Wednesday, 28 February 2018

Never to be worn with underpants...........

It's one thing for which I've had a lifelong gratitude to my Catholic Boy Scout troop for teaching me - despite what happened on one Summer camp weekend, having been humiliated and abused for laughs by four older scouts, followed by an undeserving, very public, vicious caning on the backside (shorts not lowered, but nothing worn underneath, of course) by our priest/troop leader in front of all the other boys, and then my being unjustifiably expelled for life from the Boy Scouts - all resulting in me, before that weekend, being a shy, religious, innocent 12-year old kid, becoming corrupted and mentally 'scarred' for every single day of the many following decades of my entire life (though the fetishes that I've carried ever since have given me enormous 'satisfaction').  

Thursday, 16 June 2016

The 'Me' of today.

Photo of me, Khakibum, licking the back pocket flap of a pair of khaki drill shorts, an item of clothing that has played such a huge part in my entire life, with an enigmatic and profound mixture of affection, loathing, embarrassment, phobia, pride and, most importantly of all, a fetish - a situation for which I can largely owe to the Boy Scouts Association, due to the traumatic events which happened on one weekend at Summer camp on the Yorkshire Moors in 1959, and which thereafter transformed and uncontrollably affected me forever, despite my consequentially being expelled from that organisation with a lifetime ban.

The possible very original source of this fetish, pre-dating my brief spell as a boy scout, has been addressed in an October 2013 blog post of mine - "Where did my khaki fetish come from?"

I often wonder if my ongoing desires represent a subconscious, cleansing yearning to return to the state of the innocent lad I was before these scouting events happened and an intense wish that I hadn't come out of that week of Scout Camp soiled and corrupted (in a number of ways) at the hands of a group of more senior scouts who took it on themselves to have humiliating 'fun' with me, coupled with an element of what was seen as their revenge (for something I hadn't even done), resulting in their having pointed me in a certain direction regarding my then imminent adolescent development - and all capped with a vicious and relentless caning on the backside by the scoutmaster-priest, givng me the thrashing not just of my own life, but much more than most boys would ever experience. Those four scouts will never have had the foggiest idea what their actions did to me and my life. If only I could trace them now to tell them, though I can't find them all these years later.

However, because I know that very few, if any, guys share my feelings in this way, I am perfectly able to consign it all to the background, and can assure all my followers that my particular leanings are not essential for importing into all my other varied sexual tastes - though for my own satisfaction, my fetishes may just 'pop up' in an occasional mention. But I'm not going to force the subject onto others for whom my own attractions are minimal or non-existent.
Just thought I ought to make that clear.

Sunday, 14 September 2014

Fathers and sons naked together - Part II

So, resuming after the 'interruption' of my last post when I got over-excited, and I erupted at the subject of naked sons with their real dads, above are a few more pics as a warm-up before getting onto the hot and steamy subject of their having sex with each other.
By the way, I'm wearing the same khakis as I was wearing before, the evidence of my previous excitement still evident in the crusty, white-ish, sweet-smelling patch on the material. I've got about 20 pairs of khakis, (my favourite fetish clothing as I've mentioned several times), around a dozen pairs of shorts, the rest being either long army-surplus with big flap pockets or workwear pants. All are always worn 'commando', without anything on underneath, of course. Why cheat myself of the pleasure of feeling the drill fabric against my cock, balls and bum? Some of the pairs have never been washed - I like to let the 'soiling' (in whatever way - front, back, underneath) remain undisturbed, the unwashed ones really smell terrific. When I'm tossing myself off I sometimes like to put a pair over my head and breathe in the heady body smells of the past. Fuckin' heaven! Christ, I've got to be careful! I'm getting excited again. My willy is standing up hard from my open-button fly, its smooth, shiny pink head screaming for attention. Wait just a while, son!

