After arriving in Barcelona, to my beautiful apartment in Eixample, I was excited. Excited to see the city, visit the beach, taste the food, but mainly, taste the men. After a few days at my new place, a cute local boy offered to come over and make me food at my place. He introduced me to gazpacho for the first time, and after the first few mouthfuls, I grew to like this cold, tomato juice, soup, although I did insist that I think it’d be better with some vodka thrown in. After food we were cleaning in the kitchen when my Airbnb host came home. She seemed very cool when I spent some time with her on the first few nights, and so I had no qualms about bringing somebody over. She was very polite, but decided to go to bed early. My new local Catalonian boy and I decided to watch a movie, then he grabbed his motorbike helmet and went home at around 11pm.
The following day I got up and went for coffee. It’s one of the things that always gets me out of bed in the morning, going outside and grabbing a local iced coffee. After grabbing my €4 sweet milk coffee, I get a WhatsApp message from my Airbnb host outlining that I cannot have guests over whatsoever. She apologised that she didn’t make it clear when advertising the place, but said that I was welcome to find somewhere else to stay if it was an inconvenience. Well, to be quite frank, I was a little pissed. I’d spent a small fortune for this apartment in Barcelona, and I wasn’t even allowed someone over for a drink? Or dinner? I understand nobody staying the night, but it seems bizarre to ban someone from socialising in their own home, especially in a country where this sort of socialising is very common behaviour. However, I wasn’t about to make myself homeless and start looking for somewhere else to live, so I apologised and said it wouldn’t happen again.
A few weeks later it’s winding down to my departure. I’d booked to go to Madrid and my Barcelona trip was coming to an end. One hot Friday afternoon, while sat at home, I felt particularly horny, so I opened up the old faithful, Grindr, and had a look what was on offer. My host worked full time so I was home alone and feeling like the world was my oyster. There was a guy online who I’d hooked up with a few weeks earlier, and he was available and also horny. He told me he hadn’t shot his load for about 5 days, and so that had me at full mast. He was only around the corner, and I said I could host. He could be there in 10mins, but it was more like 5. I left the door open and waited on the bed for him, naked. He got undressed in my hall, and walked in, also naked. He had a beautiful dick. He walked over to me and I started sucking. His dick was the perfect size, a husband dick, the kind you could take every night. I wasn’t in the mood for anal, but he turned me around and ate me out anyway. It got him super horny, and it wasn’t long before he turned me around, and as I was sucking him, he blew his load all over my face. He stepped back, out of breath, and in broken English asked if he could use the bathroom. I nodded and pointed to the hall. As he went to the bathroom, I finished myself off, with his cum still over my face. The smell is usually enough to make me want to blow. I came into my hand and then grabbed some tissue to clean it up. He had put most of his clothes back on, and walked back into my room to get his watch. As he stepped back into my room, while I’m wiping his cum off my face, the front door creaks open and I hear my Airbnb host say ‘hello?!’. I absolutely freak. I ran to my bedroom door, slammed it shut and locked the inside bolt. Omg omg omg omg omg omg omg is what I repeated to myself about a million times over. I turned around and the boy I just blew is sat on my bed with a face of pure horror. Immediately it made me laugh, I couldn’t help but think about how tragic the situation was. We were both now locked in my bedroom, panicking. I asked him where his stuff was and he said his shoes, jacket, and bag were all in the hall. I was trying to come up with a million different excuses and attempting to pick the best one to get me out of this mess. I was now getting panic dressed, in front of this boy who was asking me what to do while nervously pacing around my room. I kept saying to him that it was fine, and that I would just say that he was a friend of mine and we were just popping back home to pick something up before going out again. It was at that point I leant forward and said, ‘what’s your name??!!!?’ I couldn’t stop laughing, and the fact he looked so nervous made the whole thing even funnier. I waited for the apartment to go quiet, which would hopefully mean she’d disappeared into her room, so that we could make an escape. He was ready, I was now dressed. I told him to just grab his stuff in the hall, and we both leave together. I opened the bedroom door and we made a run for it. I opened the front door, he grabbed his stuff, I closed the door behind me, and then he finished getting dressed in the stairwell. ‘You are a disaster’ he said to me in a thick Spanish accent while shaking his head. I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my face. As we left the building, before we said goodbye, I asked him if I had any cum left on my face before I went out. He giggled and shook his head. As funny as I found the whole thing, my nerves were shot to pieces so I went and grabbed a coffee, but to be honest I really needed a neat whiskey. I had dried cum tissue stuck all over my hand which I spent the walk to the coffee shop trying to pick off, bit by bit, and then after I immediately called my best friend to tell him all about it. It was only in hindsight that it occurred to me that the boy didn’t know who had actually come home. Maybe the reason he looked so panicked was because he thought maybe it was my boyfriend, and he was about to get beat. This made me laugh even more. It was like one of those scenes in a comedy film that you never believe would actually happen.
Oh, and his name was Sergio. Thank you Sergio, for a great facial, and a very funny afternoon.
Never have I felt beautiful. I think the last time I truly ever believed that I was beautiful was when I was 12 years old. A picture of me smiling, happy, before I started puberty. The innocence of youth beaming in my face. I think I looked pretty. From there it seemed to go downhill, and rapidly. I was a late developer as a teenager, and while I didn't really get the usual teenage acne, I did develop this seemingly gormless appearance. I suddenly had a huge nose, a sprouting chin, and an aggressively protruding Adam's apple. I used to sit on the train everyday on the way to school, looking at my side reflection in the mirror, internalising a building hatred for the way I looked. I used to think I was disgusting. I remember thinking I looked like a wicked witch. I would spend an hour on the train every morning looking at myself in the train window, depleting any confidence I had left by the time I made it to school.
