Testosterone with a Twist of QRXZ
Story #1: First
Approach // Rick’s second edit 2000.04-30/ 2002.10-10/
I got to experience the
artist self claiming the title QRXZ Boy as I first approached him. The
ambitious guy dressed youthful with distinctive "qrxz" hand painted on
his white T-shirt and jeans. He revealed his boyishness with an
occasional mischievous grin and intense stare. I watched him work
upstairs in the dingy air of the back bar of a New Orleans pub. I noted the daddy, big
brother type men that attracted his boyish appeal as I watched him
dominated that section of the low lit space with quiet intensity. He
utilized the morsels of dim candle flame and low halogen lights
gathering a scene with two burly men to document and sketch. Thrust
forward, the older muscle bear stands solid, hips turned, shirtless, squared shoulders furry to his crotch. He
stroked a tuft of his shaggy red beard. His heavy metal belt
buckle and waletchain clank and ching together a rhythm against his
left thigh. Thrust again received and swallowed in the mouth of the
other man. His face buried, then exposed with each retraction. He pulls
out with a slurp. The fat cock flops out down his chin with a thick
spit attached. I noted the man look as he stares up from his knelt
position. He retrieves the gland by the foreskin with his teeth and
lips sliding the complete cock shaft into his throat. Both men
responded pleased with the respective actions.
I approached to glance and view a page of the artist sketchbook. The artist stood hold this peculiar stance. He grip the open book gainst his crotch and right thigh sketching in it with a pencil. His legs stretched straight, they straitled slightly apart in front of him. At the apex of this triangle, his butt pressed against the seat of hard wood stool. I thought, just one kick distance from both those horny guy working to get off.
“Seems dark for book work, boy.” I said.
The artist, QRXZ Boy take my pass with a deliberate, yet respectful nod of his head, while not averting his eyes from his intended view, then he paused his sketching to raised his left palm with his fingers at full attention to created a motion that beckoned me to share this vision, his vision, with him, provided, I could do so in silent awe.
His elegant economy of
actions communicated something. It paused me, include me, invited me in
as a witness to , all that is qrxz.
… I became the voyeurs’ voyeur.
I have witnessed countless memories of men getting off, stroking every size and girth of uncut, and cut cock in every location, in public, inside clubs, with nature or at private parties. Sometimes, these men would feel my lusting gaze, and sometimes, I am not obvious. And Lord knows, I tell hot fuck stories about those men that just sit back to “only watch”, but the extra element here is… this QRXZ Boy.
Now I posed myself close
aside of his opened sketchbook. The white papers reflecting back a
split page like a rectangular moon. His pencil ‘proached like a comet
pushes to leave a tail, this tale in graphite dust. Paper,
split layered sheet on more sheets, as these gray lined passes compile
his collected views, his personal orbit documenting an artistic life.
Better to Fuck the boy and loose the symbolism, I know.
Watch the artist slid his index finger behind a completed image. Finished, flipped to expose another, his take to mark it as his own, those next virgin pages. Continue- he is fresh, hot. He excites like the meteor shower during the rut spring in heat. The directed point of his pencil shaft strikes firm to create a new crater shadow. Illusion form, making me think, make me remember my virgin pubic hairy crevasse, so near another riverbed crack streaming it's natural lubecant. Lube needed to take me beyond into a cross tattoo gorge, feeling some scar-textured scrotum hanging hard with its’ shaft flopped atop another memory, atop another sketch, holy natural, like natural skins, un-mutilated, like a whole thought, being- including biceps, pecks, muscle, buttock, belt, buckle, bounced over long-laced boots, over new tight-cuffed green fatigues, over regulation white thick socks, over mans’ flesh, over proportion …size …space …flow …thought …release …together … realized.
As I witnessed this raw erotic scene, I was literally drawn into it.
QRXZ’s stare was not directed at me, but his sense of me engorged me with one of those amazing spontaneous erections. I recall achieving this mammoth proof of testosterone during high school Biology class just sitting there.
QRXZ’s partially completed
sketch, which I viewed, was rough and hard lined like the two men we
observed, but his new line had changed in quality. It had become a more
refined statement. An attitude adjustment to be noticed as he has
pulled these new lines longer. A skilled command over a line, whether
the line is men or graphic, is an exquisite thing to view. I witnessed
as the artist’s commanded his line tool to pull, turn, push, twist,
change thick to thin to thick again. That constant line manipulating
through infinite variations was exquisite. Unmistakably rendered, MY
left boot, so very near his high-top black sneaker. My boot laced tight
with my combat pants tucked tight inside. The energy through his pencil
drew my boot and this boy entered my soul through my boot, my leg, and
my thigh…. QRXZ completed his drawing with my bulging impression, my
own penis pressed at attention beneath the stiff canvas of my fatigues.
The image made me aware of how my crouch pitched a tent so near his
moist mouth. The total scene made me want him to suck, gnaw and bite
the skin of my big fat cock, even though physically, this guy wasn’t my
Who is the man? I wondered. The artist signed the page QRXZ.
The rougher muscle bear
set his eye on the book and pencil as QRXZ indicated with a tap that
the session should be finished. The man gave a tensioned wink and
closed his eyes and spassming fast came down the other mans throat.
Using a blade, QRXZ removed his latest sketch; which includes my rendered boot and bulge. He removed a plastic sheath, the size of a condom pack, from his shirt pocket. He unfolded it while the men buckled their pants. The drawing was inside protected before he presented that finished image to the muscular guy; he did all this without looking me. The man set his stare on the protected paper, holding it toward the dim light. He moved his fingers along the chrome chain and he pulled out his billfold. The click-link vibration of his metal has aroused my heat and my sweat glands. I do not know the reason for my reaction to the sound, but the clinking metal made me sweat. So I sweat as the man selected several bills form his billfold and gave the money to QRXZ. The artist didn’t look at the money. He folded it and put it away into his left back pocket. The men shook his hand and after the two subjects walk away, QRXZ turned to me.
