Manual labors

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Ready for my closeup

All photos copyright © by Paul Morris

Like many people during the recent great recession I faced a period of considerable unemployment. When I realized that state was likely to continue for the foreseeable future, one of my first thoughts — after the panic and anxiety attacks, of course — was to use the free time to travel. Events like the San Francisco's Up Your Alley street fair was definitely on the list, but as the time drew near I began to wonder about the financial wisdom of that choice.

At the same time, my federal unemployment money had run out. Fortunately, my home state has their own unemployment program, which I applied to. It has a more rigorous online questionnaire, requiring you to list four job contacts you've made each week.

I ought to be in pictures.  That got me thinking. Why not make some of those job contacts in San Francisco while on my trip? I immediately went online and applied to a couple of adult film companies. Lucikly, I got a call from Treasure Island Media right away. A phone and webcam interview was arranged and within days, they were talking about having me appear in a video shoot during my stay in the Bay Area. YES!

If you're familiar with much of the porn world, you already know that Treasure Island Media specializes in bareback videos, a fact that kept me from responding to them when they had approached me in the past. After all, this was still the pre-Truvada era. The issue came up in the interview, of course, but Nick, the casting director, explained that they could use me in some oral-only scenes so I wouldn't have to fuck without a condom. I readily agreed.

Fair play as foreplay.  My first shoot was to take place the afternoon of the fair. It seemed like a good plan. Although the threat of performance anxiety crossed my mind, I knew I would have all afternoon carousing with hot men at Dore Alley to get in the mood — deeply and thoroughly. At one point that day, a guy in the Powerhouse bar asked if I had ever done porn. I checked my watch. "Not for a couple of more hours," I replied.

At the appointed time, I walked the two blocks from the fair to studio offices. The place is normally closed on Sunday, but handsome and sexy Nick was there to greet me. He had me sign the proper forms and selected an empty area of the office for filming. These short scenes, I later learned, were to be used on their oral sex website (and possibly compiled into a DVD at some point). Nick was in charge of casting, directing, and filming all on his own.

Soon, the other party for the scene arrived. He looked familiar, although I couldn't place him from any specific porn I'd seen. Tan, muscular, handsome, with a shaved head and blindingly seductive smile, he was pretty much every gay man's fantasy. (At least the gay men I know.) He sported a well trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. Only later did I learn that he has done porn work for a number of studios, including Colt and Advocate Men, where he appears under such names as Nick Forte, Skip Piston, and others. (I think he uses the former name at Treasure Island, but I'll call him Skip to avoid confusion with the director.)

After some preliminaries, Nick began filming. I leaned against a wall while Skip knelt down, undid my belt, and opened my levis. His own jeans were already open and a raging boner was straining to break through his mesh jockstrap.

Without a doubt, Skip was an expert cocksucker . And it was even more erotic having our sexy camera man get so close to us and even put a supporting hand on me from time to time. It was terrifically hot, but of course it was still work. Knowing that we were making a video production affected how long Skip drew out the process, how much I showed my reactions, and so on. Consequently, it was impossible to completely get lost in the sensations as I might do otherwise. Despite that, I was of course very aroused, and eventually shot my load on Skip's tongue. After that, he went down on me again and continued to worship my cock until it was once again soft.

Nick gave us each a check, after which I left while Skip and Nick remained behind, apparently to do other shooting. I had "worked" less than an hour.

Take two.  Two days later I returned for a similar shoot. This time the office was bustling with more employees, but to shoot we used the office of the boss, who was not present. My coworker was a cute young man with a close-cropped beard and huge sexy hands. Again, I didn't recognize him at the time, but later learned his porn name was Marcus Iron (see adjacent photos), who also had a considerable porn career with a number of studios and whose image already occupied a certain amount of space on my hard drive at home.

Our director and videographer was to be Damon Dogg, one of Treasure Island's longtime stars (and incidentally a man who had sucked me off at their Folsom Street Fair booth a few years earlier). We were joined by an assistant who held a portable LED spotlight.