Back to fathers and their sons - and now, specifically:-

I've never understood what's so 'wrong' about this. As long as the son is of consensual age, what's it got to do with anyone else? If you're religious then your Church will certainly condemn it - so don't do it! Simple. If, however, you're not religious, the Church will still be saying the same thing, but tell them to get out of our lives! Also, the law might (and will) say that it was wrong too, but the law also says that in, unfortunately, far too many countries that all gay sex is wrong - as well as it having been the case at some time in history in just about every country in the world. No, if the father wants to fuck his son or suck his cock, or the son his father, if they are both willing, let them get on with it - and please post the film so we can all watch!

It's not as easy to tell if if two (or more) guys really are father and son(s) as it is to see that two or more really are brothers (Easiest of all with twins or triplets, of course). In spite of what is claimed, one has to necessarily take a lot on trust, and those of us who are true fans of father-son action have to go along with it to fulfil our fantasies. But some I can believe. The upper one below obviously consists of two brothers on either side - but with who? It could be their father, though being on a 'daddy' site makes it less than likely. Though the one underneath that I'm inclined to think could be genuine. Both have very similar facial features. However there's the lingering question of why is he using a rubber johnny? Maybe the father is rampantly insatiable for anything on two legs with a cock!

It's a really huge turn-on for me. The thought of a son sucking his father off and satisfying his curiosity on the taste of the very spunk that he was created from. Or the the father sucking off his own son, feasting on the spunk that he himself was instrumental in creating. The wheel cums round full circle.
One of my favourite activities to indulge in (both receiving and giving) as well as to watch, is bum-hole licking. It seems perfect, natural, parental affection for a father to lick his own offspring this way. However, it really must be one of the ultimate acts of love, respect and dutiful subservience to see a son lick his own father's shit-hole. It's such a beautiful way in which he can acknowledge and demonstrate his father's seniority. Wow! That really does it for me - and if I'm not careful I'm gonna shoot right now!

(Just saved myself from going over!) Anyway, true father-son photos and videos are, sadly, a rarity - and I'm always scouring the net to see if anyone has posted a new one. Not so with brothers, which is much more popular, and which will be the subject of my next posting. It remains to be seen if I can finish writing that one in a single sitting, though I doubt if my will-power at denying to touch myself will be able to hold to it.

Saturday, 13 September 2014

Fathers and sons naked together -Part 1.

I do love to see closely-related males unashamedly naked together - not necessarily having sex, though when they are it really gets me worked up something wild. I know some find it off-putting. At one time the thought of it at had the same effect on me - disgusting and 'sinful'. I no longer feel that way - as long as everyone involved is old enough to make his own decision.
I'll just say a few words this time about fathers and their sons. My next posting will be about naked brothers.

I've just picked the following at random from the internet:-

Aren't the above beautiful as plain, honest photos?

But they don't always both have to be naked:-

Fathers and sons in a state of 'excitement' aren't that easy to find, but here are a few which I find stimulating:-

Oh, Shit and  Jesus Fuckin' Christ! I've gone and got myself so excited that I've just shot my load onto my khaki shorts - and I'd been avoiding touching my todger as well. Oh well, have to come back or do another post on this subject that gives me such a boner.

To be continued...................

Saturday, 29 March 2014

A recent internet find that hardens my hoosie.

Every so often I see something that haunts my mind for days afterwards, and this is a recent one I found on '!@TUBEXPOSED Straight Guys Exposed' website. This particular posting is 'Alleged thief on stick'  which you can find on:-

To my intense frustration, for some reason I can't get this video to play (*inserted a few days later - I've now viewed it - see added comment at end of this post.), but the five images above have hit exactly the right spot with me where it's impossible to hide the evidence of my 'excitement' - and even now I'm hard again as I type this post.

