Day 3 of my 6 months sabbatical:

I’ve decided to take up yoga in my free time. Lifting weights all these years, I feel I need to change my body as I’m getting older. I want that slim look with lots of flexibility. Yoga is the perfect choice.

I got a groupon for 20 sessions of Bikram yoga for $25. What a great deal so I decided to go for it. Bikram yoga is 26 postures sequence selected and developed by Bikram Choudhury from Hatha Yoga. So, you do 26 poses in 105F degrees and about 40% humidity. Not sure about the heat but I’ll give it try.

First I need to buy a yoga mat and accessories. I ended up spending about 4 hours looking at mats. Well the best ones are the Manduka and Jade mats. Since all the reviewers say the Manduka is the Rolls Royce of yoga mats, I just had to get it. I got the Manduka Black Mat PRO Yoga Mat and Manduka Go Steady 2.0 Yoga Bag on Amazon. The Pro Yoga mat is amazing and I loved it but it’s a bit heavy to cart around town. I suggest you get the Manduka PROlite Travel Yoga Mat. It’s lighter and easy to roll up. I’m so excited about doing new things! Stay tuned…

x Van

Day 1 of my 6 months sabbatical:

Hello, I’ve been making content for www.kinkmen.com since April 2008. That’s 156 movies a year. There’s only 365 days in a year. That means I have to make a movie every other day. I loved it but it was exhausting. I was ready for a sabbatical 2 years ago. LOL. I championed on as long as I could. Now, I can no more. I think it’s fair. Lots of my content is around on sexm and other sites these days, anyway! Of course there’s a lot of fear lurking around me. Not from me mind you, but from the people around me. What are you going to do? How are you going to pay your bills? What if they don’t want you back? Do you know you are throwing a lot of money away?

Listening to the little voice inside

Following the little voice inside me, I’ve gotten by splendidly. It’s been telling me to stop for a long time. Now that I’m not busy setting up for shoots and dealing with the corporate porn world (Yes, corporate porn world. It’s an actual corporation and the product is BDSM porn. There are meetings, politics, managing employees, sales revenues, marketing, web traffic, competitions, etc.), I can take the time and listen to that voice inside me. It will tell me what to do. One thing that I’m certain, whatever it is, it will be artistic :) Even as artistic as some cartoon porn at www.cartoonporno.xxx.

The company is a great place to work and I’ve made great friends there. I need to take the time now just to breathe. Don’t want to grind away my life and wonder where it all went at the age of 70. There are a lot of other fantastic companies that make some truly captivating content, I’m thinking of https://www.tubev.sex/ of course. They really set new standards for the industry.

X Van

I went camping in the rented Vanagon on the big island of Hawaii last year. There’s nothing like sleeping to the sound of the waves breaking at the purple shore at night, or having a hot cup of Kona coffee while watching the sea turtles floating about in the calm morning sea. Hawaii is a beautiful spot to camp in, with so much to see and do with nature. I have looked at other camping trips that I can take in different parts of the world such as Iceland, it’s the opposite on the weather scale but the beauty of it will make anyone want to go! My friend who recently went there sent me this link – https://www.rent.is/blog/iceland-travel-guide/ so I can see what I can do and give myself a rough plan beforehand. It is definitely an option.

I found a camping map in the glove compartment of the Vanagon but one could pretty much camp anywhere along the ocean on the island. A large part of the big island is covered with rough harden black lava. This area is hot and dry but has many large sandy beaches. The other part is covered with thick vegetation. Every square inch is bursting with dark green and fluorescent green leaves, and I believe it rains for about 5 minutes on the hour. In spite of all that, there are some beautiful vacation rentals built there for the tourists who want to enjoy some luxury. Exceptional Villas and many other reputed rental websites can offer plenty on this front for those of you who wish to sit back and relax while sipping a local Hawaiian drink. As for me, I’m more of a nomad who prefers camping!

After a couple of days, I drove into Hookena beach/campground. It’s the only park that runs by the local Hawaiians. The beach was beautiful with lots of trees on one side so I decided to drop my anchor for the day. There was a small tent at the entrance of the camping area with a walker right next to it. I thought it was odd but didn’t think much of it.

