss.

I was at the point of no return. My hips gaining in speed. Luke’s fingers sending jolts of current to my clit and his mouth roaming my chest. My core flashed with the first touch of orgasm, my walls pulsating his shaft as the orgasm took flight.

As the aftershocks of orgasm convulsed through my body, Luke lifted me off him to my audible displeasure. He landed me on weak knees on the floor just in front of his glorious cock. I welcomed him between my lips. His hand gripping my blonde hair, controlling my speed. I strained to take as much of his hardness as I possibly could, but even with my zeal, I could only take half his length.

Luke licked his lips, his breath hitched in his throat. His salty seed hit the back of my mouth in bursts as he came. I swallowed to my heart’s content. When he withdrew from my mouth, he wiped a smear from the side of my mouth, letting me suck his thumb.

‘Chère tigresse,’ Luke said, his voice husky.

We were both spent and the minutes stretched as we had our arms around each other. Conversation was needless and we wouldn’t have been able to understand each other anyway, but it didn’t matter. We existed in a small vacuum of time, speeding through the German countryside.

Slowly we resurfaced from our tryst and got dressed. Luke took my hand and led me back to my friends. Of course they wanted to know the details, but this is the first time I share them. The tryst, Luke and I shared on board the train to Rostock was without words, without description, and for many years it remained that way, until now, that I am ready to share the glorious Luke and the sunflower seeds.  




Riding rough – chapter 10

Heavy counted the minutes while he waited. Anger raged through him, resulting in beads of sweats at his temples and across his forehead. It was her. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Madigan driving the BMW into Sergiev Imports.

‘Damn it,’ he muttered with gritted teeth.

Behind that metal gate and the two ex-Russian military guards, Madigan was meeting with the devil incarnate, Sergiev. Heavy had dealt with numerous warlords and the like in his previous life, but Sergiev still gave him that metal taste of fear in his mouth. He was completely without honor or other redeemable qualities and carried out his autonomous agenda without any scruples or value of human life.

Heavy remembered a prior incident with Sergiev, where one of their stash houses was compromised.

Police sirens filled the air, coming closer every second. The Lost Legion had already retreated, knowing that the police would arrest anyone in proximity, but Heavy stayed close to watch. Truth be told, the anonymous tip to the police originated from the Lost Legion.  

Sergiev ordered two guards to pour gasoline about the ramshackle boarded house. Inside were his own people, weighing and bagging drugs. Sergiev showed no compassion at all. He waited by the porch, lighting a cigarette with a sly grin on his face, before throwing it at the front door.

There was a single moment, where Heavy thought, it hadn’t ignited, but then the flames flushed around the old wood, creating walls of fire. Someone from inside opened the front door and met the wall. Sergiev laughed at the man’s stupidity as he climbed into his waiting car.

The screams from that house still echoed in Heavy’s nightmares. Seven people died in that house in order to prevent them from talking to the police.

Madigan was meeting that Sergiev.

Heavy’s first instinct was to rev out of his surveillance position and stop her, physically place himself and his bike between the smart BMW and the metal gates. From what he knew about Madigan, she would give him hell for even trying to persuade her to step out of harm’s way, but he would do so forcefully if necessary.

Heavy planted his heavy boots in the dust on either side of his ride, flustered of his protective instinct regarding Madigan. Damn, he never felt that way about a piece of tail before. Madigan didn’t belong in the same category as the sweetbutts and civvies he had dipped into previously. Madigan wasn’t just a good, slash that, motherfucking great fuck, she was more. Heavy winced at the realization.

Hell, if he would be pussy-whipped. Heavy checked his watch. She had been in there for 37 minutes now. Anger made a vein in his throat vibrate. Perhaps Madigan was playing him. She was connected to Sergiev and randomly turned up at the Narrow. Heavy replayed the events of that night in his mind’s eye. Madigan had been somewhat safe in the ladies’ bathroom when the shooting started. She ventured out into the hallway. Perhaps, it was her plan to leave with the shooters.

Heavy felt rage churn to a growl, but kept it down. Nothing about Madigan had set off his inner bullshit detector, not that night nor since. Not until this moment, where he was surveying the Sergiev impound, considering tactics and scenarios for a Lost Legion assault.

Even with his rage roaring in his ears, calling him to immediate action, Heavy steadied himself. Acting on his emotions and without an enforceable plan with extradition was a kamikaze trip. Whether or not Madigan played to Sergiev’s fiddle, Heavy needed to get the facts straight before hatching an executable plan.

The metal gates screeched open and Madigan’s BMW sped out of the lot. Heavy noted at a glance that she had been inside for 1 hour and 4 minutes and now, she was literally driving as a bat out of hell. Heavy wondered, if she was driving scared or simply gaining distance to cover her tracks. He released the throttle and followed her all the way back to downtown, where she swung into the underground garage at Allister Consolidated.