Anyone who reads my comments and blog knows how randy I get when viewing pics of good-looking Indian guys, and this poor, dusky, young bugger, caught in the act of stealing, has been stripped stark bollock-naked and tied up, trussed hands and feet, with a pole inserted under his knees and over his arms to immobilise him. Ha ha! The first picture alone would have been enough for me, but when he's cruelly lifted up so that he can't prevent his pert little bum being exposed for all to view, it's just too much and I'm just about pissing myself at his embarrassment. In a way I hope that he isn't gay 'cos if I was there I'd like to increase his humiliation by giving that tight little bum a damn good licking and I don't want him to enjoy it. (I can just hear him crying out, pleading in his own language to be set free. Too bad! It bloody well serves him right!) I'd give him a thorough slurping on his hot, dark brown, puckered little shit-hole - and then turn my tongue's attention to those brown plums of his, which look a bit full and so really ought to be emptied - so it's to his brown willy next, which I'd suck, suck, suck, listening to his pitiful cries for release from this nightmare as he can't stop it from stiffening inside my wet mouth, with the inevitable result, because I wouldn't let it go, that he spurts his creamy Indian jizz hot onto my tongue and down my throat. Then I'd look at his face with its expression of horror and helplessness, and laugh like mad while licking my lips.

Even after that ordeal (at least for him) I hope he wouldn't be released as I've got more ideas to teach him a lesson which he'll never forget all his fuckin' life. Ha ha! - this is so great! And it's only justice. He'll not steal again for sure - or maybe he'll have liked what happened to him so much that he wants to get caught again? Who knows? Whatever, I feel so jealous of him, sitting there, totally naked with that sexy, shamed, guilty look on his face.

Wouldn't it be great if he was carried like that, like a prize chicken slaughtered and plucked, through the streets to the cop-shop? Once there maybe the men in khaki would play a game, setting him up hanging there, bum facing them, while they used him as target practice with stones, aiming for his dark, hot hole. If any of their missiles 'accidentally' hit his balls it would, of course, hurt like hell. Too bad! He has to take his medicine like a man - and with all his 'credentials' on display we can see that he is one!. (Would one of the cops actually fuck him? Or better still, would several of them fuck him? What an opportunity! Shame not to take the chance when you're offered an inviting tight, hot, little hole that needs filling.)
Maybe they could hang him up like that on the street with the public invited to lob small stones or pebbles at this arse-target, with his little cack-hole as the 'bulls-eye', and a prize for anyone who managed to get one lodged into it without it falling out. If he dared to fart it out then the supervising MiK would squeeze the lad's nuts as a penalty. Second prize would be for getting a missile to lodge in his bum-crack. What fun! He'd be so flushed with the humiliation of it all you'd see the deep blushes through his dark skin - and all the while I bet he'd be whimpering and praying for the earth to open and swallow him up. Anything, anything but this! Hah! I'd almost die with the amusement of it all!

If only I could experience the punishment that he'd be getting! It would be worth trying to steal and letting myself be caught just for the chance - especially if there were two or three burly and hairy MiKs in smart, pressed uniform on hand to dole out the punishment, having first tried to intimidate me by pulling out and brandishing their long, thick lathis. I'd try to make a show of laughing at them in order to provoke them into humiliating me in similar fashion, hanging on that stick. I hope there'd be a large crowd of Indian guys gathered round to watch and laugh, attracted by the commotion. I'd probably not be able to stop myself from cumming even before they'd finished stripping me!

Anyway, now I just have to toss myself off at this poor little chap's plight - for the umpteenth time.

* Thanks to MG at his terrific, cock-stiffening blog of 'A Pool of Indian Videos' this short film can now been watched through his site at:-

Thursday, 24 October 2013

Where did my khaki fetish come from? A theory.

Both these pics of me are very old  - as you'll have gathered if you've seen my previous post. Both illustrate my slavery to a khaki fetish which I've had as long as I can remember, and which was consolidated into a concrete, all-consuming obsession by my experience at Boy Scout Summer Camp at the tender age of 12.                              
I'm fully aware that the majority of guys do not share it so I don't like to bang on about it all the time. I've only met a handful of others in my entire life who do have it, or something close to it. However, I do feel an overwhelming need to talk about it somewhere and this blog-site seems the ideal place to get it off my chest.
I ought to add that it's not a necessary requirement for my pleasures. Very nearly all the sex I've had does not involve my dressing up in gear like here or asking guys to wear it. If you've seen any of my comments on other blogs you'll have realised that I like man-sex in any way..