“I draw dicks.” QRXZ said. “Actually, I document men. I call my drawings DicDraw sketches.”
His eyes traced the parts of my face as we pondered each other’s position. He had already sketched the massive bulge so compelling at my crotch. He knew the ways to release the rocket, if he wanted it. Does this guy tops or bottoms, I wonder, or does the guy do is all? He sends mixed signals. He could be a neurotic neuter artist? No way. He functions just fine. The artist holds his erection behind that book every time he is creating something. I bet he was as throbbing hard as I was then. So, why had he turned to draw me? I had no plans to pay him for anything. He needed my raw uncut meat raw and I could have made him take much of it down his hot little throat. But his power is sexual control. How did he get that hefty muscleman to exchange heavy cash for, really, some lead on paper? Well, the image he created looked good. The best part of it was my boot and bulge. That may have been the main selling point…even though the sale was prearranged, but that’s another story. As I gave some thought to the situation I realize this artist had used me. QRXZ Boy used my boot and the engorged outline of my cock for his personal profit! What had I gotten from the unspoken deal? The thoughts I had got me feeling hellish horn and aggressive, and I felt flattered. Flattered this artist could use me so well. So, there he was, as I felt he had used and taken some bit from me, he stood there wanting more. I’d find the value my meat has to him.
“Find work boy. What else do you do? I said.
“ DO you mean like a trick. Does your voice imply that an artist might not make good, only drawing dicks? Or are you just wanting to know if I trick on the side?” QRXZ said. He took two steps toward me; close enough to take a hit to the gut, as if I might punch him. “Or do you do what it take to have the real interest. Learn what I do. I create with life.” The “with” from that last sentence, projected with the artist’s dark whisper, the seductions I seek as writer. Yes, seduce my mundane writings with life, my mundane events, my mundane calendar… excite me, inspire this part of me to create something with life that is alive.
I knew I was oozing cum. Slicken my foreskin with person lubrication. Skin layers slide a long the girth if my swelling shaft. Engorged beyond that comfort zone, while my head squeezes, then it protrudes beyond its’ protective sheath. No amount of lube could prevent that errata sensation of abrasive military canvas raw, abrasive against my penis head. My balls ached for some release.
“What I want is to get off.” I said. The statement shot from me instead of my fist.
“Then create something with me. Show me what you know I want to see,” QRXZ said. His book was opened, poised and ready for it.
Undoing the belt and zipper of my own pants felt surreal. Were men other than this boy and me in the bar? My own familiar hands seemed cold on my cock and balls and felt fresh. New and real like my first exploration when I was probably twelve and I took command of my penis. Once I realized how to work it, I would sneak off to make it shoot five times a day. Oh, held inside my shaft pulsed that sweet soreness, this intense and acquired hurt and burning rush that comes. I could not resist myself or stop it then or now, the continual manipulating of my genitals.
And then I pulled my full-grown penis out for QRXZ Boy. His eyes widen, pupils dilate revealing he wanted it. The object of desire focuses thought. Ask what potential pleasure I hold here. Lust for it guy, but know it is mine. I teasingly slapped my cock against my ripped abs and cresent navel. My eyes shut as I focused on my own senses, my skin toughed with both my hands I twisted and screwed my member the way I like it. The way no one else, girl, guy, or fantasy ever seemed to do it. Pulling back the foreskin hard with the same hand gripping my balls I pressed my shaft upward, while pressing the head downward with the other hand I twisted my rhythm. Like bending a hot steal rod, I forged my own tool under my own pressure. How that bloods flushes through, back up and down this thick shaft against my pulse as I squeezed. Sweet, hard burning banked from behind my balls, asshole tight, buttocks pressed, and shaft taut toward my brink, the pressure consuming, veins showing and my penis expanded.
I knew there was no stopping it. All my valves twisted for pressure and release. Ignited shots flowed the missile before I had even considered the target. My cock’s pisshole opened spitting fast. My eyes had to peek to watch QRXZ boy standing firm in front of me, holding his book beyond the of range of my flying man goo. Pulsing behind seven powerful contractions, my sperm load thruster propelled the pure white stuff out my cock and onto the floor between QRXZ’s feet. We looked up from the spot in unison and we laughed. A hard fucking laugh. What a release. I felt great. We both felt it.
QRXZ closed his book, and then he held his business card with a real info and his cell phone number. He walked out as I review his card. Soft sale, he left me wanting to see our DicDraw sketch. I suppose he knew I would think about him a lot after that evening.
Years later I did take the initiative to purchase our first DicDraw sketch, the reason? We created a real memory together; and like some of those other men, like Dads and boys, I do good to continue to show my support for this artist and his work. I keep the product at hand which fuels that inspiration needed for this artist to translate DicEnergy into masculine erotic DicDraw sketches. I believe it the shin catches his lust most.
Also I share him my expertise as an editor to edit these stories as he shares them with me.
The words of QRXZ Boy-
“Most men don’t create much more than a release when they shoot their seed upon barren ground.” QRXZ informed me, “Something is generated by this energy. Let us not allow that something to be likened to shame or guilt. As QRXZ, I am my own creation. Each image is that gift child, a translation of this lust energy. My work is conceived through our masculine collaboration. This mutual male to male bond has results. We become the parents of a product artfully done, something good, creating something done well.