At school I was an individual type of person. I didn't have a lot of friends, just a few close ones. I was usually in my own world, taking in the environment, and observing people's behaviours. I've always found people very odd, the way they communicate, and socialise, all trying to please one another so as to make themselves feel/look better. I never wanted a part of this, but I did used to envy their confidence. I was discovering I was gay around the age of about 16, and it was another heavy burden weighing on my mind. I remember thinking, why do I have to deal with this as well as everything else?
The first boy I ever had a crush on, I didn't know how to go about it. I was newly finding my sexuality, so I remember finding his number through a friend, and texting him, just to let him know how I felt. He ended up telling everyone, and it soon became common knowledge that I'd naively confessed my love to a hot gay boy (who was quite obviously out of my league). I never really thought that I'd ever find a boyfriend because I perceived gay confidence to only be found in beauty.
Until one day when I was approached by a guy who was doing the lighting for one of our college shows. He was so beautiful, so classically handsome, and everyone at the school had a crush on him. I had been shyly looking at him for a few days, but never thought in a million years he would care for me. He came up to me one afternoon, gave me his card, and told me to message him so we could go for a drink. I remember falling back down the stairs, turning around and running to my friends to tell them the news. I was elated, but also confused, somehow I felt it wasn't real. He ended up being my first boyfriend, or gay lover I would say. It wasn't love, but it was my first gay experience, and it was very important.
I've had 3 serious gay relationships since then. I've broken my heart a few times over, and with each relationship it seems to get more painful.
I have reached a point in my life where I have found love for myself as a gay man. I feel proud of my sexuality wholeheartedly, and if anything I want to be a beacon of hope to any young gay men who may not fully love themselves.
My self image is something I'm still trying to learn to love, I have found a way to make myself look beautiful, through the art of photography and film. I know which angles will celebrate my body rather than shame it. Does this mean I'm confident in my beauty? No. Does it mean I've reached a point of contentment in the way that I look? Almost. The demons that enter your life in your formative years often stay for a good while. It's taken me a long time to accept the shell that I'm in, but I hope that I'm finally getting there. I don't believe that I'm at all beautiful, I also don't think that I'm ugly anymore, so maybe for now, I'll just be, just Sam.
You see this?
This is an experiment
All gaze on me
To the detriment
Living in the lens
Is an element
Of the 80s
And the millennium
You can judge the things you see
It's a relationship between you & me
Just know that I see the things that you see
The judgement is a proof of the accuracy
I am just a pawn in the game of this
Pawn as in chess not Porn as in this
You can make a choice with a flick of your wrist
Touch that, make it wet, give it a kiss
Are you wet when you see this?
Do you often bite your lip?
Do you slide the foreskin down
and rub the cum around the tip?
I can touch you but you cant touch me
My life is changing indefinitely
I am freezing a legacy
With a fraction of time caught in 'purgatory'
my choice is your choice ultimately
I can control what you think and see
reaching you by delivering me
You can't hold but you feel the key
Is it the artist or the muse that makes history?
Is the self portrait a modern mystery?
Is narcissism the truth behind artistry?
Is narcissism the brains behind artistry?
Is narcissism the veins inside artistry?
Is narcissism the blood that runs artistry?
these flaws I call my own
I recognise and often moan
but never would I disown
the things that always make me groan
my fingers serve me well
and I see the tree from which I fell,
the poems on my hands to tell
the stories of a little girl
the smells on us we wash away
but some they linger in our brains,
of people, things, and lonely days.
The naked smell is one that stays.
my nose, my biggest enemy,
so hated by the rest of me
but loved for it’s intensity
of choosing what is best for me
the hair it spares the thoughts of those
who linger by the feet and toes
ignoring flaws of yester-woes
and deliver so the ebbs and flows
the little freckles, spots & moles
join the dots of stories told
and within the darkness of the folds
are bronzes, browns and rose gold
the extremities did feel the storm
tore, and cracked, the rose and thorn
the broken lovers I will mourn,
who gave it up to be reborn.
lines and greys, we wish away
but I will welcome them to stay
the things that I have heard and seen
will live upon my head and gleam.
embrace the drips, the reds and pinks
the jagged, spots, and twisted kinks
the holes, the skin, the parts that stink
the big, the small, the overthink,
the marks, the tits, the mind, the guts,
the massive, and the tiny butts,
the hidden, and the surface cuts,
the yellow teeth, and ugly nuts.
just love yourself. You’re enough.
the love you give need not be tough.
Just love yourself, it’s just above,
the amount you think, is just enough.
Cold water running in my veins
At least that's what they say
I run the heat to hide my face
Re-energise the snails pace
A coffee, love, can hold me dear
But hot waters always running near
A quiet trickle, sliding through
My body's always thanking you
I feel it washing over me
Through my hair and whilst below
My blood is pumping, vitality
My head is first to go
I need this clean vitality
For my mind, body & soul
The darkness washes over me
And down the down below
The water hot and steaming
See it reddening my skin
The pink it throbs and flourishes
Seeing and feeling is not a sin
I feel my brain is clearing
And my muscles closing in
A stretch from deep within myself
And I clear the thoughts of him
I live in clouds of distance
Just existing over there
Sometimes it's nice to disappear
To the feelings most despair
The shower is a gift to me
A moment for reflection
A time to focus properly
Without an intervention
We take for granted little things
For life's given pleasures
Are our saviours and our graces
And given at our leisures.