I was born in India just before independence, and because my parents were both of European stock we had a small retinue of native Indian servants, as had a lot of European families in India then. (I know, I know - disgraceful, but that was the manner of the time, which would later become totally unacceptable).
I have only ever seen one b/w photograph (long since disappeared) of these servants, when I was a teenager. There were maybe four or five (including a couple of 'ayahs'), all female - apart from one teenage boy of perhaps 14 or 15. That image of him in that photo was burned into my mind and if I had the photo available I'd post it here. But it's gone. Although it was in black and white he was standing, looking rather sheepish, wearing what was clearly khaki shirt and shorts, a common 'uniform' for men at the time, particularly for those doing lowly jobs, maybe a little less common these days. One of his duties had been to keep the toilets clean. I'd guess that he would have been what was then classed (and still is, in parts) as an 'untouchable'.                                                                                             

At this stage I ought to assert that as long as I can remember I've been aware that I was 'different' from other boys, only later being able to identify that quality as being gay. The presence of men has always given me that extra sexual spark of excitement, a tingling feeling 'down below'. I have little doubt that I was born this way and have long accepted it, though when I was younger I thought that it was due to being just a slow emotional developer and that it would change as I grew up and became attracted to girls - an expectation that was also fuelled by a desire to 'belong' and not be regarded as 'different' and an outsider. Of course it didn't happen and I stopped wishing I was something else several decades ago.

But if being gay arrived with (or before) my birth, where did the khaki aspect come from? It's absolutely sexual but it's inextricably linked to my attraction to men. (Seeing men in khaki excites me, seeing women in exactly the same colour does not. To me it's the most masculine of colours.) The fetish cannot also have been there at birth otherwise it would be far more common than it is - and, as I say, although I've met a very few men who have a similar stimulation in this area as I do, it's clearly a very rare occurrence indeed. So where did it come from?

I have no memory at all of living in India. My family came to England when I was just two years old. So I remember nothing of how we lived, our house, or those servants that we had.
The possibility I put forward is this. Did that boy, clad in his distinctive 'uniform', do something sexual to me when I was still a baby? Perhaps it was something only very slight, even unintentionally. Or could it have been something more overt which left a deep, indelible mark on my infant mind - and was to last me all my life? Of course I don't know, and I might be unfairly traducing his name (he could well be long gone by now, anyway), but it's just about the only plausible explanation I can find. None of my brothers share my fetish. I would certainly have noticed it growing up together with them. (I'm the only gay one.) They've always treated khaki as nonchalantly as any other colour - as I imagine just about all of my blog-readers also do - something I'm incapable of doing, at least in front of anyone else, without getting tongue-tied, stammering and blushing as it dredges up all kinds of fantasies and guilt feelings about my secret desires.