After spending the day snorkeling at the beach, I fired up my little hibachi and enjoyed a glass of red Maui wine under the most magnificent sunset. The smell of my roasted pork chops blended in nicely with other delicious smell around the campsite at suppertime. In the distant, that odd small tent ruffled a bit and a very skinny man came out reaching for his walker. It took him forever to right himself up. He moved slowly along the short concrete wall that separated the beach from the parking lot. He would move about 4 feet and rest on the wall for about 5-10 minutes. After a while, I realized he was heading for the porta potty. I said to myself how the heck did he manage to set up that tent.

A couple of people stopped by my camp area to chitchat. One was Murray, an elderly gentleman from Australia and he’d been traveling alone for the past 6 months. Another was a young handsome couple from the Midwest. They were jobless and looking to move to either Hawaii or San Francisco. Of many things we discussed, one was about ways to reduce the cost of your Campervan Insurance. Being jobless and on the road mean every penny counts. We also talked about the weather and the way of life in the locality. After enjoying the nice conversation while getting cooled down by tropical breezes, people headed back to their own camp area.

Then I noticed the frail man was sitting alone in the dark next to his walker. I didn’t see any food in his area so I thought I’d be neighborly and offer some of my pork chops and bread. His face lit up as I approached him. I could tell that he was yearning for some company. I had some trouble hearing and understanding him but what I got was that his name is Tom. He’s from Alaska and proud to be 63 years old. He was tired of sitting at home staring the four walls so he decided to see the world before it’s all over (in his words). With no family and his government check, he travels to various campsites on the island by cab. He said no to my food because the porta potty was 50 feet away.

Tom smiled and showed me a bottle of his whiskey. Said he’s on a liquid diet. I told him I would help him but he persisted and said he seldomly ate. I told him if he wanted to come over to my camp area because it was closer to the water and the view was incredible. He said his walker doesn’t go in the sand. I said I’d help him and he agreed. We sat there quietly looking at the water and Murray came by. We became the 3 musketeers on the beach. Murray told us of his adventures in Australia, Africa, and India as the black Hawaiian sky lit up with millions of bright sparkling diamonds.

With my newfound buddies and the discovery of this mini paradise, I decided to stay an extra day. As the hot sun roasting the white sand, Tom took refuge in his tent and Murray painted himself white and read his book under the palm trees. In the meantime I took the rented kayak to sea and explored the jagged coastline. I bounced up and down passing by intermittent lone Hawaiian fishing from the shore next to his giant truck with the giant wheels. I saw a small patch of white sand so I beached my kayak for some land exploration. A remnant of an oceanfront church stopped me in my track. I later learned that it was wiped out by the tsunami and a newer version is now high on top of a cliff above it. The water was getting rougher so I decided to head on home.

It was time to pay our daily five dollars to the owners of this beautiful camp if we wanted to camp for the night. The sun was still blazing. The three musketeers headed for the pavilion but the Hawaiians weren’t there to collect the money. We waited. Murray who was 72 years old sat down at the table. Tom parked his walker and sat across from him. People came up to pay for the night and Murray jokingly pretended to take the money. Everybody laughed for almost falling for the “con man”.

A giant truck pulled up from nowhere. It kept on moving until it crept inside the pavilion and the gigantic shiny metal bumper nudged our table. The doors opened and a large middle-aged Hawaiian couple climbed out. The wife looked down at the ground and her posture told me something was not right. The large man shouted at Murray for being in his chair. It was like time slowed down. I thought to myself it was an empty pavilion with no sign what so ever. How would anyone guess that it’s his chair? The man shouted as he pulled boxes out of his truck, “This is my House. This is my chair. When you are here, have some respect.”

At first, we thought he was joking and would break into a smile at any moment. As he slammed a book on the table, he said to Murray, “You people take everything from us.” Everybody tried to mutter some reasons to him as Murray stood up and walked away like he walked away from a buzzing beehive.

The sun had cooled down and so was the angry Hawaiian. I was cleaning out the sand in my Vanagon and a smaller version of the angry Hawaiian appeared from nowhere. He came to apologize for his brother’s behavior. Said it was not the Aloha spirit and shook my hand. I thought it was nice of him but he should have said it to Murray and not to me.