by Sam Morris
The valleys and the waterfalls
The rivers and the lakes
The rough parts and the smooth parts
And the filling in the cakes
I lick my lips and feel the surface
The imperfections over
For bits of me will drop & fall
And I will never own her
I touch myself. It's soft to touch
My stomach and my sides
But moist and musky does become
The warmth between my thighs
Take off the armour, show the pink
The wetness and the silver drink
The smell envelopes, thoughts & things
Familiarity is teaching me
To taste the smell to test my brain
And linger while im there
I softly hold the warm inside
And play with all the hair
A temple with a field to play
A meadow and the sun
I'm free to roam the streets of me
Through the beige I run
The flaws I find will govern me
In my love and in my art
But never overwhelming me
Enough to sell my heart
I love you perfect wonder
Of the world in simple form
There's nothing I would change
For it must only come within
So here I love and cherish
The body I will own
Until the day I leave it
And it lays upon a throne.
by Sam Morris
After dealing with the nerves of ordering a glass of red wine for myself, and then battling my internal social issues to make my way through the bar to take a seat by myself, I'm now in a safe place. Sat, on my phone, drinking wine. Not making human interaction. As alone as I would be at home, but more romantic I guess. I just came out of the cinema, I went to see La La Land, alone. It was beautiful, and I cried most of the way through. I always cry at movies. I cry at the beautiful things just as much as the sad things. Get a whole cast singing & dancing, jumping off cars in sync, and that's me, crying, alone at the back of the theatre. La La Land was a sad story. I was expecting to be uplifted, but instead it reminded me of my own struggle as an artist, and my own struggle in love. I related to Mia (Emma Stone's character). I always relate to the female characters. There's very few films in which I've related to the male character. It's odd. I guess I'm quite vulnerable in love and life, and maybe that's why I find a connection more easily with the female hero in a movie. I've always connected to women more. May have something to do with having 3 sisters, and a mother who wears the trousers. My dad is wonderful, he's caring and understanding, but he's gentle. I guess I've never had a man in my life that is vulgar or aggressive like the ones you see in the movies. I've always had girl friends, more than guy friends. I just find the female species easier to understand. Which maybe is why none of my relationships work as a gay man. Hmmm. I just finished my red wine. Now I'm wondering whether to buy another glass or go home. Fuck it. I'll get another glass. I don't really have any gay male friends either. I find alpha males really difficult, maybe because I am one myself? I wish I could connect better with more gay men. I just often find the lines blur too often between sex and friendship, and then I never know where I'm at. I'm shy, but I'm opinionated. I'll be silent at a party until my ears perk up when I hear a topic of conversation or something that I feel compelled to comment on, and then that's usually where people get their opinion of me. Aloof, opinionated and arrogant. When really I'm funny, a little mischievous, and quite melancholic. Hence why I'm sat alone drinking red wine in a bar after going to the cinema, also alone. I don't know if I'm odd, but sometimes these blue & lonely days can be delicious if you just allow yourself to indulge and romanticise your own life. Life is but a story, and you're in the driving seat. It can be as glorious as you want it to be, in both it's darkness and it's grandeur, you just have to really start experiencing what it feels like to live in that moment.
Written in Starbucks - West Hollywood - October 2015.
I think if I stayed in LA for long enough my brain would atrophy or I would develop an insidious mental illness. Before I came here I was on my travels to New York. A journey to escape heartache, as one does, jumping on a plane, somehow hoping that flying across that ocean will heal the shattered fragments of a broken heart. I struggled at first in New York, with the understanding that no matter how far away you run, you're not really running at all. You're running on a treadmill with the memories of your troubled past playing in your ears like a fitness CD. I went on so many dates. Date after date. It's the best thing to do in a new city, people take you to places that you'd be otherwise unaware of, and you get to meet new people. The only real issue with dating is the immediate agenda of love, and not friendship, so developing friendships from this scenario is a tough one. I met a guy at first who was a great rebound, I had all the feels, and he was very quickly involved. Rebound flings are odd. Your brain somehow redirects all the love you had for your previous partner, into a prism, and it somehow refracts into their direction, but as soon as the sunlight dies, you no longer feel anything for them. Anyway, the sun went down, and I moved on, a few weeks after this fling, to another boy. He made me feel relaxed, and I felt no sexual pressure. I was really attracted to him, but more so his personality. We connected and it was easy. It developed and grew quite quickly, and on my last night when he pulled me in and kissed me in the middle of Times Square, I really thought 'fuck. I moved to New York to get over a boy, and now I'm going to LA to get over another boy.' However, I quickly learned that LA is not the greatest destination when trying to escape, but on the contrary, is a great subject for assessment. When I arrived in LA, it felt bleak. It was like entering into another dimension, void of emotion, authenticity and reality. The very idea that a city exists without melancholy is an alien concept to a European. There is no sadness here, and it is disturbing. It's like every person here is a character in a movie, and every day is a new scene. They ignore the realities of the world, and they concentrate on the next worldly-irrelevant thing that they can disappear into. I haven't seen one book store since arriving in LA, and I had to go to supermarket just to buy a pen. You can find literature, art and culture on every walkway of London, Paris, Barcelona & every other major European city, and here all I can find are Starbucks and dog grooming centres. All of the Starbucks are full of people writing on their laptops, but I wonder what about? Are they all as confused as me? Writing about the lack of inspiration or culture? I just don't know how a native, or a resident of LA, could write anything of worth, in a city so devoid of history. The closest this city comes to struggle is drought, and with people driving their range rovers two blocks to get an iced coffee from Starbucks, even that seems irrelevant to them. In some ways I admire the overall ignorance of the city. They ignore world struggles, including their own homeless issues, and they go on with their life, with the spirit of 'I want, and I will have.' They wear expensive feminist t shirts, and the gays paint the road crossings rainbow. They have sponsored walks for AIDS and vans parked up raising awareness for animal cruelty, but in my British cynical nature, there's something about it all that seems insincere to me. These people don't really seem to care about anything but themselves. Of course they'll go on an AIDS walk, but only because it'll get them fit. In my opinion, this city is mentally ill. LA is like a patient, loose out of rehab, and having a party at Lindsay Lohan's pad. I literally feel like I'm in Mean Girls, and I should only wear pink on Wednesdays. This is a place that hasn't been exposed to war, or suffering, and it's very apparent. In someways I envy the people here. They live their life in such privilege that they are blissfully ignorant to troubling world events, and that, in theory, must make for a happier, and more peaceful life. I am grateful that I'm only here for a short time, but it is my mission before I leave, not to visit Venice Beach, or to heal myself from my personal troubles, but to find a book store, buy a classic, and then give it to the first person I see jogging past me with their toy poodle and venti caramel frappuccino.