Again, I stood most of the time, with Marcus kneeling before me. He eventually got my pants around my ankles and had his own cock out, jacking as he serviced me. Like Skip (and Damon), he was brilliantly talented at his work! We proceeded with the fellatio and cock worship scene. Shortly after I came, Marcus shot his load all over my pants and shoes. At Damon's direction, he scooped up some of his own cum and smeared it on my cock, then went down on me again. Damon wanted him to lick my cum off the floor (he refused) or his own cum off my pants or shoes (he again declined, saying it was now cold).

I wiped off my pants the best I could, then put on my undies (which I had removed for the scene), knowing I would be walking through San Francisco with a damp denim crotch. This was one "walk of shame" I wouldn't mind. I collected my second check (same amount as before) and went on my merry way.

It's probably too crass to talk dollar amounts, but I will say that the first check alone more than covered my round-trip airfare to San Francisco. And since I stay with a friend and not in a hotel, the trip was already profitable. So the second check was all gravy. Or cream, as the case may be.

And that was it. No script, no story, no dialog, no lines, no rehearsals, no extras, no guy in a director's chair barking out orders. Just pure cocksucking fun from two gorgeous porn stars, except that it was caught on film.

And they pay me for this? Yes, plz. Where do I sign up for more?

Sunday in the park, engorged

Some lucky folks live in climates so warm that they can routinely stay naked much or all of the year. But if you're like me, living in a northern and cooler climate, you spend much of the winter longing for warmer days and warmer places. During those times, it helps to relive the good times, the summer days when one could be comfortably naked in the great outdoors.

And if you're like me, you can recall not just being naked outside, but naked in public. One of my most recent adventures in urban nudism took place last summer, when I strolled unashamed, nude from head to toe, through one of Seattle's most famous parks with a full view of the city — while giving the city a full view of me.

In some ways, this was more brazen than some of my other daylight dares: Unlike my day of nudity in Gas Works Park, there was no Bohemian public event to sanctioni such exposure. And unlike my naked walk through Seattle's arboretum, I wasn't lurking near a notorious gay cruising zone. Instead, I was balls out in a large, leash-free dog-walking park with a major biking and hiking trail running through it. The area also boasts one of the most scenic views of Seattle's skyline, making it a popular destination for photographers as well.

Fortunately, my photographer Andrew Adam Caldwell and I managed to steer clear of most park goers, though a couple of guys did walk by us, paying little attention. Luck and daring, not location or time of day, allowed me to be myself and make yet another statement about the value of being clothes free wherever and whenever you like.

If you'd care to share my nostalgia, check out the latest addition to the Nakedism photo gallery, Sunday in the park, engorged. Then drop me a line and let me know where you have been naked lately.

Chains of command

My delightfully huge bed (minus the current mattress) was acquired some years ago second hand from a neighbor who was an aficionado of BDSM. To each corner of the heavy wooden frame, he had attached sturdy eyelets for the purpose of anchoring restraints. Not long after becoming single, I attached chains to the top two corners, thinking they might come in useful now and then. But for the most part, they have served little purpose.

That all changed one Friday night in the summer of 2010.

I met M, a Canadian citizen from Vancouver, through Facebook about a year before and had been casually flirting with him on and off ever since. At some point he started showing more interest in meeting me, and as he needed a vacation, he took some time off work to visit. We talked on the phone several times, and I decided it was worth the risk to offer him lodging at my home for a couple of days.

When he arrived Friday night, I was pleasantly surprised. He looked at least as attractive and sexy as his photos, if not more so. Something of a bearded muscle boy clone, M stands 5 feet 8 inches tall, with broad muscular shoulders, shaved head, strong jaw, and furry tattooed pecs.

I picked him up from the bus station and, after an unexceptional meal at a neighborhood restaurant and a quick visit to a dance bar, we came back to my place and settled into some foreplay.

From the start, it was clear that one goal of his visit was serious sex play. I sometimes feel a little intimidated by situations where sexual performance is expected even before we meet. I tried to lower expectations with a few comments here and there, but I also knew that I was in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. And I do mean pound.