As the night fell, the three musketeers gathered around my campsite for one last time. We drank as I grilled some sliced Spam, polenta, and mango. Murray was very quiet. I told him not take it too personally. I started writing about the angry Hawaiian’s point of view and the history of these native people with the invading mainlanders. Then, I decided against it. In all my travels, I simply admire and respect the people and their culture. I’m grateful to witness the wonders of the world and leave the place as I find it. And, perhaps pick up some trash from my fellow visitors along the way…

In the carnival of life, my genetic coin toss started off very promising. It landed solidly on a silver platter, bounced off onto another, but equally opulent, platter. Then, unfortunately, it slowly rolled off into the dark crevices.

To put it mildly, we weren’t middle class. Visions of the entire family loaded up in our old Buick station wagon for a 45-minute ride to McDonalds, Merle Haggard was blasting on the radio as I was watching Route 66 dashing by through the rusty holes of the Buick floor, and my stepfather’s unfiltered Camel cigarette smoke beat against the wind but never quite escaped the vehicle… and has never quite escaped me to this day.

It’s funny that a small isolated town surrounded by cornfields was so obsessed with class.

School was hell

School was hell. I was trying to fit in but it was hard without the right clothes, the right car, and the right house. The ones labeled with Izods and Calvin Kleins stuck together, Fruit of the Looms and Wranglers were scattered about in their own individual self-loathing hell. Johnny was a handsome football player, and his father was the town banker. His coin landed squarely on the glistering gold plate. He was always smiling driving through town in his red vintage Mustang convertible. It was so cliché but it’s true: his girlfriend was a beautiful blond cheerleader, Debbie. I think their coins landed on the same plate.

The cruel gods went even further by injecting me with a massive amount of testosterone in my teens, and the results were acne and erections. I even got acne on my erection… but that didn’t stop me from doing something about it. An unexpected mirage appeared through my cracked windshield. I caught a glimpse of Johnny’s Mustang dancing in the heat on the side of a quiet country road. The hood was open and all I could see was his ass in tight blue jeans.

Deep Dark Fantasies

I pulled up in my old man’s truck. “Need some help, Johnny?”

Even in hot, bucolic surroundings, Johnny always seemed as if he was just freshly showered and there was never a wrinkle on his clothes. He turned around and seemed disappointed to see me.

“Naw, it’s just a fan belt, ” he said. Then he dove back under the hood of his car. My desire for him was like a distant train. Without any warning, it came barreling right at me fast and loud. My heart was about to jump out of my chest as I grabbed a coil of cotton clothesline on the truck seat and headed straight for him. Sure, sports gave him a fantastic physique and plenty of strength — but it’s nowhere compared to my years of working on the farm and wrangling beasts of burden.

I dragged him to the middle of the cornfield and made a nice clearing with my muddy boots. His torso was bound tight but I managed to rip off the top of his shirt to expose his hard pecs. I shoved the fabric deep into his mouth. His eyes jabbed at me with fear and anger so I pulled out a wad of hankie from my Wranglers and made his world black. He thrashed his legs about like an animal. I punched him a couple of times to settle him down.

Johnny: Tied and helpless

Off came Johnny’s the designer jeans. They felt nice and warm. I was puzzled…besides the label, his jeans didn’t look anymore different than mine and yet it made all the difference at school. I decided I’d better tie his ankles. Then I sat on a pile of jagged corn leaves and watched his partially naked body. I told myself to remember every inch of his body: his golden brown hair, the sculpted ridge of his nose, his pale pink nipples punctuating his meaty pecs, the dark curly patch of hair just right above the band of his tightie whiteys, the thick muscular striation down his thigh, and his perfectly manicured toes.

Time passed. His breathing and mine subsided. For some reason, I looked around to be sure that we were really alone. I slowly reached out and brushed my hand against his crotch. His face turned toward the ground and he made a soft moan. His huge cock pushed out against the white cotton fabric. For the first time in my life, I came face to face with everything I dreamt of and everything that I was not. And, it responded.

It would have been stupid for me to think that Johnny and I would ever have any sort of sexual interaction. The material for my masturbation fantasy was more credible if I took him against his will. I visited that dusty road mornings, nights and every chance I got. I saw him at school and he had no idea…He kept on smiling and continued with his charmed life.

Hope in the big cities?