My hair always goes limp in the heat. My hair sticks to my forehead and the sweat makes my roots curly. I was trying to fix this as I walked through the blisteringly hot streets of Bushwick. There was a mixture of smells in the air, an overpowering and lingering smell of garbage and a cacophony of coffee and hot meats scenting the environment. I was heading to meet a guy who I knew from Instagram, I had no expectations, I just knew I was lonely as hell and needed some company. I came to New York for escape. I had one of those terrible break ups in which you lose a part of your identity and you need to try and search for it again. I wanted to disappear from England, and the next best option seemed to be New York. I'm one of those attention seeking, exhibitionists online. The kinda guy you hate. It's become a big part of my life and it's given me the opportunity to escape as and when I want to. I don't know anyone in New York, but I figure everyone is a stranger until they're a friend. I certainly wasn't looking for love. Some days I still cry thinking about my recent relationship, so I definitely am not in the right place for a companion. The funny thing is, when you're in the most vulnerable of places, it's at that point you need a companion the most. We're told by society that love is something you should have as a bonus, something only rich people deserve. If you've got your career sorted, then sure, you can get married, but if you're unemployed and aimless, then forget about it. I have no agenda when I meet people I know from online. I was always the kinda kid that was looking for love. I lust in the strangest of places. My life is driven by love and lust. I see the art in every conversation. The flaws and the strengths. The chemical connection compared to the mental one. I often believe that every relationship is connected on a chemical level, then you have to work out the mental bullshit after, that's the test. If you can make it through the gruelling mental connection after the chemical one connects and you lose the excitement of the initial reaction, then you'll make it. I often think of it as a cup of tea. When you pour the milk into the black tea, the milk folds and unfolds in the most beautiful fashion. This signifies the beginning of a relationship, the beautiful & natural chemical reaction. Two bodies mixing for the first time. Then the two liquids form and you're left with a singular colour. You're on the same page, so you add some sugar into the journey and life stirs things up a bit. Then we're left with the taste. Sometimes it's too sweet, too bitter or too dull, but sometimes it's just right. A good relationship is like a good cup of tea, warm, heartfelt and cosy, but the true formula is somewhat unknown. The only thing about being in New York, is the lack of tea. I sometimes think New Yorkers need a good cup of tea. They need a little northern lady to bring them in, sit them down and offer them a brew, maybe they'd chill out a bit. One thing they do have in New York that brings me joy, is doughnuts. Sometimes a doughnut can be just as fulfilling as a cup of tea. I prefer the simple, glazed variety myself. In typical American fashion they do go a little overboard, adding jams, nuts and creams into and onto almost every kind of doughnut, but still, I can't complain. That's where I was off to, to meet my Instagram friend. I knew he was in town so I figured I'd like to hang with someone, rather than just myself for another day. I walked into the doughnut shop and was a little overwhelmed. The racks and racks of doughnuts, the smell of the sweet dough, the coffee, the hipsters walking from one side to the other to sit with other hipsters with open MacBooks, probably writing a thesis on the gentrification of Brooklyn. Then I clocked my Instagram 'date'. I wouldn't call it a date. We had had some flirty back and forth action on Instagram and Facebook, but nothing to suggest this was a date. It was simply a meeting of two worldly boys. I say boys, I am 27 and he's about 30. I think I'll always call myself a boy though. The millennial, Peter Pan syndrome is definitely alive and well in me. I noticed his eyes, they beamed through the café and hit me in the back of the head. It was almost like when a kid shines a laser in your eyes at a party, that stumble backwards and cover the eyes motion. Obviously I didn't stumble backwards, because that would've been weird, but inside my head I did, a little. He was smiling. Beaming almost, to have seen me in person. It was one of those exotic moments in which you catch eyes with someone and it's as if you just allowed them to read some of the files stored in the back of your mind. They look into your eyes, and you somewhat feel they've been allowed to go on your computer and look through your external hard drives. When you have that kind of connection, when someone can see into your soul from across the room, it's way deeper than what we understand. I made my way over to his table and he got out of his chair and made his way to me. We met in the middle and he threw his arms around me. We had exactly the same body type. Slim, athletic and hairy. His grip was strong, and I reciprocated. It was as if we'd met before, like two old friends. I could smell him as his arm was around my shoulder. My heart beat faster for a second as I smelled him. It was sweet and musky, but manly. A smell you get from spending a day in the sun, or going for a jog and not showering after. It wasn't an offensive smell, but one of pure sex. He took a step back and held the back of my head. "It's so lovely to finally meet you" he said, staring straight into my soul. I stumbled on my words back to him, "you too, it's been so long, we've been talking online, I mean..." He was confident, and engaged, and I was floundering and nervous. I sat down with him at his table, and he started talking, maybe he was nervous too as he was talking a lot and it was all fairly nonsensical. "Do you want a doughnut?" I asked. He suggested that we shared one, so I went to the counter ordered two doughnuts and a knife. I didn't realise that the doughnut shop we were in was vegan, which bemused me when after ordering a coffee the barista asked if I wanted soy or almond milk, to which I stood there blankly staring at her wondering if I'd accidentally asked her for something odd. It's funny, if I was in London I would've said neither, but when you're in a different country you automatically feel more dumb and bewildered. We split our doughnuts and chatted for a bit, talked about life on and off Instagram. I'd managed to gather that he was a bit of a Chatty Cathy when he was nervous, but I was ok with that. All the while we were talking I was checking out his being. I'm sure everyone does this when they're into someone. I was looking