I’ve been exploring erotica. I tend to write out a first draft in bits. Then I expand upon. I’m a sprinter, less of a runner, so I capture scenes. I rarely go beyond that. Here’s a piece that dropped out this morning. Literally just the first pass on it. Let me know what you think. He stood in the doorway and I turned to retrieve his parcel from the kitchen counter where I placed it earlier. My stark white asscheeks mooning below my cotton shorts. As I neared the archway to the kitchen I felt him. His large hands took both my left hip and my right arm. He pressed me and my hands splayed out against the eggshell wall. Only a sliver of air was between us, and my ear caught his desirous breath. I relaxed, allowing him to take me in. I could tell he’s been waiting for such an opportunity. I noticed him immediately when he moved in, curious what being in his arms would feel like. He leaned in close, and announced his arousal. I smiled, acknowledging, and I looked down, inviting him to my neck. He brushed my hair away and I felt his lips on my nape. He released a small sound of satisfaction. His cock twitched against my back. I moved my feet apart, and he removed all the distance between us. His cock was rock hard. His hands explored my skin. I turned my head and looked at him, giving him my consent. He swept my asscheeks with his palms and I spread my legs a little bit more. He ran his index finger just under the trim of my shorts, our breath building together. He cupped my asscheek, and the length of his finger reached my lips wet opening. I attempted to press back only to have him press me harder against the wall. I felt his cock pulse as he slid two fingers inside me. He moaned at how wet I was and kept his lips on my neck. His fingers began a steady rhythm. I held onto the wall for steadiness. His other hand reached under my tshirt and around to my breast. I twisted slowly to face him. Our lips met and we kissed. Soft and inquisitive at first, then fully. Hungrily. He turned me to face him and as we kissed he removed my clothing. I was raw and naked in front of him. His eyes looked at all of me, and I have never been so seen. My eyes followed his as he examined all of me. I was so aroused my juices couldn’t be contained and they escaped down my inner thighs. My nipples were erect. My skin was alive. I stood still, waiting for him. Looking at my fully aroused body he removed his clothing. The afternoon sun caught his ebony skin and showed me his sweat. His cocks tip glistened. The lust that was hanging between us was heavy and rich. He took his time, and when he was ready he stepped towards me. I motioned to the bedroom but he led me to the couch. He leaned me over the high sofas arm and slid into me. His thick cock filled me and I moaned.

Most people think their mind exists to make them happy. I don’t think that’s true. I think the mind was built to keep us alive. Those are two very different jobs. A survival system doesn’t care if you’re fulfilled. It doesn’t care if you become who God intended you to become. It doesn’t care whether your relationships are healthy, whether your dreams are possible, or whether the life you’re building is worth living. It has one assignment… Keep breathing. That’s why fear often feels more convincing than hope. Fear has been rehearsed for millions of years. It became the operating system long before consciousness gave us the ability to question it. Then something extraordinary happened. Human beings became aware that we were aware. For the first time, survival wasn’t the only voice in the room. Consciousness created something evolution alone never could… the ability to investigate the very system that created us. That’s where I think maturity actually begins. Not when fear disappears. Not when life finally becomes easy. But when you begin asking a dangerous question… “Is this fear responding to reality… or is it responding to an outdated survival strategy that no longer fits the world I’m standing in?”. Because most people don’t realize their nervous system is still defending them from places they’ve already escaped. It keeps fighting wars that ended years ago. It predicts betrayal before trust has a chance. It expects rejection before anyone has spoken. It mistakes familiarity for truth simply because familiarity once increased the odds of survival. Maybe that’s why so many people confuse surviving with living. Survival asks, “What could hurt me?” Living asks, “What is actually true right now?” The distance between those two questions may be the distance between existing and becoming. I don’t believe wisdom comes from accumulating more answers. I think wisdom begins when consciousness develops enough courage to cross-examine its own conclusions. Every belief deserves interrogation. Every fear deserves evidence. Every certainty deserves a trial.

I appreciate the invite. I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Ray Blanco. I’m a soon to be self published author and hip hop producer. I write in philosophy and pain. I guess there’s no point in hiding the fact that I suffer from schizophrenia and severe fragmentation… but it doesn’t define me… it just tunes me into a higher frequency so I can achieve the proper depth of my writing to translate the darkness in my mind into words. I look forward to meeting everybody.