M and I were already naked and going at it on my bed with the usual touching, kissing, and oral service when he mentioned that he liked to be restrained.

I took
a perverse
amusement in his
discomfort, knowing that
it also indicated a
kind of twisted
pleasure for
him.

"Oh really?" I asked. This would be interesting.

Before long, each of M's arms were chained to the bed corners, his legs free to curl up and back while my cock found his willing hole. Despite earlier concerns and the desensitizing aspect of condoms, my cock remained hard as I entered and repeated slammed into his ass. With every thrust, M screamed in pain and delight.

After a while, I told him I wanted to flip him over. He was able to do so, crossing his arms, without my releasing the chains. He bit the pillow and continued to scream as I pummeled his ass in this face-down position.

Every butt is different. With M, I was getting enough sensation to stay hard but not enough to approach orgasm. But we persisted just the same, fucking for a good hour, his screams getting louder by the minute. The chains having put me in complete control, I took a perverse amusement in his discomfort, knowing that it also indicated a kind of twisted pleasure for him.

By this time, it was quite late at night, and I can only wonder what thoughts were occurring my housemates in the room below. But no matter. I was on a mission.

Back in missionary position, M's ankles on my shoulders, I resumed fucking him, finally coming to a deeply satisfying orgasm. As I pulled out, he spontaneously asked me to empty the contents of the condom into his mouth. I did so, working the cum deeper into his mouth with my cock as he jacked himself into a screaming orgasm of his own.

We were both grinning — and panting — from gratified exhaustion when I released M from his bonds. We quickly readied for sleep, turned out the lights, and curled up like spoons for some well deserved rest.

Come here often?

For those who are looking for a public naked dare but are concerned about the risk, a good starter dare is to take off all your clothes, hop in your car, and drive through the nearest automated car wash. Some of these are now so automatic, you don't even have to talk to an attendant at all. But of course it's more fun if there is at least some chance of someone seeing you.

If that's too tame, kick it up a notch by stroking off while your car is getting washed off. Try to have an orgasm before the car wash is over. True, that can make things a little rushed, but hey it's a dare. It's more about the challenge than about edging.

I have done this particular dare at least four times. My favorite was when I met a handsome young man online to join me. We drove naked through heavy traffic to get to our destination. The attendant could tell we were obviously shirtless. I have no way of knowing if he could tell we were fully naked, but he seemed to have a mischievous smile on his face as he took our money and sent is through the roaring brushes, clothes, squirting soap, and spraying water. We were too preoccupied with the novelty of it all to get all the way to orgasm, but we knew we could always take care of that later.

Fortunately, I recorded one of my solo trips through the car wash at a later date. If you want to see the cleanup job and the happy ending, head over to our Naked Dare Theatre and enjoy a screening of Pressure Wash & Spit Polish.

Sextronics

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The rust of the story

Sitting atop a piece of land jutting into Seattle's Lake Union stands the remains of an Edwardian gasification plant, in operation for roughly the first half of the twentieth century. Today, as the centerpiece of Gas Works Park, it is part of the National Register of Historic Places, and the final destination of the hundreds of naked revelers that lead the annual Solstice parade.

As such, Gas Works stands as one of the few parks in the United States where, once a year at least, one can stroll around in broad daylight as naked as the day you were born.

But beyond the pleasures of simple nudism or even public exhibitionism, the experience of stripping naked in front of these ancient, rusting monoliths brings to mind fantasies of steampunk eroticism. Might a parallel world offer a Victorian factory of naked slaves? Is our naked wanderer the last survivor of a pandemic that brought technology to its knees while conveniently also eradicating textiles? Has a technological singularity created a mechanical intelligence that uses total nudity to keep its human subjects in line? Or is it merely the familiar dream — or nightmare — of find yourself at your job completely naked?

Let these and other fantasies fill your mind as you enjoy photographer Andrew Adam Caldwell's 2014 photo essay that we call Dream Factory, now showing in the Nakedism gallery of undraped art.