at the locks of chest hair that were poking out of this vest, his cute blue hair that was sneaking out of this baseball cap and most importantly his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes. Pools of light brown that had so many stories, but most importantly I could see love. I could see a warm soul. He suggested we went for a walk, he had to visit the Apple Store to get an adapter for his laptop. He was in town visiting from LA. It was a weird meeting, two souls, one from London, one from LA, meeting in New York. It was the future thanks to the Internet. I didn't have any plans anyway, so I figured I'd go with him. I was definitely feeling something, so I wanted to follow through on that a bit. We left the doughnut shop and walked to the subway. Every time there was a moment of silence or a dip in conversation, we would catch eyes and smile. He made me nervous. So I would say "you make me nervous." He would giggle and say back to me "I make you nervous?" I agreed, just nodding and smiling. We were like two giggling school girls. Walking by his side I realised how similar we were. We were the same height, and exactly the same build. Well, I was a little skinnier. He had a beautiful complexion. This golden skin gifted to him by California, a clear face, almost glowing. He talked about how important his Instagram was to him, his goals and achievements. How much he still wanted out of life, and how little he cared what people thought of him. I found him inspiring, but also I saw myself in him. We were very similar in life as we were in looks. I didn't take my Instagram profile as seriously as him, maybe I should. I see having a big online presence as Monopoly money. Having loads of followers is great for the ego, but doesn't do much for the bank account. He was very serious about his online following though. It was a typical conversation between an American and a Brit. The Brit taking all in life with a pinch of salt, and the American taking everything with a side of fries, coated in salt and sugar. However, I couldn't help but think I could learn something from this person. What was the point in me coming to America if I wasn't going to learn something from Americans? We were like the town and country mouse. We were both from big cities, but I figured I automatically got country mouse status being from England. We hopped on the subway and went to Chelsea. He had his computer sorted and then he suggested I walked with him a few blocks to where he was staying. He was talking about how he saw something in me, in my online presence. He mentioned how I looked like an energy, ready to offer the world something exciting, but the door was still locked and somebody needed to unlock it. I felt the same, and it wasn't the first time someone had said this to me. I don't know where my energy is placed, and sometimes there is art in that, but he was right. How long can I flit around for? Do I want to be the guy who is 37 and at a party, and when someone says to me what do you do, I reply, 'a bit of everything'. We're in a weird place right now, in which you can have a career from being famous, for nothing. Whether it be from a reality show, Instagram, Twitter or YouTube. It would be vacuous of me, and a dishonour to say this is what I wanted from life, but I do like the personal freedom that the Internet allows for one to express oneself without economic drive. I've had many doors shut in my face, in an industry which thrives on beauty, height and physique. My Instagram is my own release. I can express myself on there, via my writing, music, or just myself as a human and sexual being. It's honest and pure. There are no advertisements, I'm not being paid to post things. What I do is just me, and nothing is more authentic than that. However, the people in society who choose to not take up these opportunities, and choose to live a more honest life, are a lot more judgemental of people who do. I get aggressive words sent to me online by people who are angry that I perceive myself as a model, they don't deem me attractive enough to think of myself as such. Why can't I be a model? If thousands of people want to see my pictures on Instagram, why shouldn't I? If I can use my body as a portal to open up people's eyes to see the beauty in real people, people who aren't paid for their beauty, but just want to celebrate their natural state, then of course I will. Beauty can be seen in the ugliest of places. I see beauty behind the hatred of someone's words. Jealousy has a negative connotation, but everyone feels it. What you mustn't do is lower yourself to that emotion. Don't act upon it. You can be mindful of it, and know that everyone feels it, but don't lower yourself to it. Jealously and fear can be great tools to make oneself a higher achiever. Which is why our society is based on fear. Fear of failing, fear of disease, fear of hurt, loss, love and crime. So when we see other people rising above that fear, showing their bodies, singing, creating art, we feel jealous. How can they overcome their fear but I cannot? Well you can, just divert the jealousy into a place of practicalness, create something. I get way more negative feedback online than someone who is beautiful does, and it's because I've overcome the fear of caring what society thinks of me. I don't think I'm ugly, but I'm not a model, I just know I'm a sexual being with a stimulated brain that sees the art in life maybe more than the usual person. No one should be a slave to any one thing, person, emotion or state. Life is way too short to spend time thinking about what other people are doing or achieving, and I'm guilty of wasting my time on this to, but as long as we are mindful of the things we are feeling, then we are safe. Often when I meet people they have this overwhelming desire to mother me. I have a vulnerable aspect to my personality. I've had a lot of personal disappointment, and with that comes melancholy. I would definitely describe myself as melancholic, and I always have been. I swapped schools four times, and was usually the last kid in the playground holding onto their mother's leg. Whenever I left friends behind I would cry for weeks. I would sit in my room and just sob. I don't necessarily enjoy sadness, but I definitely revel in it. Sometimes I see the most beauty in life when I'm sad. Being sad is way more real than being indifferent. The emotion that can burn in ones soul when grieving is so poignant and powerful. It can shatter your entire body until you are a shaking, inconsolable mess. We forget about the physical effect that sadness has on us. Being unhappy is way more physically demanding than being happy. I dated someone who is bipolar for a long time and it was particularly difficult. 