I've mentioned in previous blogs that I was persuaded to join the boy scouts when I was twelve, which turned out to have disastrous consequences. So many boys in my school class said that I should join - partly because my nickname was..............yes, 'Khaki', of all things! (Originating from a priest-geography teacher jokingly referring to me in his class as a little 'Khaki Bomb', because of my swarthy complexion, which the boys, being boys, changed to 'Khaki Bum' and eventually to just 'Khaki'). 
I was reluctant to join the scouts because it would involve wearing that khaki uniform which to me was like showing oneself stark naked in public, or even worse. (I hadn't realised until I did join that the feeling of unease was to be accentuated even more by the strict, but very curious, ruling that no underwear was permitted to be worn under the uniform.) Eventually I did succumb to all the pressures to join thinking that the organisation might not only help me to overcome my isolation, having no real friends, but it could reduce my attraction for khaki, which had been puzzling and frustrating me up to then. Initial experiences of wearing that uniform were really painful. For much of the time when I could I had to keep at least one hand in a side shorts pocket to hold down a conspicuous something that would have been the source of great amusement to the other boys if they noticed, but I struggled through. (Did I ever actually lose control of myself? I must have done, more than once, surely. But if so the memory has been covered over. It would have shown in my soiled shorts, which my mother washed, but I don't recall it ever being mentioned. But she would have been too embarrassed anyway, never mind me myself!) After only a few months in the scouts, having the double-trauma of getting a vicious caning at Summer camp in front of the entire troop, just after having had my virginity forcibly taken from me by some older scouts, who'd found my humiliation and embarrassment a great laugh (and so ensuring that a link between khaki and gay sex would be made cast-iron permanent in my mind, and which I've recounted in full detail in previous blogs) I was expelled from that organisation, totally unfairly, with, unsurprisingly, not only the khaki fetish considerably INcreased in intensity but also having acquired, along with mental scars, a number of additional fetishes including a taste for corporal punishment, both receiving and giving.

So, had all this started when our Indian boy servant set me on an incontrovertible khaki path? It's entirely possible that he had nothing at all to do with it. But the seed must have been implanted by someone or something when I was very young. Maybe it was someone else, another male relative perhaps - or a passing stranger? Very unlikely. But the only evidence I've ever seen of a potentially suspect source was that photo and the boy trying his best not to look directly into the camera as he stood looking half guilty, yet half cocky. I do wish that photo was still in existence. I'd have liked to have posted it here but I think it must have been thrown out when my mother died.
It's abundantly clear that something did happen in my very early formative years to make this inescapable and permanent link between my sexual desires and this colour. In addition to that I'm not sure why it should be that I've always found Indian men, particularly if they're slim and hairy, the sexiest men on earth. (Though I'm not moaning about that either!)

So it seems that the origins of my lifetime khaki fetish will be a mystery which I'll take to my grave. It would have been nice to know for certain. It's been niggling at me all my life and it's pretty well hopeless to think that I'm going to find out now, unless I undergo some kind of regressive hypnotherapy, which is a possibility. But it's not so vital to find out that it's become an all-consuming obsession. Besides, there's always the chance that discovering the origins may well kill it off completely - and that really would be a disaster.
I've never really wished I didn't own it (apart from during that disastrous boy scout phase) and when I have used it (in the literal sense) it's always enhanced the sexual pleasures I've had, even when I'm alone. I only wish that there were more guys around who shared the same heightened feelings of ecstasy which khaki has given me. It's caused me to spurt more spunk in my life than anything else, and for that I'm grateful and happy.


Thursday, 10 October 2013

Showing my face

I don't post blogs as regularly as I'd like to -  not at all helped by my computer, during its being taken away for repairs, coming back with all my many hundreds (thousands?) of stored pics having been mistakenly deleted.  This has caused me great disappointment, not to say anger, particularly as many of those pics I've lost I'd intended to post here and comment on. But it's been impossible to retrieve them - including not just the many cock and bum shots which I'd accumulated over the years, but also precious scout, army, Indian MiK and many more. But it's no good dwelling on what isn't there any more and I've got to move on. 

Just to show I'm still here, and I'm flesh and blood (and I've given deep thought as to whether to show this) here is an extremely short self-taken recent video clip of myself out in the English countryside supping a pint while stopping at a pub while hiking around in my trademark 'uniform' of khaki shirt and shorts. To tell the truth, I wasn't aware that the camera was in video mode and had intended just to take a photo, but at least it shows me in some sort of motion, if only briefly.

It could be that I'm recognised by this brief appearance, most especially likely by some in Luton, north of London, where I regularly went in these clothes, rather like on safari (as I was once told by an Indian young chap there). Though if I was hunting it was for Desi cock. Sometimes I was successful, though not always. (I don't go as often these days) But what the hell. If I'm recognised so what?

I'll try to do another blog before too long if I can find some appropriate illustration of what I want to talk about.