I left town the day following my high school graduation. I did not waste any time. Perhaps there was hope in the big cities like Los Angeles. After several menial jobs, I was dismayed to find that LA was just a mega-version of my hometown. I was so young and so naive. One hot and smoggy afternoon, I took refuge in a small bookstore. I saw a painting of a man in rope bondage by Goh Mishima and something very familiar struck me deep down to my core. I was amazed that bondage was presented as art. There were some weird electrical connections in my brain and I grew on to associate bondage with money. At that moment, I decided to tie up men as a part time job.

Soon, I was a busboy by day and by night I was in total control of some Hollywood executive. It wasn’t long before I quit my day job. For the first time in my life, power was handed to me on a plate and I loved it.

Steve

“Hi Steve, how are you? Please come in.” I smiled to a nervous stranger at my door. “Go in my bedroom, take off your clothes and wait.”

In my darkened bedroom, Steve had a raging hard-on even before I laid my hands on him. I tied him up tightly and secured him to my bedposts. Again, I preferred my subject blindfolded. A mélange of power, adrenaline and sexual impulses came over me. He was processing powerlessness and fear into carnal energy. I whispered into his ear, “I got you all tied up and I’m going to play with you all night long.” Steve whimpered, “Yes, Sir. I’m all yours.” I punched his chest and tugged hard on his balls, “What makes you think I want you?” He cried out in pain, “Oh God, I’m sorry Sir. That was presumptuous of me.”

Sex in its purest form

Steve was experiencing sex in its purest form. The rope pressing down on his flesh constantly reminded him of his body and its physical sensation. His vision was impaired and his other senses kicked in. Being bound, nothing was required of him. No thinking about the next sexual move, no gauging the other partner for any sort of physical or emotional connection. No time to be self-conscious about his body or his being because he was reduced to a powerless bound object. Steve’s humanity was pushed aside for a moment: just enough time for him to feel the sensation on his cock and in his mouth and perhaps other parts of his body, without any other distractions.

In the self-absorbed culture of Los Angeles, the only kinky taboo left for Steve was to offer himself completely to someone like me on the fringe of society. Yet, afterwards, he jumped into his shiny Lexus and safely returned to his home… to his life.

Dave

“Hi Dave, how are you? Long time no see. Please come in.” I looked at a young handsome man in a business suit. “Hi Van, I tried to call you several times when I was in town but no luck.” We both walked into my bedroom. “I’m sorry, I was in Paris for a month.” Dave knew where to hang his clothes as I offered him a beverage. After a quick formality, he reached out and hugged me. “Gosh, I missed you so much, Van.”

After four years, I was still taken aback when I received the same warm greeting from Dave.  Dave liked to get tied up with hemp ropes and loved the smell of leather. He liked to give up control and be totally helpless. He enjoyed receiving oral sex but nothing further than that. I enjoyed watching him as I stroked and teased him. He begged, he pleaded, he cursed. His arms tugged hard against the tight ropes as he let out a raw primal scream. He exploded.

As always, he quickly jumped in the shower and then put himself back together as we made small talk. I picked up the towels, “How’s your wife and kids?” He brushed his hair, “Oh, they are great. We just took the little one to Disneyland for the first time. Hey, I’ll be back in July. Will you be in town?” I was walking him to the door, “Gee, so far I have no plans, so I should be here.” He reached out and kissed me. Dave seamlessly vanished into the muggy Los Angeles rush hour.

My ropes – symbolic ribbons

It was quite ironic. I spent my teen years masturbating to fantasies of tying up Johnny and in my adult life the Johnnys of the world came to me to get tied up. I knew why I had the desire to tie them up: to temporarily possess things I wanted but never had. When I looked at these men tied up in front of me, it was more than a body. It was a product of regular dental visits, a full college education, Norman Rockwell Christmases, and a nurturing family life.

My ropes became symbolic ribbons presenting me with these gifts for an instant in time. In spite of all the elements of a privileged life, Johnnys visited the likes of me in the seedy, dark gay ghetto. They engaged in debauchery — but in a way, it was against their will because they were powerless in bondage. My powerful hemp ropes glowed with the dim ember of societal constraint.

There are many different dynamics in bondage. The above reflects a portion of my bondage play. I was young and I needed the money…(smile), I wouldn’t change a thing. The insights, knowledge and practice I got from this early period have served me well. I realize that we all couldn’t fit on the gold plate and I’m fine with that. I used what I had in the best way that I knew how. Being on the outside looking in sometimes has it’s advantages.