80% of the time I was inflicted by his sadness, 15% extreme happiness, the sort of happiness that can only be compared to a kid in Disneyland, and then 5% of indifference. The time I hated the most was indifference, it was the bleakest. It was the absence of emotion. I often go through times of indifference, in fact I feel like I've spent the past few years in a state of indifference. It's the scariest time. It's a time in which you feel nothing. You could walk into the road, be hit by a car and think 'meh'. The reason I came to New York was to feel something again. To escape the feeling of indifference. When I arrived in New York it didn't disappear, it only made me feel it more. I was questioning how I could be in the middle of Times Square and feel nothing. Every person I'd meet made me feel more alone. The only thing that can make you feel more lonely than being alone, is spending time with someone you have no connection with. Well, that was a palpable feeling until this day. We walked up 9th Ave until we turned off to find his apartment. Well, it wasn't his apartment, as he was crashing with someone, just like I was. It was weird that neither of us had a permanent base in the city. It almost felt like we were two runaways. I liked it. We went up the stoop and into his friends apartment, it was small but cute, and no one was home. I sat on the couch and took my shoes off. My feet were killing me from walking so much in the city. He sat down next to me and asked if I smoked weed. I do and I don't. I have periods where I smoke more than others, but I'm a little nervy in the drugs area. I always think I'll be in the 1% that'll die from taking one drag of the wrong stuff. Anyway, he decided to light up next to me, so I no doubt got a little high from passive smoking. He was beautiful, and the more time I spent with him the more I noticed his beauty. When he was high he only got more giggly and warm. His eyes were transfixed into mine, and he made himself more comfortable on the couch. There was a serious sexual & chemical tension between us. I was shy and nervous, I could tell I liked him and I didn't want to kiss him because of that. When you kiss someone, the tension breaks, and the brewing of the tea begins. I wasn't ready. The connection felt too good and so I wanted to hold on to the feeling. I could feel that we were just seconds away from that first kiss moment, and the doorbell went. His friend had just got back. I was relieved, not because I didn't want to kiss him, I just didn't want to just yet. His friend came in and we chilled together as a three for a bit. They were going to a fashion week event, they wanted me to come so they got me on the guest-list to go in with them. I was a little hesitant, as going out with them meant I was blowing my friend off who I'd sort of arranged plans with. It was now evening time, and I hadn't really planned on staying out this long. I blew my friend off. That's what we all do when we're into a boy right? It's the oddest thing. I could meet a boy a like, and then the only think about that one boy for days after. I could be with my best friend and be thinking in the back of my mind, 'I would literally throw you under a bus right now for the chance to be sitting opposite him instead'. It's sick huh? Maybe I'm the only one who thinks like that, but I'm pretty sure I'm not. It's like chemically your body is only letting you connect mentally with that one person, so when your friend is with you talking about their favourite restaurant or some drivel, all you want to do is gun them down mid speech. Maybe a little extreme but you know what I mean. We went to this fashion party, and he was there to work, he was photographing and his friend was gonna keep me company while he walked around. His friend and I grabbed some free champagne and stood around pretending we knew at least one thing about the event, I didn't even know the name of the designer, and by the looks of half the people in the room, they didn't either. Fashion week is a circus. The people who have to be there for work, find it sluggish and boring, and the people who are there for leisure, which is probably 70% of people, are dressed to impress and looking for a purpose. Very odd. I could see him walking around the room, photographing the models and attendees. He was being pulled around by people trying to get a snap. Occasionally he would glance up, look through the crowd, and I would catch his eye. I'd take a sip of my champagne and smile. I'd look down, then look back up and see him still smiling at me. For that split moment it was as if the room stopped, everyone and anyone in there didn't matter. It was a slow motion moment between his soul and mine. Stopping in transit to reconnect from a distance. His eyes would catch mine, and a bit of him would pour into me. Enveloping my senses and stirring my desires. He walked across the room and suggested we go soon. He slid his hand around my waist, the same way as ivy clings around a building. I felt like he owned me for a moment, like I was his. His property, not in a negative sense, but in a way in which I felt like I belonged. He liked running his fingers through my hair. Every time he would glide his hand towards my forehead, and his fingertips flew through my hair, my knees buckled slightly underneath me. It was a sensory overload, and he knew it. Every time he was near me I could smell his pheromones. His slightly unwashed and musky, sexual aura. His breath smelled kissable, and his beard was full. We left the party and headed downstairs to hail a cab outside. The three of us squeezed in the back and I was sat inbetween him and his friend. He put his arm over my head and around behind me, and I slid my hand down onto his knee. It felt natural and normal. It felt right. When his friend was talking, I'd turn my head to him, and we'd both smile. There was an unspoken love that was glimmering in his eyes. Obviously it wasn't true love, life isn't a Disney film, but there was a certain amount of love there. He loved what he saw and what he knew so far, and it wasn't unrequited. We'd stare deeply in each other's eyes, and would do so until one of us broke a smile, then the other would smile and usually turn their head away. The coy and bashful flirting of humans. We got out of the taxi and headed back into this friends house. His friend was tired so we decided to head out and leave him be. We walked out of the apartment and he said we should sit for a little on the stoop. It was very American pop culture. My love interest and I, sitting on a stoop at midnight in the Manhattan west village. For some reason I felt scared. From nowhere this overwhelming feeling of sadness and fear crept over me. I stared up to the fire escapes and the black NY sky and I said "I feel nervous, you make me nervous." He asked me why, but I said I didn't know. I