26 August 2014

Fundoshi Provocateur

The erotic charge of fundoshi photography is often amplified by facelessness, by the presenting of the genital mound or the butt in an outward- or upward-thrust manner, by dim lighting or by it's opposite -- furtive snapshots out in the open, where risk of discovery is implied. The fundoshi becomes an interval between dress and nudity, even though historically a fundoshi and a fundoshi only is considered full dress. The ceremonial, historical, proper context of the fundoshi as a humble-yet-intricate garment is temporarily forgotten in the upsurge of hormones and the quickening of blood. Despite ourselves we imagine the feel of the fabric stretched over our own cocks, pulling tighter as we grow erect. We picture ourselves strutting and posing and posting naughty images on the internet. We gratefully satisfy this carnality as we stare with wide wet eyes at the twisted spiral of white fabric that cleaves the masculine buttocks before us, and as we imagine the treasure contained and outlined in the rounded pouches. Is it our own, for a moment? Do we enter the photographs on some psychic level, the voyeur and the exhibitionist entwining and merging into a hot pool of flesh and fabric, sweat and slick male essence?

To be truthful, I don't know. Maybe you don't project yourself into the models' loincloths, but often I do. Maybe imaginary scenarios don't play out in your head where you and they are fundoshi-clad and fevered, touching and caressing, bulging fundoshi grazing and pushing against one another while your chests rise and fall.

The sexual and the spiritual. The sexual is the spiritual.

(So impatient for your tongue, your finger, your swollen cock...or all three!)

(How's that for an inviting masculine homoerotic pose? Splayed wide and supported by a piece of earth-moving equipment, simply awaiting your hand's caress from behind...)

(Wouldn't you just love to spend a few hours... a few weeks... with the handsome fit lad above?)

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