My Sex Art
Whether it is scenic, textual, sound, visual or graphic, my art is exclusively sexual. It is rooted in a fascination with our bodies.
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Whether it is scenic, textual, sound, visual or graphic, my art is exclusively sexual. It is rooted in a fascination with our bodies.
My cock jerked off. Appearance soft or carnally aggressive, shocking, the urge to suck undulates. "Say, draw me a penis! »
Oh, my sex, you coppery piece of meat! Hey you! Touch her. That's how the body is made. To deny it is pure nonsense. Whether you like it or not.
I saw the penis, the little sister of a wanker, and from the height of its erect shaft, it said to me: "Eat, this is my sex! Drink, this is my sperm".
My pornography is the rejoicing space of my excitement and the voluptuous retreat of my tranquility. It is the sunny resort of my thoughts.
My dick is my friend. It's my boy's prerogative. I like to be what I am in the first place. I love my erect sex as much as I love my flaccid sex.
To decry sexual exhibition is to deny the reality of coitus, the most banal of our realities, in favour of an illusion of self, the mother of all violence.
It is up to certain libertines to want to escape the "mawkishness of free sex" from which they claim to be exempt.
As a wish, we might wish that we could, from time to time, have the ability to step into each other's shoes for a few minutes.