lied. For so long I'd felt nothing. I'd felt nothing because I'd been so broken down, and I'd taught myself to feel nothing. If you feel nothing, then you're not emotionally open enough to be hurt again. It's a protection. The less you have to lose the freer you are. Living with sadness is a lot easier, and more tangible, than living with the fear of losing your happiness. Single people can be much happier than people in a relationship. Often when I'm in a relationship I live in fear that they're going to leave me, cheat on me or let me down in some way. When I'm single, I feel indifference and life is more exciting in a way, and when I'm single but after a break up, I feel deep sadness, but sadness is less troubling than fear or panic. Many more people live in a state of fear or panic when they have something to lose e.g relationship, money, job etc than those who don't. I sat on that stoop and I held back the tears. This year had really knocked me down and sitting there at that moment felt like a happy moment that I didn't deserve, and one I know I would lose. "This is such a beautiful moment but it can only end in sadness," I said. He seemed confused. We both lived so far away from each other, and even if this was a fleeting moment, and not the start of a great romance, we would eventually have to say goodbye and take separate paths. People often say to me, 'just take it easy', they tell me to enjoy the moment and not get so serious. This is an impossible notion for me. I do everything or nothing. If my heart tells me to give something my all, I will. No holds barred.
"This moment is pure beauty. It's something out of a book or a movie. Two people from opposite sides of the earth, sat together on a stoop in New York City, having a moment. It's not too hot, or too cold. Both sober and living in the seconds that tick by. Consciously watching every moment go past in slow motion. I would never have predicted in my deep sadness two months ago that I could've had this moment here today. It's the wrong place, wrong person, wrong time, but right moment. A happy moment that is so fleeting, that you know it will pass you by. I feel like a boy handed a balloon in a hurricane. Is this my test? Do I struggle to hold onto the balloon, or do I see the beauty in watching it slip from my fingers and fly away in the storm. I'm sitting here feeling happy, but when I feel happy, I feel sad. I want to learn the happy story of two ships passing in the night, and not the tragedy..." He stopped me with his lips. My eyes closed and his beard touched mine. His lips rested upon mine and I felt his hand on my cheek. A tear released inside my eye and fell on the inside of my cheek where no one could see. I had been officially broken or awakened, and I couldn't see which yet. His kiss hurt my soul, but cleansed it at the same time. "I think you're beautiful. Come on, let's go for a walk," he grabbed my hand and lead me off the stoop. We started walking toward the river, and we held hands. I was nervous but it felt right. We reached a highway, and he just started running. "Come on!" He shouted. "We can't run across here!" I said. I was super scared. "You want a real New York experience, well here it is! Run!" He proclaimed. I ran after him, I wanted to be braver. That's what I'd come to New York to achieve. He looked at me in my eyes as we stood in the middle of the highway, cars speeding past behind and in front of us. I turned around and closed my eyes. This was so real. It was so authentic, yet so movie like. I didn't believe that these things happened to real people. There was a gap in the traffic so we made a run for it. We ran across the highway and climbed up the grass side, on the way to the Hudson. We climbed over the ledge and I could see New Jersey glistening on the river in front of us. There was no one around and I ran toward the railings to lean over the river. I looked back and he was walking towards me, smiling. "I can't believe this is happening, it feels like a dream," I said. "The town mouse and the country mouse running wild in a foreign city, finding familiarity in an unfamiliar place." There was a giant sculpture of a bottle which he ran over to and climbed on top of. It looked quite high so it made me nervous, but I went over to him anyway. I put one foot up and he reached his hands over to help me. He yanked me up onto the nozzle of the giant bottle, and we both straddled it facing each other. He leant in to me and the brush like texture of his moustache tickled my lips. I held my hands on either side of his face and I pulled him in toward me. We were kissing and smiling. It was romantic and adorable. Every time we would pull away from each other my brain would question everything that was happening. Asking me if this was real, and if I deserved it. I couldn't be in a new relationship right now. I'd come to NYC to learn more about myself, not meet another boy. I'm addicted to loving people. Sometimes life isn't about fighting for success, but if success comes to you because of your talents then great. If it doesn't, that doesn't mean you don't deserve love. Love is the greatest unexplainable art form in the world. Something that is just a feeling, an unexplained chemical reaction, triggered by smells, thoughts, tastes, visions and feelings. The feeling of being with just one person, while they touch you, look you in the eyes and admire you for the person you are inside the shell the world sees, is worth a million. I let him in that night, it wasn't intentional, it just happened. It was an unexplained moment. Certain people take a room in the hotel of your heart, and then they reside there until you die. I believe we have a lot of rooms, and no matter how much pain we feel, or how much we grieve, they always keep a place there. I felt like he took a room that night. Two people in New York, no room, but the room in my heart. I stared into his eyes and I could see the lights reflecting off the Hudson. This was a true romance, like something from the movies, but it was happening to me. I felt like my battery had charged. I felt the colour yellow fill me up from my feet to my head. He jumped off the bottle, and held out his hands to help me down. We walked a little further south down the river and saw other couples on benches or leaning by the pier. I wondered what stages they were at. Our stage? The first stage. Maybe they were at the rekindling stage, trying to bring the romance back at the fear of losing each other. Maybe they were fighting and talking things out. Maybe it was an anniversary. Life is like a film, and everyone has their part to play. All these different storylines going on around us, but all we think about is our own plot line. I fear but cherish the emotions that life throws at me. When I felt the happiness I did by the Hudson that night, I equally felt dread. The dread of losing what I had experienced that night. You finally open your gates, you let in all the yellow colour and it's so bright that you can't see anything around you anymore. You can't make correct decisions. You can't act like the person you were before you opened the gates. You were changed. I don't think we change by looping back to the person we were before, I believe we change into a new phase of the person we're meant to be. I don't see this as a spiritual way of thinking, I see this as reality. We experience things, we get hurt, we grieve and we move on, as a changed individual. We learn things, but we don't learn from our mistakes. If we learned from our mistakes we would never love again. We have to be willing to make all those mistakes again to open ourselves to love again. Love isn't like a skill, or a talent. It's chemical. You don't get better or worse at it. It just happens or it doesn't. There is no wrong or right time. You just have to let it consume you, then when you are consumed, you find a way to control yourself within that consumption. Love can't be dictated. You can't say that you're not ready for a relationship or a lover, because it will come regardless of your mood. You can meet someone in the most unusual of environments, catch eyes, and know that maybe this is your time. We strolled back through the west village. We walked past a Mini car retailer, there were London telephone booths in the window and union jacks. It made me feel at home, and calmer than I already did. This was the first time I'd been in NYC and felt calm. We held hands and walked. We kissed occasionally, and we arrived back to his. I didn't want to stay, and I couldn't anyway because it wasn't his apartment. I wanted to charge my phone so I had enough battery to know how to get home. We creeped into his place and sat down on the sofa. I plugged my phone in and he turned around on the sofa and laid his head down on my lap. I stroked his hair and forehead and he started to fall asleep. When you go through a break up, you feel so hopeless, there's never the hope that you'll have a moment like this with someone in your future. He started to close his eyes and I closed mine. I moved my leg and my phone dropped off the table, it was loud and it startled us both. He sat up and next to me. We held each other, and were kissing. We were admiring each other for the first time, it was innocent and precious. We could hardly keep our hands off each other at this stage. The tension had reached such a level with which we lost control. He climbed on top of me and he kissed me passionately and intensely. My hands were around his waist and his on my face. We really started going at it, but I was hesitant as I didn't want to go there with him at this stage. I knew that if we had sex, it really would be two ships passing in the night, and I wasn't ready to accept that yet. I pushed myself away from him a bit, and said that I didn't want us to go there. As disappointed as we both were, he agreed. If you give up the sex to soon, it ends the chase. You've locked the chemical connection in, but then it dies soon after because the initial solution wasn't mixed with care. Sex with a stranger can happen anywhere, but to catch eyes with someone and your lungs forget how to breathe for a split second, that's much rarer, and it should be handled with care. I reluctantly said I'd call a taxi, and so I did. We stood up, held each other and kissed goodnight. He let me out of the apartment and I left down the stoop and toward Broadway to catch my cab. I got in the taxi and the driver asked me what music I'd like, I said classical. I wanted it to be perfect. We drove through Manhattan, over the bridge and into Brookyln. The lights were passing me in slow motion, and I was trying to process what had happened in that day. I passed signs and suburbs and I felt happy. I felt content with the fear I felt in that happiness, and accepted that maybe that was just my brain and I needed to deal with it. I had actually come to New York City and found love. Maybe the love would last, maybe it wouldn't, but what I did experience today was love. Short love or long love, no matter how small or insignificant it may have seemed in the grand scheme of my life, it's something I will carry in my heart forever. It was easy, it was art, it was love.
I always have a tonne of inner conflict. It's why I've never committed to getting a tattoo or a dog. I change my mind so often and spend a lot of my time alone overthinking all my life decisions and send myself into a state of mania. When I started this site I had a lot of reservations. The stigmas attached to sex and nudity are so strong, I was concerned about the detrimental effect it may have on my future. But more than anything I'm an artist, and I've really explored so many avenues in my life, I felt like I should stop caring what people think and just keep pushing boundaries. I've been a dancer, an actor, a music artist, a photographer, an editor, a casting director, an agent, a choreographer, a painter... I've done everything. I've experienced so much, and it's led me to where I am today. My visibility as an LGBT person is key. Exposing myself like I do online, in a very flauntingly 'gay' way, is important. I've been represented by agencies who have told me I'm too nude etc, and my argument is always, I will not stop being visible. Straight men and women are nude all over Instagram, but are somehow looked at in a more respectable way than their gay counterparts. I want to continue to break boundaries, and through my films on my website I will do that. Before I post a video I panic, I think, will this get leaked, what will I do if this is all over Tumblr in the morning, but I need to stop living in fear of what people will do with what I produce, I just need to produce. I use my art as a way to get things off my chest. I am political and I am opinionated. I stand up for those who need to be stood up for. I am self aware and have learnt a lot about myself in the past decade. I've recognized my flaws and my strengths. I know what I need to work on, and what I need to improve. But right now I am so grateful that I've managed to build up a following that respects me and enjoys what I create, to the point where I can host a website like this successfully. It really is amazing. I also appreciate that some will just come for the nudity, but some will also come for the message, and both are as beautiful as each other. Our sexuality as gay people should be celebrated and embraced. Anyway, please let me know what you think of my work. You can get in touch on the contact form and let me know. I'll always do my best to reply. Sam xxx
writing my thoughts straight from my head in london town